CHAPTER XXVIIIPHIL ASSUMES A RESPONSIBILITY
Phil had never met nor even seen a mountain-lion, but he had often heard that its cry sometimes imitates that of a child so closely as to deceive the most expert of hunters. He had heard, too, of its ferocity, its boldness in attacking human beings, and its terrible strength. In some respects it is even more to be feared than that monarch of the North American wilderness the grizzly bear, for the former, belonging to the cat family, is a famous tree-climber, which the latter is not.
These thoughts, together with all the stories he had ever read of mountain-lions, flashed through the lad’s mind in the few minutes that elapsed between the first and third of those terrible cries. Before it could utter another the fearful beast would be upon him, and with tense muscles he braced himself for the coming conflict. He would not have a chance for more than one shot. If it failed him, all would be lost.
The sound of the third wailing cry had hardly died away when, with a gasp half of relief that the suspense was ended, half of dread, Phil caught a momentary glimpse of a brown furry object moving through the trees. It would next appear from behind yonder clump of bushes. The rifle was slowly lifted, a deliberate sight was taken along its shining barrel, and then, as the furry object appeared at the precise point where it was expected, the forest echoed with its ringing shot. But the bullet had not been allowed to fulfil its fatalmission. One blessed instant had been granted, even as the trigger was pressed, in which to give the barrel a slight upward jerk, and deflect the leaden messenger from its deadly course.
The rifle fell from Phil’s nerveless hand, as weak and faint he leaned against a friendly tree trunk. As he stood there, staring with still unbelieving eyes, a little fur-clad child, not more than four years old, walking on the tiniest of snow-shoes, came close to him, smiled trustfully up in his face, and, holding out a small mittened hand, said:
“Come, man. Come wif Nel-te. Mamma say come.”
“COME, MAN. COME WIF NEL-TE. MAMMA SAY COME”
“COME, MAN. COME WIF NEL-TE. MAMMA SAY COME”
If Phil had been nearly paralyzed with horror to discover, as his eye glanced along the levelled rifle-barrel, that he was aiming at a human being, he was almost equally staggered at hearing the fur-clad atom who called himself Nel-te address him in English. How could it be? Who was he? How came he there, alone in that vast wilderness of trackless forest, ice, and snow? Where had the child spent the night just passed, that had been so filled with terrors to him? How had he lived through it? Wherewashis mother?
All these questions and more he asked the child as he sat on a log, and, drawing the little one to him, gazed at him as though he were unreal, and might at any moment vanish as mysteriously as he had come.
But the child evidently had neither the time nor the inclination for explanations. He gravely repelled all the lad’s friendly advances, and turned to go away, as though confidently expecting him to follow. As Phil hesitated for a moment he looked back, and in a voice that had a slight tremble, together with a lower lip that quivered just a little, he repeated:
“Come. Mamma say come.”
And Phil, picking up his rifle, followed after theunique little figure like one who is dazed. A happy smile lighted the child’s face at this compliance with his wish, and after that he plodded sturdily onward without turning his head, as though satisfied that his mission was accomplished. After thus going something less than a quarter of a mile, they emerged from the forest, and came to a log-cabin standing on the bank of a small stream.
Though fairly well built, this cabin did not differ in outward appearance from ordinary structures of its kind in that country, save that its single glass window was hung with white curtains. These caught Phil’s eye at once, but ere he had time to speculate concerning them his little guide had reached the door. Slipping off the small snow-shoes, he pushed it open and entered. Phil followed, but had not taken a single step into the interior ere he started back in dismay.
On the floor close beside the threshold lay an Indian—a tall, handsome fellow, but with a terrible gash in his side. From it his life’s blood had evidently drained some time before, for it needed but a glance to show that he was dead.
From this startling sight the lad’s gaze wandered across the room. It caught the white curtains, a few poor attempts at ornamentation of the walls, an empty hearth, on which was no spark of fire, and then rested on a rude bed in one corner, to which the child had just run with a joyful cry.
On the bed lay a woman, and, to Phil’s utter amazement, she was a white woman, who was feebly speaking to him in English. Her bloodless face, terribly emaciated, was surrounded by a wealth of dark-brown hair, and her great eyes were fixed on him with a pitiful eagerness.
“Thank God! thank God, sir!” she said, in a voice so near a whisper that Phil was obliged to bend hishead to catch the words. “Now that you’ve come, I can die in peace, for my Nel-te will be cared for. I prayed, oh, how I prayed! But it seemed as if my prayers were to be of no avail, until at length the answer came in the report of your gun. Then I sent the child to find you. And oh, sir, I do thank you for coming! I do thank my Heavenly Father for sending you. And you will care for my baby? You will take him far from here, where he may grow to be a good and useful man? You will, won’t you, sir? Promise me! Promise me you will.”
“But you mustn’t die,” answered poor Phil, who was so bewildered by the perplexities of the situation that he knew not what to say. “I have two companions who will know what to do for you, and we will stay until you get stronger. What does it all mean, anyway? Are you wounded? Did that Indian attack you?”
“He was my husband, my Jim,” answered the woman, again opening her eyes, which had closed wearily after her recent effort at talking. “He died for me, and I am dying for him.”
Here she was interrupted by a terrible fit of coughing and a gush of blood from some internal hemorrhage.
After a few minutes she continued: “He shot a moose, and with its last strength it charged on him. When he did not come home I went in search of him. I found them lying together. Jim still breathed. Somehow I managed to bring him home on my back. But he was dead when I got him here, and the strain had been too great for me. I had burst a blood-vessel, and had barely strength to crawl to the bed. That was two days ago. I should have died that first night, but fought with death for Nel-te’s sake. Now I can go, and I am glad, for I am so weary—so weary.”
This pitiful story was told in whispers, with many pauses and many struggles for breath. When it was finished the great pleading eyes again closed, and the woman lay so still that Phil thought she must be dead. He tried to feel of her pulse, but started at the touch of her hand, for it was like ice. The chill of it seemed to reach his very heart, and he shivered in the deadly cold of the room.
“I can at least make a fire,” he thought, and he began to search for matches. There were none, and finally bethinking himself of the blaze he had left in the woods, he set forth to fetch fire from it. In a few minutes he returned with a couple of burning brands. Then he brought in wood, and after a little the great fireplace was filled with leaping flames.
Nel-te came to him and begged for water. Phil had noticed several times that the child was eating snow, and now berated himself for not realizing that the little fellow was thirsty. He melted snow in a kettle, and the boy drank eagerly. Then from some hiding-place he produced a smoked salmon, that he began to eat ravenously. After a little he paused, looked hesitatingly at Phil, and then shyly, but with inborn hospitality, held out the fish to his guest, saying, “You hungry?”
“Indeed I am, little chap,” answered Phil, who was just remembering how very hungry he was, “and I shall be only too glad to take a bite with you.” So he cut off a piece of the fish, and as the two ate their strange meal in company Phil knew that the little stranger had won his heart; for never had he felt so drawn to any child as to this one.
While they were thus engaged the woman again unclosed her eyes, and made a slight movement. Phil held a cup of water to her lips, and she drank thirstily. It seemed to give her strength, for she said, and this time in clearer tones than before:
“You have not promised me, lad. But you will—I know you will; for God has sent you in answer to my prayers. You will care for my baby, and try to love him, and never let him forget his mother. You will promise, and I know I can trust you, for you have a brave face and honest. You will promise me?”
“I do promise,” said Phil, solemnly, “that if you are taken from your boy I will care for him to the best of my ability, and be to him a brother and—”
“That’s enough, lad. Now hand him to me, for I canna see him. His name is Nelson McLeod.”
This last came in so faint a whisper that Phil barely caught the words; but as he lifted the little one to the bed the woman seemed to gain a new strength, for she flung her arms about the child, strained him to her breast, and kissed him.
Then the wasted arms unclosed. She fell back, a smile glorified her face, and the great brown eyes opened for one parting look at her boy. In another moment, with a sigh of content, she fell into the sleep that knows no waking; and Phil, recalling the long-ago story of the missionary, knew that the sorrows of Ellen McLeod were ended.