He danced now, as he had danced once before in his grandmother's tepee when she had been ill. There were the same wild antics; the same cunning movements of his feet and hands. Only then he had danced as a splendid joke. Now, he did it seriously, as a thing that mattered enormously: he danced with his very soul.
And as he danced, apparently oblivious of everything except his own movements, he felt the wolf-mind surge towards him, like waters under the wind.
They were coming! They were coming! The wolf-tide was rising within him, without him. The moon drew it, the dance, the wild notes that sobbed and gasped in his throat! They could not help themselves any more than he could help himself. They were driven by a power stronger than themselves. As he danced he saw the great ring of dusky bodies, and glimmering eyes—the white wolf and Kiopo in the centre—saw them as one sees things in a dream.
The wolves watched him as if spellbound. Then one on the outside of the circle threw back his head and howled. Another answered him from the opposite side. A third took up the call. Soon the whole pack was giving tongue; and one of the big wolf choruses went thundering out for leagues along the hollow land.
But to give tongue was not enough. The madness that was in Dusty Star's body seemed to bite into the bodies of the wolves. Some strange power moved them. The mysterious restlessness that had stirred the wolf-kindred since the beginning of the world came upon them now with an irresistible force. First one, and then another, began to run about and bark. The movement spread. It was not long before the entire pack was in violent motion, running and leaping in continuous circles, narrower and wider as the impulse came.
It was like a storm of wolf bodies, the centre of which was Kiopo and the White Wolf.
All this time neither Kiopo nor the White Wolf had moved. But upon them also the mysterious power grew. All at once, as if by a swift agreement, they sprang into the air, and joined Dusty Star in his Dance.
And now, as if a barrier had been suddenly withdrawn, like surging waters breaking over a dam, the wolves poured from all sides into the ring.
There was no thought now of attacking either Dusty Star or his wolf. The boy's sudden action had certainly saved their lives; for the wolves had recognized in him a mysterious power which, unfamiliar as it was, claimed kinship with the pack.
If any human eyes had been watching from a neighbouring butte they would have seen an unaccountable sight. In the haunted stillness of the Bad Lands, beneath the white glare of an enormous prairie moon, the wolves danced a stormy movement about the young Indian brother who made medicine with his feet.
Circling about him, leaping over him, chasing each other in bewildering circles, snarling, snapping, barking, howling, the united packs swept round the plateau in a roaring, rushing storm.
In that tumultuous sea of wolf-bodies, Dusty Star was engulfed. He scarcely knew what was happening. He had been in a dream before. Now he was swept far out of himself into an even wilder dream—into places where the moon herself danced the wolf-dance and the stars yelped at her heels.
How long the dance continued he did not know. He saw the writhing wolf-forms on every hand. He was dimly conscious that Kiopo was continually at his side. What he knew was, that now, at last, he had entered the great mystery; he was making the medicine of the wolves.
And so, in the white moon-glare, among the lonely buttes, the fierce wild creatures gave their leaping bodies to the dance that had been seen by no man since the beginning of the world.
How the dance came to an end, and what happened when it did, Dusty Star never fully remembered. All he could recollect was that he found himself lying on the flat of his back, with Kiopo standing over him licking his face and hands with his large tongue. His wandering senses came back to him, and he sat up. All around, the wolves sat or lay with their tongues hanging out, panting after their exertions. In the centre, the white wolf sat as before, as if he had never moved. And the moon was there, and the stars, which also seemed to be panting, only they were too far off to see what they did with their tongues.
After that, Dusty Star did the only wise thing to do in his state of exhaustion. He gave himself up to the stillness, and let himself fall asleep. When he awoke, the moon had set, and dawn had risen over the buttes. Kiopo lay facing him with his head between his paws, watching till he should wake. Dusty Star looked for the pack. Not a single wolf was in sight. They had melted away into the barren gullies of the Bad Lands, as if they had been a dream. But the Bad Lands remained, and Kiopo, and an odd feeling in his bones; and Dusty Star knew that now the great journey must continue that could only end where the prairies were yellow with the East.
When the sun had lifted himself above the horizon, the travellers had already reached the last buttes of the Bad Lands, and saw the prairies stretching at their feet. As Dusty Star's eyes travelled over the enormous expanse, a sense of trouble came to him. Out there, concealed in the vast distances that hid it like a buffalo-robe, lay the home of his people. And he was going to return to them. As sure as the wolf-trail ran across the heavens, he was going back. But what would happen then? He would not see them as he had seen them before. The free life with Kiopo; the friendships with the wild kin that were not of his blood, yet seemed to be half his heart; the great mountain-world of Carboona, the mystery-land of the West:—all these had come between him and his people with their life in the tepees.... And Kiopo?... He belonged to Kiopo now, as Kiopo to him. He had danced himself into the wolf-world with the medicine of his feet. His body might remain Indian; but the wolf-dance was in his veins: his moccasins had touched the wolf-trail: his mind was half a wolf's.
As they crossed into the prairies, he kept looking out for any signs of the white wolf's pack; but not a vestige of them was to be seen. Yet although they were invisible to the eye, there were signs that they had not left the neighbourhood. Kiopo's manner alone was sufficient to show that the country was not so empty of life as it appeared. He was evidently on the alert, keeping on the watch in every direction.
Just before noon he disappeared. When towards the middle of the afternoon he caught up with Dusty Star, who had continued his journey, it was certain that he had been running with other wolves.
That night, just before sundown, a great idea flashed upon Dusty Star. Kiopo must find the white wolf, and bring the packs to camp. When they were all assembled, Dusty Star would tell his mind to the white wolf, and he, in his turn, would communicate it to the packs. He made the message clear to Kiopo, and the wolf immediately departed.
As the twilight fell, Dusty Star became aware that here and there it seemed to thicken into a wolf-shape, till at last it darkened to a pack. When the pack finally closed in upon the camp, he knew that he was imprisoned by a wolf-ring that shut out the world. And when the last wolf had taken its place, Dusty Star found that the white wolf, with Kiopo, was by his side.
With the pack about him, Dusty Star sent his mind out to their leader, and communicated the great idea.
And in words which he did not use, even in the Indian tongue, the Idea shaped itself thus:
"Far out along the prairies to the sun-rising is the camp of my people. My people are very many. They outnumber the wolves. As the foxes and lynxes are enemies to the wolves; so my people have enemies who are thirsting for their blood. The enemies of my people are now gathering to attack. They are numerous and very strong. If I do not carry help to my people, they will be pulled down and killed, as the wolves pull down the moose when he is yarded for the winter, and food is scarce. By myself I can do little, though my people say I own the wolf-medicine. But the wolf-medicine that is in me is only strong enough when I am running with a wolf. Kiopo and I are very strong together. With you, we should be stronger still. With the pack, nothing could stand against us. The medicine then would be on many feet. If you will lead the pack, and follow us, we shall save my people from their death."
To get all this meaning into the white wolf's mind, took some time. But the white wolf's mind was like his jaws. Once it took firm hold, it tore the meaning of an idea like meat from off a bone. And when he had snatched the idea and swallowed it, he brought it up again for distribution, as a mother-wolf does for her cubs, in the form of pre-digested meat.
So the white wolf, having carefully digested the idea, disgorged it for the pack's benefit, and fed them bit by bit. And when the pack had swallowed it again, they liked the taste of it, and were ready for anything in the way of a fight. Long after the night had settled down, Dusty Star's excitement kept him awake planning the carrying out of the great idea.
On the evening of the third day, a Scout belonging to the Yellow Dogs took a strange tale back to the tribe. Out on the prairies to the west, he said, he had come upon a great pack of wolves. They were led by a white wolf of enormous size, and were travelling eastwards. As he was uncertain what such a large body of wolves might do, he had not waited to watch their further movements, and had given them a wide berth. The Yellow Dogs did not treat the news seriously. At this time of the year, the wolves, even in large numbers, were not dangerous. Now that hunting was good, they would not attack human beings. It was only in winter, when the moose yarded and game grew scarce, that men watched the gaunt grey bodies that hung about the thickets, and listened uneasily to the eerie cry far off over the frozen levels, as it rang from the throats of a famished pack which had found a promising trail. Besides, the Yellow Dogs had more important matters to consider. Now or never the attack upon Dusty Star's people must be made. The moon was favourable now. She did not rise until a sufficiently long time after sunset to enable them to approach the enemy's camp under cover of the dark, so as to be able to deliver the long-planned attack in the growing light of her beams. Without waiting for any further delay, small scouting parties were ordered to go on ahead; and the advance began.
But there were other scouts abroad, of which neither the Yellow Dogs nor their intended victims were aware. Every thicket, and matted tangle of prairie grass, seemed to conceal one. There was hardly a hollow that did not harbour some crouching form; and the prairie buttes had eyes. As the great Yellow Dog war party moved stealthily forwards, it was shadowed by another company more numerous and more stealthy still. This second company was roughly divided into three main bodies, with small intermediate bands which seemed to move independently, but which were in reality in touch with one or other of the larger groups.
The night was windless and very still, the few vagrant wafts of air which occasionally stirred the prairie grasses, flowing softly from the west. The older and more experienced of the Yellow Dog warriors could not understand the night. From time to time they seemed to catch a faint wolf smell from the west. And the stillness seemed full of some invisible motion as if the very prairies moved. Moreover it was very plain that the ponies were unusually restless. Now one, now another, would snort and whinney, or shy at some vague shadow which melted into the dark.
In the Comanache camp, things were much as they had been for many days past. A careful watch was still kept towards the north. But the general opinion was that the Yellow Dogs had delayed their threatened attack so long that they had at length given up the intention. Spotted Eagle was in his tepee consulting with one or two other chiefs, when suddenly the door flap was raised, and Dusty Star stood before them.
The suddenness of his arrival, and the change wrought in his appearance during his long absence, prevented Spotted Eagle from recognizing in the tall, imposing-looking youth who now stood before him, the wild boy with the wolfish ways who had disappeared mysteriously many moons ago.
There was a pause of typical Indian silence, while the piercing eyes in the tepee looked him through and through, before Spotted Eagle asked him his business.
"I am Dusty Star," the boy said quietly.
If the Thunder-bird itself had pronounced the words under cover of its deafening wings, they could not have produced a more startling effect.
Spotted Eagle and his companions rose instantly to their feet. Although the old chief's face did not betray his feelings, his action, together with that of his followers showed how deeply he was moved.
"You have come?" he asked incredulously. "Lone Chief brought us your message that you would not come."
"Lone Chief spoke truly," Dusty Star answered, "but there was something within me which was stronger than my words. I have come to help my people against the Yellow Dogs."
The old chief bowed his head as an expression of gratitude, but said nothing.
"The Yellow Dogs are even now approaching," Dusty Star continued. "Yet the camp is unguarded. I came in from the south. No one challenged me."
"The Yellow Dogs do not come from the south," Spotted Eagle answered. "Their camp is far to the north. We watch the north. Also our scouts have been out to the east and west. Only a wolf could steal upon us from the south."
Dusty Star was not slow to catch the double meaning of the old chief's remark. His eyes flashed as he answered quickly.
"Your only help comes with the wolf."
"It is you who must help us," the Chief replied earnestly. "You will lead our braves, as if you were my own son. See, I will order them to get ready. If the Yellow Dogs are indeed approaching we must surprise them by an attack."
He was about to give the order, when Dusty Star interrupted him.
"You must not go out to attack," he said hurriedly. "See that the braves are fully prepared, but do not allow them to leave the camp. If I am to help you, you must do as I say. I have made my plans. Do not attack until you have heard the signal of the wolves."
Then, without another word, he lifted the door flap, and was gone.
The news that the Yellow Dogs were upon them, threw the camp into a state of terrible fear. Even the news of Dusty Star's miraculous reappearance was not sufficient to reassure them. Their nerves were over-strained with the watching of long days and nights. And now, when they had believed the danger to be past, its sudden revival filled them with an unreasoning dread. It was in vain that Spotted Eagle did his utmost to inspire them with confidence, by quoting Dusty Star's words. What did his speeches mean, they asked. What signal was that which would come for them from the wolves? The camp was in confusion, some advising one thing, some another. It was only Spotted Eagle's express orders which prevented a large party going out to meet the enemy and offering battle.
The time went on, and nothing happened. There was no sign of the enemy. Spotted Eagle, listening anxiously, caught no sound that might be the signal of which Dusty Star had spoken. He grew more and more uneasy as the time passed.
On leaving the chief's tepee, Dusty Star had left the camp immediately, not even waiting to show himself to his parents. He dared not risk any delay, realizing that upon him and his wolves their fates, as well as that of the whole tribe, rested.
Over the dark surface of the prairie he passed with a swift step, knowing where his waiting wolves were to be found. In a very short time he was among them. A third of the pack—that upon the west—was about him. He knew that Kiopo, and the wolves under his charge would be lying somewhere to the east. To the north, dogging the heels of the advancing Yellow Dogs, the White Wolf and his company closed stealthily in.
Totally unprepared for the fate awaiting them, the Yellow Dogs came on. When they were about half-a-mile from the camp, they stopped; for it was understood that the attack was not to be delivered until the moon had risen.
In the north-east, an increasing brightness showed that her appearance was very near. About them the prairies began to take on a pallid glimmer, in which objects wore mysterious shapes. As the light increased, the ponies became more and more restless. Their riders dreaded lest the sounds of their growing uneasiness should be carried to some sharply-listening ear in the camp which they were waiting to surprise. They began to be certain that animals of some sort, wolves, or bison, must be somewhere in the locality. The nervousness of the ponies communicated itself to their masters. A whisper ran that it would be better to move at once, without waiting for the moon. Only that their chiefs remained firm, they would have advanced to the attack.
At length, the edge of the moon's disc rose into sight above the eastern hills. Instantly there was a movement of expectation in the Indian's ranks. They only waited now for the signal from their leader to launch the long-delayed attack. But before that signal came, another was heard.
The moon had barely raised herself clear of the hills when a deep, long-drawn howl broke the intense stillness to the west. The waiting Indians recognized it as the mustering call of the hunting wolf when he summons the pack. The note carried for an infinite distance. Hardly had it died away, when it was answered from the east. Then, silence as before. And the moon began to cast long shadows—shadows that seemed to move!
Out from the thickets, up from the hollows, down the dark slopes of the bluffs, the shadows crept.
The wolves were closing in!
In the camp, Spotted Eagle stood uncertain what to do. He had distinctly heard the wolf-calls, but could not be sure whether they were signals from Dusty Star or not. The camp, hushed with suspense, was very still. A subdued murmur, rising here and there at intervals, was all that could be heard. Now and then a woman's figure would step softly from one tepee to another, or a husky would slink across a moonlit space. There was no other movement.
Suddenly, a dull sound like distant thunder came from the north. It grew louder moment by moment. As all listening ears knew well, it was the beat of galloping hoofs. A series of savage shouts now broke into it—the mingled war-cries of the Yellow Dogs, and their Allies.
There was no time now to wait for the promised signal from Dusty Star. In an instant, Spotted Eagle's heart was black with rage and fear. There would be no sign from the wolves. The wolf-boy had betrayed them. His promise, like his name, was a puff-ball after all!
The Chief was just about to give the order to advance, when another sound caught his ear. It was a chorus of sharp barks mingled with howls that seemed to come from all sides at once. It swelled onward in a deafening clamour that filled the prairies to the horizon. It was a sound to which all old Indian hunters responded with a thrill—that last terrible rallying cry of wolves when their chase is ended, and the prey about to be pulled down; the pitiless summons, "Close in!"
Instantly, Spotted Eagle gave the command, and lifting their shrill war-cry, the Comanaches rushed out to meet their foes.
They were hardly clear of the camp, when they stopped, bewildered by the extraordinary sight before them.
In the clear light of the now fully risen moon, they saw a dense mass of Indians in violent commotion, with their ponies rearing and kicking in the wildest confusion. On the outskirts of the mass, and completely encircling it, was an enormous pack of wolves, which leaped and dashed against its edges like the waves of a living sea.
Here and there a small company of Indians would thrust itself from the main body, forcing their assailants to give way. But before they could gain sufficient headway to get through, and make their escape, it seemed as if a rising tide of wolves overwhelmed them and drove them back. Again and again the Indians made a desperate effort to break through; and each time the waves of the billowing pack surged over them, broke, and surged again.
Amid all the bewildering confusion of the struggle, two objects showed themselves distinctly again and again. One was a huge white wolf whose body, gleaming in the moon, was continually hurling itself against the Indians in the thickest of the fight and goading the packs on. It was in ceaseless movement, first on one side, then on the other. Now it would be lost to view among the dark bodies of its mates; now it would flash into sight at some other point, like a beam of leaping light.
The other object was the figure of a tall Indian boy, who was also perpetually changing his position as he mingled with the wolves, and which the thunderstruck Comanaches realized could be no other than that of Dusty Star himself.
Like the white wolf, his efforts seemed directed to urging the wolves forward at any point where they were in danger of giving way. Now and again as he flung up his arms, he would utter a wild cry, half-human, half-wolf, which, piercing the general uproar, rang like a note of doom.
At length, the Yellow Dogs, driven to a frenzy of desperation, forced a passage through the ring of wolves at a point where it had grown thin. As they burst forth towards the open prairie, it was plain that they had abandoned all intention of attacking the camp, and that their one idea was that of escape.
And now Dusty Star's figure was seen to break away from the wolves and to come running towards his people. As he ran, he shouted loudly, waving his arms excitedly in the direction of their fleeing foes.
Without a moment's further delay, Spotted Eagle gave the signal, and the Comanaches leaped to their ponies.
Out upon the moonlit prairie the pursuit swept with savage cries, Dusty Star leading it upon the pony Spotted Eagle had hastily given him.
Never before in the longest Indian memory, had there been such a flight, or such a pursuit. As it swept tumultuously northwards, men and beasts mingled strangely under the pale glare of the moon. Across the quiet spaces of the night it sped on its ghastly way, till the thunder of the beating hoofs roused the echoes in the hills.
Dusty Star, galloping onward, with Kiopo running by his side, was filled with a wild feeling of exultation. The wolves had conquered. The enemy was in the full flight of utmost panic. Never again could any one doubt the power that had been given to him through Kiopo—the Medicine of the Wolves. Never again could it be urged by those who hated them both that, when his people were in danger of destruction, he had refused to help them in their need. And as the last overtaken Yellow Dog was struck down, with the exception of the small number who managed to escape their merciless pursuers, he knew that his work was ended, and that Kiopo need fear his enemies no longer.
It was a triumphal entry which Dusty Star with Kiopo at his side, made into the camp. In the absence of the men, the squaws had built large outside fires partly to celebrate their victorious return, partly for the purpose of extensive cooking.
As Dusty Star and his wolf came within the circle of the light, a great shout went up. The entire camp stormed forward to meet them, Spotted Eagle and the other chiefs forming a guard of honour. Naturally Dusty Star's father, who had returned at last in safety, and his mother were the first to greet him. Nikana's delight in having her now famous son safe and sound once more was unbounded. Running Wolf made little outward sign of joy; but it was not the blaze of the fires alone which made his dusky features take that unaccustomed glow, or the light glitter in his black eyes, as he gazed with pride upon his son.
And though half the camp seemed pressing forward to do him honour, and the other half to hang back respectfully in awe of his terrible wolf, Dusty Star's memory did not sleep. There were other scenes, little less vivid, in which he and Kiopo had played very different parts, and when the eyes which now gazed upon them with gratitude and awe had watched them with suspicion and hate. Within him the human mind, and the wolf's instinct, were fighting; and neither would allow him to forget.
There were two other persons who also had a long memory, and who remained at the outside of the crowd. Dusty Star's sharp eyes caught sight of a tall, slightly stooping figure, standing alone in solitary contemplation, and he immediately made his way towards it.
As he saw the youth approaching him, Lone Chief never moved. Something that might almost have been taken for a smile flickered in his face.
Dusty Star was the first to speak.
"I said I would not come," he said, and stopped.
Lone Chief understood. He was remembering an occasion when a boy had come to him with an urgent appeal for help which he had refused; and which because the boy had brought a strange influence with him, he had given it after all.
"I also said I would not come," he replied, while the thing that might have been a smile flickered and went out. "The medicine has strange ways. Though the words go west, the heart may take the eastern trail."
Dusty Star's mind flashed to Sitting-Alway's sickness, and he also understood.
They said nothing more, but each felt that, whatever happened in the future, there was a sympathy between them which would always hold them friends.
The other person with the backward-reaching memory remained even further in the background than Lone Chief. As the reflections of the dancing flames lit up the old yellow-painted face, its sunken eyes glared out upon the scene with an expression of uneasiness that was almost fear.
"The wolves are bad medicine," the painted mouth muttered. "No good will come of it, if the wolf stays."
Nikana found her mother crouching in the shadows on her way back to the tepee, and did her utmost to persuade her to come and join in welcoming her grandson back; but the old squaw's obstinate refusal was not to be overcome, and she gave up the attempt.
So, half in shadow, half in flickering light, the old painted mouth went on muttering from time to time: "Bad medicine! Bad medicine," till at last Sitting-Always took herself off uneasily to bed.
For three days the feasting and rejoicing were continued. Dusty Star, was, of course, the central figure. In spite of his extreme youth, the treatment he received was that of a great chief and famous medicine-man combined. He was loaded with honours and marks of distinction. Presents of all kinds were showered upon him. He became rich—as the Indian mind counts riches—in a day. Even those who had been most hostile to him in the past, were now the foremost in courting his favour, as the hero of the hour. Beside him, Spotted Eagle himself took a second place.
Even Sitting-Always changed her behaviour, and seemed to wish to stand in the good graces of her famous grandson. So that when he visited her tepee, leaving Kiopo behind, she showed her broken yellow teeth at him in a smile that was like a wound across her face. And her words were sweet as sarvis-berries that have been well stewed. Only, as Dusty Star listened to them, he heard behind their juiciness, the old false, yellow voice that had cried passionately: "Kill! Kill!"
Yet in spite of all his overwhelming good-fortune, he was not happy. If Kiopo had shown himself content, it might have been different. But the honours heaped upon the Little Brother left Kiopo untouched. To all friendly advances from any person outside the immediate family circle, he showed an indifference which occasionally gave dangerous signs of changing into enmity. People became chary of visiting the tepee when it was observed that the wolf was on guard.... He might be, and doubtless was, a marvellous animal—a mighty "medicine." But like other great Powers, his jaws could close with a snap. From the rabble of the huskies, he naturally held aloof with the utmost scorn. And they in their turn, hating him whole-heartedly, but, fearing him with equal measure, gave him the widest possible berth.
Day by day, his dislike and distrust of camp-life became more and more apparent. Even when his body was still, and he lay motionless as a log, with his great head laid between his out-stretched paws, his eyes, turning constantly from Dusty Star to the prairies, and back again to Dusty Star, had the haunted look of a creature in a trap. And Dusty Star, reading their expression, felt a heavy foreboding settle upon his heart. He was not surprised when, on the fourth day after their return, Kiopo disappeared.
Since the defeat of the Yellow Dogs, nothing had been seen of the White Wolf and his pack. But by sounds heard at sundown, and during the night, and by the unusual restlessness of the ponies, it was believed that a large body of wolves was still hanging about the neighbourhood. If Dusty Star had not heard the night calls, he could have learnt the truth of the thing by reading Kiopo's eyes.
On the morning of the fifth day, he was wakened early by the continual howling of a wolf, which seemed to come from a point not far off in the prairie. Listening intently, he was sure that Kiopo was calling him, and that, for some reason or other, he would not enter the camp.
He rose softly from his couch, so as not to disturb his parents, and went out upon the prairie. He expected every minute to find Kiopo at his side; but Kiopo's voice, like a will-o-the-wisp, was always on ahead, leading him further and further away.
At last he came to the foot of Look-out-Bluff and, in the dim light of the dawn, saw Kiopo standing before him. After a rapid licking of the Little Brother's hand, Kiopo turned at once and began to ascend the bluff. Dusty Star followed him without hesitation.
After they had reached the summit, Kiopo sat down and gave three, short howling barks. They were answered immediately from a spot to the north. Then there was silence, while he and Dusty Star waited.
Presently, a large white wolf appeared over the top of the bluff. He was followed by a line of wolves. In the twilight the line appeared endless. And still they came. It seemed as if, for leagues around, the entire prairie was giving up its wolves.
Dusty Star and Kiopo stood in the centre, with the White Wolf a little to one side. Here and there a wolf would sit or lie down, and begin to lick or scratch his coat, but for the most part the animals remained standing, their heads turned towards the group in the centre, as if waiting for some sign.
For a considerable time nothing happened. In the windless air, the deep stillness of the dawn seemed to surround the bluff with a ring of silence, cutting it off from the rest of the earth. Within that ring, Dusty Star felt himself in a world, in which, every moment, the wolfishness of things grew more enormous, excluding everything besides. As never before, he felt the soul that was in him answer to the wolves.
He knew not why he was here. The wolves were claiming him. They were waiting for something which had not yet happened. When it happened, they would take him with them across the prairies into that tremendous endlessness of the West; to the places beyond the sunset, where the black lakes glimmer to the wolf-trail of the stars. And he knew also, that, if he went, he would not come back; for the moccasins that follow the wolves far enough, find at last the wolf-trail that is worn across the heavens, and never more return.
All at once, the White Wolf got up and advanced slowly towards Kiopo. The two wolves touched noses. The White Wolf then turned towards Dusty Star, looking him full in the face, as much as to say: "Are you ready?"
After a moment's pause, he trotted away across the bluff and disappeared. The rest of the pack, followed him in a body. When the last wolf had disappeared, Dusty Star found himself alone with Kiopo. The wolf stood straight in front of him, gazing at him intently.
Dusty Star, looking right into his eyes, read the message there, all too plainly: "It is time for us to go."
And deep, deep in the West, over a thousand leagues of soundless prairie, he heard Carboona call.
He wanted to go. All the part of him that was wolf cried out to go. Yet something held him back. If Carboona sent a voice from the West, so also the camp of his people called him in the East. The human in him, the deep, loving, human thing, which had been born with him, and which he could not understand, refused to let him go.
Yet Kiopo! How could he part with Kiopo—the one creature in the world which he fully understood? He felt that he would give all he possessed—his new-found honours, his wealth, his power over his tribe—if only Kiopo would return with him to the camp. Yet he knew it could not be. It would be asking Kiopo to come back to a life which, sooner or later, would prove his doom.
Yes; whether he himself went or stayed, he knew Kiopo must go. That wild heart, faithful as it was, could never more cabin itself in the cramped circle of an Indian camp. It, too, had heard Carboona's call. Carboona—the grim foster-mother had summoned it—and the wolf-heart obeyed.
In Dusty Star's own heart the fight was terrible. It seemed as if the Wolf and Human, in a final struggle for victory, were rending it apart. And yet, in spite of the Wolf within him, tearing him to pieces, the old mystery of of his race, true to its age-long, world-deep roots, held. He knew, at last, that Kiopo must returnalone.
In the clear light of the rising sun, there might have been seen, drawn sharply against the morning sky on the ridge of Look-out-Bluff, the figures of an Indian and a wolf. Then the wolf's disappeared, and the human figure was left standing alone. But although, in the long clearness of the prairies, sound sometimes carries further than sight, no listening ears caught the despairing cry, "Kiopo! Kiopo!" which sobbed itself westward into a silence that gave no answering voice.
And now, as to all things, there comes an end, even to the endless-seeming journeys of the wandering cariboo, so also we have reached the the end of the history of Dusty Star.
Did he stay with his people always, you ask? Or did he one day disappear into Carboona to find Kiopo? Or did Kiopo, after long wanderings, return once more to seek the Little Brother along the eastern trail?
I cannot say. Only in the West, strange things may happen. But this I know. Of the final parting between the boy and the wolf there was no witness, beast or human. And exactly what took place then, no white man's tongue may tell.
The big things happen like that. Out there, in the enormous spaces, the Great Spirit hides them in the shadow of His robe.