News upon the prairie travels fast and far. That of the disappearance of Dusty Star and his wolf into the West, was no exception. After travelling many leagues, it reached at last the people of the Yellow Dogs, whose hunting-grounds extend from the Comanache Country to the great lakes in the north.
It was the famous spy Double Runner who carried the news. Double Runner was a true Yellow Dog; very fast and cunning. Also like all other true Yellow Dogs he hated the Comanaches with a bitter hatred. The Comanaches and the Yellow Dogs had been enemies so long that nobody knew what the original quarrel had been about. However, that didn't matter in the least so long as the hatred, which was older than history, wasn't allowed to die down.
When the Yellow Dogs heard Double Runner's news, they put their heads together in a great Pow-wow. If it were true what rumour and Double Runner said, that Dusty Star and his wolf had a strong medicine, it would be a splendid thing if they could capture or kill them, and get the medicine for themselves. And even if they failed in that, at least Dusty Star belonged to their ancient enemies, and it would be one more Comanache out of the way.
Now many moons before, a band of Yellow Dogs had gone into the West, and settled down by the river that flowed out of the Chetawa lake. If Double Runner could find their camp and carry his news, it might happen that they could put him in the way of finding a trail. And if Double Runner found a trail, many buffalo robes and ponies would be his on his return.
So that was how it came about that, one shining morning, in the Moon of Roses, Double Runner disappeared into the West.
At the foot of a great boulder, high up on Carboona, Baltook, the Silver Fox, had his den. It was a wonderful look-out place from which to observe the world, and Baltook was a first-class observer. What his piercing eyes didn't see, or his sharp ears detect, was caught by the amazing keenness of his nose. When the forest people glided softly from the good green gloom of the trees, Baltook marked them the moment they appeared. Below the level of his den went the runways of half the lower world. Deer, badger, mink, hare, opossum, took their ways delicately along the trails, and, all unconsciously to themselves, were instantly noted by Baltook's gleaming eyes. But whatever fine housings of hair or fur they wore, they paled before the splendour of Baltook in his wonderful black robe powdered with silver hairs.
No other fox on all Carboona had such a coat as he. Even in shadow it was beautiful; and when the fine machinery of his muscles moved beneath it in the sun, it rippled silver lights. And Baltook was as splendid as his coat. Certainly, his mate, Boola; the Cunning One, was convinced that he was lord of all the foxes; and as for the cubs,theywould have been equally convinced, if it had not been for a drawback which they couldn't help, and that was, they were too young to have any views about it at all. Besides, up to the present, they had had to do chiefly with their mother, and it was only recently that their father had appeared to be a person of great importance as the bringer of choice food, which they were allowed to worry and chew and swallow like the shameless little Greedinesses they were. And when they had finished a meal, they simply went to sleep, and slept and slept and slept, till they seemed to be furry lumps of warm fat sleep, all neatly rolled up with their noses under their tails.
One day, Baltook was sitting on his favourite look-out place on Carboona about a dozen yards from his den, gazing down into the green and golden depths of the drowsy afternoon.
To all outward appearances, the world looked pretty much as it had done for the last ten thousand years. So had the hemlocks looked, so had the spruces, ever since the first fox had made his earth upon Carboona, and the world of the foxes had clashed with, that of the lynxes, and the old hatred began. But Baltook was not thinking of lynxes today, not indeed of anything else in particular. He had just feasted off a very plump rabbit, and inside the den, the family was busy wrangling over the bones. So the possibilities of other game did not tickle his brain, although his nose kept up a series of fine wrinklings, just from force of habit, to find what sort of folk might be walking down the wind.
Yet in spite of everything looking so thousands-of-years-the-same, something very importantwashappening, after which Carboona would be never quite the same.
There were strangers walking in the wind!
If Baltook did not scent them, that was no fault of his nose. If you sit very high up you cannot expect your nose to tell you what is happening very far down. It is along the level of the runways that the nose does its business; and Baltook's nose forgot to be very busy, even where he sat.
Down, down, down, through the vast forests of spruce and fir, with here and there a sycamore, or some huge hemlock that seemed to have hugged five hundred winters to its old black heart, the strange folk came journeying on scarcely-sounding feet. The forest was so thick, and the ground so springy with fir-needles, that Baltook's eyes and ears gave him no more warning than his nose. Yet a vague murmur of softly-padding feet was audible,—to ears near enough to catch it—the ears of the little peoples that live close along the ground.
At the doorways of little underground dwellings between the twisted fir-roots, small furry bodies, with long tails, and eyes like sparkles of black dew, crouched quivering with expectancy, as the murmuring sound went by. To them, it was like the boom of walking thunder, far away, but drawing nearer. And the tiny eyes brightened, and the tiny whiskers twitched as two enormous shapes went glimmering past their doors. And for a long, long time afterwards, the little under-root dwellings were stuffy with uneasy people who comforted themselves together in the good grey gloom.
Immediately below the spot where Baltook sat, the lowest fringe of forest ended in a dried stream-course, filled with boulders. From a spring on the nearer bank, a narrow thread of water trickled into a pool. Above the spring the ground was rocky and clear of trees; and between the rocks the grass was short and fine, showing that deer and rabbits found it good grazing ground. (Baltook could have told you all about the rabbits, but he did not dare to meddle with the deer.) Within this open space, as the silver fox looked dreamily down, there appeared, to his utter amazement, two unexpected shapes.
The one, though unexpected, was not altogether strange, being that of a large timber wolf; and in his life on Carboona, Baltook knew all about wolves. But the other shape was as unfamiliar as it was unexpected—that of a human being.
To say that Baltook sat up on seeing this unusual sight would not give the right impression, for the single reason that Baltook was already sitting up. But if you were to say that inside his springy body every sense he had sat up so violently that he almost jumped, you would be very nearly correct.
These astonishing visitors being so very far down in the world below him did not make much difference to Baltook's cunning sight. But it did make a difference to his nose. Before he could make up his mind about them fully, he must get them put intosmell; so when, presently the strangers disappeared from view, Baltook got up softly and melted down the hill.
That evening a great news began to travel in Carboona. Newcomers had arrived. There was a strange wolf of enormous size: there was a human creature, stranger than the wolf. They were aliens, interlopers, interferers with the ancient habits of Carboona which people had got used to since the beginning of the world. The human creature had broken trees and made itself a lair of boughs. The wolf guarded it, spending his time in going up and down the valley as if he were its lord. If once he made that the centre of his range, things would happen upon Carboona: nothing would ever be the same.
Not content with bringing themselves into the borders of Carboona, the intruders had brought a third thing with them—Fire! The human creature had collected sticks and made a pile. And out of the pile had come strong-smelling mist that stung your nose; and, presently, an awful shining, like the sun and moon gone mad!
The great news travelled far and wide. It penetrated even into the damp dullness of the tamarack swamp where old Goshmeelee, the black bear, lived with her precious cubs. The little peoples of fur and feather caught the scatterings of it in the air and went uneasy in their minds.
But the person who could have given you more information than anybody else, was one who started the news travelling—Baltook, the Silver Fox.
When Dusty Star and Kiopo, after many long days of journeying came into the valley below the den of the Silver Fox, they saw that there was water, and a good place for rest. They did not waste any time in discussing its advantages or drawbacks. They simply decided at once that here was the goal of their wandering and that here they would make their camp. That is to say, Dusty Star would make it. Kiopo would look on and, if he approved, would consent to making it his temporary home. If he didnotapprove, he would show his dislike and uneasiness in so many plain ways that Dusty Star had no peace until they moved elsewhere. Even if the wolf was satisfied that no hidden danger lurked in the neighbourhood, and that they might safely settle down for a time, he could never take kindly to a sitting-down existence. For the great life that he had was always in his feet, so that he must be continually on the move, or going long journeys or short ones, as the case might be, but sooner or later, always coming back. So while Dusty Star built the tepee, Kiopo went exploring up and down the valley, getting every point of it well into his eyes, and every drifting smell it had well up his nose. And more than once, when he tried the wind suspiciously, he caught a faint yet unmistakedly musky odour that suggested a fox.
That night they slept soundly; Dusty Star in the bough-built tepee, Kiopo stretched full length across its entrance. And all night long, Carboona, the old savage home of countless lives, gloomed darkly above them, though they did not even know its name. Still less had either of them the least idea that they had chosen their resting-place within the borders of that very region where Kiopo had first drawn breath.
Next morning Dusty Star woke up well pleased with his new home. The day passed quietly, and the inhabitants of the neighbourhood kept well out of the way. Kiopo did his hunting at a distance, and supplied the camp with food. Besides that, there was nothing particular to do. That was the joy of living where the world forgot to get civilized. After you had caught your meat and cooked it, the days and nights were very wide, because there were no clocks to make them narrow, and to chop them up into little bits called Time.
So because there really was nothing particular to do, Dusty Star on the fourth day after settling down in the new home, thought he would climb up Carboona in the climbing afternoon.
Now the same idea, almost at the same moment happened to come to another dweller upon Carboona, and that was the Catamount, or great wild cat, which had its lair in a hollow tree less than half-a-mile from the camp, and carried the dull green fire in his cruel eyes to make the leafy shadows a terror to all lesser forest folk.
He had slept most of the day in his tree after a good kill the night before, and was not feeling especially hungry. Still, to a blood-loving creature like the Catamount, there was always a pleasure in tracking fresh meat even if it was not needed. So the great cat set out for a leisurely stroll across Carboona to find if any new smells had been spilt along the world since he had gone to sleep.
For some time he got nothing that particularly interested his nose. There were smells of course. But some were old, and some were unpleasant, and one or two were really dangerous. Among these last, was one of the big wolf which had recently come to harry Carboona, as if he were its rightful lord. The Catamount's eyes gleamed with an ugly light as he recognised Kiopo's hated scent, and went a little more warily on his way. Unlike Dusty Star, he did not immediately seek the upper sunny slopes. The green glooms of the evening shadows pleased him more. As he slunk along, lifting and setting his cushioned feet so delicately that his coming was like that of a piece of drifting thistledown, he looked as evil a presence as could be found abroad in the ending of the day.
When he reached the last ravine, above the further side of which the foxes had their den, he paused. A faint, unusual sound reached his ears at irregular intervals. At first it sounded like some small creature in distress. That was the very sort of prey the Catamount enjoyed. He began, very cautiously, to make his way across the ravine. When he was half-way up the opposite side, the sound came again. This time he heard not one voice, but several—and the notes were not those of creatures in distress. He was plainly puzzled. He had reached the sunlight now, and partly because of that, partly because every step brought him nearer to possible danger, he went with even greater caution than before. All at once the meaning of the commotion became clear to him. He heard; he smelt; he saw!
All this time, Dusty Star had gone on steadily climbing till he had caught up, as it were, with the very middle of the afternoon. But for all he knew, he mounted alone, and never once got a glimpse of that other stealthy climber who stole up like a furry shadow of the evening itself into the golden places of the afternoon. And the Catamount was equally unaware of the neighbourhood of the boy.
Suddenly Dusty Star came upon one of the surprises which Carboona keeps in its most secret spots. In an open space between a mass of thickets he found a family of fox-cubs playing in the sun. Five, fat, funny little bodies, tumbled and sprawled and tussled and rolled in a frenzied frolic which, if you looked closely, was really a furious battle over the leg-bone of a grouse. Sometimes they bit the bone; sometimes each other. It really didn't seem to matter, so long as somebody bitsomething. It was the triumphant glory of being able to bite! The fight raged first to one side, then to the other. There were little yelps and squeals, and miniature growls, like fairy thunder. Once the tide of battle rolled almost to Dusty Star's feet. The excitement was so great, and Dusty Star so still, that the cubs saw nothing and smelt nothing.
But for all their seeming unconsciousness, their little ears were keenly alive to sound. For when the mother fox suddenly gave the sharp warning bark which is the signal of approaching danger, four out of the five cubs scurried instantly back to the den.
The fifth cub, either because he was more stupid than the others, or more daring, stayed where he was, sitting up on his little haunches and moving his head from side to side as if to assure himself there was no need to hurry home when there was such an unexpected chance of having the grouse-bone all to himself.
And Dusty Star was not the only watcher of the disobedient cub.
Between him and that other watcher was less than a dozen paces, but as the boy had arrived on the spot a little earlier, and was now as motionless as the tree behind which he peeped, the Catamount was still unaware of his presence. Screened by a thick bush and a tangle of creepers, the great cat watched its opportunity with a mouth that quivered.
His first instinct on seeing the cubs was to retreat immediately with the same caution as he had approached. Various unpleasant experiences had already taught him the danger of interfering with young animals whose parents are likely to be within springing distance. But although he looked from side to side with the utmost care, not the merest whisker-tip of any parent was visible.
It was precisely at this moment that the mother-fox had uttered her cry of warning. What had startled her neither Dusty Star nor Catamount knew.
Over the trackless barrens, along the runways of hare, mink, and fisher, down the world-old trails of the journeying caribou, there have always travelled—there still travel—mysterious warnings that convey themselves to the hunted creature neither by sight, sound nor smell. And when the warning comes, all wise creatures seek the cunning of their feet.
At the cry, the startled Catamount crouched back into the bush; and if the fifth cub had followed the example of his brothers and sisters, the great cat would have retreated as he came; but the sight of that plump, furry little Disobedience, that sat there on its little tail impudently defying the world, almost within reach, was too great a temptation to resist.
The Catamount threw another piercing glance all round the locality. The mother fox gave no sign of her presence. If he wanted the furry Disobedience, it was now, or never. He crept forward half a pace and gathered his legs under him for a spring.
The movement he made was very slight; but it was sufficient to betray him to Dusty Star. Instantly the boy realized the danger threatening the cub, but before he could do anything, a lightning streak of fur flashed out of the bush, and hurled itself on the cub.
No sooner had the Catamount made good his hold on its squirming prey, than it turned to flee. To its intense astonishment, it found itself face to face with Dusty Star!
Never in its life before had the great cat set eyes on a human being. For one brief moment, it was paralysed with fear. And that moment cost it dear. Quick as a hawk, Dusty Star stooped and struck. The keen blade of his hunting knife flickered in the sun, and then buried itself in the Catamount's fur.
With a scream of rage and terror, the animal dropped the cub, and turned savagely on its foe. But at that very instant there was a rush and a hoarse squall, and it was knocked clean head over heels by the furious charge of the mother fox.
This totally unexpected attack completed the great cat's discomfiture. Spitting and squawling, it bounded into the underwood and was instantly out of sight.
It might have been expected that the fox, having routed one enemy of her little one, would have turned at once on what she might have well supposed was another. But just as she had quitted the den to look for the missing cub, she had seen Dusty Star attack the Catamount, and her quick senses told her that the action had not meant any injury to her cub.
For all that, he was a new experience; and the wisdom of the wilderness is that new experiences had better not be trusted. So while she nosed the cub tenderly, turning it over with her paw, to see if it had been injured, she kept one eye jealously on Dusty Star to watch his slightest movement.
And now that wonderful knowledge of the feelings of wild animals partly taught him by Kiopo, which he had been gradually gathering all his life, came to his aid and told him what to do. For while his body remained so absolutely motionless that he hardly seemed to breathe, his mind made itself a finer body, and went out towards the fox; and the fox, receiving the message, learnt that she had nothing to fear. For all that, she was not easy that the cub should be left in the open, so far from the den's mouth. Dusty Star she had ceased to mistrust; but her instinct told her that, although the Catamount had disappeared, he was still in the neighbourhood. So before she allowed herself to find out any more about Dusty Star, she picked up the cub by the loose skin at the back of its fat little neck, and carried it back to the den. As a matter of fact, the Catamount was further than she knew, and now sat in the fork of a red-cedar tree, licking the wound inflicted by Dusty Star's knife, and making up his mind that if this new monster, with a paw that struck so fiercely was a protector of the foxes, it would be wiser to leave the entire gang severely alone.
When Baltook returned from his hunting with a plump partridge in his mouth, he was confronted by a strange sight. At the very entrance of their den he saw his mate sitting wholly at her ease, with ahuman beingby her side.
In all his life of surprises, Baltook had never come upon anything so surprising as that. Boola must be crazy—gone clean mad before the time of the Mad Moon when the wolves and foxes sing. Yet Boola had no appearance of madness. She just sat and gazed at the human being with extreme calmness as if she had known him all her life. For a moment or two, Baltook stood observing this astonishing sight, with one fore foot raised, as if uncertain what to do. Then he laid the partridge down quietly in order to get clear of the smell of the kill and so be able to scent the stranger. Screened by the bushes, he wrinkled his fine nose, and sniffed, and wrinkled, and wrinkled and sniffed, and still was unable to make up his mind. And there Boola sat all the time, as calm as a toadstool and seemed to have neither eyes nor ears except for her new friend.
At last Baltook could bear the suspense no longer. With his brush held high, and his eyes shining, he stepped warily out into the open.
When Boola saw her mate approaching, she rose to her feet with a low growl. But the growl was not meant as a sign of anger: it was merely her way of saying "Now, here we've got a visitor. Mind how you behave." Yet behind these words, if she had used them (which she didn't!) her mind was disturbed. A strange creature was close beside her, whom, though he had proved himself friendly, Baltook did not know.
It was extremely difficult to explain anything at all. Because it really was an unheard of thing that an Indian boy should sit neighbourly at your front door, and spill his mind out at you in a way you couldn't smell! Yet when Dusty Star did it, it didn't seem odd at all, but as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Yet now Baltook came, and made it seem all odd again, because he carried with him thefoxiness of thingswhich had always remained foxy since the beginning of the world!
In this embarrassing situation, there was only one thing to be done, and Boola did it. She advanced six paces toward her mate, and touched his nose with hers. Among the wild peoples the nose is a most important organ for conveying information. Because great persons like the President of the United States and the King of England do not use it for conversational purposes, does not alter the fact. Just exactly what Boola told Baltook by this means, I do not know. Whatever it was, Baltook was reassured, and came slowly up to the mouth of the den. Dusty Star never stirred. But again—as he had done with Boola—he moved his mind towards Baltook, while he kept his body still.
And so, while the afternoon climbed still higher, and the evening came softly after it, on its soundless shadow-feet, the three sat on silently together and learnt to know each other, without anything being said. It is like that in the forest-life. You sit in silence, with your mind open; and so you learn to understand.
When at last Baltook and then Boola began to show signs of restlessness, Dusty Star knew it was time to go. He never said good-bye. There was no need. He just rose to his feet quietly and walked down into the trees. The two foxes carefully smelt the place where he had sat, and then, while Boola went back to her cubs, Baltook followed the trail.
It was very dark when Dusty Star reached the camp. Kiopo, who was out hunting, had not returned. Dusty Star made a fire by rubbing two sticks together in the Indian way, in order to be ready to cook anything which Kiopo might bring back.
In the gloom of the dark woods, a black shadow having a wrinkling nose sat up and smelt the fire with wonder, and violent disapproval; and when a little later, the figure of an enormous wolf holding a hare in his jaws, glided into the open, the shadow with the wrinkling nose followed the best fox-wisdom and melted back into the trees.
Although Dusty Star did not actually tell Kiopo where he had been visiting, Kiopo smelt foxiness, and learnt a good deal. Foxes he did not mind, so long as they behaved themselves. If Dusty Star had been with them, Kiopo was not going to make a fuss. So, Dusty Star cooked and ate his hare supper, and thought of the little foxes, and wished they had the bones.
In the deep, damp silence of the ancient forest you could not hear a sound. Through the swampy thickets, sodden with old rain, and floored with slime, nothing stirred. The very trees—cedar, tamarack, waterash, and black poplar—seemed to do their growing by stealth, as if afraid of its being found out. Even the skunk cabbage—that robust vegetable—spread its broad leaves craftily, as if it covered a world of secrecy, and might at any moment be forced to confess. If any life were gnawing at the roots of this damp silence, or paddling among the slime, its teeth and toes were muffled. The world just here was dreadfully damp, dreadfully secret, and dreadfully old.
Not a nice nursery for babies, you might imagine. In such a place, if ever a baby were rash enough to get born there, you would think it must be born old, and be damp for the rest of its days. Which only shows how deceptive things may be. For—in the very heart of the dampness, and where the ancientness was so old as to have begun falling to pieces—two perfectly new, and (what is perhaps even more surprising) perfectly dry babies were curled up in a hollow scooped out between the roots of a couple of hemlocks growing together on a knoll! Neither the dampness, nor the ancientness, nor the silence, nor the gloom, nor any of the other things which would have made ordinary civilized people uncomfortable, had the least effect upon the babies. To be quite truthful, I must here remark that it was partly because they were fast asleep. If you curl yourself up very tight, and sleep very sound, and if, when you wake, you spend a good deal of your spare time in taking in food, it is quite surprising what a snug place the old, damp world may seem; and it would be quite ridiculous to sit up and worry.
Except very rarely the babies did not sit up. Their usual position when awake was a sprawling one on their stomachs, while they pushed their little fore paws into their mother's and sucked and sucked and sucked. And most certainly they never worried; worrying being a disease which grown people seem to catch from each other in places where the sky scrapers go up and scratch the stars.
The babies in the tamarack swamp knew nothing about civilization. Their umbrella was the hemlock and their mother's body was the stove. And if a raving wind moaned gustily in the poplars, and twisted the tamaracks till they creaked, the umbrella never closed and the stove never burned out.
Perhaps I ought to be a little more accurate about the stove. It did not burn out, but it sometimeswentout. Occasionally when the babies woke up, they found that the stove had gone out walking, taking care, however, to leave part of its warmth behind.
One day Dusty Star, on his way across to the opposite side of the valley to dig roots, passed through the spruce wood which skirted the swamp on its eastern side. On the brown, elastic carpet of dead fir needles, he went without paying any special heed to his footsteps, because the travelling was so good. Suddenly round the end of a hollow tree, he found himself face to face with a large black she-bear.
Now Dusty Star knew nothing about the babies in the tamarack swamp, nor that this great furry blackness was their blessed heating apparatus gone out for a walk. But he knew that a bear as a bear can be an extremely dangerous animal if there is any reason for its being cross. Also he knew that, of all the wild creatures, a bear is the most human, and is prepared, at a moment's notice, to do all sorts of unexpected things.
Goshmeelee gazed at Dusty Star with disapproval out of her little shining eyes. She had no desire to have people hanging about the borders of the tamarack swamp, whether they had business there or not. They might mean no harm to her babies, even if they found them, which was very unlikely; but she wasn't going to take any risks. What sort of creature this new animal was, she couldn't directly decide. Its going on its hind legs was bear-like, but, except on the top of its head, it was very deficient in fur.
Dusty Star remembered that Lone-Chief once presented to him a piece of very old Indian wisdom: "Bear won't bother you, if you don't bother bear." But in case youdidmeet a bear that seemed determined to be bothered, another piece ran: "If Bear is angry, make medicine with your mouth."
Now although Dusty Star was sure he hadn't done anything to make Goshmeelee angry, he was quick enough to see by the glint in her eyes that she was uneasy in her mind. So, he thought it could do no harm if he followed Lone-Chief's second piece of advice.
The "medicine" he made with his mouth was very curious. It consisted of all sorts of Indian words the like of which Goshmeelee had never heard in all her life before. The sound was very strange, yet she did not find it altogether unpleasant. A creature that could make a noise like this was certainly to be studied. So, in order to study more at her ease Goshmeelee sat down in front of Dusty Star, with her big black paws hanging in front of her, while she held her head first on one side and then on the other, in a comical kind of way.
Translated into our own language, this is the "medicine" which Dusty Star made:
"I am the Little Brother.I am the Little Brother to all the Forest Folk.But I am the Little Brother to Kiopo first of all.The forest is very big, and has many ranges.If it is big enough for me, it is big enough for you.If I have got into your range, there's no occasion for you to fuss.The Bears are a wise folk. They have a strong medicine.When they are among the trees, they are in the middle of their medicine.My folk live a long way back east, where the sun comes up out of the prairies.They have a medicine which they make among the Lodges.It is a strong medicine, and many birds and beasts have given it their power.Our medicine-men make it in the moon when the Thunder-bird claps his wings in Heaven.You cannot harm me, even if you wished it.My medicine is stronger than your medicine of the Bears."
"I am the Little Brother.I am the Little Brother to all the Forest Folk.But I am the Little Brother to Kiopo first of all.The forest is very big, and has many ranges.If it is big enough for me, it is big enough for you.If I have got into your range, there's no occasion for you to fuss.The Bears are a wise folk. They have a strong medicine.When they are among the trees, they are in the middle of their medicine.My folk live a long way back east, where the sun comes up out of the prairies.They have a medicine which they make among the Lodges.It is a strong medicine, and many birds and beasts have given it their power.Our medicine-men make it in the moon when the Thunder-bird claps his wings in Heaven.You cannot harm me, even if you wished it.My medicine is stronger than your medicine of the Bears."
Dusty Star paused. All the time he had been making his "medicine," Goshmeelee, except for turning her head from one side to another in her droll way, had never moved. It is true that she did not understand a single word of what Dusty Star had said. In spite of that she was impressed. Somehow, or other, the power of the "medicine" had spelled itself out of the words and trickled into her head. She knew that this creature that owned the strange medicine was something she must not hurt. She also knew that he would not hurther. But the babies! In her fierce mother-love, they mattered more than herself. On their account she was not quite satisfied.
How Dusty Star became aware that Goshmeelee had cubs, is one of the many mysteries. The forest is a place of hidden secrets. Yet sometimes the secrets get carried, like thistledown, on fine currents, and are passed from brain to brain. So, gradually, a light dawned on Dusty Star; and heknew. And in the same secret way, Goshmeelee knew that he knew, and also was aware that she need have no fear. As her mind was at rest, she allowed her body to be also. And in order to be completely at her ease, she sat down where she was widest, and looked at her new acquaintance with a humorous expression in her little gleaming eyes.
"It is a good place for them." Dusty Star remarked, after he had looked at Goshmeelee silently for some time.
By "Them" he referred, of course, to the cubs.
Goshmeelee simply blinked. But the blink was as good as if she had said:
"I, Goshmeelee, am a person of much wisdom. If I choose a place, I know what I am about. My children have everything which they require."
Naturally Dusty Star wasn't going to argue as to whether Goshmeelee was a suitable parent for her own children.
"Wolves not wanted," she suddenly remarked.
Dusty Star, looking at her, saw that the humour had gone out of her eyes. She looked almost fierce. Kiopo had not been mentioned. But he saw that Goshmeelee knew.
"I shall tell my wolf," he said quietly. "He will not harm them!"
A look shot out of Goshmeelee's eyes which there was no mistaking. It said, as plainly as words, that if any wolf was so ill-advised as to attempt to harm any babies he might happen to find in that swamp, she had a claw or two, in a paw or two, which that wolf would devoutly wish had been pulled out when she was born!
After that, the conversation, which had never been very fluent, dragged a little, and though Goshmeelee didn't cease to be friendly, Dusty Star felt that perhaps it was time that the interview came to an end. So, letting her understand how glad he was to have made her acquaintance, and again assuring her that neither he nor his wolf were persons to be uneasy about, he moved quietly away.
Goshmeelee watched him carefully till he was out of sight, and then remarked to herself, that the forest was becoming dreadfully overcrowded, and that she hoped the new Carboona neighbours would know how to behave.
If she had happened to be at the other end of the swamp, and had seen another human figure working its way stealthily through the underbrush, as if it wished to avoid observation, her feeling about over-crowding would have been even stronger than it was. But fortunately for her peace of mind, she did not see it, and so went back to the lair between the hemlock roots totally unconscious of the fact that a far more objectionable intruder than Dusty Star had crossed the borders of the forbidden land which swampily surrounded the treasures of her heart.
As he returned home, Dusty Star also was equally unaware of the intruder picking a cautious way through the shadowy stillness on moccasins that seemed to avoid by instinct every fallen twig. He, too, by force of habit, moved silently through the woods. But by this time he had ceased to feel that he was in a strange land, and followed the trail with the certainty of one who knows he is going home.
Very different, indeed, the passage of that other figure, which seemed to be seeking for something which kept itself in hiding behind the forest screen.
And although in his own evil heart, Double Runner knew full well the object of his search, to the eyes of the wilderness he was a suspicious mystery that followed an unknown quest along an invisible trail.
And so along that trail, nearer and nearer to the Yellow Dog camp by the Chetawa river, and little guessing that less than half-a-league divided him at the moment from his unsuspecting prey, Double Runner, the artful mischief-maker, took his noiseless path.
The days in the new home slipped quietly one after the other without anything particular happening, till once again Dusty Star found himself in the neighbourhood of the Tamarack Swamp. He was not thinking of Goshmeelee; and as the point at which he approached it was a long distance from the spot where they had met, he had not the least idea that he was anywhere near her lair. The thing which occupied his mind was how he could get across the swamp without sticking in the slime. Of course he could have avoided it altogether by going round; but that would have meant a long tramp, and he wanted to reach the camp before the evening fell.
It was just the hour before the coming-on of dusk when the swamp appeared at its worst for damp, draughtiness and general dismalness. On the surface of its stagnant pools nothing stirred, but if you waited long enough, peering close into the black depths, bubbles would rise slowly, telling you that things lived oozily far down in the fat slime. And for all it was so terribly still, the air, when you stopped to consider it, was full of low breathings, tickings, and watery whispers, that seemed to come from hidden pockets, and tangles in the weeds. Every tree, branch and stone had its covering of moss, or lichen. The lichen was grey like very old hair. The moss was green with the greenness of things that are very damp.
But here and there in this waste of watery bog, there were knolls of dryness, like islands, where hemlocks or hardwoods lifted their twisted boughs. And it was possible, if you knew the geography of the place, to work your way from one island to another without getting bogged in between. Dusty Star had reached one of these islands, sheltered by two hemlock trees, when he noticed a deep hollow scooped out between their roots. He stooped down and saw to his astonishment two baby bears curled up together and fast asleep. They looked so beautiful with their little bulgy bodies cuddled close against each other, that he loved them at first sight. He was so much taken up with admiring them that he did not notice a large black body moving quietly but surely along a well-worn trail across the swamp. And it was only when he heard a quick rush and a snort of rage that he realized his danger.
It was the mother bear!
There was no time to tell her that he was doing no harm to her cubs. There was no time to escape. Three tremendous leaps, and she was upon him—almost! Then, in the very last fraction of a second, an extraordinary thing happened. It was as if the bear's great body almost twisted itself in the very middle of its spring. Even then, it only missed Dusty Star's body by an inch.
"Nearly finished youthattime!" would have been Goshmeelee's comment, if she had put her mind into words.
The very instant she landed she knew that Dusty Star had not touched her cubs. It was because she recognised in a flash that itwasDusty Star she was attacking, which had made her last fatal spring fall short of its mark. Even then, it was a moment or two before she fully recovered from the effect upon her nerves.
"Don't do it again!" she seemed to say, looking at the boy out of her little glittering eyes.
Dusty Star gave her to understand that far from doing it again, he had never meant to do it once. Bear babies he regarded as absolutely untouchable, beautiful and bulgy though they were. Somehow or other, Goshmeelee believed him. She thrust her great head and shoulders into the hollow, and began to lick the cubs with her enormous tongue. This was not so much for cleaning perhaps, as to comfort herself after her anxiety. The cubs hated being cleaned. One sweep of that great tongue was warranted to spring-clean a cub down all one side from throat to tail. And if the cub objected, a huge paw would deftly turn him over and clean the other side with aggravating thoroughness. It was an added annoyance to the cubs to be washed so late in the day. What they wanted at that hour was food, not washing—extra nourishment, not extra tongue. They squealed and wriggled and gave miniature growls and tried to bite their mother's paw. Their behavior was very wicked indeed. Goshmeelee, being used to their wickedness, calmly went on cleaning.
When she had finished, she backed out of the hollow and sat down to look at Dusty Star; and her look said as plainly as possible, "What are you going to do?"
Dusty Star had not decided upon doing anything, and he let Goshmeelee understand that his mind was open to any fresh ideas. As Goshmeelee didn't happen to have any fresh ones at the moment, she hadn't any to pass on. Dusty Star looked away across the swamp. It was growing dark, and the black pools were even blacker than before. Unless you knew a path, it would be impossible to find your way across, now that the dusk had fallen. Goshmeelee, could have done it, of course, but then she was at home. Goshmeelee, however, had no intention of doing any such thing. If persons chose to visit at awkward times, she really couldn't be expected to see them safely home.
Blackness was in the swamp now: all its pools and bogs and rotting logs seemed breathing out a damp dusk of their own, heavy with decay.
Dusty Star looked at Goshmeelee and shivered.Shelooked dark enough in her black fur, but also warm anddry. There was an air of large comfortableness about Goshmeelee which was very pleasant to contemplate on a damp night. Dusty Star contemplated, and had an idea. When the bear turned into her lair, he had made up his mind. He gave her time to settle herself comfortably, and arrange the cubs to her liking, and then boldly crept in after her.
To say that Goshmeelee was surprised, is putting it very mildly. Goshmeelee was thunderstruck. In all her great experience, extending over many moons, such an utterly amazing happening had never before taken place. If any other creature—beast, bird or human-being—had attempted to approach her precious cubs, Goshmeelee would have barely given it time to wish it had never been born. But when this small Indian boy fearlessly did the quite impossibly monstrous thing—actually pushing himself in beside her as if he were another cub—she had every claw and tooth ready to tear him into little strips, but—she hadn'tthe heart!
What it was in Dusty Star that made him different from every other creature she had ever come across, she didn't in the least know. Only she felt that the difference was there. Also, she felt quite certain, that, whatever he was, or did, he wouldn't damage the cubs.
It was very cosy in the lair, not to say stuffy. Also, there was very little room. If you wanted to be thoroughly comfortable, you hadn't to be backward about pushing. The cubs weren't troubled with a feeling of backwardness. First one gave a good shove, and then the other. Dusty Star, nestling close against Goshmeelee's furry side, felt distinctly jostled.
When the cubs discovered that a third cub had pushed its way into their proper bed, they grumbled and shoved all the harder. Dusty Star soon found that there were two sides to his share of the den: one was the soft one against Goshmeelee: the other was the hard one against a piece of hemlock root. The more the cubs shoved, the more he felt the root. It was no good saying "Don't!" The cubs didn't understand "Don't." Even when their mother growled at them, they kept on pushing and grumbling and making a fuss, so thatnoone could be comfortable, or pretend to go to sleep. Dusty Star made medicine with his voice—much medicine. He also pushed and shoved. He was not very polite; but then when people are sleepy they are not always polite, and the cubs really were very inhospitable. Goshmeelee was at her wits end to know what to do. Short of cuffing everybody all round, there seemed nothing to be done but growl. So growl she did, till all her body seemed a big thunder-box, with a lid that was always on the point of bursting open.
But by degrees the cubs got sleepier and sleepier, and at last forgot to push. And the rumbling in the thunder-box died away. And Dusty Star, pressed close against the great old thundermaker, slept his first sleep among the bears.
When the early morning twilight was stealing into the black places of the swamp, he crept softly out of the warm furry darkness of the lair, and picked his way across the bog.
And when he finally reached home, he found that Kiopo had not yet returned from his night's hunting, and so would not ask him any awkward questions about his very beary smell. For though you might hide things from Kiopo's eyes, and ears, it was dreadfully difficult to conceal them from his nose.
One day about a week after Dusty Star's night in the swamp, he was returning with Kiopo from a long excursion in the forest, which they had been exploring to the east, when suddenly a large fox came leaping down a run-way straight in front of them.
He stopped dead the moment he caught sight of them. Kiopo, who was in front, growled.
Dusty Star expected to see the fox instantly turn tail, and was surprised to see that it stood its ground, though it held one paw suspended, as if for immediate escape. Still growling in a threatening manner, Kiopo advanced. His hackles were raised, and Dusty Star saw that he lowered his body slightly in preparation for attack. Then, in a flash, he recognised his new acquaintance, the Silver Fox.
At once he grabbed Kiopo by the thick mane on his neck, and gave him clearly to understand that this was a friend whom he must not attack. Kiopo stopped growling, and stood still, while Dusty Star stepped quietly forward towards the fox.
Whatever it was that had startled Baltook, it was quite plain that he was in flight, and that the danger behind alarmed him more than that in front. He allowed Dusty Star to approach to within a few feet, though his wary gaze was fixed upon the wolf, who now came up slowly to Dusty Star's side.
Baltook, watching warily, never winked an eyelid; but his unwinking eyes spoke. "Danger!" they said, as clearly as if he had put the warning into words.
"There is danger coming behind me—coming quickly. There are strangers in the forest. The trees hide them. But they are coming quickly along the trail."
And then, as noiselessly as he had come, Baltook leaped lightly into the underwood, and disappeared.
In spite of the warning the silver fox had given, Dusty Star was at a loss as to what was best to be done. Both the danger, and its direction, were equally vague. In what part of the forest Baltook had met it, he had not said. Dusty Star's senses were keen, but he knew that Kiopo's were keener. It was for Kiopo to decide. So he contented himself by watching the wolf to see what he would do.
At first Kiopo did nothing, except to throw his nose into the wind; After waiting a little, Dusty Star moved forward. A low growl from Kiopo checked him. He turned in the opposite direction. Kiopo growled again.
By this time, the sympathy between them was so close that the slightest hint was enough to say what they wanted. So that whenever Kiopo went so far as to growl, Dusty Star always knew that something was seriously amiss and never failed to take the warning.
And now, Kiopo began to move in the same direction as that which the fox had taken. Moreover he went quickly, as if there was no time to lose. Dusty Star realized that they were travelling rapidly westward, but not towards the camp.
The forest was intensely still. There was no sound save that of their own going, as they brushed against the undergrowth where it was too thick to avoid. Yet the further they went, Dusty Star was aware of an increasing sense of fear. Kiopo, too, was plainly growing more and more uneasy. In spite of his anxiety to cover the ground, he went with extreme caution. If it had not been for Dusty Star, he would have travelled much more quickly. As it was, he kept looking behind, impatiently waiting for the boy to catch up. Yet the speed at which they travelled did not seem to carry them out of reach of that mysterious danger threatening them behind.
For a long time Dusty Star had observed that they were travelling uphill; so that when, at last, they reached more open ground and came out on the top of a cliff, at the edge of a deep ravine, he was not surprised. The place was utterly unknown to him; yet Kiopo appeared to be on familiar ground. He trotted on down a shelving ledge dividing the upper from the lower part of the cliff, and Dusty Star followed. At a point where the ledge turned abruptly round an angle of the cliff, Kiopo suddenly looked back, stopped, and showed his teeth. Dusty Star saw an Indian come out from the forest almost at the same point at which they themselves had left it, and then turn towards the ledge. A moment afterwards he was followed by several more.
Without waiting to see if a still larger band now followed, Dusty Star ran quickly on, with Kiopo closely at his heels. As they proceeded, the gorge grew narrower.
Suddenly the ledge came to an end, so that it was impossible for them to continue any further. Above them, rose a precipitous wall of rock. Below, the precipice plunged sheer to the bed of the ravine. To return by the way they had come, was to run straight into the arms of their pursuers. One chance only remained: to leap the chasm before them.
It was not more than could be cleared by a vigorous jump; but down below was a terrifying depth where the shrunken stream sent up a hollow sound among the stones. If, after jumping you failed to make good foothold, you would go down to almost certain destruction in the black throat of the gorge.
Dusty Star was fully alive to the danger. But he knew that a still greater danger was coming on behind. He pressed himself against the rock at his back, in order to make the most of the few steps possible for a run, drew a deep breath, and then took a flying leap over the chasm. He heard the dull roar of the water, he saw the yawning blackness below, and then found himself clinging for dear life to the roots of a stone pine on the opposite bank.
He pulled himself into safety, and looked back, expecting to see Kiopo follow him at once; but Kiopo did not move.
"Kiopo!" he called. "Kiopo!"
The wolf never turned his head. Dusty Star looked nervously back along the gorge. A few moments afterwards the figure of an Indian came quickly around the turn. Rigid as the rock against which he crouched, Kiopo never stirred. Dusty Star watched with breathless excitement. He knew that the wolf's stillness meant deadly danger to the unconscious Indian. The latter came quickly on. In the intense silence the soft padding of his deer-skin moccasins was plainly audible.
From where Dusty Star crouched, he was invisible to the Indian. So also was Kiopo hidden by the rock. The boy saw at a glance that the man was not of his own people, but belonged to the dreaded Yellow Dogs. Now the Indian had almost reached the rocks. Dusty Star saw Kiopo's powerful haunches quiver, and held his breath.
The next instant he saw the wolf's great body hurl itself through the air.
Quick as lightning, the Indian leaped aside. Kiopo's terrible fangs missed his throat by a finger's breadth. In a flash, the Indian's tomahawk was out. Kiopo did not wait, and cleared the chasm with a bound.
And now Dusty Star could see that several more Indians were coming down the ledge. When they reached the spot where Kiopo had launched his attack they stopped and examined the opposite bank carefully. Like Dusty Star, Kiopo had drawn himself out of sight, among the thick mass of brambles, and creepers.
The Indian who had been attacked could be seen pointing out to his companions the exact point at which the wolf had disappeared. Dusty Star watched them with a terrible fear growing moment by moment. If their pursuers succeeded in making the crossing, he and Kiopo were only two against five. At present, they were in a sort of rude cave formed by the roots of the pine and screened by the hanging foliage; but in order to continue their flight, it would be necessary to come out full in view of their enemies and risk exposure to their deadly arrows.
They had not long to wait in suspense. They saw one of the Indians prepare to take the leap.
Close against his side, Dusty Star could feel Kiopo's body shivering with excitement.
Through the opening in the leaves, he saw an Indian lean back against the rock as he himself had done in preparation for the spring. The next instant Kiopo dashed through the opening with a snarl of fury.
Dusty Star saw him meet the Indian at the moment his feet touched the rock. The body of the wolf and the man seemed to sway together for one agonized moment on the very brink of the precipice. Then there was a ringing scream, and both disappeared from view over the edge of the abyss.
For the first few moments after this awful event, Dusty Star was too terrified to do anything but crouch where he was. Through the opening he could see the Indians gesticulating wildly on the other side of the chasm, as they gazed down into the gorge. Then they disappeared, and peering out from behind the foliage, he saw that they were retreating rapidly along the ledge.
He waited a little to allow them to get out of sight; then cautiously climbed down from his hiding place, and, lowering himself by the pine-tree's roots till he hung over the very edge of the precipice, looked down, dreading what he might see.
What he saw, was only a mass of shadowy boulders, far below, with the wreck of a pine-tree fallen across the creek. Not a sign of Kiopo, or of his victim! He listened intently. He heard the hollow wash of waters, rising and falling in a muffled roar, as the flow of the air rushed through the neck of the gorge. There was no other sound.
It was not possible to climb down at this point. Even if it had been, he dreaded lest the Indians might be there before him. Nevertheless he could not bear to remain in uncertainty as to what had been the fate of Kiopo, who had so nobly defended his life at the risk of his own. He felt that, at all costs, he must find his way down to the depths of that terrible gorge.
To do this, owing to the necessity of travelling back along the ravine, took him so long that darkness had fallen before he would reach a place where the descent would be possible. After wandering about for some time, he became completely lost, and it was not till the morning of the following day that he was at length able to make his way back to the camp.
During all his wanderings, he was comforted by a vague hope that Kiopo might, after all, have miraculously escaped with his life, and have reached the camp before him. But when he came in sight of the familiar landmarks, and arrived at last to find the place wholly deserted, a terrible loneliness settled down upon him. The night passed, and the following day. Still there was no sign of Kiopo. Dusty Star did not like to leave the camp, in case the wolf should return in his absence and not find him there to welcome him. He kept hoping against hope that the worst had not happened. The thought that Kiopo was killed, that he had seen his faithful companion for the last time, was unthinkable. Kiopomustcome back! He had told himself that he had been injured in the fall from the precipice, and was in hiding somewhere till his wounds should heal; Or that he had lost his way, and was wandering in the forest; Or, being hungry, that he had followed the trail of some far-travelling buck, and would not return till he had gorged himself with his kill! Any of these things! But not that other unthinkable thing, in the black throat of the gorge!
And all round the little valley that now seemed so deserted, the forest stood gigantically silent, as if itknew.
Not far from the camp, grew an immense hemlock. Over its dusky summit a thousand moons had waxed and waned. The shadow of its boughs was the darkness that had followed the dead moons. Several times, Dusty Star had seen Kiopo re-appear from its gloomy shade after he had been away on some of his long hunting expeditions. Now, he found himself continually turning his anxious gaze in its direction.
Suddenly, as he looked, he thought he saw something move. He was not sure. The space under the tree was very dark. Anything might crouch there and be invisible, even at high noon. What was it?—animal or human? He could not tell. The great old tree looked as if it had known no motion within the circle of its shade for a thousand years. Yet Dusty Star was not to be deceived. Heknewthat he had seen!
Yet for all his looking at the tree, he saw nothing more. The movement, whatever had made it, had been very slight. He would have thought nothing was there if it had not been for the instinct which continual dwelling among the wild creatures had developed in him:he felt he was being watched.
For some time, he could not make up his mind what to do. He knew that his smallest movement would not escape the unseen watcher. As the time went on, the suspense became unbearable. He felt he must do something definite. Gathering all his courage, he advanced deliberately towards the tree.
Except his hunting knife, he carried no weapon. But Dusty Star was no coward. Even though his heart was pounding, and his body tingling, he did not falter. Without pausing for an instant, he stooped beneath the sweepings boughs, gripping his knife.
To his astonishment, there was nothing to be seen. He went round the trunk to the farther side and gazed up into the overhanging gloom. Still, nothing! He examined the ground all about with the minutest care. Whatever had lurked there a minute before had left small trace of its presence yet slight though the traces were, he detected them.Something had been there.
He remained where he was for a long time. He preferred to be the eyes under the tree rather than allow the tree to get eyes again so that it might keep watch onhim!
He was so very still that a couple of wood-mice went running over his moccasins, and a little black-and-white woodpecker ran up and down the trunk, searching for insects almost within reach of his hand. But these things belonged to the ordinary happenings of the forest. There was neither sight nor sound which gave him any reason to think that the thing which had watched under the hemlock was still lurking in the neighbourhood.
After a while he felt he could not stay any longer in the gloom. As he stepped out into the warm current of air, he had a sense of intense relief. Yet he did not wish to continue his watch from the camp, because of its nearness to the hemlock, lest there should steal back into its blind gloom the eyes that made it see.
So he climbed through the scrub up the mountain-side till he came out upon a grassy slope, two hundred feet above the camp.
He was above the tops of the sombre spruce woods now. The slanting sunbeams touched their summits into bronze and ruddy gold. Yet always, beneath the gold,—as Dusty Star well knew—lay the heavy green silence that never stirred even at noon, where the furtive feet padded softly over the brown fir-needles, and the furtive eyes glimmered in the gloom.
In the valley beneath nothing moved. From a thousand miles of forest and mountain the silence seemed to be oozing into it, filling it to the brim. And at his back, rose Carboona. From all its gorges, precipices and barrens there came not a single sound. The vast world of the afternoon seemed heavily asleep. Worn out with all his watching, Dusty Star also slept.
When he awoke, the last ray of sunlight had left the eastern peaks. At his feet the camp lay in deep shadow.
Ah, why did not the Spirit of the Wild Places come to him now, and tell him not to go down? At various times already during the life the Spirit had warned him, he didn't know how. There had been no distinct shape, nor any sound. But the same mysterious warning, that tells moose and caribou when danger threatens, had come to him also, and he had turned aside, or taken another trail. And so, whatever the unknown peril was, it had been escaped. Yet now, even though he needed it as never before, the warning did not come. But perhaps the Spirit had gone upon a long trail, and had not yet returned? Or perhaps it had considered the experience of the hemlock sufficient. Whatever was the reason, nothing warned him now as he went into the shadow of the trees.
Dusty Star's mind was filled with one thought—the wild hope that Kiopo might have returned: but when he reached the camp the place was empty, and everything desolate as before.
He gave a long look up and down the valley into the fast-falling night, and his heart sank. The forest was very dark now. The hemlock was inky black. He went to bed with a heavy heart.
He slept uneasily, waking from time to time; but it was only to hear the solemn cry of a horned owl sitting on some dead limb, or rampike; or the long, wailing laughter of a loon from the water-meadows to the south.
And once, far off in Carboona, he heard the hunting-call of a wolf. Even at that remote distance he knew it was not Kiopo's deep-toned, vibrating bellow.
He was fast asleep when the wolf-call came again. As it rang faintly out, a shadowy form, gliding from under the hemlock, paused to listen. When, receiving no answer, it had died away, the form moved stealthily on.
Dusty Star woke with a start. He knew that something had disturbed him, but could not tell what it was. He listened intently. Over the valley he heard the notes of a pair of night-hawks swooping down from the hill; and between the stones, the stream went with a wandering murmur. That was all.
He lifted himself on his elbow, and looked towards the doorway. A silvery glimmer showed that the moon had not yet set. As he looked out; a man's shape darkened the entrance of the hut.
Dusty Star held his breath. In the absolute stillness, he could hear his heart thump against his ribs.
The man entered the hut. Instantly Dusty Star sprang for the opening. As he did so, he felt arms thrown round him. He struggled frantically, but, in that strong Indian grasp, he was powerless, and the next moment he was dragged mercilessly outside the hut.
Half-a-dozen Indians immediately surrounded him; but not a word was spoken. While two of them held him, a third passed a deer-skin thong round his chest, fastening it securely under his arms.
The thing had been done so rapidly, that from the moment when the Indian's shape darkened the doorway till that when the whole party moved noiselessly down the valley with their captive in their midst, the thin shadow of a rampike falling on the moonlit space in front of the tepee had scarcely shifted its black finger an inch towards the east.
In spite of the fact that it was night, the Indians travelled quickly, owing to the moonlight. It was only under the trees, or in the shadow of some great rock, that the darkness made it necessary to slacken the pace. As they went, Dusty Star kept listening backward along the trail. Suppose, at the last moment, Kiopo should have returned? Finding the hut empty, Dusty Star knew that he would start instantly in pursuit. But suppose he did not come back in time to get the scent before it faded from the trail? Evenhisfine nose would not serve him on a cold trail. Once only, when they were nearing the end of the valley, Dusty Star caught a faint wolf-howl very far behind; but whether this was Kiopo's voice or not, it was impossible to say.
It was evident that the Indians had some idea that the wolf might follow them, for it was plain, by the speed with which they were travelling, that they were anxious to push on with the least possible delay. They were among the spruce woods now, and the air was full of the unmistakable smell of the trees, with that peculiar tang one could never forget. They travelled in single file. Even when it was so dark that Dusty Star could scarcely see his captors before, or behind, the deer-skin thong about his chest was always there to prove their presence as it tightened or slackened according to the pace, or the unevenness of the ground.
At dawn, they reached the thin edges of the forest. Dusty Star's heart sank. If Kiopo had caught them up in the thick woods, there would have been some chance of escape under cover of his whirlwind method of attack which would have suggested a pack of wolves rather than one. But now, in the more open country and the growing light, this would not be possible.
The Indians quickened their pace. In the day-light, Dusty Star recognised them as belonging to the same tribe as those who had followed him and Kiopo a few days earlier; Yellow Dogs every man of them, under the leadership of Double Runner.
It was near noon before they reached the head of a long lake. Dusty Star could see the water glimmering far away to the south over the tops of the red Indian willows. Without pausing for an instant, the Indians pushed their way through the thicket, their moccasins sinking deeply in the spongy ground between the willow roots. Then they pulled out a slender canoe of birch-bark concealed among the reeds.
Dusty Star had never seen a canoe before. It struck him with astonishment; and when his captors forced him to get in, and he found himself floating on the water, his astonishment was mingled with fear, especially when, urged by the vigorous strokes of the Indian paddles, the canoe shot out into the open. Once out upon the lake he was utterly amazed. Prairie-bred, he had never imagined it possible that so much water could exist. And it was deep, very deep! When you looked down, you could not see any bottom. And the thin sides of the canoe seemed a poor protection from the rippling vastness of that inland sea. The waves struck the bows with a husky noise. Dusty Star dreaded that at any moment, the canoe might be engulfed. Already the willow-thicket where they had embarked seemed a long distance away. A feeling of despair took hold of him. The thicket was the last place where Kiopo could find the trail; for, as Dusty Star knew too well, all trails die out upon the running watery smell.
When at last the Indians reached the end of their journey, Dusty Star found himself in a large camp near a stream which flowed into the river down which they had come from the lake.
Their arrival caused a great deal of excitement among the inhabitants, who came crowding round to examine the captive. It was evident to Dusty Star that they had already received the news of Kiopo's attack upon the Indian who had jumped the gorge. As he looked at the hostile faces crowded about him, as if he were some strange wild animal, his heart sank. In spite of his youth, he knew only too well what Indian vengeance meant. After he had been sufficiently examined, the deer-skin thong with which he was bound was fastened to one of the lodge-poles, and he knew that, unless a miracle happened, he was a prisoner whose chance of escape was small indeed.
When night came on, he was ordered to enter the lodge, which he found he was to share with Double Runner, and another Indian; and, after they were all inside, the door-flap was securely fastened.
Notwithstanding his long journey and the anxiety of the last few days, he found it difficult to sleep. All night long he kept waking up with a start, and then dropping off again into uneasy slumbers, in which the dread of the uncertain fate in store for him oppressed him with terrible dreams.
Next morning he was let out again, and the day passed without any sign as to what his enemies intended to do with him. And at night he was imprisoned as before. Food was given to him as often as was necessary, and, although he was kept a close prisoner, carefully guarded day and night, he was not subjected to any ill-treatment.
Day after day passed, and it became evident that the Yellow Dogs were preparing for some great ceremony. Plentiful game of all sorts was brought into camp, and there was much boiling of tongues and other Indian dainties, filling the air with a juicy smell. The forest people wrinkled their noses in the tainted breeze, and the word travelled.