CHAPTER XVIII.CONCLUSION.
Chasewas awakened the next morning by the crackling of the fire which the hunters had replenished at daylight. He started up with a cheery “good-morning” on his lips, but no sooner was he fairly awake, than a sight caught his eyes which arrested the words ere they were spoken. The men, having finished their breakfast, were overhauling his bundle—or rather one of them was, while the other sat by smoking his pipe and looking at him. Chase found, too, that the blanket which had covered him during the night, had been pulled off, and was now rolled up and tied to the horn of one of the saddles.
“I am to be robbed, I can see that plainly enough,” said Chase, his heart sinking within him.“I have been afraid of it all along, and it has come at last. I might as well give up now. But if I am to lose all my things, I’ll at least have a breakfast in part payment,” he added, after a moment’s reflection.
The men looked at Chase as he got up, but did not speak to him. He took down the haunch of venison, and while he was cutting off a portion of it, the hunter who was examining his bundle, coolly rolled up the blanket from which he had just arisen, and laid it down beside his saddle. Chase shivered as he watched the operation, and thought of the nights he had yet to pass in the mountains, but said nothing. He thrust some sticks through the slices of venison, and proceeded to roast them over the flames.
“Now, then,” said the hunter, who had done the most of the talking the night before, “whar’s them shiners?”
Chase, holding his breakfast with one hand, emptied his pocket with the other, giving up hishard-earned wages without a word of remonstrance.
“Be these all you’ve got?” asked the man.
“Every cent. If you don’t believe it, you can go through me.”
The man took him at his word, turning all his pockets inside out, passing his hand around his neck to make sure that he did not carry a purse suspended beneath his shirt, and even feeling of the seams of his trowsers and jacket. Having satisfied himself that the boy had told the truth, he ordered him to pull off his boots. Chase obeyed, shaking each one as he did so, to show that there was nothing in it.
“O, I know you hain’t got no more money,” said the man, impatiently. “Hand them boots here. They’re too big for you, an’ mebbe they’ll fit me.”
“Now you are not barbarian enough to turn me adrift in this wilderness at this time of the year barefooted, are you?” cried Chase, in great alarm.
“You cook that grub o’ your’n, an’ let it stopyour mouth; that’s the best thing you can do,” was the reply.
Chase thought so too. The savage look on the man’s face frightened him, and he told himself that he would not object again, no matter what they did to him.
The hunter pulled off his moccasins and proceeded to draw on Chase’s boots, which, contrary to the boy’s hopes, fitted him as if they had been made for him. He grunted out his satisfaction, and picking up his moccasins was about to toss them to Chase, when his companion interposed. “Hand ’em here,” said he. “I reckon I can use ’em as well as anybody.”
The hunter accordingly passed the moccasins to his friend, who drew them on over his own, and Chase settled back on the ground with a despairing sigh. He was to be left barefooted, sure enough.
The men having appropriated every article of value that Chase possessed (fortunately they did not think his pocket-knife and the contents of his bundle worth stealing), brought up their horses, and while one put the saddles on them, the other employedhimself in gathering their luggage together, not even forgetting what remained of the haunch of venison, which Chase hoped they would leave behind them. When all was ready for the start, they mounted and one rode off at once, while the other stopped to say a parting word to the boy. “No follerin’ now,” he exclaimed, savagely. “If we set eyes on you agin, you won’t get off so easy.”
The hunter then rode on after his companion, and Chase was left alone. So stunned and bewildered was he that he could scarcely realize his situation. Hardly knowing what he was about, he replenished the fire, cooked and ate his slices of venison, and then picking up the only extra shirt he possessed, set to work to cut it into strips, so that he could make of it some protection for his feet. He could not stay there and starve while he had the strength to move, and neither could he travel barefooted over those frosty stones. Having wrapped up his feet as well as he could, he bundled up his clothes and resumed his journey.
In after life, Chase was never able to tell justwhat happened during the two weeks following the night he spent in the hunters’ camp. He knew that he lived through them, and that was all he did know. During all this time he was lost—there was not a road or a path to be found anywhere. While daylight lasted he picked his way wearily over logs and rocks and through tangled thickets, and at night sat beside his lonely fire, shivering with the cold and thinking of home. Fortunately he had a flint and steel and an abundance of tinder, and fortunately, too, grouse were plenty and he knew how to snare them, so that he never suffered for want of food. The clothing in his bundle was gradually used up for protection for his feet, and he had not yet been able to make up his mind what he would do when the last piece was gone.
One day he found himself standing on the brink of a precipice overlooking a valley, about ten miles in circumference. In attempting to work his way to the bottom he missed his footing and fell, bruising himself severely and tearing his clothing almost into shreds. He had a roasted grouse in each hand, towhich he held fast; and when he had rested a few minutes, leaning against the boulder which had stopped him in his descent, he arose and struggled forward again. After some trouble he succeeded in finding an outlet to the valley, which was a rocky gorge running between lofty mountains. He camped in the mouth of this gorge, and on the afternoon of the next day found himself within sight of the prairie. His hopes rose a moment, and then sank to zero again. There were no more mountains and gullies to be passed, but there was many a mile of prairie to be traversed, and he was in just as much danger of being hopelessly bewildered and lost, as he had been at any time during his journey. While he was thinking about it, he came suddenly around a tall rock, which jutted out into the gorge like a promontory into the ocean, and was brought to a stand-still by an unexpected sight. A drove of horses were on the point of entering the gorge. They were close upon him, and Chase, to save himself from being run down by them, sprang quickly behind the nearest tree. The horses sawhim and swerved from their course, and at the same time Chase heard some words addressed to him by a horseman who was riding in the rear of the drove. He was sure the words were addressed to him, for the horseman looked straight toward him, and, more than that, he raised his hand and shook something at him. It was the first time for many a long day that Chase had heard the sound of a human voice, but it was not a welcome sound, for he thought he recognised the horseman. It was one of the hunters who had robbed him. Remembering the parting threat they had uttered, Chase turned and retreated up the hill with all possible speed. Before he reached the top he heard the horses rushing down the gorge, and then the sound of voices came to his ears. No doubt the hunters believed that he had followed them, and were about to hunt him up and do something terrible to him. Frightened at the thought, Chase crept away and hid himself in a hollow log, from which he never ventured out again until long after dark.
The week following this incident was anothermemorable one to the wanderer. He was lost again. The mountains were full of gullies, which crossed and recrossed one another in every direction, and he could not find the prairie. He knew which way he ought to go, for the sun told him; but none of the gullies ran that way, and their sides were much too steep to be scaled. Turn which way he would, nothing but rocks and stunted trees met his gaze.
Finally the last bone of the last grouse he had snared was picked clean and thrown away, and for the first time Chase began to suffer from the pangs of hunger. That same day, too, something came which he had long been dreading—a snow-storm. It was wonderful how rapidly it increased in violence when it was once fairly started! The wind which roared up the gorges could not have been colder if it had come off some of the icebergs he had seen in going around Cape Horn, and he had never in his life seen so much snow as he saw during the next few hours. Drifts began to show themselves. Some of them were a foot or more in depth,and when Chase waded through them, he felt the snow settling around his bare ankles. That took all the courage out of him.
“I don’t know what I shall do now,” said he, almost ready to abandon himself to despair. “I’m snowed up. It will be of no use for me to try to find the prairie now, for I would not dare go out there; and if I stay here——”
Chase suddenly stopped, faced quickly about and made an effort to take to his heels, but the bundle of cloths which he wore on his feet impeded his progress, tripped him up and he went down in a snowdrift. Scrambling up with all possible haste, he wiped the snow out of his eyes, and took a survey of the objects that had excited his alarm. There was no one in sight; but there was a smouldering fire under the cliffs, two wagons in the road, one with a broken axletree, two mules lying dead in the harness, an ox lying dead in his yoke, and the remains of another, which had been butchered, close by him. There were plenty of footprints about, and the persons who made them could not have beenlong absent, for the snow, which constantly sifted down from the bluffs above, had not yet filled them entirely up.
“They’re gone!” said Chase, looking all around, “and even if they should come back and should prove to be enemies, they could not have the heart to refuse me something to eat. The men who robbed me gave me a supper and breakfast.”
Encouraged by these thoughts, Chase drew near and looked into both the wagons, examined the footprints, to see whether those who made them were white men or Indians, and then raking the coals together and blowing them into a blaze with his hat, piled on some wood that happened to be lying near, and went to the slaughtered ox to select a piece of meat for his dinner.
“Something is always happening just in the nick of time,” said Chase, as he turned the piece of meat before the fire. “My affairs may take a turn for the better yet. I noticed a pair of boots in one of those wagons—pretty well worn, it is true, but much better than what I have been wearing duringthe last three weeks, and also some clothing that will perhaps be more comfortable than this I have on. I hope the owners will not return until I have had time to make a selection from their store. It is always darkest just before daylight.”
Yes, and Chase’s day was just on the point of dawning. While he was talking thus with himself, the sound of footsteps in the snow caused him to look up in alarm. There was a party approaching, but there was nothing in the appearance of those who composed it to induce Chase to flee from them. He felt more like running to meet them. The new-comers were the Pike and his family. The old man led the way with a bundle thrown over his shoulder, and a child on each arm. He seemed surprised to see Chase, but was as profuse in his offers of hospitality as he had been when Archie Winters and his two companions first entered his camp.
“How do, stranger?” said he, cheerfully. “Making yourself to home, eh? That’s right. It hain’t much we’ve got to offer now, but you’re as welcome as the flowers of May.”
“Is this your property, sir?” asked the boy.
“Yes, and it is all I have left of what I brought with me from the States.”
“You have met with an accident?”
“Yes, and been robbed!”
“By Indians?”
“No; by white men!”
“I was served the same way,” said Chase, in alarm. “I hope they have gone away.”
“O, yes. They’ve taken all that is worth stealing, and there is no fear that they will come back. But they left me this,” said the Pike, patting his bundle as he placed it carefully on the ground, “and I can soon replace what I have lost. I’ve got a million dollars here.”
“Why, I should think they would have taken it from you,” said Chase, looking doubtfully at the man and wondering if he was in his right mind.
“It would have been of no use to them—that’s the reason they didn’t take it.”
Chase glanced at the Pike’s wife and children, who ranged themselves on the opposite side of thefire without saying a word, and then turned his attention to the man himself, who began undoing his bundle, finally disclosing to view the machine which was to run his quartz-mill when he reached his gold-mine in the mountains. Chase, unable to make out what it was, asked some questions concerning it, but the Pike was too busy to reply. Reuben, with whom he next tried to be sociable, didn’t want to talk or didn’t know how; but the woman had a tongue and it was a matter of no difficulty to set it going.
While Chase was eating his meat, and listening to her story of the adventures that had lately befallen herself and family, another party approached the camp-fire—three boys about Chase’s own age, who came plodding along through the snow with bundles thrown over their shoulders. They looked at Chase in great amazement, and one of them said, in a voice which he meant should be audible only to his companions, but whose shrill, piping tones nevertheless reached the wanderer’s ear and set his heart to beating like a trip-hammer—
“Hallo! who is this stranger, and where did the Pike pick him up?”
The boys behind looked over their leader’s shoulder to see who the stranger was, and Chase heard one of them exclaim: “I declare, that’s the Wild Man of the Woods, fellows! He’s the one who frightened the horses!”
As the three boys drew nearer Chase’s heart continued to beat loudly, and his eyes began to open with amazement. He looked again and again, brushing away a mist that appeared to obstruct his vision, and then sat as motionless as if he had been turned into one of the boulders that lay scattered around. He noticed, too, that something created a commotion among the approaching boys. The one in front uttered an exclamation that quickly brought the one in the rear to his side, and the two stood looking first at Chase, then at each other, and whispering eagerly. At length one of them called out abruptly:
“Say, fellow, who are you?”
“O, Eugene!” was all poor Chase could sayHe had borne up bravely so far, but he could bear up no longer. To hear the tones of a familiar and kindly voice out there in that wilderness, when he had thought himself a thousand miles from everybody he had ever seen or heard of, was too much for the wanderer in his demoralized condition. He leaned his hands upon his knees, buried his face in them and sobbed convulsively.
“ItisHank, as sure as the world!” cried both Fred and Eugene, in tones which showed that they were not quite ready to believe it after all.
They dropped their bundles, and hurrying up to the long lost boy threw themselves down one on each side of him. “Look up, Hank,” said Eugene, “and let us see if it is really you. Speak to a fellow, can’t you?”
But Chase could neither look up nor speak. His tears flowed freely as he rocked himself back and forth on the ground. His two friends glanced at his tattered clothing, at the rags which covered his feet, then at his blue cold hands, and the eyes they raised to Archie Winters’s astonished face were notdry by any means. Fred nodded his head toward one of the bundles, and Archie understanding the sign, quickly untied it, and handed out a pair of blankets which Fred and Eugene threw over Chase’s shivering form, and then patiently waited for him to speak, resting their arms over his shoulders meanwhile, as if to assure him of their protection.
“He is a friend of ours,” said Featherweight, in answer to an inquiring look from the Pike and his wife. “He lives near us in Louisiana, and used to go to school with us.”
“Well, I do think in my soul!” cried the worthy couple, in concert.
“Yes. The last time we saw him was in Cuba, and how he ever came out here is a mystery.”
And of course it remained a mystery until Chase was ready to explain, which he did as soon as he was warmed up both inside and out. A cup of hot coffee (fortunately there proved to be enough of the coffee-pot left to serve the purpose for which it was originally intended), a roaring fire, the substitution of a pair of stockings and boots for the insufficientprotection his feet had known during the last few days, and, better than all, the knowledge that he was among friends again, worked a wonderful change in the wanderer. Every one about the fire listened eagerly while he related the story of his trials, and when he concluded, Eugene told what had happened to the Sportsman’s Club since they had last seen Chase in Cuba; so that it was long after midnight before a wink of sleep was had about that fire by any but the Pike’s children.
Hemlock boughs for beds and wood for the fire were plenty; so were blankets, such as they were; the overhanging cliff protected them from the storm; and Chase once more slept soundly and without suffering from the cold. The next day the boys all went out to the mouth of the gorge to see if there were any signs of their friends, and Archie added that sentence to the notice he had already written on the beech tree. It would have been nearer correct had he written it: “Chase has found us.”
The very next day the looked-for help arrived, and then there was a jubilee indeed! Chase’s storyhad to be told all over again, and it lost nothing in the telling, for those who had already heard it were just as much interested in it as were the new-comers. No less interesting to Frank, Walter and the rest of the Club, was the history of the exploits that Archie and his two companions had performed since leaving Fort Bolton. They had actually succeeded in capturing the wild horse, and it was through no fault or mismanagement of their own that they had lost him. Of course everybody sympathized with them, and Archie was the hero of the hour.
The storm abated that night, and early the next morning preparations were made to return to the Fort. Dick and old Bob superintended the work, and in a very short space of time their horses, which had never worn a collar before, were harnessed to the uninjured wagon; and when Chase, and the Pike and all his belongings, had been put into it, the journey was commenced. It lasted four days, but the travellers enjoyed themselves in spite of the cold weather that set in after the storm.
Chase remained at the Fort only one day—just long enough to provide himself with suitable clothing; and when Uncle Dick had furnished him with funds enough to bear all his expenses, the Club went down to the station to see him started on his way home. A happier or more grateful boy than Chase was that day never lived. The Club often heard of him after that. While they were prosecuting their voyage around the world, he and Wilson were attending the Bellville Academy—the new buildings having been completed by this time,—and they made it a point to keep their friends on board the Stranger posted in all that went on there.
Having seen Chase off, and the Pike and his family settled for the winter in comfortable quarters near the Fort, the Club began active preparations for their journey across the mountains. Old Winter had only just “shown his teeth,” so Dick Lewis said. The roads were not yet impassable, but soon would be, and if the journey to San Francisco was to be made that winter, it must be undertaken at once.So the Club started without delay, Dick and old Bob acting as guides. Of the adventures that befell them at the other end of their journey, we shall have something to say in “Frank Nelson in the Forecastle; or, The Sportsman’s Club among the Whalers.”
THE END.