Midsummer—the Moon of Roses—had melted into the Thunder Moon, and the Moon when the blueberries ripen drew nigh. Now if there was one thing above another which Goshmeelee loved in all the world, it was a good feed of berries. So that when the early tang of the Fall began to tickle her nose, the blueberry feeling made itself felt also, and she made up her mind to appease it. By this time, the cubs had long passed out of babyhood, and were growing into good-sized little bears, quite able to take care of themselves. But as it was a long climb to the berry patches, and Goshmeelee couldn't be sure that they would be ripe, even if she found them, she decided not to cumber herself with the family, but to leave it at home. So, making her wishes more than clear by a good-natured cuff apiece when the little bears wanted to follow her, she lumbered contentedly off upon her quest.
Now on the very morning on which Goshmeelee started to find her berries, Dusty Star was also climbing up Carboona, after having waited until he had seen Kiopo trot off in the opposite direction after game. Of late, Kiopo had developed a strange uneasiness. He was continually leaving the camp and returning to it at short intervals. When in the camp he was always on the alert, watching the forest with a wary eye. By his behaviour, Dusty Star was convinced that his finer wolf-sense had detected some threatening danger which he himself could not perceive. Kiopo told him nothing directly, but the two were by this time in such complete sympathy that the boy learned half the danger, merely by feeling as the wolf felt. He also watched the forest, wondering from what quarter the danger threatened. Yet never had the great woods appeared to hold themselves in such deep untroubled peace. Nothing broke their stillness save the occasional sharp chirr of a chipmunk, or the tapp, tapp of the little black-and-white wood-peckers on some hollow limb. Night came, and the stillness only deepened,—night—and the soundless glitter of the stars.
Once only Dusty Star saw, or fancied he saw, a wolf stand in a clear space in the glimmer of the coming dawn. And at first, thinking it was Kiopo, he had not moved. But when at last, he had gone forward to see, he found the place where it had stood empty.
Slowly, day by day, the sense of danger passed. Kiopo went off hunting for longer and longer distances. But he avoided the upper slopes of the Carboona, and followed trails that led him well away. And not again, either in late twilight, or early dawn, did Dusty Star catch the shadows at their old illusive game. Only one thing remained, and that was the very plain objection which Kiopo had to Dusty Star going up into Carboona at any time of the day. Now when Kiopo objected to anything strongly, his ways of expressing himself were perfectly clear. Not only his eyes, his ears and his mouth, but his whole body saidNoin the plainest possible way. Dusty Star had no excuse for not understanding that Kiopo objected to his going up Carboona. Yet the more definitely Kiopo objected, the more Dusty Star wanted to go.
He was moving very quickly now, because he was anxious to get as far as possible, in case Kiopo discovered where he had gone, and came to fetch him back. Kiopo was doubtless very wise, and knew the forest better than any one else; yet Dusty Star was quite sure that he had a wisdom of his own, and he liked sometimes to set the Indian "Yes" against the wolf "No." Now, as he mounted higher and higher into an unexplored world, he enjoyed the feeling of having asserted his right to decide things for himself. And every time he stopped to look back, he could see a vaster tract of forest and hills, lying out and out to a distance that had no end.
He was above the forest now, and had entered the borders of the great barren where the waterfowl had their homes along the solitary pools. He pushed on rapidly. Except the flocks of wildfowl, he saw no other life. Here and there, in patches on the rising grounds, he came upon the blueberries, beginning to be ripe. But the bears had not visited them yet, and there were no signs of other large game. It was a little lonely here on the high barren. He wondered, all at once, what he should do if he came upon a grizzly. It was a long, long way from camp, and Kiopo's protection. He began to be conscious that he was very much alone. Something made him look suddenly behind.
Not fifty paces away he saw an enormous wolf.
It stood stock-still, as if caught in the act of stealthy movement, and Dusty Star noticed with uneasiness that between them there was no obstacle or cover of any kind. A couple of swift bounds and the creature could be upon him. Instinctively he realized that it had been stalking him for some time, and was now preparing for the final rush.
For a moment his heart failed him. Then he rallied. Face to face with the Terror of the Carboona, Dusty Star did not flinch. The fine Indian breed of him, descending through long generations, rose magnificently to the test.
He took in his surroundings with a glance. On one hand lay a pool; on the other, a tangle of bushes. Behind him, the ground rose. He waited for the wolf to make the first movement.
For a moment or two, Lone Wolf remained in the half crouching attitude in which he had been surprised. Then, snarling threateningly he began to move slowly forward.
Dusty Star drew his hunting-knife in readiness, and stood his ground. The wolf continued to advance. When not more than a dozen paces separated them, he stopped again. Dusty Star noted the cruel light in his eyes, and knew that he paused for the first spring of the attack. Yet his own gaze did not falter. He held the wolf boldly with his eyes. Never before had Lone Wolf borne the direct stare of the human eye face to face, and the experience made him uneasy. He felt the presence of a mysterious power out of all proportion to the body which contained it. His own eyes glittering with evil as they were, lacked this power. He was fully conscious of his own importance—a great wolf, lord of a wide range; yet some unexplained feeling within him told him that he was now in the presence of a creature greater than himself. For all that, he knew that this new enemy must be attacked, and his right to enter Carboona challenged. For he felt that here, though he could not understand it, was a challenge from the wolves.
Without further warning, he sprang. In the same instant, Dusty Star leaped aside, escaping by a hair's breath the slash of the wolf's fangs at his throat. But he had not been able to leap quite far enough, and, though he tried to save himself he fell. As he did so, he drove his hunting-knife with all his force into the wolf's side.
What happened next was like a thunderbolt from a blue sky.
As the keen blade went home, Lone Wolf yelped and turned furiously on his fallen foe; but before he could slash a second time, a huge black body bounded through the air from the tangle of bushes on the right. The thing was so utterly unexpected that the wolf was completely taken off his guard. The great body, descending full upon him, bore him to the ground.
If his assailant could have kept its hold, the reign of the Lone Wolf, mightily sinewed though he was, would have been over for ever; but the force of the creature's landing had been so great that it slightly lost its balance. That slight loss saved the wolf's life. With a snarl of mingled rage and pain, he tore himself from his enemy's clutch with a tremendous wrench; then, not daring to face those terrible claws again, he bounded off across the barren, leaving a trail of blood.
In the first moment of astonishment, Dusty Star had not recognised his deliverer. Yet Goshmeelee it was, and no other, who now stood before him, gazing at him reprovingly out of her little pig-like eyes.
It was exactly as if she had said:
"You are out of bounds. You have no business to be here. If I hadn't happened to come in the nick of time you'd never have escaped to tell the tale!"
Dusty Star was well aware that all this was perfectly true, even though Goshmeelee didn't put it into plain Indian speech. Also he could see that her rescue of him had been at the cost of some damage to herself. In the brief moment of her grapple with the wolf, his long fangs had seized. It was not a serious wound, but it bled. Goshmeelee, with her immense practicalness, instantly produced from her mouth the washing apparatus dreaded by her cubs, and began to lick the injured spot. Dusty Star looked at her very solemnly with his big brown eyes.
"I never meant you to get hurt," he said in his throaty Indian voice. He kept repeating the words over and over again.
If Goshmeelee had ever been examined in the tongues spoken at Washington, London, Paris, and the other great centres of civilized gabble, by the learned gentlemen so high up in the educational world that it must make them dizzy to look down the precipices of their own minds, she would have been regarded as a perfect "dreadnought" of a dunce. But if they and she had to compete in the tongues used by the forest-folk, not to mention the running language of the water-voices and the wind, I should have been greatly surprised if she had not left them very far behind indeed! So, although she did not know a single word of Dusty Star's Indian talk, she grasped the meaning of it at once, and knew that he was being sorry with his mouth.
When she had licked as much as necessary, she looked pleasantly at Dusty Star with every bit of her good-natured face. That her wound was better, and that she was still ready for blueberries, was what she wanted him to understand.
And Dusty Star fortunately remembered the spot on the barren where the blueberries were on the point of being very nearly ripe. If Goshmeelee had not passed that way, Dusty Star was delighted to think that (although it was nothing in comparison with what she had done for him) he could nevertheless put her in the way of filling with berries that part of her which was wanting to be filled.
He grabbed her by the fur, and gave her a tug.
"You come with me, andI'llshow you!" he said.
And Goshmeelee went.
By signs that were unmistakable, Dusty Star knew that a new, strange restlessness had invaded Kiopo's bones. It was not that he watched the forest borders with suspicion, as before, for an invisible foe. That uneasiness might be there, but it seemed for the present to be swallowed up in a deeper restlessness which preyed upon him day and night. After Dusty Star's return from his Carboona excursion, Kiopo had regarded him with a reproving eye. It was useless for Dusty Star to pretend that nothing had happened. Kiopo never met the Lone Wolf; and Goshmeelee bulging with berries did not blab. Nevertheless, Kiopo knew that the Little Brother had taken the law into his own hand, and that trouble was on the way.
Kiopo could not rest. The Fall had come, and, with the Fall, its wandering impulses. An unquiet itch had got into the skin of things, and into the heart of things a strange desire. Every wild creature felt it, each in its own degree. The Cariboo were off on their vague journeyings that took them half across the world. It was the moon when things appeared and vanished; the moon when travelling voices came out of the north, when a thin sleep covered the earth by day, and when things went out walking at the falling of the night.
Kiopo also walked.
Where he went Dusty Star could not tell. He watched and watched; but Kiopo always eluded him at the coming-on of dusk. Mere hunting did not account for it. The kills he made were not numerous. Often he brought back what barely sufficed for their needs. It was only too clear that something beyond mere hunting occupied his mind.
What made the thing still more peculiar was that, wherever it was Kiopo went, there he also howled. Night after night, about an hour after sundown, Dusty Star would hear the familiar voice raised in melancholy wailing in the distance, as if it resounded from the sides of a gorge.
And as he lay awake, listening to the woeful sound, he would hear, ever and anon, dark voices out of the north, that came clanging above the hollow woods, and making the silence quake. And though he told himself that it was only the first flights of the geese, he could not get rid of the feeling that other voices went along the middle sky, and that the dark was haunted with wings.
At last he determined to discover where it was that Kiopo went to do his howling, and what happened when he howled. So, one evening, when the wolf, as was his custom, slunk into the shadow of the woods, Dusty Star, on noiseless moccasins, disappeared also. He kept Kiopo in sight for some time without his knowledge. Then, when at last his form became indistinguishable in the gloom, he followed as best he could the direction he believed he had taken.
Due south-west from the camp, a high spur of rock jutted from the mountain at the side of an immense gorge. It struck boldly out like an ocean promontory; and on nights when the wind was high, it would have been easy to imagine that the deepening roar which rose from the straining spruce woods beneath was the welter and crash of a rising sea.
Dusty Star had seen the place several times in the day-time, and it struck him now that it would be a likely spot for Kiopo to choose for his nightly performance. The trail thither lay through thick forest and was not an easy one to follow. But the boy had a strong sense of direction, and every time he reached an open space between the trees, he took his bearings from the stars. As he went, he listened intently for the first notes of Kiopo's singing, and before he had travelled half the distance, they came. In the deep stillness of the night, the call sounded comparatively close. There could be little mistake as to its direction, which was either that of the promontory, or some spot very near it.
Seven times he heard the cry, each time clearer than before: then there was a long silence, disturbed by not a single sound. Through the breathless stillness, Dusty Star continued his secret advance. By the last howl he guessed that he must be drawing very near to his goal; yet that very nearness made it necessary for him to use the greatest caution in order not to give Kiopo the alarm. Soon he saw a huge mass of rocks loom blackly between him and the rising moon.
He did not dare to attempt to climb its almost perpendicular sides; but, skirting the base of it, worked his way up the mountain slope so that he might reach it from above. He arrived at last at the beginning of the promontory, and, lying flat on his stomach, looked about him. On all sides, the rocks took strange appearances, like humped beasts, crouched, and watching. Yet nothing stirred, nothing breathed. Of Kiopo there was not a sign. In front of him, a large boulder hid the end of the promontory from sight. Dusty Star worked himself slowly round it, foot by foot. When he was half-way round, he stopped; for there, at the extreme end of the rocks, with his back towards him, he saw Kiopo sitting motionless, as he gazed out into the enormous night. Then, he saw him throw up his head; and again the long, throbbing howl made the gorges ring.
Dusty Star had heard howling many times before. Since his earliest infancy, the throats of wolf, fox and coyote had haunted his ears like nursery song-books with ancient, terrible tunes. But to-night, the tune seemed to gather a new terror, and made his pulses throb. His first impulse was to call to Kiopo so that he might not do it again. Only this was one of those times when, in spite of the intimate comradeship which bound them together, he stood a little in awe of that mysterious wolf-mind which was in Kiopo, and which seemed to understand the stars. In the breathless stillness which followed the cry, Dusty Star listened to the quickened beating of his own heart.
Once again, Kiopo howled. This time, he was answered. From the hollow gloom of the forest below there came a deep-toned "woof" that was half a roar.
Dusty Star saw Kiopo immediately stiffen into attention, as he turned his head in the direction of the threatening sound. Owing to his position he could not see what the wolf saw, but Kiopo's attitude told him that he was watching something that had come into sight from among the trees. His whole body was tingling with excitement. He cast all further secrecy aside, and ran towards Kiopo. The wolf turned quickly, and growled. As Dusty Star fully understood, the growl was one of disapproval, not of anger. It said plainly: "You are not wanted. You are very much in the way."
Dusty Star knew, when too late, that this was true. Yet he was glad he had come. Kiopo could not keepthisthing secret, as he had kept others. He would see what was to be seen: whatever the danger was, Kiopo and he would meet it together.
Again Kiopo lifted his voice; but this time it was no weary howl, making melancholy echoes: it was a short, deep bark, like an explosion.
Another "woof," rather higher pitched than the first, rose angrily from below. The enemy had accepted Kiopo's challenge for the fight. A few minutes afterwards, a great, grey timber wolf came stalking down the promontory with the battle-light in his eyes.
As soon as he appeared, Dusty Star realized in a flash that they had met before, and that he was once again face to face with the giant wolf from whose murderous attack Goshmeelee had rescued him. For the Terror of the Carboona, Goshmeelee had been more than a match. But Kiopo, mighty fighter as he was, was not Goshmeelee. As he watched, an awful dread began to creep into Dusty Star's heart.
And now Kiopo prepared for what he knew must come. The first thing he did was to give Dusty Star a butt with his head, which said clearly enough: "Get well out of the way."
Dusty Star was not so foolish as to disobey, knowing well that he could be of little use to Kiopo as soon as the fight began. So he scrambled hastily to the top of a high rock where he could watch what happened without being in danger.
On came the big grey stranger, walking stiffly, his tail waving slowly from side to side. As he advanced, he growled deeply. Kiopo awaited him without moving, every muscle tense, while he measured his enemy's points and probable strength. The Lone Wolf came to a stand, and for a few moments the wolves stood facing each other at the distance of a spring.
Both animals were splendid specimens of their class. What Kiopo wanted in height, little though that was, he made up for in breadth and depth of shoulder and chest. An onlooker would have said that in actual fighting powers, the creatures were almost equally matched, though the chances lay on the side of the stranger. It would be only a close observer of beasts who would have marked not merely the depth of Kiopo's chest, but the greater width of his skull between the eyes.
It was plain that Lone Wolf was in an ugly mood. The hairs along his back stood stiffly, and his eyes gleamed like smouldering brands. In Kiopo he saw the hated rival whose hunting lay so close to the borders of his own range, and whose howling was a nightly challenge to the lordship of Carboona. He was well aware that Kiopo was not a foe to be slighted; but his repeated victories had made him insolent, and in the present instance he was confident of success.
Kiopo too, was in a rage; partly because his right to exist had been challenged by a powerful foe, partly because of the presence of Dusty Star. The mere idea that any harm threatened the Little Brother was more than enough to rouse him to a fury of fighting pitch. Rather than that a hair of the Little Brother should be injured, he would fight to the death. Yet in spite of his anger, he was wary. He had not fought Stickchi in vain. His strong limbs gathered well beneath him, he bided his time.
Suddenly, the Lone Wolf sprang.
Dusty Star caught his breath, and gripped his rock more tightly. The fight had begun!
Kiopo was not caught napping. In a flash he jerked his body sideways, so that Lone Wolf, instead of bearing him down as he had intended, and so gaining the advantage, landed close on his left flank. And although his fangs raked Kiopo's ribs, Kiopo replied at the same instant by a counter slash that ripped his antagonist's shoulder.
The fight had started now in real earnest. It was a wolfish whirlwind of motion. The two enraged animals bounded, slashed, gripped together, tore themselves apart, in a series of movements so lightning-swift as to baffle the eyes. When locked together, sometimes one would be on top, sometimes the other; but their immense strength, and amazing agility, made it impossible for either of them to hold the other down for any length of time. And Lone Wolf soon learnt that, when Kiopo was on his back, his methods were even more to be feared than when he was on his feet; for it was then that his hind quarters came most successfully into play. Those powerful quarters, fully armed with claws, were formidable engines of war when directed against Lone Wolf's stomach. More than once Lone Wolf was forced to loosen his grip upon his foe and tear himself away with a yelp of pain. And each time, like a relentless fury, Kiopo had leaped upon him in a fresh onslaught. Soon, both animals were streaming with blood; yet their many wounds, far from lessening their rage, seemed to make them more madly determined to fight on to the death.
Perched upon his rock, Dusty Star watched the appalling struggle going on immediately below him, with an excitement and a dread that passed all bounds. His close intimacy with wild animals, had taught him that a fight of this sort could only be ended by the death of one or other of the fighters, and his terror naturally was lest Kiopo should not be able to hold his own. He had never known him to fail before; but then never before had he encountered a foe so nearly matched with him in strength. So far, it would not have been possible to say that either wolf had gained any decided advantage over the other, but now Dusty Star observed something which filled him with a new fear. Either by chance or design, the wolves were very much nearer to the edge of the precipice than at the beginning of the fight. Surely, he thought, Kiopo, the always wary one, must have realizedthat? In his frantic anxiety to make sure that he realized, Dusty Star clapped his hands and shouted.
Whether Kiopo understood the warning or not, the sound of Dusty Star's voice seemed to goad him to fresh efforts. The Little Brother had cried. He was fighting for the Little Brother as much as for himself. For a while it seemed as if the Lone Wolf must succumb to the fresh fury of his onslaught. In spite of this, Dusty Star saw with horror that the fight had rolled closer than ever to the edge.
And now it seemed that Kiopo had begun to lose his temporary advantage. Soon it became all too plain that he was steadily losing ground, and was being pushed nearer and nearer to the fatal edge. At last he reached it. In the final struggle for mastery, the wolves, still tearing furiously at each other, seemed poised on the very brink. In another moment, one or other, if not both, must surely be dashed to destruction. Again, in a fever of suspense, Dusty Star held his breath.
And then the thing happened-the amazing thing which, to the latest day of his life, he would never forget!
Just as Kiopo appeared to be pushed to his last foothold, with his hind quarters doubled under him beneath the fatal pressure of his all-but victorious foe, he gathered himself together for a last supreme effort, and the powerful sinews of those compressed hind legs did the work he relied on them to do.
In spite of appearances to the contrary, he had deliberately allowed himself to be pushed to the precipice. There was cunning in him, as well as courage. The breadth between the eyes was beginning to tell. If Dusty Star had been able to guess this, he might have been spared some, at least, of the terror of the last few eventful moments. What he actually saw wasthis—a violent movement throughout the whole of Kiopo's body; a mighty upward urge that lifted his enemy clean off his feet; then, a swift sideways wrench of his powerful neck and shoulders; and the heave of a dark body over the precipice edge.
With a thrill of unutterable relief, Dusty Star realized that the body which went crashing to its doom was not Kiopo's!
He sprang down from his rock, wild with exultant joy, Kiopo was safe! Kiopo had won! The great fight was over, and Kiopo was the victor.
He rushed to the wolf, but in the very moment of throwing his arms about him, stopped. For, in spite of his overwhelming delight, his wilderness wisdom did not forsake him. He realized that Kiopo was too badly wounded to be touched.
The wolf lay on his side, bleeding from a dozen wounds. He took his breath in panting gasps that were almost sobs. It went to the boy's heart to hear the struggle for air, for life itself; yet for the moment he was helpless. If he had had a wound himself, he possessed sufficient Indian medical knowledge to treat it with healing herbs and bind it up. But with the wolf it was altogether different. Kiopo could not have borne bandages, even if Dusty Star had had them to apply. The only remedies possible were three: rest, Nature, and his own wolfish tongue. This Dusty Star knew quite well. All he dared to do was to kneel on the ground beside Kiopo while he gazed into his eyes, and made a murmuring medicine-talk with his mouth. And it needed no explanation to tell the wolf that all the love in the Little Brother's heart was flooding out through his eyes and mouth. He could not have borne the Little Brother's hand just then, tender though its touch would have been. But he was grateful for the medicine-talk of the Little Brother's Mouth; and the Little Brother's eyes comforted him: they seemed to lick him like soothing tongues.
For the rest of that night, and far into the next morning Kiopo lay where he was, licking his wounds. When the sun began to beat down upon the promontory, he dragged himself painfully into the shadows of the rocks, and remained there for the rest of the day. Dusty Star went in search of water and found a spring half-way down the gorge. By making a cup of a broad leaf of skunk cabbage, he was able to carry back a little water, which Kiopo eagerly drank. He had to make the journey many times, because no matter how cunningly he twisted the leaf, the pitcher would find a way of leaking; and although he always started with it as full as it would hold, it was more than half empty by the time it reached Kiopo's parched tongue.
There was another thing which Dusty Star found besides the spring. Down at the precipice foot, not far from the spot where the skunk cabbage grew, he came upon a large grey body which had broken its neck upon the rocks. And he knew for a certainty that the Terror of the Carboona would hunt on his range no more.
Nature, the great Mother of Healing, did her work. With her help, two nights and a day of rest and licking, and the cool water the Little Brother brought, enabled Kiopo gradually to regain his strength. Great was Dusty Star's joy, when, on the second morning after the fight, he saw Kiopo struggle to his feet and move slowly towards the forest.
They travelled slowly, but, in spite of that, reached home before sundown, while high over their heads, the tall tops of the spruces loitered in the golden light. Never had the valley looked more peaceful than on this still evening of early Fall. The restlessness which had waxed with the waxing of the moon, seemed to have departed from it on furtive feet beyond Carboona to the great Shuswap lake where the heavy waters rest. Yet the valley was not so deserted as it looked. For just as they came in sight of the camp, a large body was seen to move slowly away. Kiopo saw it, but did not growl. He recognized it as that of the old she-bear.
When Goshmeelee became aware of the travellers, she did not quicken her steps. Why should she? She never hurried unless folks worried her. She made a special point of living very slowly. It suited her digestion, and she usually had a great deal to digest. So instead of departing in a fluster, she sat down heavily in order to contemplate them at her ease.
"Been fighting," she said to herself, as soon as she had taken note of Kiopo, but she was too polite, or too lazy, to put it into speech.
Kiopo observed her out of the corner of his eye, walking past with great dignity, as much as to say that she needn't pityhim. She was a very feminine bear, and he was a very masculine wolf. She took up more room in the world than he did, and had a wider way when she sat down. If it had not been for the Little Brother, he could do without her in a world where the bear-folk and the wolf-folk do not mix. But the Little Brother carried confusion with him. He seemed brother to half the forest. He made acquaintances right and left. If you made a kill, you could never be sure that the Little Brother would not make a fuss because you had killed one of his folk!
If the Little Brother's way got general, all the world would become brothers, and there would be nothing left to kill.
Dusty Star went up to the old bear joyfully, and gave her a playful push.
"We've come back," he said.
Goshmeelee grunted, as much as to say that she had already perceived the fact.
"Say you're glad!" Dusty Star said, shaking her thick coat.
Goshmeelee gave a second grunt, which might mean anything, or nothing. She did not feel she had any cause for special thankfulness. But she looked at her tormentor with such a grave expression that he felt uncomfortable. Goshmeelee's way was to make you feel she had things to say before she said them.
"I am very glad to be back," Dusty Star said, pretending he hadn't noticed anything odd in Goshmeelee's manner.
There was a pause. Then Goshmeelee asked him suddenly:
"Will you be glad to go?"
"Go? But we have only just come back!" he exclaimed.
"In Carboona there are many comings and goings," Goshmeelee said vaguely. "One does not always remain."
"But why should I go?" Dusty Star asked earnestly; for his curiosity was now fully roused.
Goshmeelee swayed a little, and grunted, which meant that thereasonfor his going was hidden fromher.
"But we have come back to stay always," Dusty Star said uneasily. "Has anything happened since we have been away?"
"Strange feet are walking," the bear replied darkly. "In the forest there is a new trail."
What the trail told, where, by whom made, Goshmeelee would not say. All Dusty Star's utmost efforts were useless to induce her to throw any further light on her mysterious remarks. When she had stared at him for a little longer, in an aggravating dumbness, she dropped down on her front feet, and lumbered gently away.
Many moons had come and gone since Dusty Star and Kiopo disappeared into the West. To those who asked questions, none made answer. That was partly because the folk who knew were not asked. The folk who knew, not being asked, kept that knowledge to themselves. Baltook could have told; Boola also. Goshmeelee herself was a storehouse of information. But none of these were likely to travel hundreds of miles east to carry news to those who did not come to them. Even Lone Chief himself, popularly supposed to know all things, if only he could be persuaded to tell them, did not know.
One evening, in late summer, an Indian came riding into camp. He had ridden fast and far, and his pony was exhausted. He brought disquieting news. The Yellow Dogs, their deadly enemies, were gathering in the North. The Sarcees, allies of the Yellow Dogs, were also on the war-path. Trouble would come from the north, even before the wild geese.
Hastily the old Chief, Spotted Eagle, summoned a gathering of the braves. But first he sent an urgent message to Lone Chief. And Lone Chief, already knowing of the threatening danger, came. So when Spotted Eagle made a solemn speech of few words but very packed with information, Lone Chief was not surprised. How did he know?... In the vast solitudes of the North West, long before Telegraph wires were invented, news travelled in peculiarly wireless ways along the fine waves of the air for those whose minds were the right sort of receivers. And Lone Chief had that sort of mind which was always receiving. But though he came, he sat in silence at the meeting, and let other people talk. And not till every one else had spoken, some suggesting one thing, and some another, did Lone Chief open the outside of his mouth and astonish his hearers with the inside of his mind.
"You will never be able to defeat the Yellow Dogs without the strong medicine," he said. "The strong medicine departed from you, when you drove Dusty Star's wolf into the west. Dusty Star and his wolf are a powerful medicine. You have none left to you which is as strong as theirs. Unless they bring it back to you, you will lose your scalps to the Yellow Dogs."
After Lone Chief had ceased speaking, great astonishment filled his audience; yet because it was Lone Chief who had said the marvellous thing, they were forced to believe it, even against their will.
But when Spotted Eagle and the rest of the company had discussed the matter very gravely, and had solemnly asked him on behalf of the whole tribe, to find Dusty Star, and beg him to come back, Lone Chief shook his head, and swept his hand towards the West.
"Out there," he said, "is the land of the buffalo; and beyond the land of the buffalo, is the land of the timber-wolves, and the country of the Cariboo. Dusty Star might have stayed with the buffalo; but the wolf would seek his own kindred; and the wolf-kindred make long journeys on the trails of the Cariboo. How do I know that they have not taken a trail—Dusty Star and the Wolf? And the journeying Cariboo have a thousand trails to the great Lake of the sunset where all trails have an end."
Yet though Lone Chief spoke so discouragingly, throwing whole prairies along his tongue, to show the difficulty of finding what had once disappeared into them, he knew in his heart that the Chief would still believe him capable of finding Dusty Star. And so when Spotted Eagle again urged him earnestly to go out into the West to recover the lost medicine, Lone Chief shook his head despondingly, but nevertheless promised to go.
The next morning, very early, anxiously watching eyes saw the famous medicine man issue from his tepee, and travel steadily westward, till the enormous distances of the prairie swallowed him up.
Fortunately for Lone Chief, he was accustomed to long journeys. But whereas, in the journeys he was used to making, he went for no particular reason except that the great distances had made a nest in his brain and kept chirping there like birds, the present journey he was taking for a very big reason, firmly believing that unless he could find Dusty Star a terrible fate must fall upon his tribe.
Day after day, he travelled west, on and on towards the sunset-place, deeper and deeper into the heart of the old buffalo land. And he saw the great herds of buffalo, thousands and thousands of them, more than man could count; because it was a time long and long ago before the White Man had become Lord of the prairie, and the freight cars had thundered their cotton-goods and kerosene along the iron trails of the Middle West.
But Lone Chief did not waste his time among the buffalo, because he knew that Dusty Star would not be there, that it was only in the timber-wolf country that he would have a chance to come upon him, if he had not already started for the land of the Cariboo. But if you think that Lone Chief went wandering into the foothills all by chance, you are mistaken, for he had a way of doing things quite his own. And his way was this: To listen out for the news that is always passing through the wilderness though it is never printed, nor do they shout it from the tops of the trees. For if anything strange or dangerous has lately gone along the trails, word of it goes abroad, and the wild creatures flash the message to each other without a sound.
For a long time, Lone Chief did not get any news. Then one day, towards sunset, he caught a thin strand of a message as it drifted through the trees. Thin though it was, Lone Chief read it. It told him that Something had happened lately—for all he knew, might bestillhappening—along the secret trails.
For a long time after receiving the message. Lone Chief stood perfectly still. His eyes and his ears were not the only parts of him working: he used his nose, too, like the animals, in case the thing might have spilled a little of itself into the wind. Yet though he looked and listened and smelt, he got no certain information as to what the thing was. He was now less than half-a-day's journey from Carboona, and might reasonably be supposed to be within hail of some of its folk; but darkness closed down before he could get sight or wind of them, and because it was night, he lay down, sensibly, and went to sleep.
He was awake very early in the morning, at the hour when forest people smell the dawn before they see it. For a time, he lay still flat on his back, gazing up into the old darkness of the trees where the twilight was beginning. That was his way of learning the things that come to you if you do not walk about. And as he lay, it came to him clearer and clearer that he was near the end of his journey. And out of sight, with faint rustlings and fine foot-falls, the hunting-beasts came back along the trails. Yet Lone Chief never moved. As he lay there, wrapped in his elk-skin-robe, he might had been a log. And no eyes saw him, and only one nose smelt him, and that belonged to Baltook, the silver fox.
Now Baltook's acquaintance with Dusty Star had taught him the human smell. It had also taught him another thing: that things which smell like that are not necessarily enemies, and may possibly be friends. So instead of turning tail immediately, Baltook drew cautiously nearer, so that his eyes might complete the information which had been given to him by his nose. Nearer and nearer he came, setting each paw delicately down on the fir needles, so that not a whisper of sound gave warning of his approach. As forseeinghim, one would have needed sharp eyes for that, as the black robe with the frosted surface made itself part of the darkness of the trees.
And yet for all Baltook's cunning, and delicately treading, Lone Chief knew that something was stealthily drawing near. In spite of that, he made no movement. Was not his hunting knife at his belt; and his bow and arrows within reach of his arm? And was he not prepared for whatever might happen? So he simply obeyed the law of the forest: Lie still!
When the silver-powdered robe was within a dozen feet of him, Lone Chief slowly turned his head. The movement was so quiet that Baltook was not startled. Only with eyes, ears and nose, he drank in everything that was to be known of Lone Chief by that method. And Lone Chief looked straight into the shining eyes of the fox. And though he asked no questions, and got no answers in the ordinary sense, he learned something that told him what he most wanted to know. And when at last Baltook, having gratified his curiosity, turned on his tracks and disappeared softly through the trees, Lone Chief noted the way he went, and followed in the same direction.
He had not gone very far before he came upon a big black body sitting in an open place, rocking itself gently to and fro. Lone Chief waited a little, and then came up-wind very slowly. And because he came up-wind, Goshmeelee did not smell his coming, but went on rocking peacefully, as if that was the only common-sense way of being happy in the world. In these early Fall days, Goshmeelee often amused herself in this way. The rocking helped her to feel the comfort of her large body all the better—to get closer to herself, as it were, and feel good and pleasant down to her very toes. Lone Chief watched her for some time, without moving, and then came slowly forward till he stood within six feet of the old bear's nose.
Goshmeelee stopped rocking, and fixed her little black eyes upon him in amazement. She had grown used to Dusty Star, whose comings and goings did not upset her in the least; but to be suddenly confronted by the same sort of animal in a larger size was distinctly disturbing when one wasn't expecting it.
Lone Chief and Goshmeelee went on looking at each other for some time, and never said a word. But Lone Chief knew by the look in her eyes that she had seen something like him before, andsheknew perfectly well, by the look inhis, that this wasn't the first time he had come upon a bear. And another thing was, that they each of them knew they had nothing to fear from the other. So, after a little time, Lone Chief turned away quietly and Goshmeelee watched him vanish among the trees.
And now Lone Chief felt that he was not far away from the thing that Baltook knew, and the thing which Goshmeelee knew likewise; and the further he went, the nearer he came to it, though as yet it was out of sight behind the spruces and the pines. Suddenly, upon the very edge of Carboona, he came upon it and his journey was at an end.
Two days after Goshmeelee's strange warning, Dusty Star had gone down to the spring to drink. As he raised his head, he caught a glimpse of the tall figure coming through the trees. His heart gave a jump, lest it should be one of the dreaded Yellow Dogs; but when, almost directly afterwards he recognized the famous medicine-man, he went boldly forward to meet him.
They looked at each other silently for a little, and then in a very few words, Lone Chief explained why he had come. When he had finished, Dusty Star shook his head.
"I cannot come," he said. "And if I did, what could I do? Besides, I would not come without Kiopo. And they wished to kill Kiopo. That is why we left my people—so that Kiopo should not die."
"But that is many moons ago," Lone Chief said. "They do not want to kill Kiopo now. I have told them that he is the Medicine Wolf, and that those who would destroy him are the enemies of the tribe."
"They hated us!" Dusty Star replied quickly. "They would hate us still, only that you have told them we can be of use!"
As he spoke, his eyes shone. It was not a good shining. He, too, had learnt to hate.
In vain Lone Chief explained, argued, protested. Dusty Star stood his ground. In spite of all the Medicine-man could say, he refused absolutely to come. Lone Chief was annoyed at the boy's firmness, but he was also surprised. In the interval since he had last seen him, it was only too plain that the boy had learnt many things; among others, he had learnt to be a man.
It was a long time before Lone Chief gave up the attempt to bring the boy to a more reasonable frame of mind. He stayed all day. At nightfall he made his camp beside Dusty Star's. At dawn he was still there, ready, with an Indian's doggedness to begin the argument all over again. But in the morning, something happened. Kiopo came back.
He had been out hunting, and as soon as he set his eyes on Lone Chief, he showed his teeth in a threatening snarl.
By this time the wolf had every reason to distrust human beings. Dusty Star was the one great exception. In the Indian before him, Kiopo saw an enemy. If Dusty Star had not held him back, he would have flown at him.
And the wolf's return seemed to make the boy all the firmer in his refusal. Faced by the pair of them, Lone Chief realized at last that he was powerless. He knew that he would be forced to return to the tribe, and confess the failure of his mission. Whatever the coveted wolf-medicine might perform, it was not for them. They had lost it in the moons. And in spite of his great wisdom, and his ancient cunning, he was uneasy. He felt that he was in the presence of a great and peculiar power. In all of his wide experience he had never come across anything like it before. There was something about the wolf that seemed more than the mere animal. There was something in Dusty Star that seemed uncannily related to the wolves. He was relieved when at length he turned from the camp, and found himself out of sight of it once more, among the endless ranks of the trees.
The Maple leaves were yellowing in the Fall. The hollow seed-cups of the wild parsley were turning old and grey. Up the slopes of the northern buttes, the shumack flared like a shout of flame. Over a thousand leagues of prairie the days carried the warmth and stillness of that mysterious season called the Indian Summer; but the nights had cold in them, and the middle sky had voices. For the geese were coming now—driving out of the north in great arrow-heads of flight—and the nightwind passed with a dry whisper, like the running of antelope through dead grasses, over a thousand leagues.
The camp of Dusty Star's people was feverishly astir. The air was filled with rumours. Scouts coming from the north-east brought disquieting tidings. There was a great movement among the Yellow Dogs. Scattered bands were coming in daily to join the main body. It could mean only one thing—the gathering for the final attack.
And still Lone Chief did not come back.
Day after day, scouts watched from the summit of Look-out Bluff, scanning the western prairie eagerly for signs of the returning Medicine-man. Day after day, they returned with heavy faces to the anxiously waiting tribe.
And as the days passed, the rumours grew more black. The Senakals were in movement now. They were allies of the Yellow Dogs, related to them by ties of blood. The Senakals were a powerful tribe. If they joined forces with the Yellow Dogs, the strength of the enemy would be enormously increased.
It was late October now, or, as the Indians named the season, When-the-Geese-fly-South. In the rich meadows along the Wide-Water river, the bunch-grass was very long, and on the slopes of the eastern hills the huckleberries were large and ripe. But no Indian ponies grazed in the meadows now, having been brought closer into camp: for fear of a hostile raid; nor, in the early morning or late evening, were any parties of squaws to be seen out on the prairies, going to the hills, or returning with baskets full of fruit.
Among all the families in the camp, that of Dusty Star was the most disturbed. His parents had always hoped that, sooner or later, he would come back. His mother, especially, had grieved for his absence, and had looked anxiously for his return. It was a pity, she said, they had not taken his part about Kiopo. Only then, who could possibly have foreseen that all this medicine power which Lone Chief made so much of would be discovered in the wolf? But, even so, she thought, they might have been kinder to Dusty Star himself, and have tried more fully to understand his feelings for the wolf. And after all, was it not his father who had presented him with the creature in the beginning, when it was nothing but a little compact bundle of fat and fur, not yet very steady on its legs? She was now quite clear in her own mind that they had been decidedly to blame. Day after day, she waited anxiously for tidings of Lone Chief, and, as night after night brought no news of his whereabouts, her anxiety grew.
The only person who clung stubbornly to her old opinions was Sitting-Always. But that was only to be expected, since she was so very like her name. Once the mind of the old squaw had laid an opinion, she would sit on it like a broody hen, till it went addled in her head. She had never really liked Dusty Star, and she had always hated the wolf. If the wolfhada medicine (which, for her part, she very much doubted) as everybody said, she had made up her mind that it was a bad medicine, and could not help the tribe. As a protest against all this nonsense about the wolf, she painted her face with an extra coat of yellow, and sat in a bad temper at the door of her tepee.
Things were in this state, when, one morning early, a scout came into camp. He brought alarming tidings. He had rashly crossed the border of the Yellow Dog country, and had been seen and chased. Fortunately his pony was a very swift one, and he had reached the Wide-Water river in time to swim across, and so escape. All day he had lain hidden in the willow thickets of the southern bank, and had only dared to leave them after dark. He said that his pursuers were in advance of a large body of Indians who were camped to the north-west of the Sokomix hills.
Instantly Spotted Eagle ordered a strong war-party to start off, in order to meet the advance guard of the enemy, and, if possible, drive them back. Dusty Star's father, Running Wolf, as one of the leading braves, was a member of the party.
At sundown, a solitary Indian came galloping into camp. He was the bearer of terrible news. The war-party had encountered the enemy, and had given battle shortly after noon; but, owing to the fact that the Yellow Dogs greatly outnumbered them, they had been defeated and finally put to flight. But in spite of their victory he did not know whether they would continue their advance immediately or not. It was best to be prepared for the worst.
When the news became known, panic seized the camp. Terrified squaws ran from tepee to tepee, uttering shrill screams and tearing their hair. To their cries were added the neighing of ponies driven into camp, the barking of huskies, and the beating of drums.
During the evening, the remainder of the defeated war-party returned. Fully a third of its members were missing. Among the missing was Running Wolf.
Nikana did not run, nor scream. She walked restlessly up and down in front of her tepee, holding Blue Wings closely in her arms, and filled with a horrible fear.
The night which followed the defeat was one of terrible anxiety. With the exception of the children and the animals, hardly any one slept. From moment to moment no one could say what might happen. If their enemies were already in the neighbourhood, they might attack at any instant. People wandered aimlessly about, or squatted at the entrances of the tepees, listening uneasily to the slightest sound, even if it were nothing more than the howling of some distant coyote far off upon the prairie that set every ear straining lest it should be an Indian signal for the gathering to attack. And when, at long intervals, a flock of wild geese would approach with shrill, honking call out of the vast darkness of the North, the cry seemed to carry evil tidings of their approaching doom. When the first streaks of dawn brightened above the Eastern hills, a feeling of relief passed through the camp that, if the dreaded attack were indeed preparing, at least it would not be launched under cover of the dark.
And with the dawn, came a sudden ray of hope. From Look-out butte a scout came galloping into camp. Far to the south-west several Indians had been sighted. It was almost certain that Lone Chief was one of them.
The news ran through the camp like wild-fire. But was Dusty Star coming too? Or, if not of the party, would it be found that he was following with the wolf? The excitement and suspense were tremendous. People crowded to the western side of the camp, some even going out to wards Look-out butte in order to be the earliest to receive the fateful news.
They had not long to wait. Soon the little party was seen rounding the southern slope of the hill. And Lone Chief was indeed one of the party. He had fallen in with them on his homeward route, a day's journey from the camp. But he came without either Dusty Star or the wolf. And when at last he had arrived, and in a few short words had announced the failure of his mission, a feeling of gloom that was almost despair spread over the whole tribe.
In vain Spotted Eagle, and some of the other chiefs, attempted to give them fresh courage. The deep superstition of the Indian mind had settled darkly upon them. If the wolf-medicine did not come, they said, it showed clearly that the Great Spirit had refused to give them protection.
After that, things went from bad to worse. And although the day went by without any fresh signs of the enemy's approach, the camp was filled with disquieting rumours, and gave itself up more and more to the despondency of fear.
Another night of suspense passed, and still there were no signs. Hope began to rise that the Yellow Dogs, in spite of their victory, had suffered so severely that they would not dare to attack the main camp. It was possible that some of their allies had failed at the last moment. And then, just as the feeling began to be general, the new hope was dashed to the ground by the news that the enemy was again in motion and was moving rapidly south in force.
If it had not been for the courage and coolness of Spotted Eagle and Lone Chief, the tribe would have been thrown into a state of more hopeless desperation than before; but they summoned all the chiefs together and gave them the command of strong parties which should post themselves on the outskirts of the camp, in order to show the enemy that they were fully prepared to do battle without waiting for the attack upon the camp itself. Orders were also given that no fires were to be lighted if the enemy did not appear before nightfall. Scouting parties were then to be sent far out on the northern prairie so as to prevent all possibility of a surprise attack.
The afternoon passed into evening. The short-lived northern twilight darkened swiftly down the prairies, and it was night. And above, in the enormous hollow of the sky, the stars glittered like many camp-fires, and ever and again the flocks of travelling voices came honking out of the north, and filled the silence with a wandering cry.
After Lone Chief had left him in order to carry his refusal back to the tribe, Dusty Star was not happy in his mind. Wherever he went, whatever he did, the vague unhappiness went with him. The forest was the same; the creatures were the same, and yet, somehow nothing was quite as it had been before. Even Carboona, that colossal Sameness, seemed to hold something uneasy sitting in its heart. In vain he went and sat on his favorite look-out places above the runways, and secretly observed the coming and going of stealthy feet. Equally in vain was the long conversation he had with Goshmeelee, who gave him her views about the increasing difficulty of finding grubs in the cedar swamp, and the other important matters.
And the growing unhappiness of the boy was shared by the wolf, who now ceased to make long expeditions and did his hunting nearer camp.
When once Dusty Star had convinced himself that he had done wrong in refusing to help his people, he did not waste any time in making up his mind. He would go back. He would follow Lone Chief along the vast distances that lay out there to the east. But he would not go alone. Where he went, Kiopo should go too. They would carry the medicine between them that should bring deliverance to his tribe. But first he must say good-bye to his friends, whom he might not see for a very long time, if indeed he ever saw them again. Out there in the east many things might happen. And Baltook and Goshmeelee would not be there to understand.
It was with a heavy heart that he climbed up to the den of the Silver Fox. To his great disappointment, he found that Baltook was not at home. Boola was, however, and the family. Without saying a word to her, he made Boola understand. She gazed at him with a look in her eyes which said as plainly as any expression could: "Don't do it!"
Dusty Star stroked her glossy fur affectionately, and felt the heaviness sit heavier in his heart. And then, because the shadows were lengthening, he went slowly down the hill. And far above him, in the golden silences, Boola lifted her voice and howled.
With Goshmeele the case was different.Shedid not content herself with merely looking. She told him very plainly that he was a fool to go. Even if grubs were scarce, she said, there were fat frogs by the stream borders, and the berries were not yet over, if you were energetic enough to search for them, and knew where to look. Dusty Star explained that it was not a question of food, but of feeling. To which Goshmeelee replied that foodwasfeeling, and that a stomach without plenty of berries in it was a feeling that could keep you from going to sleep. She either couldn't or wouldn't understand that there was such a thing as duty. But shedidunderstand that what Dusty Star had in his mind meant a deal of exercise; and that a lot of walking walked the meat clean off your bones. "Stay here and get fat," was her unalterable opinion as to the best thing to do. And when she found that Dusty Star was obstinate, she growled at him in affectionate remonstrance, and let him dig his hands into the deep places of her fur. And the good healthy smell of her warm bearishness tickled his nose, and made him feel at home, and inclined to keep hidden in Carboona from all the worry and tongue-wagging of the stormy Indian world.
But then the memory of Lone Chief, and of the strong things he had said, came to him, and teased his brain even more than the smell of Goshmeelee tickled his nose.
So, without any more argument with her, he got up, and ran away quickly till he was hidden among the trees. And after he was gone, Goshmeelee watched the way he had disappeared, and then began solemnly to lick the places where he had disarranged her fur.
After leaving her, Dusty Star did not return to camp. Once he had started to say good-bye, meant with him that the departure had already begun. There was no need to go back for Kiopo. Before leaving he had made the wolf clearly understand that they were going upon a long journey; also, that although he expected him to remain near at hand, he did not wish him to be too close while he paid his good-bye visits to the foxes and the bear. And Kiopo did what was expected of him, and kept discreetly out of sight.
So now, Dusty Star went on swiftly through the forest, not in the least doubting that, although Kiopo was out of sight, he was within earshot in case of need, and that the great pads of his feet carried him softly along the trail.
When the last glimmer of twilight departed, Dusty Star camped for the night. The camping was very simple. It only meant finding a sheltered place among the tree-roots, eating some of the food he had brought with him, and settling himself for sleep. And as he settled down, he felt rather than saw the big wolf-shape that stole softly into camp and lay down within reach of his arm.
In spite of their journey having begun, the travellers lay still within the edges of Carboona—the strange and lonely land. Voices out of Carboona travelled to them darkly, at long intervals, like voices of departing and farewell. There was the far-off bark of a fox, signalling to its mate; or the dreary hooting of an owl. But Dusty Star slept soundly, and if the voices reached him, it was only in his dreams. Once only he woke, and that was not because of a sound, but of a touch. A cold nose touched his cheek. Instantly he was wide-awake, thinking it was Kiopo warning him of some danger. But the wolf was sleeping where he had lain down, and had not stirred. Dusty Star waited expectantly. But though he kept absolutely still, his mysterious visitor made no other sign. Once only a twig cracked faintly under the pressure of a stealthy foot; but the darkness was too dense for Dusty Star to detect the secret movement of the black robe with the silver tips, as it drifted softly away. But long, long afterwards, when countless moons had come and gone, Dusty Star, remembering, was sure that it was Baltook who had brought his cold nose to him as a token of farewell.
The morning song of little Kilooleet, the white-throated sparrow, was already trickling through the maple leaves, when the travellers started again upon their way. As on their first coming into the region, so now, at their departing, the small grey people in the underground doorways watched the great shapes furtively, and made disturbed noises at each other after they were gone. And in the little damp corridors, where the darkness was twisty because of many roots, the tiny feet pattered nervously, and the tiny whiskers twitched.
From the summit of a bare-topped hill, up which they had been mounting slowly from the lower forest levels, Dusty Star paused for the first time to look back. There, in the distance, with the morning mists lying in white streaks along its sides, rose the great heights of Carboona against the autumn sky. Would he ever see it again—or was he gazing at its shining peaks and precipices for the last time? A dim fear of the unknown crept into him—of the unseen things that lay in wait behind him in the world. And Carboona had become, in a strange manner, his home—his wolf-home, where, with Kiopo, he had learned those forgotten secrets which are the medicine of the wolves. And now they were looking at it together perhaps for the last time! As he turned away, to continue his journey, his eyes were troubled as if they were seeking an unfamiliar trail.
Between the forest and the prairies lay a tract of broken country full of ravines and rocky hills. It was a barren, treeless region, where the water-courses dried up in the summer, or shrank to muddy pools. With the exception of a few rabbits and prairie dogs, game was scarce. Now and then a wolf or coyote would wander across its barren buttes, scenting the hungry air; but usually retreating with stomachs as light as when they entered it. During the greater part of the year, the larger animals gave it a wide berth. Indians avoided it also. They called it the Bad Lands. But in spite of its reputation among the human kind, the beasts had their uses for it at certain times of the year. It had seen many a fierce battle when the wolves and coyotes followed the mating call. The Wild Kin made their marriages there, but mostly settled their breeding haunts far enough away. It was not a good place to be born in. But animals hunted to the death, or those whose limbs were stiffened with old age, knew in some mysterious way that they could crawl there to die.
But a use that was neither for mating nor dying, was one of which even the Indians knew very little, and the reason for which even the Wild Kin itself was in the dark.
Hunters crossing the borders of the Bad Lands in the late Summer or the Fall, would sometimes stop to listen to a sound that rose, and died, and swelled again, in strange discords that set Indian pulses throbbing in an uncomfortable way. Sometimes the sound would seem to be a series of single notes, from a solitary voice. At others, the notes crowded thickly together as if from a multitude of throats. Indians who were deeply religious declared that it was the wolves making medicine, when the Great Spirit walked across the Bad Lands at the falling of the year.
Dusty Star and Kiopo reached this haunted region just at sundown. The great bare buttes stood up redly in the sunset light. The deep stillness was unbroken by the slightest sound. As far as the eye could reach there was not a sign of a living thing. They had travelled steadily all day since early dawn, and Dusty Star was glad to rest. He still had some food left over from the previous day, the fruits of Kiopo's hunting, so he had only to look out for a convenient spot for camping, and settle down for the night. As soon as he had found one near a small spring, Kiopo went off. That was nothing extraordinary, Dusty Star watched him lift his nose to try the air, and then trot quietly down the creek bed to the south. He knew by his movements that he was off to hunt.
After he had finished his supper, Dusty Star lay down in the place he had chosen, and dropped instantly to sleep. He seemed to have been asleep a long time when he woke suddenly to find Kiopo standing over him in the moonlight. The wolf was plainly uneasy. He was making the half-whining, half-growling sound which was always a sign that something unusual was taking place.
Dusty Star sat up, and looked about him. In the intense clearness of the cloudless night every object was distinctly visible. The buttes stood out in huge silver masses, washed by the light of the moon. Their hollows and ravines were deep in shadow; but neither in light nor shadow was there anything which gave sign of life. Yet Dusty Star felt as if, in spite of the apparent stillness, sound had lately travelled through the air. The silence was not empty.
As he listened, he heard a long wolf-howl rise and fall in the distance. It had scarcely died away when it was followed by another, and then another. Then a whole chorus of howls filled the night with a loud and desolate clamour. At once he knew what he was listening to. It was the singing of the Wolves.
He listened for some time, shivering a little in spite of himself. He was not afraid. But he was deeply stirred. Something in him answered to the wolf voices. Kiopo's uneasiness had communicated itself to him also. He could not explain it. He felt as if he were inside Kiopo's mind; rather, that they shared one mind, and that the soul of the wolf-world was calling to it.
With one accord, they set off in the direction of the cries.
The sound came from the eastward. But, owing to the broken nature of the country, it seemed sometimes to come from every side at once. In that hollow land, full of echoes, the ears were not always the safest guides. But Kiopo did not travel by ear alone. His nose quested the distances. It met the things that went walking in the wind. And surer even than his nose was the Wisdom of the Wild Things, which was an extra sense to him, and which mankind has put to sleep with its making of machines. So he trotted steadily east without being bewildered by the echoes, and Dusty Star followed, confident in his lead.
They came at last to the foot of a big butte, which Kiopo immediately began to ascend. The cries were very clear now. The moonlit air was filled with a chorus of high-pitched, vibrating sounds. As they climbed, Dusty Star noticed that they did not mount alone. He counted no fewer than four other wolves, besides Kiopo, moving swiftly up the hill. If he saw them, Kiopo paid no attention. Even when one of them drew a little closer than the others, he did not attempt to drive it off. And the low growl that rumbled in his throat seemed a recognition rather than a threat.
At the top of the hill, they came upon a wide, open space. Dusty Star saw to his wonder that it was crowded with wolves. They formed a wide, irregular circle, composed of single animals, and of little groups of five or six. In the centre of the circle sat a large wolf by himself. The remarkable thing about him was not his size, but his colour, which was pure white. With the moonlight full upon him, it almost seemed as if his coat itself gave out light.
As soon as Dusty Star and Kiopo joined the circle, the howling suddenly ceased. The wolves were uneasy. It was plain that they regarded the newcomers with suspicion, if not with enmity. Kiopo would have passed muster, but his companion was certainly anything but a wolf. One or two of the nearer wolves raised their hackles and growled. The rest maintained a grim silence. And the silence was not re-assuring. Dusty Star had the uncomfortable feeling that the pack were merely waiting for some signal, which, whenever it was given, would be an order to attack. In such a case he knew he must leave Kiopo to take whatever course was wisest. They were in the wolf-world now. The law of the man-world did not hold. The part that was so strangely wolf within him, knew that it must submit to the law of the pack, or pay the penalty of death. He watched Kiopo anxiously. Whatever Kiopo did within the next few moments would decide their fate. The silence grew terrible in its stillness. After their first restless movements the wolves were motionless, waiting for the sign.
It was then that Kiopo acted on the sudden impulse of an instinct that told him what to do. Very slowly and deliberately he made his way through the ring of wolves towards the place where the white wolf sat.
As his great body detached itself from the ring, and emerged to full view into the open space, the waiting wolves realized at once that they had before them a born leader, one of the Great Ones of the packs. Hitherto, the big white wolf had had no rival. His sway was recognized over a range of wide extent to the north-west. None had ever dared to dispute his overlordship. Far and near his fame had travelled as the white wolf-king of the north.
Yet here was an animal, who, in point of mere size stood even higher at the shoulders than the white giant. A hundred pairs of gleaming eyes glared at the intruder with a hostile light.
With his own eyes shining, and every hair on his body bristling, so as to make him seem even larger than he was, Kiopo advanced steadily towards the leader. The White wolf rose from his haunches, growling low. He, too, bristled, as if in resentment at the intrusion. With a common impulse, the pack edged nearer, waiting expectantly for the coming fight.
Dusty Star, meanwhile, remained where he was on the outer circle of the ring, motionless as a stone, for he had received a sign from Kiopo, warning him to stay behind.
Fear clutched at his heart, and made his pulses throb, but it was not fear for himself. The dread was for Kiopo, lest he should do something rash. In single combat he was not afraid of the result, even with the white wolf for an adversary. But with the pack in their present temper, Dusty Star knew that a single fight would not long be possible. With the fine sense that felt the wolfish mind about him, he knew that, at the first smell of blood, all control would vanish, and that even though Kiopo was the most magnificent fighter in the world, his fate would be sealed.
Hardly daring to breathe, he watched the two wolves draw closer in the centre of the ring. Now they were within a few feet of each other.
He prepared himself for the sudden leap, the lightning slash, the jagged rip, the manoeuvering for the deadly ham-stringing which meant the beginning of the end.
It was one of those great moments in which anything might happen, and when the merest accident might decide. Dusty Star was fully aware that the lives of Kiopo and himself hung trembling in the balance.
Bristling with excitement, the wolves drew nearer in. And still, rigid and motionless, Kiopo and the White Wolf faced each other with defiance in their eyes.
Suddenly there was a sound, half-howl, half-cry, and in the tense moment something seemed to snap. Partly running, partly leaping, with his body crouched, Dusty Star, as he gave tongue, flung himself into the centre of the ring.
The White Wolf bared his teeth and snarled with his eyes upon him. Kiopo also started in astonishment. Was the Little Brother gone mad?
If what followed was madness, it was the most amazing madness the wolves had ever seen. Leaping, bending, running, turning his body in every direction, Dusty Star danced a wolf-dance the like of which the Bad Lands had never known. What mysterious impulse at the very last moment, and in the nick of time, had suddenly come upon him, and taught him what to do, he could have told no more than the wild creatures themselves. And as he danced, he barked short sharp wolf-notes that stabbed the air like knives.
They watched him. He wanted them to watch. They had never seen a human being dance the wolf-dance before; nor were they likely to again. It was the wolf-dance, and yet it was not the wolf-dance. It was something more. What the something more was, Dusty Star himself could not have explained. But he knew that the power that was secretly hidden within him was coming out. It was that strange thing which had been with him as a child, and which, during the long days and nights in the Carboona, had grown stronger moon by moon.