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+ } + div.textbody p.signature2 { + text-indent: 0em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + text-align: right; + margin-right: 6em; + } + div.textbody p.writer { + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 0em; + text-align: right; + margin-right: 1em; + } + + div.figcenter p { + text-indent: 0em; + } + div.textbody .noindent { + text-indent: 0em; + } + div.footnote p { + text-indent: 0em; + } + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Black Wolf Pack, by Dan Beard + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Black Wolf Pack + +Author: Dan Beard + +Release Date: July 19, 2007 [EBook #22109] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BLACK WOLF PACK *** + + + + +Produced by Irma Spehar, Markus Brenner and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<!-- <h1><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span>THE BLACK WOLF PACK</h1> --> + +<!-- <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span>[Blank Page]</p> --> + +<!-- <p>[Blank Page]</p> --> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p> +<h1>THE<br /> +BLACK WOLF PACK</h1> + +<p class="by">BY</p> + +<p class="author">DAN BEARD</p> + +<p class="role">NATIONAL SCOUT COMMISSIONER, B.S.A.</p> + +<p class="illustrated">ILLUSTRATED</p> + +<p class="publisher">CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS<br /> +<strong>NEW YORK</strong></p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:285px;"><a name="frontispiece" id="frontispiece"></a> +<p><a href="images/frontispiece.jpg"><img src="images/frontispiece_th.jpg" +alt="It was a shadowy figure yet it moved" +title="It was a shadowy figure yet it moved" /></a></p> +<p class="caption">It was a shadowy figure yet it moved<br /> +<span style="float: right;">[<i>Page 96</i></span></p> +</div> + + +<p class="copyright"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span> +<span class="smcap">Copyright,</span> 1922, <span class="smcap">by</span><br /> +CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS</p> +<hr /> +<p class="copyrightcont"><span class="smcap">Copyright,</span> 1922, <span class="smcap">by</span> BOYS’ LIFE</p> +<hr /> +<p class="copyrightcont">Printed in the United States of America<br /> +<br /> +<i>All rights reserved. No part of this book<br /> +may be reproduced in any form without<br /> +the permission of Charles Scribner’s Sons</i> +</p> + + +<p style="margin-top: 4em;" class="figcenter"><a href="images/logo.jpg"><img style="border-style: none;" src="images/logo_th.jpg" +alt="Logo: The Scribner Press" +title="Logo: The Scribner Press" /></a></p> + + +<p class="dedication"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span> +<span style="line-height: 250%">DEDICATED TO</span><br /> +<big>BELMORE <span class="smcap">and</span> FRED</big><br /> +<small><span style="padding-right: 0em;">(BELMORE BROWNE)</span><span style="padding-left: 5em;">(FREDERICK K. VREELAND)</span></small><br /> +<br /> +NO BETTER WILDERNESS MEN EVER<br /> +WORE MOCCASINS<br /> +</p> + +<!-- <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span>[Blank Page]</p> --> + +<div class="textbody"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE</h2> + + +<p>After numerous visits to a number of remote +and unfrequented places in the Rocky +Mountains, from Wyoming to Alberta, the +writer was deeply impressed with the awesome +mystery of the wilderness and the weird +legends he heard around the camp fires, +while the bigness of the things he saw was +photographed on his brain so distinctly and +permanently as to act as a compelling force +causing him, aye, almost forcing him to write +about it.</p> + +<p>When the spell came upon him, like the +Ancient Mariner, he needs must tell the story, +and thus the tale of the Black Wolf Pack was +written with no thought, at the time, of +publishing the narrative, but primarily for +the real enjoyment the author derived from +writing it, and also for the entertainment of +the author’s family and intimate friends.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span>The tale, however, pleased the members of +the Editorial Board of the Boy Scouts of +America, and Mr. Franklin K. Mathiews, +Chief Scout Librarian, asked permission to +have it edited for the Scout Magazine, which +request was cheerfully granted.</p> + +<p>The author hereby freely and cheerfully +acknowledges the useful changes and practical +suggestions injected into the story by his +friend and associate, Mr. Irving Crump, +Editor of Boys’ Life, in which magazine the +Black Wolf Pack, in somewhat abbreviated +form, first appeared.</p> + +<p class="signature">DAN BEARD.</p> + +<p class="location"> +Flushing,<br /> +<span style="padding-left: 1em;">June 1st, 1922.</span> +</p> + + + +<p><a name="ILLUSTRATIONS" id="ILLUSTRATIONS"></a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span></p> +<table class="illos"> +<caption>ILLUSTRATIONS</caption> +<tr><td class="desc"><a href="#frontispiece">It was a shadowy figure yet it moved</a></td><td class="onpage" colspan="2"><i>Frontispiece</i></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc" colspan="2"><a href="#illo1">The eagle screamed, descended like a thunderbolt +... and struck the bull</a></td><td class="onpage">36</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc" colspan="2"><a href="#illo2">More than once while I clung to the chance projection +... I regretted making the fool-hardy attempt</a></td><td class="onpage">92</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc" colspan="2"><a href="#illo3">“I think the name ‘Pluto’ fits his character to a +nicety”</a></td><td class="onpage">192</td></tr> + +<tr class="spacer"><td> </td><td> </td><td> </td></tr> + +</table> + + +<!-- <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span>[Blank Page]</p> --> + + + + +<p class="title"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span>The Black Wolf Pack</p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + + +<p>It was a terrible shock to me (said the +Scoutmaster as he fingered a beaded buckskin +bag). Old Blink Broosmore was responsible. +It was a malicious thing for him to do. +He meant it to be mean, too,—wanted to +hurt me,—to wound my feelings and make +me ashamed. And all because he nursed a +grudge against dad—I mean Mr. Crawford.</p> + +<p>It started because of that defective spark-plug +in the engine of the roadster. Strange +what a tiny thing such as a crack in a porcelain +jacket around an old spark-plug can do in the +way of changing the course of a fellow’s whole +life.</p> + +<p>My last period in the afternoon at high +school was a study period and I cut it because<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> +I had several things to do down town. I +hurried home and took the roadster, and on +my way out mother—I mean Mrs. Crawford—gave +me an armful of books to return to the +library and a list of errands she wanted me to +do. While motoring down town I noticed +that one cylinder was missing occasionally +and I told myself I would change that spark-plug +as soon as I got home.</p> + +<p>I made all the stops I had planned and +even drove around to the church because I +wanted to look in at the parish house where +some of my scouts (I was the assistant scoutmaster +of Troop 6, of Marlborough) were +putting up decorations for the very first +Fathers and Sons dinner ever given which we +were to have on Washington’s birthday. +That was in 1911.</p> + +<p>As I was leaving I looked at my new wrist +watch and discovered that it was a quarter +of five.</p> + +<p>“Just in time to catch dad and drive him +home from the office,” I said to myself, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> +I knew that he left the office of his big paper-mill +down at the docks at five o’clock.</p> + +<p>I jumped into the car and bowled along +down Spring Street and the Front Street hill +and arrived at the mill office at exactly five. +Dad wasn’t in sight so I decided to turn around +and wait for him at the curb. That is how +the trouble started. I got part way around +on the hill when that cylinder began missing +a lot and next thing I knew the motor stalled +and there was I with my car crosswise on the +hill, blocking traffic—and traffic is heavy on +Front Street hill about five o’clock, because +all the mills are rushing their trucks down to +the piers with the last loads of merchandise +before the down-river boats leave, at six +o’clock.</p> + +<p>In about two minutes I was holding up a +line of trucks a block long and those drivers +were saying a lot of things that were not very +complimentary to me and not printed in +Sunday-school papers. And old Blink Broosmore +was right up at the head of the line<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> +with a truck load of cases from the box factory +and the look on his face was about as ugly +as a mud turtle’s. Then, to make matters +worse, my starter wouldn’t work at the +critical moment, and I had to get out to crank +the engine. What a howl of indignation went +up from those stalled truck drivers! I felt +like a bad two-cent piece in a drawer full of +five-dollar gold pieces. Guess my face was +red behind my ears.</p> + +<p>And then old Blink made the unkindest +remark of all—no, he didn’t make it to me; +he just yelled it out to a couple of other truck-drivers.</p> + +<p>“That’s what happens with these make-believe +dudes,” he shouted. “That’s the +kid old Skin Flint Crawford took out of an +orphan asylum. He’s a kid that old +Crawford took up with because he was too +mean t’ have t’ Lord bless him with one o’ +his own. That’s straight, fellers. I was +Crawford’s gardener when it happened an’—”</p> + +<p>Old Blink stopped and got red and then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> +white, and I could see the other truck men +looking uncomfortable. I looked up and +there was Dad Crawford on the curb boring +holes into Blink with those cold gray eyes of +his and looking as white as marble. No one +said a word. It seemed as if the whole street +became hushed and silent. I got the car +around to the curb somehow and dad got in +and the line of trucks trundled by with every +driver looking straight ahead and some of +them grinning nervously and apparently feeling +mighty uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>But that wasn’t a patch to the way I felt, +and I could see by the lack of color and set +expression of dad’s face and the way he stared +straight ahead of him without saying a word +that he was feeling very unhappy about it too. +There was something behind it all—something +that raised in my mind vague doubts and +very unpleasant thoughts.</p> + +<p>Dad never spoke a word all the way home, +and, needless to say, I did not either—I +couldn’t; my whole world seemed to have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> +turned upside down in the space of half an +hour. Was it true that I was not Donald +Crawford? Was it possible that Alexander +Crawford, this fine, big, broad-shouldered, +kindly man beside me was not my real father? +Was it a fact that that noble, generous, happy +woman whom I called mamma was not my +mother at all? Each of those questions took +shape in my mind and each was like a stab +in the heart, for Blink Broosmore had answered +them all, and Alexander Crawford, though he +must know how anxious I was to have Blink +denied, did not speak to refute him.</p> + +<p>We rolled up the drive and dad stepped +out, still silent, but he did smile wistfully at +me as he closed the car door.</p> + +<p>“Put it away, Don, and hurry in for dinner,” +he said and I felt certain I detected a break +in his voice. I felt sorry—sorry for him and +sorry for myself, and as I put the car in the +garage, I had a hard time trying to see things +clearly; my eyes would get blurred and a lump +would get into my throat in spite of me.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>As I dressed for dinner I felt half dazed. +I hardly realized what I was doing, and I had +to stop and pull myself together before I +started downstairs to the dining room, for +I knew if I did not have myself well in hand I +would blubber like a big chump.</p> + +<p>Mother and dad were waiting for me and +I could see by mother’s sad expression and +the troubled look in her eyes that dad had +told her of the whole occurrence. And that +only added to my unhappiness because I +felt for a certainty that all that Blink Broosmore +had shouted must be true.</p> + +<p>For the first time in my memory dad +forgot to say grace, and none of us ate with +any apparent relish and none of us tried to +make conversation. It was a painful sort of +a meal and I wanted to have it over with as soon +as I could. It seemed hours before Nora +cleared the table and served dad’s demi-tasse.</p> + +<p>I guess I then looked him full in the eyes +for the first time since the occurrence on +Front Street.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>“That was a very unkind thing for Blink +Broosmore to do,” said dad, and I knew by +the firmness and evenness of his voice that +he had gained full control of his feelings.</p> + +<p>“Is—is—oh, did he tell the truth, dad?” +I gulped helplessly and for the life of me I +could not keep back the tears.</p> + +<p>“Unfortunately, Donald, there is just +enough truth in it to make it hurt,” said dad +and I could see mother wince as if she had +been struck, and turn away her face.</p> + +<p>“They why—why? Oh! who am I?” I +cried, for the whole thing had completely +unnerved me.</p> + +<p>“Don dear, we do not know to a certainty,” +said mother struggling with her emotions.</p> + +<p>“But now that you are partly aware of the +situation, I think there is a way you can find +out, at least as much as we know,” said dad, +getting up and going into the library.</p> + +<p>Through the doorway I could see him +fumbling at the safe that he kept there beside +the desk. Presently he drew out a battered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> +and dented red tin box and a bundle of papers. +These he brought into the dining room and +laid on the table. Then he drew up a chair, +cleared his throat, rather loudly it seemed to +me, and began.</p> + +<p>“Don, we always wanted a child, and why +the Lord never blessed us with one of our own +we do not know. Anyway, we wanted one +so badly that we decided to adopt one. That +was seventeen years ago, wasn’t it, mother?”</p> + +<p>Mother nodded.</p> + +<p>“Doctor Raymond, the physician at the +county institution, knew our desires and, +being an old friend of the family, he volunteered +to find us a good healthy baby that we +could adopt and call our own. Not a week +later you appeared on the scene. Dr. Raymond +told us that a wagon drawn by a raw-boned +horse, and loaded with household +goods, drew up to the orphanage and a tired +and worn-out looking old lady got out with a +lusty year old child in one arm and this box +and these papers under the other.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>“At the office of the asylum she explained +how she and her husband were moving from +a Connecticut town to a little farm they had +bought in Pennsylvania. Somewhere at a +crossroad near Derby, Connecticut, they had +found the baby and this box and bundle of +papers in a basket under a bush with a card +attached to the basket requesting that the +finder adopt and take care of the baby.</p> + +<p>“Of course, they could not pass the infant +by, but the woman explained that they were +too poor and too old to adopt the child so they +had gone miles out of their way to find an +orphanage and leave the baby there, along +with the box and papers.</p> + +<p>“When Dr. Raymond heard the story and +saw you, for you were the baby, he got me on +the telephone and told me all about you. +And that night he brought you here, and +you were such a chubby, bright, interesting +little fellow that mother and I fell in love with +you immediately and decided to adopt you, +which we did according to law. So you are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> +our legal child, Don, and all that, although +we are not your real parents.”</p> + +<p>Somehow that made me feel a little happier. +Dad and mother did have a claim on me at +least. That was something.</p> + +<p>“It was not until after Dr. Raymond had +left,” went on father, “that mother and +I examined the box and papers that had come +with you. Here they are.”</p> + +<p>Dad took up a worn and age-yellowed envelope +addressed in a bold hand:</p> + +<p class="center">To the Finder</p> + +<p class="noindent">Inside was the following brief message:</p> + +<div class="letter"> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">To the Finder</span>:—</p> + +<p>The mother of this child, Donald Mullen, +is dead. I, his father, cannot give him the +care he should have. Will you, the finder, +adopt him, care for him, and bring him up to +be an honest, trustworthy man, and win the +eternal gratitude of his dead mother and</p> + +<p class="signature1"> +<span class="smcap">Donald Mullen</span>,</p> +<p class="writer">his father.</p> +</div> + +<p>“Then my name is—or was Mullen,” I +exclaimed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>“According to that,” said dad softly, “but +when you became our son we kept your first +name and discarded the family name of +course.”</p> + +<p>“But—but what has become of my father, +Donald Mullen?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“My boy, we have tried both for your sake +and for our own to find out. We have followed +up and searched every possible clue +and—but wait, here are other papers of +interest and after you have read them I will +tell you all we have done to locate your real +father and afterwards we will talk the whole +situation over.” As dad was speaking he +passed over the battered tin box. On the +lid was inscribed the simple lines—</p> + +<div class="letter"> +<p>The contents of this box belong to the boy. +If you are honest you will see that it comes +into his hands at the proper time. If you +are dishonest, then God help the boy and +God help you!</p> + +<p class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">D. Mullen.</span></p> +</div> + +<p>It was some time before I could make up +my mind to force the lid. When I did the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +first thing that my eyes fell upon was this +buckskin bag of unmistakable Indian design, +beautifully decorated with bead work and +highly colored porcupine quills cunningly +worked into a good luck design. As I picked +up the bag I saw that it was sealed with wax +and to it was attached a card on which was +penned:</p> + +<div class="letter"> +<p class="noindent">To my son:—</p> + +<p>Here is all the wealth I possess. It isn’t +much. The bag with its contents was sent +to me by my brother, Fay, who is out in the +Rockies. He gave it to me to pay my +expenses out there to join him. I am leaving +it for you. It may help you over some rocky +places if it ever gets into your hands, and I +trust the good Lord that it does.</p> + +<p class="signature2">Lovingly,</p> +<p class="writer"><span class="smcap">Your Father.</span></p> +</div> + +<p>The bag gave forth the unmistakable clink +of gold coins as I dropped it on the table.</p> + +<p>That message from my father, whom I had +never seen, made my heart heavy and again +that lump gathered in my throat, for I could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +feel the heartaches that the writing of that +note must have caused him. I had not the +courage to break the seal of the bag and +examine its contents. I pushed it aside and +took from the box another time-yellowed +envelope addressed to</p> + +<p class="center"> +<span class="smcap">My Son Donald</span><br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent">Inside I found the following:</p> + +<div class="letter"> +<p class="noindent">Dear Boy:—</p> + +<p>I cannot determine whether I am giving you +a mean deal or whether this is all for your +good. Your mother, Barbara Parker Mullen, +is dead, God bless her! She has been dead +now six months. It seems to me like eternity. +I have tried to take care of you as she would +have cared for you but I am afraid I have lost +heart, and my courage, and I am afraid my +faith has slipped from me. I fear that I am +a broken-spirited failure. The passing of +your mother has taken everything from me. +I am no longer fit or able to care for you and +I must pass you on to someone else and trust +your welfare to God. For neither your mother +nor I have any relatives left who are able to +take care of you.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>What will become of you I cannot guess. +I can only hope for the best. But by the +time you are old enough to read and understand +this message you will, I hope, have +forgiven me or praised me for my effort to +find you a home.</p> + +<p>What will become of me I do not know. +I have one brother left in the world, Fay +Mullen, and he is out in Piute Pass in the +Rockies grubbing for gold. I am going out +to join him for I know the only way I can +forget my grief and get hold of myself once +more is to bury myself in the wilderness.</p> + +<p>Fay has sent me a bag of double eagles to +pay my expenses west. That is all the +money I have in the world. I am not going +to use it. I will work my way west and leave +the gold for you. It is the least and probably +the last that I can do for you.</p> + +<p>If, when you read this you have any desires +to know who you really are, I will leave you +the following information:</p> + +<p>Your mother, a wonderful woman, was +Barbara Parker of Litchfield, Connecticut, +daughter of Judge Arnold Parker of Litchfield, +now deceased. I am Donald Mullen, +the eldest of three brothers; Fay Mullen is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +the next of age and Patrick Mullen, the gunsmith +of Maiden Lane, New York, is the +youngest. We were born in Byron Bridge, +Ireland, and we three came to this country +after our parents died. You come of an +honest, worthwhile people on my side, and of +the best American blood on your mother’s, +Donald, and I ask only that you live an honest, +honorable life and have faith in your country +and your God, and He will be with you to the +end.</p> + +<p>Good-bye, boy.</p> +<p class="signature2">Lovingly,</p> +<p class="writer"><span class="smcap">Your Father.</span></p> +</div> + +<p>I read the letter aloud but I confess that +my voice broke toward the end and I choked +up until reading was difficult.</p> + +<p>For some time after I finished, we three sat +in silence. The thoughts and mental pictures +of that broken man parting with his baby son +seventeen years before made me most unhappy.</p> + +<p>Dad broke the silence.</p> + +<p>“Well, now you are acquainted with the +whole situation, what do you think?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>”“I scarcely know what to think,” said I. +“It does not appear natural for a man to +abandon his own son in the manner he did. +It seems heartless and cruel. I cannot understand +it; yet I wish I could see my poor +father. I wonder if he is still alive. Certainly +with the information at hand it should not +be impossible for me to trace him or some +relatives of my mother. Don’t you think so?”</p> + +<p>“That is what I thought, Don, for when +you were three years old I began to wonder +about your father’s whereabouts. I wanted +to meet him and perhaps help him if I could. +Do not think that your poor father was cruel, +for it is evident that the man was suffering +from a nervous breakdown and consequently +more or less irresponsible; I think he acted +wonderfully well under the circumstances. +In order to help him I began a search and for +ten years I have had detectives and private +individuals following up every possible lead. +Yet, with all my efforts, the search has +amounted to nothing. Your father’s trail<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +ended at a Spokane outfitting store. I could +not locate anyone nearer to you than an old +maiden great-aunt of your mother’s although +I have had every clue investigated.</p> + +<p>“The only relative of your father’s that +I could get any information about was his +youngest brother, Patrick Mullen, your uncle +and a famous gunsmith of Maiden Lane, +New York. He is dead now but his reputation +for making an exceptionally fine hand-forged +gun lives on even to-day. Patrick Mullen +died just before I began my search for your +father, but in digging around for facts about +him, I learned that he had made a limited +number of very fine guns, on each of which he +had stamped his full name, ‘Patrick Mullen.’ +Other guns of an inferior quality that he made +bore the simple stamp of ‘P. Mullen.’ The +old man was very proud of each ‘Patrick +Mullen’ that he turned out and like the true +artist that he was he kept track of each one, +sold them only to men he knew and when the +owner died he bought the gun back himself so +that he always knew its whereabouts.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>“In that way all of the 101 ‘Patrick +Mullen’s’ he made came back to him, save +one. There is one of the complete number still +missing and no one seems to know where it is. +This is more remarkable because the missing +gun is a flint-lock rifle of the style of seventy +years ago. That gun has always struck me as +being a valuable clue in our search, because it +is the only rifle ever made by the old gunsmith +and I have a feeling that that missing ‘Patrick +Mullen’ may have been given to your father +by the brother, and that may account for +the fact that among the papers of Patrick +Mullen there is no record of its whereabouts; +this is in a measure confirmed by the report +that the man outfitting at Spokane had a long +old-fashioned rifle, and collectors say there +used to be an expert in antique arms by the +name of Mullen.”</p> + +<p>The suggestion made me tremendously +excited. Beyond a doubt in my mind that +missing “Patrick Mullen” was my father’s +gun. I imagined him parting with everything +else save the unique gun his famous brother<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +had made for him. Why he should wish for a +flint-lock rifle was an unanswerable question, +but someone wanted that sort of a gun or it +would not have been made, and my father’s +letters showed him to be a man of sentiment, +and impractical, just the sort of fellow to use a +flint-lock when he might just as well have +had a modern breech-loading high-power rifle.</p> + +<p>“I believe you’ve hit it, dad. Hot dog!” +I exclaimed. “Bet a cookie that that gun +does belong to my father and if we can find it +we will probably find him too—would not that +be bully?”</p> + +<p>“I feel the same way too, Don. But +finding that missing gun will be as difficult +as finding your father. I have searched the +country over for it and made a wonderful +collection of flint-lock guns, as you see by +looking at yonder gun-rack; I have had +dozens of arms collectors and detectives +looking for guns of that description, but no +Patrick Mullen rifle has turned up anywhere. +There have, of course, been many false clues<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> +and many queer rifles offered to me and I +have put a great many thousands of dollars +into the search, and my collection of flint-locks +is the best in the land, Don. But so +far nothing but failures seem to have rewarded +my search—no, I’m wrong, there is one man +out west—out in the little jerk-water town of +Grave Stone, who insists that there is a wild +man living in a lonely, almost inaccessible +valley in the mountains, who shoots a gun +which looks like the one for which I am searching. +For a number of years this man of +mystery, it seems, has been appearing and +reappearing, according to Big Pete Darlinkel, +my informant, but even Pete has never got in +personal touch with this eccentric hermit. +Neither have several detectives I have sent +out there for that purpose. The detectives +seem to be all right in towns or cities and are +undoubtedly brave men, but something out +there appears to frighten them and they lose +interest the moment they cut the trail of the +wild hunter. I begin to think this wild man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +is a myth, too. Strange, though, that just a +week ago I received another letter from Pete +Darlinkel. Wait, I’ll find it.”</p> + +<p>He returned from the library presently with +a letter which he opened and passed over to +me. It read:</p> + +<div class="letter"> +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Crawford</span>:—<br /> +</p> + +<p>Maybe you hain’t interested no more but +thet tha’ ole Dopped ganger, the Wild +Hunter, the spooky old critter, has been seen +agin. i wuz on the top of the painted Butte +yesterday squinten one i in the valley look’n +for elk and look’n up with tother i for +Big horn on the mountain, when i staged the +old duffer snoop’en along in one of the parks +an’ he had the same long hair and long rifle +he uster have. He sure is a ghost or else +he’s a nut or an old timer gone locoed. He +sends the chills down my backbone every +time i sots my eyes on him.</p> + +<p class="signature1">Your obedients sarvent,</p> +<p class="writer"><span class="smcap">Big Pete.</span></p> +</div> + +<p>There was something about that crude +letter that stirred me deeply.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>Could this strange freak that Big Pete saw +from the top of the painted Butte possess that +Patrick Mullen rifle? If so did he know anything +about the whereabouts of my father? +It is not uncommon for people suffering from +a mental breakdown to flee to the country +or wilderness and there live the life of a +recluse, and from my father’s last letter it +was evident that he had had a nervous breakdown +from anxiety and brooding over the loss +of my mother, to whom he evidently was +devotedly attached. It might, therefore, be +possible that this strange, wild man himself +was my father, an unpleasant possibility. +At any rate, I felt that I could not rest, at +least until I discovered to a certainty the +name of the maker of the long rifle said to be +carried by the wild hunter and I told dad just +how I felt about it.</p> + +<p>“I knew you would feel that way, son,” +said he. “I have often wanted to go west +for the very same purpose and I knew that +when I told you everything you would want to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +go too. I intended to lay all the facts before +you when you were twenty-one but now that +Blink Broosmore has taken it upon himself to +inform you and his truck-driving friends of +the mystery surrounding your real parentage, +I guess it is best you know all there is to be +known about the situation. The rest I’ll +leave to you. In fact, it would please me a +great deal if you would run down this last +vague clue to see if your father really is still +alive. Go, Donald, and God bless you, and +take that bag of gold with you, unopened, +for it may now stand your father in good stead, +and if you do find him, bring him here and I +promise you he will never want for a thing, +nor will you, my son, for you are still my boy +whatever your real parentage may be.”</p> + + + + +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + + +<p>The stage pulled up in front of a typical +western saloon, post office and general store. +There was the usual crowd of prospectors, +gamblers, cow punchers and trappers assembled +to meet the incoming stage. When +I scrambled off the top of the old-fashioned +coach, and before I had time to shake the +alkali dust from my clothes, or moisten my +dry and cracked lips, a typical western bully +approached me roaring the verses of a song +with which he evidently intended to terrify me,</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“He blowed into Lanigan swinging a gun<br /> +A new one,<br /> +A blue one,<br /> +A colt’s forty-one,<br /> +An’ swearing<br /> +Declaring<br /> +Red Rivers ’ud run<br /> +Down Alkali Valley,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>An’ oceans of gore<br /> +’ud wash sudden death<br /> +On the sage brush shore,<br /> +An’ he shot a big hole—” +</p> + +<p>He got no further with the song. Another +man stepped out from the crowd, a very +tall, powerful man who would have attracted +attention in any garb in any place by his +distinguished appearance, who with little ceremony +rudely brushed the roughneck to one side, +and my instinct told me the handsome +stranger could be no other than Big Pete +Darlinkel.</p> + +<p>My! my! what a man he was! Looked as if +he just stepped out of one of Fred Remington’s +pictures, or Buffalo Bill’s Wild West +Show, or slipped from between the leaves +of a volume of Captain Mayne Reid’s +“Scalp Hunters”—Big Pete was evidently a +hold-over from another age. He would have +fitted perfectly and with nicety in a picture +of Davy Crockett’s men down in old Texas. +He seemed, however, perfectly at home in this +border town, and I noted that the most hard-boiled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +and toughest men in the crowd treated +him with marked respect and deference.</p> + +<p>Pete was a wilderness fop and a dandy, and +evidently was as careful of his clothes as a +West Point cadet. In dress he affected the +old-fashioned picturesque garb of the mountains. +His appearance filled me with wonder +and admiration; he stood six feet two or +three inches in his moccasins, straight as an +arrow and lithe as a cat.</p> + +<p>His costume consisted of a tunic of dressed +deer skin, smoked to the softness of the +finest flannels. He wore it belted in at the +waist, but open at the breast and throat +where it fell back like a sailor’s collar into a +short cape covering the shoulders. Underneath +was the undershirt of dressed fawn skin; +his leggins and moccasins were of the same +material as his hunting shirt, and on his head +he wore a fox skin cap; the fox’s head adorned +with glass eyes ornamented the front and the +tail hung like a drooping plume over the left +shoulder.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>Big Pete Darlinkel was a blonde, and his +golden hair hung in sunny curls upon his +massive shoulders; a light mustache, soft yellow +beard, with a pair of the deepest, clearest, +most innocent baby-like blue eyes, all made a +face such as an angel might have after years of +exposure to sun and wind.</p> + +<p>Not only are Big Pete’s revolvers gold +mounted, but the shaft of his keen-edged +knife is rich with figures, rings, and stars +filed from gold coins and set in the horn. +The very stock of his long, single-barreled +rifle is inlaid like an Arab’s gun, and, as for +his buckskin hunting suit, it is a mass of +embroidery and colored quills from his beaded +moccasins to the fringed cape of his shirt.</p> + +<p>Big Pete was a dandy, fond of color, fond of +display; yet in spite of all this he wore absolutely +nothing for decoration alone, but every +article of use about his person was ornamented +to an oriental degree. Gaudy and +rich as his costume was when viewed in detail, +as a whole it harmonized not only with Pete,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +his hair, his complexion, his weapons, but +with whatever natural objects surrounded him.</p> + +<p>Big Pete also seemed to know me instinctively +and approached with a graceful and +swinging step; holding out his hand he greeted +me in a low, soft, well-modulated voice with, +“Howdy, kid; yes, I’m Big Pete and allow you +are the tenderfoot dude from New York +what wants to shoot big game, an’ reckon +you’d like to meet the wild mountain man? +Well, he’s a queer one, I tell you. He’s got +us all buffaloed out this-a-way, most of us +don’t care to meet him close up and we give +him wide range when we cut his trail.”</p> + +<p>That was Big Pete’s greeting. Of course, +I had not told him of my real interest in this +mysterious man of the mountains, only suggesting +that I would like to do some big game +shooting and see the spooky hunter.</p> + +<p>“Well,” I answered, “I would like to get a +record elk head to take home to dad. As for +the mountain wildman, I wish you’d tell me +more about him, he is awfully interesting.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>“Tell you more? Well, sho, I reckon I can +tell you more than most people round these +parts for he makes my game park his stampin’ +grounds every onct in a while, an’ let me tell +you he hunts some peculiar, he do, he’s half +man and half wolf—but shucks, I won’t spoil +the show, you will see how he hunts for yourself +if you stay here long. Glory be, but he’s +got me some bashful and shy. But mosey +along and I’ll hist yore stuff on this here +cayuse while you let them tha’ dogs out of +their chicken coop boxes. You can cache +your dude duds in the Emporium general store +over yonder next to Squinty Quinn’s saloon, +an’ then we’re off for the hills. I’ll yarn about +this Wild Hunter while we hit the trail.”</p> + +<p>An hour spent in Grave Stone gave me an +opportunity to wash myself and change my +clothes for some that would be more substantial +for out-of-door wear, start several letters +east telling of my safe arrival, buy the things +I had overlooked, store my surplus clothes +with the postmaster at the general store, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +repack my kit for pony travel. Then, after +watching Big Pete skilfully throw the diamond +hitch, we were off for the hills and our first +camp. I hoped that I was on my way to find +my real father and unravel the mystery that +surrounded my strange babyhood. But I +little guessed what adventures I was to have +or the strange things I was to see before my +quest was ended.</p> + +<p>We traveled fast all the remaining portion +of the afternoon and toward evening we made +camp and for the first time in my life I slept +under the sky. At the end of the fifth day +we reached the secret and narrow opening of +a big valley or “park” in the midst of a wild +tumble of mountains. Big Pete said we +would pitch our tent in the park.</p> + +<p>“Tha’s plenty of signs ’round too an’ if we +loosen t’ dogs p’raps we kin stir up a mountain +lion or collar some fresh meat t’ start camp +with,” said he as he slid off his horse and took +the leashes off the dogs.</p> + +<p>It took us but a short time to arrange our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +camp, then Big Pete followed by the frisking +dogs slipped silently into the woods. He was +gone scarcely a quarter of an hour when he +reappeared again without the dogs, motioned +for me to get my gun and follow him.</p> + +<p>“Tha’s elk signs all bout,” he said, “an’ +the muts broke away on a fresh trail. Now +you an’ me’ll climb through that draw yonder +and hide out on the runway till they drive an +elk in gun shot. Come along.”</p> + +<p>I followed eagerly and presently we had +climbed through a thickly grown poplar +grove and found a suitable hiding place among +the small poplars. We had the wind right +and a clear view of most of the open park. +Big Pete stooped down and motioned for me +to do likewise.</p> + +<p>I quietly crouched beside him and waited—waited +until my legs were cramped, waited +until the dampness from the moss struck +through the heavy soles of my tenderfoot +shoes and chilled my feet; waited until my +arm was so numb that it felt like a piece of +lead—then, in spite of the danger of incurring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +Big Pete’s displeasure and in spite of my +dread of being thought a dude tenderfoot, +I changed my position, rubbed life into my +arm and assumed an easier pose.</p> + +<p>In front of us was a small lake, deep, dark +and unruffled. All around the edge was a +natural wharf formed from the gigantic trunks +of trees which had fallen for ages into the lake +and been washed by wind and waves and +forced by winter ice into such regular order +and position along the shore that their arrangement +looked like the work of men. +Back of this wharf and all about was the wilderness +of silent wood; a wilderness enclosed +by a wall of mountains, whose lofty heads +were uplifted far above the soft white clouds +that floated in the blue sky overhead and +were mirrored in the lake below. An eagle, +on apparently immovable wings, soared over +the lake in spiral course. As I watched the +bird its wings seemed suddenly endowed with +life. At the same instant my guide gave a low +grunt of warning.</p> + +<p>“What is it?” I asked in a whisper, for there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> +was a strange expression in my companion’s +eyes.</p> + +<p>“It’s—it’s him, so help me!—Keep yer ears +open and yer meat-trap shut!” growled Pete.</p> + +<p>I did so. The trained ear of the hunter had +detected the sound of crackling twigs and swishing +branches made by some animals in rapid +motion.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” I exclaimed, “the dogs. You +startled me; I thought it was Indians.”</p> + +<p>“I wish it was nothing wuss,” muttered my +guide, as he examined his weapons with a +critical eye and loosened the cartridges for +his revolvers in his belt to make sure that +they would be easy to pluck out.</p> + +<p>“Those hain’t our dogs, mister,” he remarked +after he had examined his whole arsenal.</p> + +<p>As I again fixed my attention on the noise, +in place of the resonant voice of the hounds, +I heard nothing but the crackling of branches, +with an occasional half-suppressed wolf-like +yelp.</p> + +<p>Big Pete turned pale and muttered, “It’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> +them for sartin; it’s them agin! And I hain’t +been drinkin’, nuther!”</p> + +<p>Big Pete Darlinkel remained crouching in +exactly the same pose he had first assumed, +but his face looked sallow and worn. I marveled. +Was this big westerner really awed +by the situation we were facing? What disaster +impended?</p> + +<p>My guide’s eyes were fixed upon an opening +in the woods and I knew that something would +soon bound from that spot. I could hear the +crashing of brush and half-suppressed wolf-like +yelps, followed by a pause, then a rushing +noise, and out leaped as beautiful a bull elk +as I had ever seen—in fact the first I had ever +seen at close range in his native wilderness. +I had only time to take note of his muscular +neck, clean cut limbs, his grand branching +antlers, and—not my dogs but a pack of +<i>immense black wolves</i> at his heels before I +instinctively brought my gun to my shoulder. +But before I could draw a bead Big Pete +struck it, knocking the muzzle up.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>“Hist!” he exclaimed, pointing to the bird.</p> + +<p>The eagle screamed, descended like a thunderbolt +and skilfully avoiding the branching +antlers, struck the bull, driving one talon into +the neck and the other into the back, flapping +its huge wings as it tore with its beak at the +body of the elk like a trained “<i>bear coote</i>.”</p> + +<p>I was thunderstruck. The evident partnership +of the wolves and bird needed explanation +and it was not long in coming. A shrill +whistle pierced the air, the black wolves +immediately ceased to worry the elk, the eagle +soared overhead, and for an instant the elk +stood confused, then leaped high in the air and +fell dead. The next moment I heard the +crack of a rifle and saw a puff of blue smoke +across the lake.</p> + +<p>“That’s no ghost,” I said, when partly recovered +from my astonishment.</p> + +<p>“Wait,” said Pete laconically.</p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:286px;"><a name="illo1" id="illo1"></a> +<p><a href="images/illo1.jpg"><img src="images/illo1_th.jpg" +alt="The eagle screamed, descended like a thunderbolt ... and struck the bull" +title="The eagle screamed, descended like a thunderbolt ... and struck the bull" /></a></p> +<p class="caption">The eagle screamed, descended like a thunderbolt ... and struck the bull</p> +</div> + + +<!-- <p>[Blank Page]</p> --> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p><p>Not long afterward there was a movement +among the wolves and, noiselessly as a panther +the figure of a man lithe and youthful in every +movement slipped to the side of the dead elk. +He made no noise, uttered no word to the +fierce black animals that sat with their red +tongues hanging from their panting jaws, but +without a moment’s hesitation whipped out a +knife and with a dexterity and skill that +brought the color to Big Pete’s face, proceeded +to take the coat off the wapiti, while the great +eagle perched upon the branching antlers. +The skin was removed and with equal dexterity +all the best parts of the meat were +skilfully detached and packed in the green +hide, after which, removing a large slice of +red flesh, the strange hunter held up one +finger. One of the wolves gravely walked up +to him, received the morsel, gulped it down +and retired. Each in turn was fed, then the +great bird flopped on his shoulder and was fed +from his hand, and before I could realize what +had happened the man, the wolves and the +eagle had disappeared, leaving nothing but +the dismembered carcass of the elk to remind +us of the strange episode.</p> + + + + +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + + +<p>To say that the whole spectacle that I had +just witnessed startled me would be stating it +mildly indeed. The strange appearance of this +big, powerful, smooth shaven man in a buckskin +hunting costume with a retinue of black +wolves and a trained eagle, the mysterious +manner of his hunting and his coming and +going, aroused in me great interest and curiosity +and I could realize the effect it evidently +had upon Big Pete’s superstitious mind in +spite of the fact that the big fellow was +accustomed to facing almost any sort of +danger. As for me, I could not myself prevent +the creeping chills from running down my +spine whenever I thought of the wild man.</p> + +<p>Could it be possible that this strange, +half-wild man of the mountains, this killer, +this master of a wolf pack, could be in any +way connected with my father? I wondered,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> +and as I wondered I found that a vague fear +of this mad man who despite his reputed age +seemed as youthful and as agile as a man in +his thirties, was gripping me. Perhaps the +strangeness of the wilderness park added to +my awe, for certainly one could expect almost +anything supernatural to happen in the twilight +of the forest of giant trees, whose +interlacing branches overhead shut out the +light of heaven.</p> + +<p>Recovering somewhat from my astonishment +and surprise, I realized that what I had +witnessed, strange though it appeared, was +not a supernatural occurrence. I knew that +it was a real gun I had heard, real smoke I +had seen, real man, real bird, real elk, and +real wolves.</p> + +<p>“But, Pete,” I exclaimed, as a sudden +thought struck me, “what’s become of our +dogs?”</p> + +<p>“Better ask them black fiends up the mountains. +I reckon you won’t see them tha’ +hounds of yours agin.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>And I never did, but having hunted the +wolf with cowboys and having been a witness +to their extraordinary biting power, I knew +the fate that must necessarily befall a couple +of ordinary hounds when overtaken by half +a dozen full-grown wolves. On such occasions +we do not spend much time in grief over a loss +of any kind, “it taint according to mountain +law,” Pete would say.</p> + +<p>“Reckon we had better swipe some of that +elk before the coyotes get at it,” growled +Pete. “The wild mountainman knows the +good parts, but an elk is an elk, and one wild +man, even if he is a giant, can’t carry off all +the good meat, not by a long shot.”</p> + +<p>“He may come back,” I suggested.</p> + +<p>“Not he,” said Pete. “He’s too stuck up +for that. When he wants more, them tha’ +black demons and that voodoo bird of his’n +will get ’em for him, and he’s a hanging his +long legs off’ner a rock some whar smoking a +long cigar.”</p> + +<p>“Dod rot him,” growled Pete. “Why<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +couldn’t he leave a piece of hide to carry the +meat in and the stomach to cook it in? +That’s the fust time I ever stayed long +’nough to see him collar his meat, though +they say he do eat the game raw, but I +reckon that’s a lie, leastwise he didn’t do’t +this time.”</p> + +<p>With a good square meal of the locoed +hunter’s elk under our belts and a rousing +camp fire before which to toast our shins, +both the big westerner and I felt a little more +natural and comfortable, but our conversation +turned again to this wild hunter of the mountains.</p> + +<p>I could see that the mysterious old man with +his wolf pack and eagle aroused almost every +possible form of superstition in Big Pete and +I confess that I was not free from some of it +myself. The guide was certain that the man +was either a ghost or a reincarnated devil, +and he displayed no uncertain signs of awe.</p> + +<p>“I tell you,” said Pete, “he’s a devil. +He’s over a hundred years old, for my dad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +says he seed him, an’ an Injun before dad’s +time told him about him. They are all +skeered t’ death o’ him. An’ I don’t blame +’em. He’s a shore enough hant and them +tha’ houn’s o’ his’n is devils in wolf skins. +Jumping Gehoosaphats, ef they shed ever cut +my trail I reckon I’d just lay right down an’ +die,” and Big Pete actually shuddered at the +possibility.</p> + +<p>“Why, young feller,” he went on, “that ol’ +man shoots gold bullets out o’ a real Patrick +Mullen gun.”</p> + +<p>“A Mullen gun, Pete?” I cried, “how do you +know, man; speak for goodness sake!”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know it’s a Patrick Mullen and +guess it tain’t one ’cause a Patrick Mullen +rifle would cost a thousand or more. But +the old Injun, Beaver Tail, says, someone +told his father and his father told him that et +is a Patrick Mullen gun an’ is a special make +inlaid with gold and silver, an’ all ornamented +up, an’ built for an ol’ muzzle-loadin’ flint-lock. +Now Mullen never made no flint-lock<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> +rifles that I hear’n tell of, his specialty be +shotguns an’ if he made this rifle I’m ganderplucked +if I cud tell how this spook got it.”</p> + +<p>“Unless the wild Hunter might be a relative +of old Patrick Mullen,” I said, thinking aloud, +and gasping at the thought, for the description +of the rifle somehow impressed me again with +the possibility that this wild man of the mountains +might himself be Donald Mullen, and +<i>my own father!</i></p> + +<p>“Why do you say that, kid?” asked Big +Pete with a queer look in his eyes.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don’t know, I was just wondering +to myself. But what makes you think he’s a +supernatural being, and, Pete, does this wild +loony hunter look at all like me?”</p> + +<p>“Super what? Say when did you swallow +a dictionary?—Oh, you mean what makes +me think he’s a devil. No, he don’t favor you +none,” he added with a grin, “he’s a <i>handsome</i> +devil, although he’s done terrified every white +man, an’ Injun, in these parts half t’ death, +so most of ’ems afeared to come back here at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +all. Men have gone in the park jest to get this +wild man’s scalp, but they’ve done come back +scared yaller an’ they ain’t opened their trap +much about him since nuther. They do say he +spits fire an’ chaws his meat offen the bone an’ +then cracks the bones like a dog an’ swallers +it all. They do say, too, that he roars like +forty devils with their tails cut off when he +gits mad an’ some say as when he wants t’ +git som wha’ in a hurry he jest grabs aholt o’ +the feet o’ tha’ there thunder bird and she +flies off with him and draps him anywha’ he +asks her to—Nope, I hain’t seen none of these +things myself but others say they has, an’ +believe me, I’m plumb cautious when travelin’ +these parts alone. Howsomever, he hain’t +yet skeered me ’nough to make my ha’r come +out by the roots,” said Pete with a yawn. +“There, kick that back log over so’s the fire can +lick at t’other side; now let’s turn in.”</p> + + + + +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + + +<p>Big Pete and I spent several weeks in our +charming little camp at the lower end of the +park, for my guide decided that despite the +recent presence of the wild hunter, here would +be a good place to get a shot at some black-tail +deer. In fact we saw signs of those +animals all about and my guide was only looking +for fresh indication to start out on our last +hunt before we made our way deeper into the +wilderness.</p> + +<p>On the third day of our stay I was returning +to camp with my shotgun over my shoulder +and a brace of sage grouse in my hand, when +I came upon Big Pete in a swail about a mile +from camp. He was bending low and examining +fresh signs when he saw me.</p> + +<p>“Howdy, kid, here’s some doin’s. Shall +we foller him?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>“Of course, Pete; what are we here for, the +mountain air?” I answered.</p> + +<p>“No,” answered Pete, in his deep, low voice, +“we’re here for game,” and off he started, but +slowly and with great caution. I felt impatient, +but restrained myself, saying nothing +and continued to follow my big guide who now +moved with the most painstaking care. Not +a twig broke beneath his moccasins as with +panther-like step and crouching form he led +me through a lot of young trees over a rocky +place until we struck a small spring with a +soft muddy margin. Here Pete came to a +sudden halt. I asked him why he did not go +on, and he pointed to a ledge of rock that ran +up the mountain side diagonally with a flat, +natural roadbed on top, graded like a stage +road but unlike a traveled road, ending in a +bunch of underwood and brush about a hundred +yards ahead.</p> + +<p>Above the ledge of the rocks was a steep +declivity of loose shale sprinkled over with +large and small boulders of radically different<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> +formations, and in no manner resembling the +friable, uncertain bed upon which they rested.</p> + +<p>These boulders undoubtedly showed the result +of the grinding and polishing of an ancient, +slow-moving glacier, but some other force had +deposited them in the present position.</p> + +<p>“He’s in tha’,” whispered Pete.</p> + +<p>“Who, the wild mountain man?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“No,” answered my guide, “th’ grizzly.”</p> + +<p>“The what?” I almost shouted.</p> + +<p>“Th’ grizzly,” answered Pete; “what do +you think we’ve been following?”</p> + +<p>“Black-tailed deer,” I said softly, with my +eyes glued on the thicket.</p> + +<p>“Well, tenderfoot, here’s the trail of that +tha’ <i>deer</i>, and he hain’t been gone by here +mor’n nor a week ago, nuther.”</p> + +<p>I looked and there in the soft mud was the +print of a foot, a human-looking foot, but +for the evenness in the length of the toes and +the sharpness and length of the toe nails. +Yes, there was another difference, and that +was the size. It was the footprint of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> +savage Hercules, the track of an enormous +grizzly bear, and the soft mud that had dripped +from the big foot was still undried on the +leaves and grass when Pete pointed it out to +me.</p> + +<p>“Well, Pete, don’t forget your promise that +I am to have first shot at all big game,” I +whispered with my best effort at coolness, but +my heart was thumping against my ribs at +a terrific rate.</p> + +<p>“But—why, bless you old man!” I whispered +excitedly as I looked at my gun, “I am +armed only with a shotgun.”</p> + +<p>“Tha’s all right,” replied the big trapper +complacently; then, with a quick motion, he +whipped out his keen-edged knife and snatching +one of my cartridges he severed the shell +neatly between the two wads which separated +the powder and shot; that is, a wad in each +piece of the cartridge was exposed by the cut.</p> + +<p>Guided by the faint longitudinal seam where +the edges of the colored paper join on the shell, +Big Pete carefully fitted the two parts of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> +cartridge together exactly as they were before +being cut apart. Breaking my gun, he slipped +the mutilated ammunition into the unchoked +barrel.</p> + +<p>“Tha’,” he grunted, “tha’s better than a +bullet at short range, an’ll tar a hole in old +Ephraim big enough to put your arm through.”</p> + +<p>He cut two more in the same manner, saying, +“Be darned kerful not to get excited and +put them in your choke barl, or tha’ may be +trouble.”</p> + +<p>Hunting a grizzly with a shotgun and bird +shot was not my idea of safe sport, but I was +too much of a moral coward to acknowledge +to Pete that I was frightened. Pete examined +his gun, ran his finger over the cartridges in +his belt, and went through all the familiar +motions which to him were unconscious but +always foretold danger ahead.</p> + +<p>“You drap on your prayer hinges behind +that tha’ nigger head,” said Pete, “and you +will have a dead shot at the brute, an’ I’ll go +up and roll a stone down the mountain side and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> +follow it as fast as I kin, so as to be ready to +help you if you need it; but you ought to drap +him at first shot at short range. Yer must +drap him, yer must or I allow tha’ll be a right +smart of a scrap here, and don’t yer forget +it!”</p> + +<p>“This is no Christmas turkey shooting, +young feller, so look sharp,” and with a noiseless +tread Pete vanished in the wood, while I +with beating heart and bulging eyes watched +the thicket at the end of the ledge. I had not +long to wait before I heard a blood-curdling +yell and then crash! crash! crash! came a big +boulder tearing down the mountain side. It +reached a point just over the thicket, struck a +small pine tree, broke the tree and leaped +high into the air, then crashed into the middle +of the brush.</p> + +<p>Following with giant leaps came Big Pete +Darlinkel down the rocky declivity, but I +only looked that way for one instant, then my +eyes were again fixed on the thicket, and in +my excitement I arose to a standing position.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> +There was but a momentary silence after the +fall of the boulder before I heard the rustling +of sticks and leaves, saw the top of the bushes +sway as some heavy body moved beneath, +then there appeared a head, and what a head +it was! Bigger than all outdoors! I aimed +my gun, but my body swayed and the end +of my shotgun described a large circle in the +air. I knew that my position was serious, but +my nerves played me false.</p> + +<p>I had never before faced a grizzly. I heard +Big Pete’s voice calling to me to drop behind +the rock, but I only stood there with a dogged +stupidity, trying to aim my gun at a mark +which seemed to me as big almost as a barn-door.</p> + +<p>I heard Pete give a sudden cry then there +was a rattle of stones and dirt on the ledge +in front of the mountain of brownish hair that +was advancing in sort of side leaps or bounds +like a big ball.</p> + +<p>The bear came to a sudden stop, and to my +horror I saw the form of my friend shoot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> +over the edge of the overhanging rock right +in the path of the grizzly. It all flashed +through my mind in a moment. Pete in his +haste to reach me had lost control of himself +and slid with the rolling stones and dirt over +the mountain side, a fall of at least twenty-five +feet!</p> + +<p>Instantly my nerve returned and I rushed +madly up the incline to rescue my companion. +I bounded between the branches of some stout +saplings, they parted as my body struck them +but sprung together again before my leg had +cleared the V-shaped opening.</p> + +<p>My foot was imprisoned and I fell with a +heavy thud on my face. For an instant I +was dazed, but even in my dazed state I was +fully conscious of Pete’s impending peril, +and I kicked and struggled blindly to free +myself. My gun had been flung from my hand +in my fall and was out of my reach. Then to +my horror I heard the howl the wolf gives when +game is in sight, and even half blind as I was +I saw dark, dog-like forms sweep by me; I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +heard the scream of an eagle; I heard a snarling +and yelping, the sounds of a struggle—I +ceased to kick, wiped the blood from my eyes +and looked ahead.</p> + +<p>There lay Big Pete Darlinkel, dead or +unconscious, and within ten feet of him +stood the giant bear surrounded by a vicious +pack of gaunt red-mouthed wolves. The +bear made a rush and a shadow passed over +the ground; I heard the sound of a large body +rushing swiftly through the air, and an +immense eagle struck the bear like a thunderbolt; +at the same instant the wolves attacked +him from all sides; then there was a whistle +keen and clear; the wolves retreated; the bird +again soared aloft; the bear made several +passes in the air in search of the bird, fell +forward again on all fours, rose on its hind +legs and killed a wolf with one sweep of its +great paw.</p> + +<p>The bear now made a dash at the giant +leader of the pack, only to fall forward, dead, +with its ugly nose across Big Pete’s chest.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>Then I remembered hearing the crack of a +rifle, and knew that the Wild Mountain Man +had saved our lives. I tried to rise but found +my ankle so badly sprained that I could not +stand on it.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a low voice with a hint of an +Irish accent said, “Sit down, stranger, while +I look to your mate,” and I saw the tall lithe +figure of a man clothed in buckskin bending +over Pete.</p> + +<p>“Only stunned, friend,” said he, and I +heard no more. The blow on my head, +combined with the pain from my ankle was +too much for me, and now that the danger was +over it was a good time to faint, and I took +advantage of it.</p> + +<p>How long I remained unconscious I do not +know, but when my eyes opened again it was +night; through the interlacing boughs overhead +the stars were shining brightly, my head +was neatly bandaged and so was my foot and +ankle. I could hear our horses cropping grass +near by. I raised my head and there lay<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +Pete; he was alive I knew by his snores that +issued from his nose, and we were in our own +camp; but—what are those animals by our +camp fire? Wolves! gaunt, shaggy wolves!</p> + +<p>I hastily arose to a sitting posture, but my +alarm subsided when in the dim light of the +fire I could trace the outline of another man’s +figure, and on a stick close to the stranger’s +head roosted a giant bird.</p> + +<p>Could it be that this wild man of the mountain—possibly +my own father—was camping +with us?</p> + + + + +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + + +<p>“Moseyed, by gum! I’ll be tarnally tarnashuned +if that terri-fa-ca-cious spook hain’t +pulled out!” was the exclamation that awakened +me the morning after our adventure with +the bear.</p> + +<p>Lazily opening my eyes I gazed a moment +at the sun just peeping over the mountain, +then closed them again; but when I attempted +to change my position a sharp pain in my +ankle thoroughly awakened me. Still I lay +quiet because it was some time before I could +collect my scattered senses and separate in +my mind the real incident and the dream +phantasms.</p> + +<p>The pain in my ankle, the swelled and +irritated condition of my nose plainly proved +to me that there was no dream about my injuries, +but I discovered that my head and leg +were neatly bandaged with strips of fine linen.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> +I sat for a while busily collecting the incidents +of the past twenty-four hours, arranging them +in my mind in their proper order and place. +I cut out the dream portion from the realities +with very little trouble until I reached the +part where I had awakened in the night and +had seen the wolves, the eagle and the Wild +Hunter. I could not be sure whether that was +a dream or reality. Had I seen this strange +old man with his eagle and his wolf pack +beside our camp fire or had I dreamed it? +Had this hobgoblin man, who might be my +own father, rescued me from death at the +claws of the grizzly and bound my wounds +for me, or was that but a dream too? Had +not Big Pete saved me perhaps and cared for +me afterward?</p> + +<p>“Pete, old fellow,” I said presently, rising +to my elbow, “who brought me to camp? +Who killed that bear? Who saved our lives?”</p> + +<p>“The Wild Hunter,” replied Pete gravely. +“He bathed my head with some sort of good +smelling stuff and, though I am as heavy as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> +dead buffaler, toted me to camp; he ’lowed +that I was all sort of shuk up and a little +hazy; he fixed my blanket, then he fotched +you in on his shoulders just as if you was a +dead antelope, fixed you up with bandages +torn from handkerchiefs in your pocket, gave +you a drink which you didn’t seem to appreciate, +but just swallowed like you were asleep, +then he laid you out. I had my eye peeled +on him but he said nary a word, an’ when +we wuz both all comfortable he pulled out a +long cigar, sot down by the fire and was +smoking tha’ with his bird and his wolves +around him when I went to sleep.</p> + +<p>“He cut his bullets out, as he allus does,” +muttered Pete a little while later.</p> + +<p>“Who cut what bullets?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“Whomsoever cud I mean but th’ Wild +Hunter, and wha’s tha’ been any bullets +lately but in th’ b’ar?” queried my companion.</p> + +<p>“Yes, of course,” I admitted, “but why do +you suppose he cut out the bullets?”</p> + +<p>“Wal, I reckon tha’ might be right scarce<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +and he haster be kinder sparing with them. +I calculate you’d like to have a hatful of them +balls, leastwise most folks would; cause +the Wild Hunter don’t use no common low-flung +lead for his bullets, no-sir-ree bob-horsefly! +Tain’t good ’nuff for a high-cock-alorum +like him—<i>he shoots balls of virgin gold!</i>”</p> + +<p>But I was more interested in what had +become of this strange man than in the sort +of projectiles rumor said that he used in his +gun and so dismissed the subject with a +request for further information about our +rescuer.</p> + +<p>“This morning when I opened my peepers,” +Pete continued, “I t’ought maybe the Wild +Hunter had only gone off on a tramp; but +he’s done clared out for good, and tuk his +wolves and bird with him. I’m some glad he +took th’ wolves, I don’t sorter like the look +of their mean eyes; they do say that he is a +wolf himself and the head of the pack.”</p> + +<p>“What’s that, Pete? Steady, old man, now +let’s go slow.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>“All right; tha’s wha’ I mean ter do. +’Cause it hain’t a varmint natur’ to help +men folks, and he done helped us, and no +mistake, and left us the bulk of the b’ar too,—only +took the claws, teeth and tenderloin or +two for himself and pack; that is, if he be a +wolf. But we will settle that if your foot +will let you walk a bit.”</p> + +<p>“How far?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“Only over yan way to the first piece of +wet ground, and the trail leads down to tha’ +spring tha’, and tha’ is quite a right smart +bit of muddy swail beyont.”</p> + +<p>“All right, I’ll try it,” I exclaimed. But +I could not touch my foot on the ground, and +it was not until my guide had made me a +crutch of a forked branch, padded with +a piece of fur, that I was able to go limping +along after Big Pete.</p> + +<p>We followed the trail left by the Wild +Hunter to the spring. The trail after that +was plain, even to my inexperienced eyes; +and when we reached the muddy spot the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +print of the moccasined feet and the dog-like +tracks of the wolves were distinctly visible.</p> + +<p>But look at Big Pete!</p> + +<p>As motionless as a statue, with a solemn +face he stoops with a rigid figure pointing to +the trail! I hastened to his side and saw that +the moccasin prints ceased in the middle of +an open, bare, muddy place and beyond were +nothing but the dog-like tracks of the wolves.</p> + +<p>I looked up and all around; there were no +overhanging branches that a man could +swing himself upon, no stones that he could +leap upon—nothing but the straggling bunches +of ferns; but here in this open spot the Wild +Hunter vanished.</p> + +<p>We walked back in silence, for I had nothing +to say, and Pete did not volunteer any further +information.</p> + + + + +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + + +<p>To have one’s nose all but broken, both +eyes blackened and a twisted ankle is a sad +misfortune wherever it occurs, but when such +a thing happens to a fellow many weary miles +from the nearest human habitation and in a +howling wilderness it might be considered +anything but pleasant. Yet, strange as it +may appear, among the most pleasant and +precious memories I have stored away in my +mind, only to be tapped upon special occasions, +is the memory of the glorious days spent nursing +my bruises and lolling around that far-away +camp. Sometimes I listened to the +quaint yarns of my unique and interesting +guide or idly watched the changing colors and +effects which the sun and the atmosphere produced +on the snow-capped mountains of +Darlinkel’s Park. I made friends with our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +little neighbors the rock-chuck, whose home +was in the base of the cliff back of the spring, +and became intimate with the golden chipmunk +and its pretty little black and white +cousin, the four-striped chipmunk, both of +which were common and remarkably tame +about camp.</p> + +<p>Back of the camp in the dark shade of the +evergreens there was a bark mound composed +entirely of the fragments of the conifera cones, +which Pete said was the squirrel’s dining room. +This mound contained at least four good cart-loads +of fragments and all of it was the work +of the impudent little blunt-nosed red squirrels, +which were plentiful in the woods.</p> + +<p>How long it took these small rodents to +heap such a mass of material together I was +unable to calculate, but the mound was as +large as some of the shell heaps made by the +ancient oyster-eating men and left by them +along our coast from Florida to Maine.</p> + +<p>The numerous magpies seemed to be conscious +of my admiration of their beautiful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> +piebald plumage and to take every opportunity +to show off its iridescent hues to the best +advantage in the sunlight.</p> + +<p>Pete evidently thought I was a chap of +very low taste, with a great lack of discrimination +in the choice of my friends among the +forest folk, and he could see no reason for +my intimacy with “all th’ outlaws and most +rascally varmints of the park.”</p> + +<p>Truth compels me to admit that the pranks +of some of my little friends were often mischievous +and annoying, but they were also +humorous and entertaining and I laughed +when the “tallow-head” jay swooped down +and snatched a tid-bit from Pete’s plate just as +he was about to eat it, and when the irate +trapper threw his plate at the camp robber +it was a charming sight to see a number of +birds flutter down to feast upon the scattered +food.</p> + +<p>The loud-mouthed, self-asserting fly-catcher +in the cottonwood tree learned to know my +whistle, and whenever I attempted to mimic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> +him he would send back a ringing answer. +The charming little lazulii buntings were +tamer than the irritating dirty English sparrows +at home.</p> + +<p>It was interesting to notice how quickly all +our little wild neighbors learned to know that +the sound produced by banging on a tin plate +meant dough-god and other good things at our +camp, and as they came rustling among the +grasses or fluttering from bush and trees they +showed more fear of each other than they did +of Pete and me.</p> + +<p>When the myriads of bright stars would +twinkle in the blue black sky or the great +round-faced moon climb over the mountain +tops to see what was doing in the park, the +birds and chipmunks were quiet, but then +the big pack-rats, with squirrel-like tails, +would troop out from their secret caves and +invade the camp.</p> + +<p>In the gray dawn, while sleeping in a tent, +I often awakened to hear something scamper +up its steep side and then laughed to see the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> +shadow of a comical little body toboggan +down the canvas. Our pocket-knives, compasses +and all other small objects were never +safe unless securely packed away out of reach +of these nocturnal marauders.</p> + +<p>Our conversations around the camp fire +evenings were highly interesting too, for Big +Pete was a fluent talker with a wealth of +stories of the Great West at his tongue’s end. +Indeed, the story of his family and their +migration west was one that fascinated me. +His father had been a trapper in the old days; +he had done his share of roaming the mountains, +prospecting and making his strikes, +small and large, fighting Indians and living +the strenuous life of the border pioneer. He +had found the woman he afterward married +unconscious under an overturned wagon of +an emigrant train that had been raided by the +Indians, and after nursing her back to health +in his mining shack, had married her. With +money he had worked from the “diggin’s” +he had acquired, by grants from the government,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +the beautiful and expansive mountain +park where he had planned to develop a +ranch. He never went very far with his +project, however, for a raiding party of +Indians caught him alone in the mountains +and his wife found his body pinned to the +ground with arrows. The shock of his tragedy +killed Big Pete’s mother soon after, and the +young Peter Darlinkel, then three years old, +went to a nearby settlement to be brought up +by an uncle and a squaw aunt. Pete became +prospector, scout, trapper and hunter, using +this beautiful park that became his as a result +of the passing of his father, as a private game +preserve, so to speak. That is, it was private +except for the intrusion of the Wild Hunter +and his black wolf pack.</p> + +<p>In a fragmentary way Big Pete told me this +story and other interesting tales of this wild +western country, but mostly our conversation +turned to this old man of the mountains who +was such a mystery to everyone, even to Big +Pete, but who, despite the lugubrious reputation,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +had proved a kindly gentleman and a +good friend to me.</p> + +<p>There were no visible signs of a change in the +weather which had been clear for weeks, and +the sky was otherwise clear blue save where +the white mares’ tails swept across the heavens. +But when we sat down to supper that evening +I could hear the rumbling of distant thunder. +I knew it was thunder for, although the fall +of avalanches makes the same noise, avalanches +choose the noon time to fall when the +sun is hottest and the snows softest. Soon I +could see the heads of some dark clouds +peering at us over the mountains and before +dark the clouds crept over the mountain tops +and overcast our sky.</p> + +<p>It rained all that night in a fitful manner and +came to a stop about four <span class="smcap">A. M.</span> The wind +went down and the air seemed to have lost its +vivacity and life; it was a dead atmosphere; +we arose from our blankets feeling tired and +listless.</p> + +<p>While we were eating our breakfast dark<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +clouds again suddenly obscured the heavens +and before we had finished the meal big drops +of rain set the camp fire spluttering and drove +us to the shelter of our tent; then it rained! +Lord help us! the water came down in such +torrents that on account of the spray we could +not see thirty feet; then came hailstones as +large as hen’s eggs. There was some lightning +and thunder, but either the splashing of the +water drowned the rumbling or the electric +fluid was so far distant that the reports were +not loud when they reached us. Suddenly +there was a ripping noise, followed by a sort +of subdued roar which stampeded our horses +from their shelter under a projecting rock and +made the earth shudder.</p> + +<p>“Earthquake!” I exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“Wuss,” said Pete, “hit’s a landslide.”</p> + +<p>Instantly a thought went through my brain +like a hot bullet and made me shudder.</p> + +<p>“Pete,” I shouted.</p> + +<p>“I’m right hyer, tenderfut, you needn’t holler +so loud,” he answered, and calmly filled his pipe.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>I flung myself impulsively on my companion, +grasped his big brawny shoulders, and +with my face close to his I whispered, “Pete, +I believe the slide occurred at the gate.”</p> + +<p>“Well, hit did sound that-a-way,” admitted +Pete composedly.</p> + +<p>“Pete,” I continued, “that butte has caved +in on our trail!”</p> + +<p>“Wull, tenderfut, we ain’t hurt, be we? +Tha’s plenty of game here fur the tak’n of it +and plenty of water, as fine as ever spouted +from old Moses’ rock, right at hand. If the +Mesa’s cut our trail we can live well here for +a hundred years and not have to chew wolf +mutton neither. I don’t reckon I can go to +York with you just yet,” drawled my comrade +in a most provokingly imperturbable manner, +as he slowly freed himself from my grasp and +made for the camp fire, which being to a great +extent sheltered by an overhanging rock, was +still smouldering in spite of the drenching rain. +Raking the ashes until he found a red glowing +coal, Pete deftly picked it up and by juggling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> +it from one hand to the other, he conducted +the live ember to his pipe-bowl, then he puffed +away as calmly as if there was nothing in this +world to trouble him.</p> + +<p>“If the gate be shut,” he resumed, “it will +keep out prospectors, tramps and Injuns.” +With that he went to smoking his red-willow<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> +bark again.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The trappers and Indians made Kil-i-ki-nic, or Kinnikinick, by +mixing tobacco with the inside bark of red willow, which is the +common name for the red osier of the dogwood family. <span class="smcap">Editor.</span></p></div> + +<p>But I could not view the situation so complacently, +and when the rain had ceased as +suddenly as it began, with some difficulty I +caught my horse and made my way to the +gate, to discover that my worst fears were +realized; a large section of the cliff had split +off the Mesa and slid down into the narrow +gateway completely filling the space and +leaving a wall of over one hundred feet of +sheer precipice for us to climb before we could +escape from our Eden-like prison.</p> + +<p>Again a wave of superstitious dread swept +over me as I viewed the tightly closed exit, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>a dread that perhaps after all there was more +to Big Pete’s superstitions about the Wild +Hunter than I dared to admit, else why should +that cliff which had stood for thousands of +years take this opportunity to split off and +choke up the ancient trail?</p> + +<p>The longer I questioned myself, the less +was my ability to answer. I sat on a stone +and for some time was lost in thought. When +at length I looked up it was to see Big Pete +with folded arms silently gazing at the barricaded +exit and the muddy pool of water extending +for some distance back of the gateway +into the park.</p> + +<p>“Well, tenderfut, you was dead right in +your judication. The gate air shut sure +’nuff. Our horses ain’t likely to take the +back trail and leave us, that’s sartin.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Pete,” I exclaimed, “how will we ever +get out? Must we spend the remainder of +our lives here?”</p> + +<p>“It do look as if we’d stop hyer a right +smart bit,” he admitted, “maybe till this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> +hyer holler between the mountains all fills +with water agin like it was onct before, I +reckon. Don’t you think that we’d better get +busy and build a Noah’s Ark?”</p> + +<p>“Pete, you’d joke if the world came to an +end. But seriously I think we might move +our camp back to the far end of your park.”</p> + + + + +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + + +<p>One day after we had selected our new camp, +I took my rod along and wandered into the +wonderful forest of ancient trees. There I +seated myself on a log to think over my experience. +Somehow my own trials and ambitions +seemed small, trivial and not worth +while when I looked upon those grand trees +standing silently on guard as they were standing +when Columbus was busy smashing a hard-boiled +egg to make it stand on end. Yes, +naturalists tell us some of these same trees +were standing before the New Testament was +written and then as now their branches concealed +their lofty tops and formed a screen +through which the powerful rays of the noon-day +sun are filtered, refined and subdued to a +dreamy twilight below, a twilight in which +the soft green mosses and lace-like ferns thrive +into luxuriant growth.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>It was so still and quiet in that forest that +the silence seemed to hurt my ears and I +found myself listening to see if I could not hear +the deep dark blue blossoms of the fringed +gentians whispering scandals about the flaming +Indian paint brushes that flourished in +the opening in the woods where the sun’s +ray could reach and warm the dark earth. +As I listened I could not help but speculate +a great deal as to the possibilities of the odd +old man of this forest being in some way +connected with my father’s history, but the +story of the wolf-man as given to me by my +big companion was so varied and so mixed +with the superstitions of the Indians and +trappers who had come in contact with him, +or had seen him and his weird wolf pack +roaming the mountains, that I could not +in any way take it as the basis for a solution +of the problem.</p> + +<p>Indeed, the more Big Pete told me the less +I believed that this strange and probably +mad man could be my father. In truth, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +only real clue or even faint reason I had for +believing that he owned the missing “Patrick +Mullen” was because this gun at a distance +seemed to correspond with the description of +the Mullen’s gun. It was a faint clue indeed +and sometimes seemed not worth investigation. +Yet when I began to doubt the possibility +an unexplained impulse or force kept +urging me on to believe that if I but persisted +and found an opportunity to examine this gun +it would prove to be the one I sought, and if I +had a chance to talk to this strange Wild +Hunter much of the mystery that surrounded +my own babyhood would be cleared up, so +I found myself earnestly longing for a real +interview with this mysterious creature.</p> + +<p>The more I thought of it the more I was +inclined to believe that I was on the right +track, until at last convinced that this was so, +I cried aloud, “I have found him!”</p> + +<p>“Who! Who!” queried a startled owl, as it +peered down at me from its hiding place in +the dense foliage of a cedar far above.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>“Never mind who, you old rascal,” I laughingly +replied, and picking up my fishing-rod I +parted the underbrush to start on my way +through the wood for some trout, but suddenly +halted when I found myself staring into the +face of a huge timber wolf. The beast’s lips +were drawn back displaying its gleaming fangs, +its back hair was as erect as the cropped mane +of a pony, its mongolian eyes shone green +through their narrow slits and its whole attitude +seemed to say, “Well, now that you have +found me, what do you propose to do?”</p> + +<p>Now, boys, do not make any mistake about +me, I am not a hero and never posed as one; +in truth my timidity at times amounts to +cowardice, a fact which I usually keep to +myself, but I never was afraid of wolves +until I so unexpectedly met this one. It is +needless to say that I have no hair on my back, +it is as bare as that of any other fellow’s, +nevertheless, on this occasion I could distinctly +feel my bristles rise from the nape of my neck +to the end of my spine, just the same as those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +on the oblique-eyed, shaggy monster whose +snapping teeth were so near my face.</p> + +<p>Everybody is familiar with the fact that +people who have had limbs amputated often +complain of pains or itching in the missing +members. My missing back hair, the hair +which my ancestors lost by the slow process +of evolution, the hair which grew on the back +of the “missing link,” stood on end at the +sight of this wolf. However, this fear was +but momentary and when my courage returned +I lifted my rod case in a threatening +manner, and the wolf slunk away as noiselessly +as a shadow, and like a shadow faded +out of sight in the dim twilight of the ancient +forest. When I reached the open land beyond +the forest another surprise awaited me.</p> + +<p>Surely this is heaven, I thought as I waded +knee-deep among the beautiful flowers of the +prairie, starting the sharp pin-tailed grouse, +prairie chickens and sage grouse from their +retreats and sending the meadow-larks skimming +away over flowering billows. Reaching<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +an elevation where I could peer beyond the +crests of one of the “ground swells” which +furrowed the sea of nodding blossoms, I saw +through the stems of the plants, a part of the +prairie at first concealed from view, and there +appeared to be numerous irregular boulders +of dark brown stone scattered around among +the vegetation, and the boulders were moving!</p> + +<p>Careful scrutiny, however, proved them to +be not stones but live buffalo. Big Pete +had often told me that these animals lived +unmolested by him in the park; but when I +realized that I was looking at between three +and four hundred real buffalo my heart gave +a great jump of joy. I tried to view them so +as to take in their details, but the apparently +shapeless masses of dark reddish brown wool +appeared to have none, unless indeed the +comical fur trousers with frayed bottoms on +their front legs might be called detail.</p> + +<p>Even the faces of the beasts were so concealed +by masks of knotted wool that at first +I could distinguish neither eyes, noses, horns<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> +or ears; but in spite of their ragged trousers +and their masked faces, the bison are sublime +in their mighty strength and ponderous proportions, +and as this was the first wild herd +I had ever seen and one of the very few, if +not the only one, then extant, I viewed them +with the keenest interest.</p> + +<p>But the scattered bunches of antelope, which +I now noticed were dotting the plains around +the buffalo, appealed to my love of the beautiful. +Knowing that in other localities these +charming little creatures are rapidly being +slaughtered and steadily decreasing in numbers +and that all attempts to breed them in +captivity have so far failed, they at once +absorbed my attention to the exclusion of +their larger neighbors.</p> + +<p>When we moved our camp to the far side +of the lake, Big Pete told me that I could find +plenty of trout streams beyond the timber +belt, and he also informed me that I could +there see the walls of the park and satisfy +myself that there was but one trail leading +into the preserve.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>I do not now recall the sort of walls that +were pictured in my mind or know what I +really expected to see enclosing Darlinkel’s +Park, but I do know that when I suddenly +emerged from the dark forests into the sunlit +prairie, the scene which greeted my vision +was not the one painted by my imagination.</p> + +<p>Before me stretched an open plain surrounded +by mountains arising abruptly from +a bed of many colored flowers; they were the +same ranges whose snow-covered peaks formed +a feature of the landscape at the lake and at +our first camp.</p> + +<p>Here, however, their appearance was different, +as different as the dark forest from +the open sunlit prairie. The scene at first +did not seem real, it had a sort of a drop-curtain +effect that was as familiar to me as +the row of footlights and gilded boxes, but +never did I expect to see those delicate tints, +that blue atmosphere, the fresco colored rocks +and all the theatrical properties of a drop-curtain +duplicated in nature, yet here it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> +before me, not a detail wanting, even the +impossible mammoth bed of gaudy flowers at +the foot of the mountain was here and the +numerous cascades had not been forgotten. +Well, it does seem wonderful to me that +unknown theatrical daubers should know so +much more of nature than the public for +whom they paint.</p> + +<p>But, nature is a bolder artist than even the +daring scenic painters; in front of me was a +prairie of flowers, acres and acres of waving, +undulating masses of color; thousands of +Arizona wyetha (wild sunflowers) mingled +with the brilliant tips of the fire-weed and +clumps of odorous and delicately colored +horsemint. There were other flowers unfamiliar +to me and hundreds of big blossoms of +what I took to be a member of the primrose +family. It was in this garden that the +buffalo and antelope were grazing.</p> + +<p>An old buck antelope saw me and I instantly +dropped to the ground and was concealed by +the flowering vegetation. I wanted to see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> +the home life of these animals, but was +disappointed because of the attention I had +attracted. When first discovered the does +were browsing with heads down and the kids +were playing tag with one another, every once +in a while spreading the white hair on their +rumps and then lowering the “white flag” +again, they apparently used it as a Morse +signal system of their own. But now they +were all alert and facing me; the bucks had +seen something and that something had +suddenly disappeared. This must be investigated, +so they circled round hesitatingly; the +apparition might be a foe but still they <i>must</i> +satisfy their curiosity and discover what it was +of which they had had a moment’s glimpse +and thus they approached nearer and ever +nearer to my place of concealment.</p> + +<p>Soon, however, I became aware of the fact +that the antelope had unaccountably lost all +thought of me and were deeply interested in +something else which from their actions I +concluded to be recognized as an enemy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> +It was now apparent that if Big Pete did not +hunt the prong-horns someone or something +else <i>did</i> hunt them.</p> + +<p>As a bunch broke away from the scattered +groups and came in my direction, making great +leaps over the prairie, I detected the cause of +their panic in the form of a huge eagle which +was keeping pace with and flying over the +fleeing prong-horns.</p> + +<p>The bird was not more than a dozen feet +above the animals’ backs and in vain did +the poor creatures try to distance their +pursuer. At length they scattered, each one +taking a course of his own. Then the bird did +a strange thing. It singled out the largest +buck and persistently following him, it came +directly towards me and passed within ten +feet of my ambush, the broad wings of the +antelope’s relentless foe casting a dark shadow +over the straining muscles of the beautiful +animal’s back. I was tempted to drive the +bird away or shoot at it with my revolver, +but the thought that I had seen that bird<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> +before restrained me and the fact that it pursued +a strong, healthy buck instead of selecting +a weaker and more easy prey convinced me +that this eagle had been trained to the hunt +and was not a wild<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> bird, for the immutable +law that “labor follows the line of least resistance” +holds good with all wild creatures. +It was not long before I had to use my field +glasses to follow the chase and then I discovered +that the poor prong-horn was showing +signs of fatigue. It had made a grave error +in dashing up an incline and the eagle from +his position above knew that the time had +come to strike and, like a thunderbolt, it +fell, striking its hooked talons in the graceful +neck of the terror-stricken antelope.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> The late Howard Eaton of Wolf, Wyoming, watched an eagle +hunt down a prong-horned buck.—<span class="smcap">Editor.</span></p></div> + +<p>Hoping to get a nearer view of the last +tragedy, I hastened towards the spot and +before I was aware of my position, found +myself close to the herd of buffalo. I then +saw that these beasts being unaccustomed to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>man, did not fear him, but on the contrary +meant to show fight. As I came to a sudden +halt the old bulls began to paw the earth, +throwing the dirt up over their backs and +bellowing with a low vibrating roar that was +terror-inspiring. Then they dropped to their +knees, rolled on their backs, got up, shook +themselves, licked their noses, “rolled up their +tails” into stiff curves, put down their heads +and came at me. The cows with their hair +standing on end like angry elks and bellowing +loudly were not behind their lords in aggressiveness +and the comical little calves came +bouncing along after their dame.</p> + +<p>Was I frightened? That depends upon +one’s definition of the word. I was not +panic-stricken, but to say that I was not +<i>excited</i> when I saw those animated masses +of dark brown wool come roaring and thundering +at me would be to make boast that no +one who has had a similar experience would +believe.</p> + +<p>Fortunately, not far behind me was the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +hollow or gully already mentioned and I +bolted over the edge of it. As soon as the bank +concealed my person I ran as I never ran +before taking a course at right angles to my +original one and leeward of the herd, and at +last, out of breath, I rolled over in the weeds +and lay there panting and straining my ears +to hear the snorting beasts.</p> + +<p>My chest felt dry, hot and oppressed from +forced and labored breathing, and had the +buffalo discovered me I do not think I could +have run another step. But the big brutes +halted at the edge of the bank and seeing no +one in sight walked around pawing and throwing +up great clouds of dust and in their rage +apparently daring me to come forth. Like +a small boy when he hears a challenge from +a gang of toughs, I decided that I did not want +to fight and lay as quiet as possible among +the sunflowers until I had regained my breath. +When the buffalo wandered back to their +original pasture land I, like a coyote, slunk +away and consoled myself with the thought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> +that although I had had my run for my money, +at least, I had seen the death of the antelope +even if I did miss again seeing the Wild +Hunter “collar his game,” as Big Pete would +have called the act of securing it. Besides +this I had a real exciting adventure with +good red-blooded American animals and +learned the lesson that large horned beasts +which have not been taught to fear man are +exceedingly dangerous to man.</p> + + + + +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + + +<p>Rising abruptly from the prairie was a +frowning precipice a thousand or more feet +high and above and beyond the top of this +cliff, the mountains.</p> + +<p>When Big Pete told me that his park was +“walled in” he told me the mildest sort of +truth; the prairie is the bottom of a wide +canyon, in fact everything seems to indicate +that the whole park had settled, sunk—“taken +a drop” of a thousand or more feet; +forming what miners would call a fault.</p> + +<p>From the glaciers up among the clouds +numerous streams of melted ice came dashing +down the sides of the mountain range, fanciful +cascades leaping without fear from most +stupendous heights spreading out in long +horse-tail falls over the face of the cliff, doing +everything but looking real. At the foot of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +each of the falls there was a pool of deep +water, in one or two instances the pools were +smooth basins hollowed out of solid rock +in which the water was as transparent as air +and but for the millions of air bubbles caused +by the falling water every inch of bottom +could be plainly seen by an observer at the +brink of the pool.</p> + +<p>The trout in these basins were almost as +colorless as the water itself (the light color +of the fish is due to their chameleon-like +power of modifying their hue to imitate their +surroundings)—this mimicry is so perfect +that after looking into one of these stone +basins, the rounded smooth sides of which +offered no shade or nook where a trout might +hide, I was ready to declare the waters uninhabited +but no sooner had my brown hackel +or professor settled lightly on the surface of +the pool than out from among the air bubbles +a fish appeared and seized the fly.</p> + +<p>My sprained ankle was now so much improved +that upon discovering a diagonal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +fracture in the face of the cliff, which looked +as if offering a foot hold, and feeling reckless, +I determined to make the effort to scale the +wall at this point.</p> + +<p>If the giant “fault” is of comparatively +recent occurrence, geologically speaking, it +seemed reasonable that there would be trout +in the streams above the cliff and the memory +of the fact that Pete had reported that both +Rocky Mountain sheep and goats were up +there decided me to attempt to scale the wall +by the fracture. It was a long, hard climb +and more than once while I clung to the +chance projections or dug my fingers into +small cracks and looked down upon the backs +of some golden eagle sailing in spirals below +me, I regretted making the fool-hardy attempt, +but when the top was reached and I saw +signs of sheep and had a peep at a white +object I took to be a goat, I felt repaid for my +arduous climb.</p> + +<p>The elevated prairie or table-land on which +I found myself corresponded in every important<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> +particular with the park below; there +were the same natural divisions of prairie +and forests, the same erratic boulders, but +on account of the difference in elevation there +was a corresponding difference in plant life, +and most interesting of all to me, there were +the trout streams. The tablelands above +the park were comparatively level in places +where the stream ran almost as quietly as a +meadow brook, but these level stretches were +interrupted at short distance by foaming +rapids, jagged rocks and roaring falls.</p> + +<p>My angler’s instinct told me that the +biggest fish lurked in the deep pools, to reach +which it was necessary to creep and worm +myself over the open flats of sharp stones +and patches of heather, but once on the vantage +ground the swish of a trout rod sounded +there for the first time since the dawn of +Creation.</p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:293px;"><a name="illo2" id="illo2"></a> +<p><a href="images/illo2.jpg"><img src="images/illo2_th.jpg" +alt="More than once while I clung to the chance projection ... I regretted making the fool-hardy attempt" +title="More than once while I clung to the chance projection ... I regretted making the fool-hardy attempt" /></a></p> +<p class="caption">More than once while I clung to the chance projection ... I regretted making the fool-hardy attempt</p> +</div> + + +<!-- <p>[Blank Page]</p> --> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p><p>There was an audible splash at my first cast. +My, how that reel did sing! Before I realized +it, my fish had reached rapid water and taken +out a dangerous amount of line; still I dared +not check him too severely among the sharp +rocks and swift waters, so I ran along the +bank, stumbling over stones, but managing +to avail myself of every opportunity to wind +in the line until I had the satisfaction of +seeing enough line on my reel to prepare me +for possible sudden dashes and emergencies.</p> + +<p>Ah! that was a glorious fight, and when at +last I was able to steer my tired fish into +shallow water I saw there were three of them, +one lusty trout on each of my three flies. +I had no landing net so I gently slid the almost +exhausted fish onto a gravel bar and as I did +so I experienced one of those delightful thrills +which comes to a fellow’s lot but once or twice +in a life-time. But it was not because I had +captured three at a strike, for I have done +that before and since, but I thrilled because +they were not only a new and strange kind +of trout, but they were of the color and sheen +of newly minted gold. Never before had any +man seen such trout.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>I have since been informed that I had +blundered on to water inhabited by the rarest +of all game fish, the so-called golden trout, +which has since been discovered and which +scientists declare to be pre-glacier fish left +by some accident of nature to exist in a new +world in which all their original contemporaries +have long been extinct.</p> + +<p>Think of it! Fish which had never seen an +artificial fly nor had any family traditions +of experiences with them. It is little wonder +that they would jump at a brown hackle, a +professor or even a gaudy salmon fly. Why +they would jump at a chicken feather! They +were ready and eager to bite at any sort of +bunco game I saw fit to play upon them. +They were veritable hayseeds of the trout +family, but when they felt the hook in their +lips, the wisest trout in the world could not +show a craftier nor half as plucky a fight. +They would leap from the water like small-mouthed +bass and by shaking their heads, +try to throw off the hateful hook.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>The constant vigorous exercise of leaping +water-falls and forging up boiling rapids had +developed these sturdy mountaineer trout +into prodigies of strength and endurance. +Even now my nerves tingle to the tips of +my toes as in fancy I hear my reel hum or see +the tip of my five ounce split bamboo bend +so as to almost form a circle.</p> + +<p>I fished that stream with hands trembling +with excitement and had filled my creel with +the rare fish before I began to notice other +objects of interest. Suddenly I became aware +of the presence of two birds hovering over and +diving under the cold water. They were +evidently feeding on some aquatic creature +which my duller senses could not discern.</p> + +<p>Although they were the first of the kind +that I had ever seen alive, I at once recognized +the feathered visitors to be water ouzels. +The birds preceded me on my way along the +water course towards camp, and were never +quiet a minute. They would hop on a rock +in mid-stream and bob up and down in a most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +solemn but comical manner for a moment +before plunging fearlessly into the cold white +spray of the falls or the swift dashing current, +where they would disappear below the surface +only to reappear once more on another rock to +bob again.</p> + +<p>A ducking did not trouble the ouzels, for +as they came out of the water the liquid rolled +in crystal drops from their feathers and their +plumage was as dry as if it had never been +submerged. The wilder and swifter the cold +glacier water ran the more the birds seemed +to enjoy it.</p> + +<p>The nearer I approached the edge of the +precipitous walls, enclosing the valley comprising +Big Pete’s park, the rougher grew the +trail, and as I was picking my way I paused +to gaze at the distant purple peaks and watch +the sun set in that lonely land as if I was +witnessing it for the first time. As my eyes +roamed over the stupendous distance and +unnamed mountains I felt my own puny +insignificance, as who has not when confronted +with the vastness of nature.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>I turned from my view of the sunset to +retrace my steps to the valley, and peeping +over the top of a large boulder, saw seated +upon an inaccessible crag directly in front of +me, a gigantic figure of a man clad in a hunter’s +garb, and he was smoking a long cigar!</p> + +<p>When I thought of Big Pete’s description +of how the Wild Hunter was wont to sit with +his long legs dangling from some rock while +he smoked one of those unprocurable cigars, +and when I realized that the figure before me +was fully sixty feet tall, I must confess to +experiencing a queer sensation.</p> + +<p>It was a shadowy figure yet it moved, +arose, held out one hand, and a bird as large +as the fabled roc alighted on the wrist of the +outstretched hand.</p> + +<p>A slight breeze sprang up, the white mists +from the valley rolled up the mountainside +and drifted away and the man and bird +disappeared from view.</p> + +<p>It was long after dark when I reached camp +and was greeted by my friend and guide with +“Gol durn your pictur tenderfut, if it hain’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +tuk you longer to get a pesky mess of yaller +fish than it orter to kill a bar.”</p> + +<p>“Little wonder,” thought I, “that the +Wild Hunter used golden bullets in a land +where even the fish’s scales seemed to be of +the same precious metal”; but I said nothing +as I sat down to clean my “yaller trout.”</p> + + + + +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + + +<p>It was always interesting to me when I +could get Pete’s theories and his brand of +philosophy on almost any subject and it was +my intention that night at supper to lead up +to the apparition I had seen on the cliffs that +day. With a substantial supper tucked away +I was in a better frame of mind to realize that +the illusion I had seen was not uncommon in +mountain districts. I recalled that I had +read of, and seen pictures of, a particular +illusion of this nature that is often present in +the Hartz Mountains in Germany and I knew +full well that the setting sun, the mist and the +atmospheric condition had all contributed +to throwing a greatly enlarged shadow of the +real Wild Hunter onto the screen made by the +mist very much as today a motion picture +increases the size of the small film image when +it is thrown on the movie screen.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>I intended to get Big Pete’s idea on the +subject but I never did for I was not adroit +enough to steer the conversation in that +direction, for Big Pete seized my first statement +and made it a subject for a veritable +lecture.</p> + +<p>“There was a smashing lot of those trout +up there, Pete. Bet I could have brought +home all I could have carried if I had been a +game hog,” I said, as I stirred the fire with a +stick and set the coffee pot nearer the flames +to warm a second cup.</p> + +<p>“You see, tenderfut, it’s like this,” he said, +“when a man goes out to kill a deer for the +fun of blood-spilling or to get th’ poor critter’s +head to hang in his shack, he’s nothing more +than a wolf or butcher; hain’t half as good a +man as the one who never shot a deer, but +goes back home and lies about it. The liar +hain’t harmed nothin’ with his lies. His +fairy stories don’t hurt game an’ they be +interesting to the tenderfuts in the States. +The real sportsman is the pot-hunter. Yes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +that’s jist what I mean, a pot-hunter—he’s +out ’cause the camp kettle is empty, and it’s +up agin him to fill it or starve. Now then, +this fellow is not after blood; nor trophies, nor +is he hunting for the market. It’s self-preservation +with him, that’s what it is. +He’s an animal along with the rest of ’em and +he knows he’s got jest as much a right to +live as tha’ have and no more! He’s hustling +for his living along with the bunch, forcing it +from savage nature, and I tell you boy, there +is no greater physical pleasure in life than +holding old Mother Nature up and just +saying to her, ‘You’ve got a living for me, +ole’ gal, and I’m going to get it.’</p> + +<p>“Such talk pleases the old lady, makes her +your friend ’cause she likes your spunk, and +because of it she’ll give you the wind of a grey +wolf, the step of the panther, the strength of +the buffalo and the courage of a lion. She is +always generous with her favorites. Ah! +lad, she kin make your blood dance in your +veins, make fire flash from your eyes and give<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +you the steady nerve necessary to face a +she-grizzly when she is fightin’ for her cubs.”</p> + +<p>“Why? ’cause you see, you are a grizzly +yourself when the camp kettle is empty!” +And Big Pete relapsed into silence, turned his +attention to his tin platter, examining it +carefully, and then with a piece of dough-god, +carefully wiped the platter clean and contentedly +munched the savory bit.</p> + +<p>The reason, that being locked into Big Pete’s +park in the mountains struck me as being very +serious, was because I realized that although +the park was extensive it was completely +surrounded by a practically unsurmountable +barrier of rugged cliffs and mountains negotiable, +as far as I knew, not even by the sure-footed +mountain sheep and goats which we +could occasionally see on the cliffs from the +valley floor, but never saw in the park itself. +I questioned Big Pete and found that he did +not know of a trail up the cliffs.</p> + +<p>“Though,” he said, “there must be some +sort of a one for that tha’ Wild Hunter gits<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +in an’ out and brings his wolf pack along too. +He knows a trail all right an’ ef he knows it +why it’s up to us to find it, too.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe we can trail him,” I suggested.</p> + +<p>“Trail him! Me? With that wolf pack +clingin’ to his heels? Not while I’m alive!”</p> + +<p>That was the last that was said about trailing +the Wild Hunter for some time to come, +but meanwhile we built a more or less open +faced permanent camp and Big Pete initiated +me into mysteries of real woodcraft, for it was +up to us now to live on the land, so to speak.</p> + +<p>Although hard usage had made havoc with +my tailormade clothes, neither time nor the +elements seemed to affect the personal appearance +of my big companion; his buckskin suit +was apparently as clean and fresh as it was on +the day I first met him. There was no magic +in this. Big Pete knew how to clamber all +day through a windfall without leaving the +greater part of his clothes on the branches, a +feat few hunters and no tenderfoot have yet +been able to accomplish.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>As I have already said, Pete was a dude, +but he was what might be called a self-perpetuating +dude, who never ran to seed no +matter how long he might be separated from +the city tailor shops, for Pete was his own +tailor, barber and valet, and the wilderness +supplied the material for his costume.</p> + +<p>In the camp he was as busy as an old +housewife, and occupied his leisure time +mending, stitching and darning. Many a +morning my own toilet consisted of a face +wash at the spring, but my guide seldom +failed to spend as much time prinking as if he +expected distinguished visitors!</p> + +<p>Instead of “Tenderfoot,” Big Pete now +called me “Le-loo,” which I understand is +Chinook for wolf and I took so much pride in +my promotion that I would not have changed +clothes with the Prince of Wales; I gloried in +my wild, unkempt appearance!</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, Big Pete announced that he +was the Hy-as-ty-ee (big boss) and he forthwith +declared that my costume was unsuitable for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> +the approaching cold weather. There was +no disputing that Big Pete was Hy-as-ty-ee +and I agreed to wear whatever clothes he +should make for me, and can say with no fear +of dispute that if that ancient chump, Robinson +Crusoe, had had a Big Pete for a partner +in place of a man Friday, he would have never +made himself his outlandish goatskin clothes +and a clumsy umbrella.</p> + +<p>From a cache in the rocks Pete brought forth +a miscellaneous lot of trappers’ stores, bone +needles made from the splints of deer’s legs, +elk’s teeth with holes bored through them, +and odds and ends of all kinds.</p> + +<p>Among his stuff was a supply of salt-petre +and alum, and this was evidently the material +for which he was searching for he at once +preceeded to make a mixture of two parts +salt-petre to one of alum and applied the +pulverized compound to the fleshy side of the +skins, then doubling the raw side of the hides +together he rolled them closely and placed the +hides in a cool place where they were allowed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> +to remain for several days; when at length +unrolled, the skins were still moist.</p> + +<p>“Just right, by Gosh,” he exclaimed, as he +took a dull knife and carefully removed all +particles of fat or flesh which here and there +adhered to the hide. After this was done +to his satisfaction we both took hold and +rubbed, and mauled and worked the skins with +our hands until the hides were as soft and as +pliable as flannel. Thus was the material for +my winter clothing prepared.</p> + +<p>It took four whole deer-skins to furnish +stuff for my buckskin shirt with the beautiful +long fringes at the seams; but the whole garment +was cut, sewed and finished in a day’s +time. It was sewed with thread made of +sinew.</p> + +<p>When it came to making the coat and trousers +Big Pete spent a long time in solemn +thought before he was ready to begin work on +these garments; at length he looked up with a +broad smile and cried:</p> + +<p>“See here, Le-loo, I have taken a fancy to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +them ’ere tenderfut pants o’ your’n. Off with +’em now an’ I’ll jist cut out the new ones from +the old uns.” In vain I pleaded with him to +make my trousers like his own; he would not +listen to me, he insisted upon having my ragged +but stylish knickerbockers to use as a pattern.</p> + + + + +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + + +<p>Big Pete was an expert backwoods tailor, +shoemaker and shirtmaker, but these were +but few of his accomplishments, not his trade; +he was first, last and aways a hunter and +scout. No matter what occupation seemed +to engage his attention for the time it never +interfered with his ability to hear, see or smell.</p> + +<p>It was while I was going around camp minus +my lower garments that I saw Pete suddenly +throw up his head and suspiciously sniff the +air, at the same time sharply scanning the +windward side of our camp. Living so long +with this strange man made me familiar with +his actions and quick to detect anything +unusual and I now knew that something of +interest had happened. To the windward and +close by us was a mound thickly covered with +bullberry bushes and underbrush, and so far +as could be seen there was nothing suspicious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> +in the appearance of the thicket. Fixing my +eyes on Big Pete, I saw a peculiar expression +spread over his face which seemed to be half +of mirth and half of wonderment, and I +immediately knew that his wonderful nose +had warned him of the presence of something +to the windward.</p> + +<p>Slowly and quietly he laid aside my almost +finished breeches and silently stole away. +It was only a few minutes before he returned +with a very solemn face.</p> + +<p>“Doggone my corn shucked bones, Le-loo, +we’ve had a visitor but it got away mighty +slick and quick. I hain’t determint yit +whether it wa’ man er beast er both, er jist a +thing wha’ might change into ’tother. We’ll +hafter investigate later. Here git these duds +on.”</p> + +<p>When I put on my new elk-hide knickerbockers +with cuffs of dressed buckskin laced +around my calves, and my beautiful soft +buckskin shirt tucked in at the waist I began +to feel like a real Nimrod, but after I added my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> +“Moo-loch-Capo,” the shooting jacket with +elk-teeth buttons, pulled a pair of shank +moccasins over my feet and donned a cap +made of lynx skin, I was as happy as a child +with its Christmas stocking. It was a really +wonderful suit of clothing; the hair of the elk +hide was on the outside, and not only made the +coat and breeches warmer, but helped to shed +the rain. The buttons of the elk-teeth were +fastened on with thongs run through holes in +their centers, and my coat could be laced up +after the fashion of a military overcoat. The +elk’s teeth served as frogs and loops of rawhide +answered for the braid that is used on military +coats.</p> + +<p>My shank moccasins were made by first +making a cut around each of the hind legs of an +elk, at a sufficient distance above the heels to +leave hide enough for boot legs and making +another cut far enough below the heels to +make room for one’s feet. The fresh skins +when peeled off looked like rude stockings with +holes at the toes. The skins were turned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> +wrong side out, and the open toes closed by +bringing the lower part, or sole, up over the +opening and sewing it there after the manner of +a tip to the modern shoe. When this novel +foot-gear was dry enough for the purpose, +Big Pete ornamented the legs with quaint +colored designs made with split porcupine +quills colored with dyes which Pete himself +had manufactured of roots and barks.</p> + +<p>Dressed in my unique and picturesque +costume I stood upright while Pete surveyed +me with the pride and satisfaction of one who +had done a fine piece of work. I had now little +fear of being called a tenderfoot and when I +viewed my reflection in the spring I felt quite +proud of my appearance.</p> + +<p>“Come along now old scout,” said Pete +viewing me with the pride of an artist, “come +along and let me test you on a real trail. +I want to see what my teaching has done for +you.”</p> + +<p>Pete led me through the underbrush to a +point among the rocks.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>“Tha’. A trail begins right under yore +nose; let’s see what you make of it,” he said +crisply.</p> + +<p>Down on all fours I crept over the ground +and, to my surprise and joy, I found that I +could here and there detect a turned leaf the +twist of which indicated the direction taken +by the party who made the trail. I noticed +that the bits of wood, pine cones and sticks +scattered around were darker on the parts +next to the ground, and it only required +simple reasoning for me to conclude that +when the dark side was uppermost the object +had been recently disturbed and rolled over.</p> + +<p>It was a day of great discoveries. I found +that what is true of the sticks is equally true +of the pebbles and a displaced fragment of +stone immediately caught my eyes. With +the tenacity of a bloodhound I stuck to my task +until I suddenly found myself at the base of +the park wall, at the foot of the diagonal +fracture in the face of the cliff where I had +climbed when I discovered the golden trout.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> +As I have said, the fracture led diagonally up +the towering face of the beetling precipice.</p> + +<p>For fear that I might have made some +mistake I carefully retraced my steps backward +toward the bullberry bushes near the +camp. On the back trail I came upon some +distinct and obvious footprints in a dusty +place, but so deeply interested was I in hidden +signs, the slight but tell-tale disturbances of +leaf and soil, that I once passed these plainly +marked tracks with only a glance and would +have done so the second time had not their +marked peculiarities accidentally caught my +attention.</p> + +<p>When examining the trail of this mysterious +camp visitor I suddenly realized that in place +of moccasin footprints I was following bear +tracks, my heart ceased to beat for a moment +or two before I could pull myself together and +smother the prehensile footed superstitious +old savage in me with the practical philosophy +of the up-to-date man of today.</p> + +<p>Taking a short cut I ran back to the foot of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> +the pass and there, on hands and knees, +ascended for a hundred feet or more—the +bear steps led up the pass, and yet at the +beginning of the trail the feet wore moccasins. +This I knew because at one place the foot-mark +showed plainly in the gray alkali dust +which had accumulated upon a projecting +stone a few feet below the ledge. Obviously +whoever the visitor was, he had entered and +left by this pass. Returning to camp I sat +down on a log lost in thought. My reverie +was at last broken by the voice of my guide +quietly remarking. “Well, Le-loo, what’s +your judication?”</p> + +<p>“Pete,” I said, “that bear walks on its +hind-legs; there is not the sign of a forefoot +anywhere along the trail. Now this could +not be caused by the hind feet obliterating +the tracks of the front feet, because in many +places the pass is so steep that the forefeet +in reaching out for support would make +tracks not overlapped by the hind ones.”</p> + +<p>“That’s true, Le-loo; sartin true. If you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> +live to be a hundred years you’ll make as +good a trailer as the great Greaser trailer of +New Mexico, Dolores Sanchez, or my old +friend Bill Hassler, who could follow a six-month-old +trail,” replied my guide. “But,” +he continued, “maybe witch-bears do walk on +their hind legs same as people.”</p> + +<p>“Witch be blamed!” I cried impatiently; +“this is no four-legged witch nor bear either. +That was a man and when he thought he +would be followed he put on moccasins made +from bears’ paws to leave a disguised trail. +And moreover I believe that man is none other +than the Wild Hunter without his wolf pack. +And that pass is the pathway he takes in and +out of this park. I’m going to trail him +whether you want to or not. Goodbye Pete, +I’ll come back for you,” and picking up my gun +and other necessary traps, I prepared to start +immediately upon my journey, for I felt that +to follow this trail would not only get us out of +our park prison but would lead me to the +abode of the Wild Hunter, where perhaps I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> +could talk with him and learn some of the +things I was so eager to know about my +parents.</p> + +<p>Big Pete looked at me solemnly for a while, +ran over the cartridges in his belt and went +through all those familiar unconscious motions +which betokened danger ahead, and said, +“Le-loo, you are a quare critter; you’re not +afraid of all the werwolves, medicine ba’rs and +ghosts in this world or the next, but tarnally +afeared of live varmints like grizzly bars—one +would think you had no religion, but, gosh all +hemlock! If you can face a bear-man or a +werwolf, even though all the Hy-as Ecutocks +of the mountains show fight, I’ll be cornfed +if I don’t stand by ye! Barring the Wild +Hunter, I don’t know as I ever ran agin a +Ecutock yit; that is if he be a Ecutock. +Maybe he’s a Econe? Yes, I reckon that’s +what he is,” continued Pete reflectively.</p> + +<p>“Maybe he is a pine cone,” I laughed. +Then added, “Whatever he is, he knows the +way out of this park of yours and I am going +to follow him,” I emphatically answered.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>“That’s howsomever!” exclaimed my guide +approvingly; “but,” he continued, “the mountains +are kivered with snow, while it is still +summer down here, so I reckon ’twould be +the proper wrinkle for us to pull our things +together, have a good feed and a good sleep +before we start. White men start off hot-headed +and I kinder like their grit, but Injuns +stop and sot by the fire an’ smoke an’ think +afore they start on a raid an’ I kinder think +they be wiser in this than we ’uns, so let’s do +as the Injuns would do. We can cache most +of our stuff and turn the horses loose. Bighorn’s +mutton is powerful good, but tarnally +shy and hung mighty high, an’ billygoat is +doggoned strong ’nless you know how to cook +’em. Yes, we’ll eat an sleep fust an’ then +his for the land where the Bighorn pasture, +the woolywhite goats sleep on the rocks, the +whistling marmot blows his danger signal an’ +the pretty white ptarmigan hides hisself in +the snow-banks, the home of the Ecutocks.</p> + +<p>“What the thunder is a Ecutock, Pete?” +I asked.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>“An Injun devil, I reckon you’d call it; +it’s bad medicine,” he answered soberly, and +continuing in his former strain, he exclaimed:</p> + +<p>“Whar critters like goats, sheeps and rock-chucks +kin live, you bet your Hy-as muck-a-muck +we kin live too!”</p> + +<p>That night I rolled up into my blanket, +filled with strange presentiments. Again the +question came up: What is the source of the +influence that this madman of the mountains, +this wild hunter, this leader of the black wolf +pack, had on me to impel me to trail him over +the mountains? Was it mental telepathy? +Could he really be my father? Somehow I +felt convinced that soon I would be face to +face with the riddle, soon I would know the +facts and the truth about my parents. It +seemed unthinkable that all these weeks of +wilderness travel had been for naught and +that the Wild Hunter was nothing but a +strange, eccentric old fellow living alone in +the mountains and of no interest to me +whatsoever.</p> + + + + +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + + +<p>We made our start at daylight, loaded with +all the necessities for a climb over the mountains. +The rest of our supplies and equipment +we cached, and Big Pete turned our horses +loose assuring me that in the spring he would +come back and rope them.</p> + +<p>The lower trail of the pass was quite well +defined and we made famous progress, but +the higher we climbed the more difficult the +going became and more than once we were +forced to pause on a ledge to rest and regain +our breath.</p> + +<p>On one ledge I got my first really close view +of a bighorn sheep, and I became so excited +that nothing would do but I must stalk him, +despite Big Pete’s assurance that the wily +old ram would not let me get within gun shot +of him in such an exposed area.</p> + +<p>I crawled, and wriggled, and twisted over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> +rock and boulders for what to me seemed miles, +but always the sheep kept just out of accurate +shooting distance ahead of me. It was an +exasperating chase, but one cannot live in +the mountains for any length of time without +paying more or less attention to geology; the +mountaineer soon learns that stratified rock, +that is rock arranged like layer cake, resting +in a horizontal position on its natural bed, +makes travel over its top comparatively easy, +but when by the subsidence or upheaval of +the earth’s crust huge masses of stone have +been tilted up edgewise, it is an entirely +different proposition.</p> + +<p>In this latter case the erosion, or the wearing +away, caused by trickling water, frost and +snow, sharpens the edge of the rock, as a +grindstone does the edge of an ax, and traveling +along one of these ridges presents almost the +same difficulties that travel along the edge of +an upturned ax would do to a microscopic man.</p> + +<p>But when a sportsman, for the first time in +his life, has succeeded in creeping within<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> +range of a grand bighorn ram, and his bullet, +speeding true, has badly wounded the game, +hardships are forgotten, and if, on account +of the miraculous vitality of the mountain +sheep, there is danger of losing the quarry, +all the inborn instinct of the predaceous +beast in man’s nature is aroused, and danger +is a consideration not to be taken in account.</p> + +<p>A hawk in pursuit of a barnyard fowl will +follow it into the open door of the farmhouse; +the hound in pursuit of the fox cares not for +the approaching locomotive—being possessed +by the instinct to kill—nothing is of importance +to them but the capture of the game in +sight. A man following a buck is governed +by a like singleness of purpose.</p> + +<p>For this reason I was scrambling along the +knife-like edge of the ridge, with death in the +steep treacherous slide rock on one side, +death in the steep green glacier ice on the +other side, and torture and wounds under my +feet.</p> + +<p>But the fever of the chase had possession<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> +of me. I had tasted blood and felt the fierce +joy of the puma and the wild intoxication of a +hunting wolf!</p> + +<p>The cruel wounds inflicted by the sharp +stones under my feet were unnoticed. Away +ahead of me was a moving object; it could +use but three legs, but that was one leg more +than I had, and the ram had distanced me. +After an age of time I reached the rugged, +broader footing of the mountain side, and +creeping up behind some sheltering rocks again +fired at the fleeing ram. With the impact of +the bullet the sheep fell headlong down +a cliff to a projecting rock thirty feet below, +where it lay apparently dead. A moment +later it again arose, seemingly as able as ever, +and ran along the face of the beetling rock +where my eyes, aided by powerful field glasses, +could perceive no foothold; then it gave a +magnificent leap to a ledge on the opposite +side of the narrow canyon and fell dead, out +of my reach.</p> + +<p>Spent with my long, rough run, I naturally<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> +selected the most comfortable seat in which to +rest; this chanced to be a cushion of heather-like +plants along the side of a fragment of +rock which effectually concealed my body from +view from the other side of the chasm. Here, +on the verge of that impassable canyon, I sat +panting and looking at the poor dead creature +upon the opposite side; its right front leg was +shattered at the shoulder, a bullet had pierced +its lungs. Yet, with two fatal wounds and a +useless leg, the plucky creature had scaled +the face of a cliff which one would think a +squirrel would find impossible to traverse +and made leaps which might well be considered +improbable for a perfectly sound animal. +The ram was dead and food for the ravens, +and a reaction had taken place in my mind; +I felt like a bloody murderer, and hung my +head with a sense of guilt.</p> + +<p>Presently, becoming conscious of that peculiar +guttural noise, used by Big Pete when +desiring caution, and looking up I was amazed +to see a splendid Indian youth climb down the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> +face of the opposite cliff, throw his arms around +the dead ram’s neck and burst into deep but +subdued lamentation. For the first time I now +saw that what I had mistaken for a blood +stain on the bighorn’s neck was a red collar.</p> + +<p>Cautiously producing my field glasses I +examined the collar and discovered it to be +made of stained porcupine quills cleverly +worked on a buckskin band. The field glasses +also told me that the boy’s shirt was trimmed +with the same material, while a duplicate +of the sheep’s collar formed a band which +encircled his head, confining the long black +hair and preventing it from falling over his +face, but leaving it free to hang down his back +to a point below the waist line.</p> + +<p>So absorbed was I in this unique spectacle +that I carelessly allowed my elbow to dislodge +a loose fragment of stone which went clattering +down the face of the precipice. This proved +to be almost fatal carelessness, for, with a +movement as quick as the stroke of a rattlesnake, +the lad placed an arrow to the string<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +of a bow and sent the barbed shaft with such +force, promptitude and precision that it went +through my fur cap, the arrow entangling a +bunch of my hair, taking it along with it.</p> + +<p>“Squat lower, Le-loo; arrows has been the +death of many a man afore you,” whispered +Big Pete in my ear, but even as he spoke +another arrow sang over our crouching bodies, +shaving the protecting rock so closely that +their plumed tips brushed the dust on our +backs.</p> + +<p>“Waugh! Good shootin’, by gum! I never +seed it beat; if he onct sots them black eyes +on our hulking carcasses he’ll get us yit,” +muttered my guide, enthusiastically. “He’s +mighty slender, quick and purty—but so also +be a rattlesnake!” he exclaimed, as another +arrow slit the sleeve of his wamus as cleanly +as if it were cut with a knife.</p> + +<p>“For God’s sake, stop!” I shouted, in real +alarm. The boy paused, but with an arrow +still drawn to its head. His eyes flashing, +head erect, one moccasined foot on the ram’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> +body, the other braced against the cliff; his +short fawn-colored skin shirt clung to his +lithe body, and the fringed edges hung over +the dreadful black chasm in front of him. +It was a picture to take away one’s breath. +“Put down your weapon, and we will stand +with our hands up,” I cried. Slowly the bow +was lowered and as slowly Big Pete and I +arose, holding our empty hands aloft. “Now, +young fellow, tell us your pleasure.”</p> + +<p>There are a few gray hairs showing at my +temples which first made their appearance +while I was crouching behind that stone on +the edge of the chasm.</p> + +<p>To my polite inquiry asking his pleasure, +the wild boy made no reply but glanced at us +with the utmost contempt when Big Pete +went through some gestures in Indian sign +language. The lad mutely pointed to the +dead sheep, the sight of which seemed to +enrage him again, for insensibly his fingers +tightened on the bow and the wood began to +curve after a manner which sent me ducking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +behind the sheltering stone again; but Big +Pete only folded his arms across his broad +chest and looked the boy straight in the eyes.</p> + +<p>Never will I forget that picture, the cold, +bleak, snow-covered mountains towering above +them, the black abyss of Sheol between them; +neither would hesitate to take life, neither +possessed a fear of death; but with every +muscle alert and every nerve alive these two +wild things stood facing each other, mutually +observing a truce because of—what? Because, +in spite of the fighting instinct or, maybe, +because of it they both secretly admired each +other.</p> + + + + +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + + +<p>The black chasm which separated us from +the trail of the wild hunter was not as formidable +a barrier as the unfathomable abyss +which separates the reader from what he thinks +he would have done had he been in my place, +and what really would have been his plan of +action.</p> + +<p>There were a lot of burning questions which +I had privately made up in my mind to propound +to the Wild Hunter, or the even wilder +medicine bear, upon the occasion of our next +meeting. But when the lad was standing +before me, with bended bow and flashing +eyes, the burning importance of those questions +did not appeal to me as forcibly as did +the urgent necessity of sheltering my body +behind the friendly stone. To be truthful, it +must be admitted that the proposed inquiries +were, for the time, entirely forgotten, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> +I even breathed a sigh of relief when the boy +suddenly clambered up the face of the cliff, +turned, gave us a fierce look of defiance, made +some quick energetic gestures with his hand +and disappeared.</p> + +<p>He scaled that precipitous rock with the +rapidity and self-confidence of a gray squirrel +running up the trunk of a hickory tree, squirrel-like, +taking advantage of every crack, cranny +and projection that could be grasped by +fingers or moccasin-covered toes.</p> + +<p>Not until the Indian had disappeared down +a dry coulee did I venture from the shelter +of the protecting rock, or realize that my +carefully planned interview must be indefinitely +postponed.</p> + +<p>With his arms folded across his chest, his +blond hair sweeping his shoulders, his blue +eyes fixed upon a rocky rib of the mountain +behind which the boy had disappeared, Big +Pete still stood like a statue. But gradually +the statuesque pose resolved itself into a +more commonplace posture, and the muscles<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> +of the face relaxed until the familiar twinkle +hovered around the corners of his eyes. +“What did he say when he made those +motions, Pete?”</p> + +<p>“Waugh! he said he was not afraid of any +whitefaced coyote like us.” And bringing +forth his pipe, Pete filled it from the beaded +tobacco pouch which hung on his breast, and +by means of a horn of punk, a flint and steel, +he soon had the pipe aglow and was puffing +away as calmly as if nothing unusual had +occurred. Presently he exclaimed, “Gol durn +his daguerrotype, what good did it do him to +throw that sheep down the gulch? Reckon +Le-loo and me could find a better grave for +mutton chops than that canyon bottom. The +mountains didn’t need the sheep an’ we did. +But, I reckon it was his own sheep you killed, +’cause it had a porcupine collar same pattern +as the trimmings of his shirt.”</p> + +<p>Turning his great blue eyes full upon me, +he suddenly shot this inquiry, “Be he bar, +ecutock or werwolf?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>“He is the finest adjusted, easiest running, +most exquisitely balanced, highest geared bit +of human machinery I ever saw,” I answered +enthusiastically.</p> + +<p>“Wall, maybe ye are right, Le-loo, an’ +maybe ye hain’t; which is catamount to +saying, maybe it is a man and maybe it +tain’t.”</p> + +<p>“Steady, Pete, old fellow, let us go slow; +now tell me at what you’re driving?” I +pleaded.</p> + +<p>“It looks to me this hea’-a-way,” he +explained. “I’ve seed his trail onct or twice, +an’ I’ve seed him onct, but I never yet seed +his trail and the Wild Hunter’s trail at the +same time and place. ’Pears to me that +a man who, when it’s convenient, kin make +a wolf of hisself, might likewise make a boy +of hisself whenever he felt that way. Never +heared tell on enny real laid who cud climb +like a squtton and shoot a bow better nor +a Robin Hood or Injun, and that’s howsomever!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>“Well, it does look ‘howsomever,’ and no +mistake,” I admitted, “and what makes it +worse, our dinner is at the bottom of this +infernal gulch. Come, let us be moving; the +breeze from the snowfields chills me. Let us +hit his trail now while it is fresh.”</p> + +<p>This was a simple proposition to make, but +a difficult one to carry into execution; for to +all appearances that trail began upon the +other side of the chasm, and there was no +bridge in sight by which we could cross. +Big Pete carefully put a cork-stopper in his +pipe, extinguishing the fire without wasting +the unconsumed contents; he then carefully +put his briarwood away and began to uncoil +a lariat from around his middle. As he +loosened the braided rawhide from his waist his +gaze was roaming over the opposite rocks. +Presently he fixed his attention upon a pinnacle +which reared its cube-like form above +the top of the opposite side of the chasm; the +latter was of itself much higher than the brink +upon which we stood. Swinging the loop<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +around his head he sent it whistling across the +chasm, where it settled and encircled the +projecting stone, the honda striking the face +of the cliff with a sullen thud. The rope +tightened, but when we both threw our +weight on our end of the lariat to try it, the +cube-like pinnacle moved on its base.</p> + +<p>“I oughter knowed better than to try to +lasso a piece of slide rock,” said Pete in +disgusted tones, as he cast the end of the +braided rawhide loose and watched it for a +moment dangling down the opposite side of +the canyon.</p> + +<p>“Now, Le-loo, we must get over this hole or +lose the best lariat in the Rocky Mountains. +We kin look for that boy’s trail on this side, +for even if he be an Ecutock, I’ll bet my crooker +bone ’gainst a lock of his hair that he can’t +jump th’ hole, an’ I’ll wager my left ear that +he’s got a trail an’ a bridge somewhar—’nless +he turns bird and flops over things like +this,” he added, with a troubled look.</p> + +<p>“Pete,” said I, “never mind the bird<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +business. I’ll admit that there is a lot of +explanation due us before we can rightly +judge on the events of the past few weeks; +still I think it may all be explained in a +rational manner; but what if it cannot? +We have but one trip to make through this +world, and the more we see the more we will +know at the end of the journey. I am as +curious as a prong-horned antelope when +there is a mystery, so put your nose to the +ground, my good friend, and find the spot +where this Mr. Werwolf, witch, or bear +flies the canyon, and maybe, like the husband +of ‘The Witch of Fife,’ we may find the +‘black crook shell,’ and with its aid fly out +of this ’lum.”</p> + +<p>“I believe your judication is sound, Le-loo; +stay where you be an’ if he hain’t a witch +I’ll bet my front tooth agin the string of his +moccasin that I’ll find the bridge, and I’ll +swear by my grandmother’s hind leg that that +little imp will pay for our sheep yit.”</p> + +<p>As Pete finished these remarks there was a +sudden and astonishing change in his appearance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +His head fell forward, his shoulders +drooped, his back bowed and his knee bent. +It was no longer the upright statuesque +Pete the Mountaineer, but Peter the Trailer, +all of whose faculties were concentrated upon +the ground. With a swinging gait the human +bloodhound traveled swiftly and silently along +the edge of the crevasse, noting every bunch +of moss, fragment of stone, drift of snow or bit +of moist earth, reading the shorthand notes of +Nature with facility which far excelled the +ability of my own stenographer to read her +own notes when the latter are a few hours +old. But a short time had elapsed before I +heard a shout, and, hurrying to the place where +my big friend was seated, I inquired, “Any +luck?”</p> + +<p>“Tha’s as you may call it. Here is wha’ +tha’ boy jumped,” he replied, pointing to +some marks on the stone which were imperceptible +to me, “an’ tha’s wha’ he landed,” +he continued, pointing to a slight ledge upon +the face of the opposite cliff at least twenty +feet distant. “He’s a jumper, an’ no mistake—guess<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +I might as well have my front tooth +pulled, fur I’ve lost my bet,” soliloquized +the trailer, as he sat on the edge of the cliff, +with his legs hanging over the frightful chasm.</p> + +<p>The ledge indicated by Big Pete as the +landing place of the phenomenal jumper might +possibly have offered a foothold for a bighorn +or goat, but I could not believe that any +human being could jump twenty feet to a +crumbling trifle of a ledge on the face of a +precipice, and not only retain a foothold +there, but run up the face of the rock like a +fly on a window-pane. Yet I could see that +something had worn the ledge at the point +indicated and when I stood a little distance +away from the trail I could plainly note a +difference in color marking the course of the +trail where it led over the flinty rocks to the +jumping place.</p> + +<p>“Wull, Le-loo! What’s your opinion of +the Ecutock now? Do he use wings or ride +a barleycorn broom?” asked Pete, with a +triumphant smile.</p> + + + + +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + + +<p>Apparently there was no possible way by +which we might hope to cross the canyon, +and I threw myself prone upon the top of the +stony brink of the chasm and peered down the +awful abyss at the silver thread, shining in +the gloom of the shadows, which marked the +course of a stream, and wondered what the +Boy Scouts of Troop 6 of Marlborough +would do under the circumstances.</p> + +<p>I studied the face of the opposite cliff in a +vain search for some hint to the solution of +the problem before us, looking up and down +from side to side as far as allowed by the +range of my vision. At length my attention +wandered to the perpendicular face of the +cliff, on the top of which my body was +sprawled; there was an upright crack in the +face of the stone wall, and as I examined the +fracture I saw that a piece of wood had lodged<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +in the crack; a piece of wood in a crevice in a +rock is not so unusual an occurrence as to +excite remark; but when it occurred to me +that we were then far above the timber line, +my interest and curiosity were at once +aroused.</p> + +<p>The end of the stick was within a short +distance from my hand, and reaching down +I grasped the wood and brought forth, not a +short club or stick, as I thought to be concealed +there, but a very long pole. The result +of my investigations was so unexpected that +I came dangerously near allowing the thing +to slide through my fingers and fall to the +bottom of the canyon. It was a neatly-smoothed, +slender piece of lodge-pole pine +which was brought to view, and it had a +crooked root nicely spliced to one end and +bound tightly in place with rawhide thongs. +Big Pete was wholly absorbed in the trail, +the study of which he had resumed, and +when I looked up he was down on all fours, +minutely studying the ground. Presently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> +he cried, “Le-loo, tha’ pesky lad ha’ been +over wha’ you be after sompen and he took +it back tha’ again afore he made his jump! +If you’re any good you’ll find what the lad +was after.”</p> + +<p>“He was after his barleycorn broomstick,” +I replied, proudly, “and here it is, although +I must confess it is a pretty long one for a +fellow of his size, and it looks more like a +giant Bo-Peep’s crook than a witch’s broom.”</p> + +<p>Big Pete eagerly snatched the pole from +my hands and examined it carefully. At +length he said, “This hyer is the end used for +the handle; one can see by the finger marks, +an’ this crook is used to scrape stone with, +one kin see, with half an eye, by the way the +end is sandpapered off. Over tha’ air some +marks on the stone which look almighty like +as if they’d been made by the end of this yer +hook slipping down the face of the rock.</p> + +<p>“Now, I wonder wha’ cud be up tha’ on +the top of the rock that the boy wanted,” +mused Big Pete, and for a moment or so he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +stood in silent thought; at length he exclaimed, +“Why, bless my corn-shucking soul, if I +don’t believe he’s got a lariat staked out tha’ +an’ crosses this ditch same as we-uns aimed +to do!” With that he began raking and +scraping the top of the opposite rock with the +shepherd’s crook, and presently there came +tumbling and twisting like a snake down the +face of the cliff, a long braided rawhide rope +with a loop at the bottom end.</p> + +<p>“Waugh, Le-loo! tha’s no witchcraft ’bout +this ’cep the magic of common-sense; but +we hain’t through with him yit!” By this +time Pete had the end of the rawhide rope +in his hands and was testing the strength of its +anchorage upon the opposite cliff. The point +where it was fastened projected some distance +over the ledge, where the supposed landing-place +was located, thus making it possible for +one to swing at the end of the rope from our +side without danger of coming into too violent +contact with the opposite cliff.</p> + +<p>As soon as my big friend was satisfied that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +the rope was safe he grasped it with his two +hands, and with one foot in the loop and the +other free to use as a fender, he sailed across +the abyss and landed safely upon the crumbling +ledge opposite.</p> + +<p>Holding fast to the rawhide rope with his +hands and bracing his feet against the rock, +Pete could walk up the face of the cliff by +going hand-over-hand up the cable at the +same time. He had almost reached the top +when I was horror-stricken to see a small +hand and brown arm reach over the precipice; +but it was neither the grace nor the beauty +of this shapely bit of anatomy which sent the +blood surging to my heart, but the fact that +the cold gray glint of a long-bladed knife +caught my eyes and fascinated me with the +fabled “charm” of a serpent. The power +of speech forsook me, but with great effort I +succeeded in giving utterance to the inarticulate +noise people gurgle when confronted in +their sleep by a shapeless horror. Big Pete +heard the noise, but he was not unnerved<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +when he saw the knife, neither did he show +any nightmare symptoms, although he was +dangling over the terrible abyss with a full +knowledge that it needed but a touch of the +keen blade of that knife to sever the straining +lariat and dash him, a mangled mass, on the +rocks below. The danger was too real to give +Pete the nightmare; there was nothing spooky +to him in the glittering knife blade, and only +ghosts and the supernatural could give Big +Pete the nightmare. Calmly he looked at +the hand grasping the power of death with its +strong tapering fingers. Suddenly and in a +firm, commanding voice he gave the order, +“Drap tha’ knife!”</p> + +<p>Ever since I had been in the company of +this masterful forest companion I had obeyed +his commands as a matter of course, and so +was not surprised to see the fingers instantly +relax their grasp and the knife go gyrating to +the mysterious depths. In a few moments +Big Pete was up and over the edge of the +rock and hidden from my view.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>Seizing the long-handled shepherd’s crook, +I caught the dangling end of the lariat, and +was soon scrambling up the face of the cliff, +leaving a trail which the veriest novice would +not fail to notice and sending showers of the +crumbling stones down the path taken by the +knife; it was several minutes before I had +clambered over the face of the projecting crag +and was safe across the black chasm which +lay athwart our trail.</p> + +<p>If the Wild Hunter was indeed my father, +he certainly was a woodcrafter and scout to +bring pride to a fellow’s heart, for I doubted +not that the Indian boy was his retainer +because the porcupine quill decorations on +his buckskin shirt had the same peculiar +pattern as that on the wamus of the Wild +Hunter himself as well as on the collar of the +pet sheep I had killed, and also on the buckskin +bag of gold.</p> + + + + +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + + +<p>Only those persons who have made solitary +trips over snow-capped mountain ridges can +appreciate the overwhelming feeling of solitude +that I felt on looking about me. To whatever +point of view I turned my eyes were greeted +with a tumbled sea composed of stupendous +petrified billows.</p> + +<p>The occasional fields of snow were the white +froth of the stony waves and the turquoise +colored glacial lakes between the crags rather +added to the effect of an angry ocean than +detracted from it.</p> + +<p>On a closer examination, some of the rocks +appeared to be rough bits of unfinished worlds +still retaining the form they had when poured +from the mighty blast furnaces of the Creator. +It was God’s workshop strewn with huge +fragments, still bearing the marks of His +mallet and chisel; yet these cold barren +wastes were the pasture lands of the shaggy-coated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> +white goats and the lithe-limbed bighorned +sheep.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a shrill whistle pierced the air +and with a jump I instinctively looked for a +vision of the Wild Hunter, but a moment +later realized that the sound I heard was but +the warning cry of a whistling marmot. +Again the silence was broken, this time by a +low rumbling sound which increased in volume +until it roared like a broadside from an old +forty-four-gun man-of-war, each crag and +peak taking up the sound and hurling it +against its neighbor, until the reverberating +noise seemed to come from all points of the +compass.</p> + +<p>Away in the distance I could see a white +stream pouring from the precipitous edge of +an elevated glacier; this seeming mountain +torrent I knew was not water, but ice, thousands +of tons of which having cracked and +broken from the edge of the glacier, were now +being dashed over the hard face of the rock +into minute fragments.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>The white stream could be seen to decrease +perceptibly in size, from a broad sheet to a +wide band, a narrow ribbon, a line, a hair and +then disappear altogether. While the distant +mountains were still growling, mumbling and +playing shuttlecock with the echoes a timid +chief hare went hopping across a green half-acre +of grass at the damp edge of a melting +snow patch in my path. Overhead a golden +eagle sailed with a small mammal in its talons; +strange reddish-colored bumblebees busied +themselves in a bunch of flowers growing in +a crevice in the rocks at my feet.</p> + +<p>But my eye could discern no larger creatures +in this Alpine pasture land; not only could I +see no sheep or goats, but not a sign of my +friend. He had vanished from the face of +the picture as completely as if the master +artist had erased him with one mighty sweep +of his paint brush.</p> + +<p>When I viewed the lonely landscape with +no human being in sight, I confess to experiencing +a creepy sensation and a strong<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> +inclination to flee, but I knew not in what +direction to run. I was in a rough basin-shaped +depression among the mountain peaks, +and I sat on a large rock with my back to a +black chasm. From my elevated position I +could see a long distance. Strange fancies +creep into one’s head on such occasions and +play havoc with previous well-founded beliefs. +To me, poor fool of a tenderfoot, Big Pete +had melted into the thinnest of thin air, such +as is only found in high altitudes, and somehow +I wondered whether the Wild Hunter +had had anything to do with it.</p> + +<p>How could I tell that I myself was not +invisible?</p> + +<p>I hauled myself up short there for I realized +that such folly was not good to have tumbling +around in my brain. I figuratively pulled +myself back to earth, and to steady my +nerves reached into my pack and brought +out several hard bits of bannock that I had +stored there. I was dreadfully hungry and +I munched these with enthusiasm, meanwhile<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> +keeping a sharp eye out for Big Pete, and +between times making the acquaintance of +the little chief hare who, as he scuttled about +among the rocks, looked me over curiously.</p> + +<p>A short distance to my left was a huge +obsidian cliff, the glassy walls of which rose +in a precipice to a considerable height. On +account of its peculiar formation, this crag of +natural glass had several times attracted my +attention, and on any other occasion I would +have been curious enough to give it closer +inspection. Once, as I turned my head in +that direction, I thought I heard a wild laugh +and later concluded that it was only imagination +on my part, but now, as I again faced the +cliff, I unmistakably heard a shout and was +considerably relieved to see silhouetted against +the sky the figure of Big Pete.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Le-loo,” he shouted. “Through +chasin’ that ’ere spook Indian kid be you? +It’s about time. Gosh-all-hemlocks! I been +breakin’ my neck tryin’ to keep up with you, +doggone yore hide,” shouted the big guide as +he started to climb down toward me.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>“Hello, Pete! You bet I’m through and +I’m blamed near all in. Where are we, do +you know?” I called to him.</p> + +<p>“Top o’ the world, my boy. Top o’ the +world, that’s whar we be,” he said with a grin.</p> + +<p>I had seen no game since I had lost the +bighorn, and the sunball was now hung low in +the heavens. It appeared to me that there +was every prospect for a supperless night, too. +But Big Pete evidently had no such idea, and +he “’lowed” that he would “mosey” ’round +a bit and kill some varmints for grub.</p> + +<p>There seemed to be plenty of mountain +lion signs, and I was surprised that they +should frequent such high altitudes, but +Pete told me that they were up here after +marmots, and were all sleek and fat on that +diet. I would not have been surprised if my +wild comrade had proposed a feast on these +cats. But it was not long before Pete’s +revolvers could be heard barking and in a +short time he returned with two braces of +white ptarmigan, each with its head shattered +by a pistol ball, and I confess these birds<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> +were more to my liking than cat meat. Up +there ’mid the snow fields the ptarmigan +apparently kept their winter plumage all year +round, and their natural camouflage made +them utterly invisible to me, but to Pete, a +white ptarmigan on a white snowfield seemed +to be as easy to detect as if the same bird had +been perched on a heap of coal. I had not +seen one of these grouse since we had been +in the mountains and was not aware of their +presence until my companion returned with +the four dead birds.</p> + +<p>Without wasting time, Pete began to prepare +them for cooking. He soon built a fire +of some sticks which he gleaned from one or +two twisted and gnarled evergreens that had +wandered above timber line and cooked the +birds over the embers. He gave a brace to +me, and sitting on a boulder with our feet +hanging over the edge we ate our evening +meal without salt or pepper, and then each of +us curled up like a grey wolf under the shelter +of a stone and slept as safely as if we were in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> +our bed rolls down in the genial atmosphere +of the park in place of being in the bitingly +cold air of the bleak mountain tops.</p> + +<p>I, at least, slept soundly, and, thanks to +the clothes Pete had so kindly made for me, +I do not remember feeling cold. When I +awoke again it was daylight and I could +scarcely believe that I had been asleep more +than five minutes since my friend bade me +good-night. Big Pete was up before me, of +course, and when I opened my eyes I found +him cooking breakfast and making tea in a +tin cup over those economical fires he so +loved to build even when we were in the park +where there was fuel enough for a roaring +bonfire. It’s queer how difficult it is to make +water boil on a mountain top.</p> + +<p>“Well, now fer the witch-b’ar track agin,” +said Big Pete, wiping his mouth.</p> + +<p>“Witch-bear!” I exclaimed. “Oh—yes—you +don’t mean to tell me you kept following +the track of that two-legged bear this far, +Pete?” I exclaimed, suddenly recalling that we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> +had started out following a mysterious moccasin +trail that had later turned into bear tracks.</p> + +<p>“Sartin’ sure. Didn’t you figger out that +that tha’ b’ar war the Injun or tha’ Wild +Hunter who put on moccasins made o’ b’ar +feet when he thought we’d foller him?” +asked Pete.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I did, but I forgot—maybe that ram +was the Wild Hunter himself—blame it. +Nothing will astonish me in this country.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you fergot everything, even yore +head when you started to foller that tha’ +ram yesterday. But I didn’t. I jest kept +peggin’ away at them tha’ rumswattel b’ar +tracks and I followed ’em right up to yonder +cliff. They go on from tha’, but I left ’em +last night to come over by you. Come on, +we’ll pick ’em up agin.” And off he started.</p> + +<p>It was soon evident that it was an exceedingly +active bear which we were following for +it could climb over green glacier ice like a +Swiss guide and over rocks like a goat. It led +us a wild, wild chase over crevasses, friable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> +and treacherous stones covered with “verglass,” +over dangerous couloirs and all the other +things talked of in the Alps but forgotten in +the Rockies, to high elevations, where frozen +snow combed over the beetling crags, and +the avalanches roared and thundered down +the rocks, dashing the fragments of stone over +the lower ice fields. We were not roped +together like mountain climbers in the Swiss +or Tyrolean Alps; we got the real thrills by +using our own hands and feet without ice pick, +staff or hobnailed shoes.</p> + +<p>But Big Pete never hesitated and I followed +him without a word, and when the trail led +along the edge of a dizzy height I could look +at the middle of Big Pete’s broad back and +then my head would not swim. It required +quick and good judgment to tell just how +much of a slant made a loose stone unsafe to +step upon. It was exciting and exhilarating +work, and the violent exercise kept me so +warm that I carried most of my clothes in a +bundle on my back. Presently our path led<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> +us into a goat trail, one of those century old +paths made by shaggy white Alpine animals, +and used by them as regular highways. +There were plenty of fresh goat signs, and the +broad path led us over a saddle mountain +to the verge of a cliff, beyond which it seemed +impossible for anything but birds to pursue +the trail. Here we sat down to rest and to +make a cup of tea over a tiny fire, although +wood was plentiful at this place, it being in the +timber line.</p> + +<p>Below us lay a valley, into which numerous +small glaciers emptied their everlasting supply +of ice and blocks of stone, and horse-tail falls +poured from the melting snow fields. It might +have presented enchanting prospects to an +iceman or a bighorn, or a Rocky Mountain +goat, but for two tired men it was a gloomy, +dangerous and desolate place and I felt +certain that even a witch-bear would not +choose such a dangerous place as a camping +ground. We had finished our tea and I was +feeling somewhat refreshed when I noticed a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> +peculiar stinging sensation about my face; I +felt as if I had been attacked by some peculiar +form of insect. But there were none in sight.</p> + +<p>Pete, at this time, was some distance away +prospecting the “lay of the land.” I saw +him suddenly pull the cape of his wamus over +his face, and reasoned that he also had been +attacked by these invisible insects.</p> + +<p>To my surprise, the big fellow seemed very +much alarmed, and every time I shouted to +him it greatly excited him. As he was +hurrying to me as rapidly as possible, I +desisted from further inquiry. When Big +Pete reached my side he pulled a handkerchief +from around my neck and put it over my +mouth, making signs which I did not comprehend. +At last he put his muffled mouth +to my ear and shouted through the cape of +his wamus. “Shut yer meat-trap or you’re +food for the coyotes. It is the WHITE +DEATH!”</p> + + + + +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + + +<p>Clothes and stage trappings can neither +add nor detract from our respect for death. +He is the same grim old gentleman, be his +mouldy bones naked, or clothed in robes of +the most gaudy or brilliant hues. A blue +death, a red death or a yellow death is just as +grizzly and awe-inspiring as one of any shade +of gray. Even a black death excites no +emotions not touched by the first name, for +it is the dread messenger himself whom we +respect and not his fanciful robes of office.</p> + +<p>As far as I am personally concerned, I +confess that Big Pete’s painful suggestion +about the coyotes had more to do with keeping +my mouth shut than any terror inspired by +the lily-like purity of the garments of the +white death; what made my bones ache was +the thought of the wolves gnawing them.</p> + +<p>Overhead the sun shone with an unusual<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> +brilliancy, and the atmosphere had that peculiar +crystalline transparency which kills space +and brings distant objects close to one’s feet. +Where then was the terrible white messenger? +Why must my head be muffled like a mummy? +Why must I keep my mouth shut, while the +curiosity mill within me was working overtime +grinding out questions I should dearly love +to ask?</p> + +<p>Again and again I looked around me to see +where this ghostly white terror might lurk, +and now, as I gazed at the mountains, I was +surprised and annoyed to discover that the +distant peaks were gradually disappearing, +being blotted out of the landscape before my +eyes; a ghost-like mantle was creeping over +and enshrouding the mountains.</p> + +<p>Like Big Pete, the witch-bear, the ptarmigan +and the stinging insects, the mountains themselves +had joined in the weird game and were +donning their fernseed caps of invisibility. +Now the air around and about me seemed to +be filled with powdered dust of mica that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> +glinted, sparkled and scintillated in the sunshine. +The breeze which was tossing about +the bright atoms loosened the handkerchief +which swathed my nose and mouth, and I +was seized with a violent fit of coughing.</p> + +<p>It was no gentle hand which Big Pete laid +on my shoulder before he again bound the +handkerchief around my face and motioned +for me to follow him.</p> + +<p>Evidently my guide had been making good +use of his time while I was engaged in idle +speculation, for he led me to a point about +fifty yards from the goat trail where there was +a possible place to descend the cliff to a ledge +fifty feet below. By this time I had become +enough of a mountaineer to follow my guide +over trails which a few weeks previous would +have seemed to me impossible to traverse, +and after a hasty and daring descent we +reached the ledge, where I discovered the +black mouth of a cavern; into this hole Pete +thrust me and led me back some twenty yards +into the darkness, ordered me to disrobe to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> +the waist, then he began a most vigorous +and irritating slapping and rubbing of my +chest; so insistent and persevering was he +that I really thought my skin would be peeled +from shoulders to waist. At last he desisted +and ordered me to put on all my clothes.</p> + +<p>“Are you mad, Pete? Has the rarefied air +of the mountains upset your brain? If not, +will you kindly tell me what on earth all this +means and why we are hiding in this gloomy +hole?” I asked as soon as I got the breath +back in my body.</p> + +<p>“Le-loo, you be a baby, and need a keeper +to prevent you from committing susancide +several times a day. Tenderfoot? Well, I +should say so. No one but a short-horn from +the East would keep his mouth open gulping +in the frozen fog, filling his warm lungs with +quarts of fine ice. I reckon it would be +healthier to breathe pounded glass, fur it +hain’t sharper nor half as cold. Why, Le-loo, +tha’ be a dose of fever and lung inflammation +in every mouthful of this frozen fog.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>He held my face between his two strong +hands so that the faint light that filtered +through the murky darkness from the cavern’s +mouth dimly illuminated my countenance, +and as he watched the streams of perspiration +falling in drops from the end of my nose his +frown relaxed and a broad grin spread over +his handsome features.</p> + +<p>“You’re all right this time,” he added +“I calculate that I’ve melted all the ice in +your bellows, so just creep up tha’ and sweat +a bit more to make it slick and sartin that +we’ve beat the White Death this trip.” +I did as he said, not because I wanted to +sweat but because habit made me obey the +commands of my guide.</p> + +<p>Evidently this cavern had been in constant +use by some sort of animals as a sort of stable +for many, many years, and I have had sweeter +couches, but by this time my rough life had +transformed me into something of a wild +animal myself, and it was not long before I +was comfortably dozing. During the time<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +that I slept I was dimly conscious of being +surrounded by a crowd of people; as the +absurdity of this forced itself through my +sleep-befuddled brain and I opened wide my +eyes, what I saw made me open my eyes +still wider.</p> + +<p>I was about to start to my feet when I felt +Big Pete’s restraining hand on my shoulder, +and not until then did I realize that the cave +was crowded with the shaggy white Rocky +Mountain goats, and not weird, white-bearded +old men. Few persons can truly say that +they have been within arm’s length of a flock +of these timid and almost unapproachable +animals; but we had invaded their secret +place of refuge, and they had not, as yet, +taken alarm at our presence in their castle. +It may be that the frozen fog had driven +the goats to the cavern for shelter, and it is +possible that never having been hunted by +man, these animals feared the White Death +more than they did human beings, and did +not realize the dangerous character of their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +present visitors; whatever the cause of their +temerity, the fact remains that men and +goats slept that night in the cavern together.</p> + +<p>I did not awake next morning until after +the departure of the goats and opened my +eyes to find myself alone in the cavern.</p> + +<p>Having all my clothes on, no time was +wasted at my toilet, but I made my way +directly to the doorway and was gratified to +discover that Big Pete was roasting some kid +chops over the hot embers of a fire.</p> + +<p>After breakfasting on the remains of the +kid, Big Pete arose and scanned the sky, the +horizon and the mountain tops, and turning +to me said, “Now, Le-loo, that Wild Hunter-b’ar-wolf +man has fooled us by doubling on +his trail an’ as it hain’t him we’re after now +but the trail out of the mountains, I mean to +go by sens-see-ation, but you must keep yer +meat-trap shut and not speak, ’cause soon +as I know I’m a man I hain’t got no more +sense than a man. I must say to myself, +‘Now, Pete, you’re a varmint and varmints<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> +know their way even in a new country.’ +Then I just sense things and trots along ’til +I come out all right.”</p> + +<p>I had often heard of this wonderful instinct +of direction, the homing instinct of the +pigeon, which some Indians, Africans, Australian +black boys and a few white men still +possess; I say still possess because it is evident +that it was once our common heritage, a sort of +sixth sense which has been lost by disuse. +That Big Pete possessed this sixth sense I +little doubted, and it was with absorbing interest +that I watched the man work himself into +the proper state of mind.</p> + +<p>For quite a time he stood sniffing the air +and looking around him while his body swayed +with a slow motion. Then suddenly, as if +he had seen something or as if answering the +call of something, he started off almost at +right angles to our trail, acting very much like +a hound on an old scent, but keeping up a +pace that tried my endurance.</p> + +<p>It was truly wonderful the way this man, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +a trance-like state, was guided by an invisible +power over the most dangerous ground, but +no one, after a careful survey, could have +selected a better trail than that chosen by +Big Pete. On and on we went, scrambling +over rock-skirting precipices and crumbling +ledges. A dense fog settled around us, making +each step hazardous, but with an instinct as +true and apparently identical with that of +our four-footed brothers, my guide kept the +same rapid pace for hours, and then, all of a +sudden, came to an abrupt stop.</p> + +<p>For several seconds he stood in his tracks, +his body keeping the same swaying motion, +but after a short while he crept cautiously +forward in the fog, with me at his heels, and +we found ourselves at the edge of a giant +fault, similar to the one in Darlinkel Park, +but there was apparently no pass to let us +down the towering precipices to the valley +below.</p> + +<p>“Well, that was a wonderful trip,” I cried.</p> + +<p>“Shut up!” shouted Pete savagely, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> +I had spoken and the spell was broken; +reason, not instinct, must now lead us.</p> + +<p>Vapor and clouds concealed the low grounds +from our view; however, we were determined +not to spend another night in the mountains, +so while I rested and regained my breath, +Big Pete went on to explore the ledges.</p> + +<p>Presently my guide hove in sight and +motioned me to follow him; he led me to a +place where another goat trail went over the +edge of the precipice, this time not in ten and +fifteen feet jumps, but by a steep diagonal +path. Down the treacherous trail we slipped +and slid with a wall of rocks on one side and +death in the form of a bluish white space on +the other side.</p> + +<p>As we were clambering carefully around +the face of a big rock Pete suddenly whispered +that he smelt a “Painter,” and upon peering +around the corner we found ourselves face to +face with a large cat; the animal was crouching +upon a flat-topped projecting stone immediately +in our path. That it was not the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +puma of the low-lands, its reddish-colored +coat and great size proclaimed. It was a +so-called mountain lion and a grand specimen +of its kind.</p> + +<p>The cat’s small head lay between its muscular +forepaws, its hair adhered closely to its +body, its long tail was full and round and +waved slowly from side to side, while its eyes +gleamed like electric sparks.</p> + +<p>We were in a most awkward position; our +guns were swung by straps over our backs, +so that we might use our hands, and we were +clinging to the face of the big rock while our +toes were seeking foothold in the treacherous +shale of the trail. To loosen our hands was to +fall backwards into the bluish white sea of +unknown depths, and to retrace our steps +was out of the question.</p> + +<p>Pete often expressed the opinion that no +predaceous creature, from a spider up to a +cougar, will attack its prey while the latter is +immovable.</p> + +<p>As a corollary to this proposition he said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> +that when a person is suddenly confronted +by a dangerous wild beast, the safest plan to +pursue is to remain perfectly quiet, or, as he +quaintly put it, “to peetrify yourself in the +wink of an eye.”</p> + +<p>Truth to tell, on this occasion I found no +difficulty in following his directions. I was +“peetrified” by fear; my feet were cold and +numb, chills in wavelets washed up and down +my spine, a sudden rash seemed to be breaking +out all over my body and the skin on my back +felt as if it had been converted into goose-flesh.</p> + +<p>Had we been able to travel a few feet +further we would have both found a comparatively +safe footing and had our arms +free and a fighting chance with the big +catamount in place of hanging suspended to +the face of the rock like two big, helpless, +terrified bats.</p> + + + + +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + + +<p>With an imperceptible movement, as steady +and almost as slow as that of a glacier, my +guide twisted his neck until his face was +turned from the puma and the side of the +mouth pressed against the flat surface of his +rock. I was crowded up against Big Pete, +who occupied a position but slightly in advance +and a little above me. My agony of fear +having somewhat subsided I ventured to steal +a momentary glance at my comrade’s face. +To my unutterable surprise I discovered a +whimsical twinkling at the corners of his eyes +and a mirthful expression of mischief in his +countenance. This was incomprehensible to +me, for I could imagine no more awe-inspiring +position than the one we then occupied.</p> + +<p>While my thoughts were still busy trying +to fathom the cause of Pete’s untimely +mirth, the long-drawn howl of the big timber +wolf floated over the valley and sent a new lot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +of shivers down my back. It was the rallying +call used by the wolves to call the band together +when game is in sight. The sound +increased in volume until it reverberated +among the crags like the voice of a winter’s +storm, and then it gradually died away. +Big Pete was not only a good mimic but he +proved himself to be a ventriloquist of no +mean ability; by the help of the rock against +which his cheek was pressed he had been able +to throw his voice off into space in such a +manner that it baffled me for several moments.</p> + +<p>The gray wolves are old and inveterate +enemies of the panther or cougar, hunting +the cats on all occasions. Consequently all +panthers know the meaning of that wild +lonesome howl, the assembling call, as well +as the oldest wolf in the pack, and its effect +upon the lion in our path was instantaneous. +The hair, which had a moment before been as +slick as if it were oiled, now rose upright until +the fuzzy hide gave the animal’s body the +appearance of being twice its original size.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span>Scarcely had the big cat vacated the path +before we scrambled to the firm foothold and +I breathed a great sigh of relief when it was +reached. But Big Pete was convulsed with +suppressed laughter at the practical joke he +had played on the mountain lion.</p> + +<p>“Gosh darn my magnolia breath! That +painter went as if he had a ball of hot rorrum +tied to his tail,” cried my guide.</p> + +<p>It was difficult for me to realize that it was +Big Pete himself who had given vent to that +shuddering howl, and now the danger was over +I pleaded with him to give another exhibition +of his skill in wolf calls.</p> + +<p>The good-natured fellow at first seemed +reluctant to repeat his performance, but at +length consented and put his hands to his +mouth, forming a trumpet, then bent forward +his body, stooping so low that his face was +was below his waist, after which he began again +that wild cry which so closely resembles in +sentiment and tone the shriek of the wind. +As the sound increased in volume the man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> +waved his head from side to side; continuing +the movement he gradually assumed an +upright pose, and ended by making a low +obeisance as the sound died away.</p> + +<p>The imitation was perfect and I was expressing +my delight and appreciation when my ear +caught a distant sound which put a sudden +stop to our conversation.</p> + +<p>Was it the wind which I now heard? No! +there was not a breath of air stirring, neither +was it an echo. There could be no doubt +about it, the long-drawn sepulchral howl +which filled and permeated the shivering air +was an answering cry to Big Pete’s call.</p> + +<p>Scarcely had the sound waves faded away +when in the mysterious distance came another +and another answer, until it seemed as if a +troop of lost souls were vocalizing their +misery. I unslung my gun and loosened my +revolvers in their fringed holsters, but Big Pete +only shrugged his shoulders and said,</p> + +<p>“Come, let’s be moseying. ’Taint nothin’ +but wolves.” A fact of which I was as well<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> +aware of as Pete, but I, tenderfoot that I was, +could not treat howling of wolves with the +same unconcern as did my guide.</p> + +<p>We soon reached a point where the goat +trail turned again up the mountain and we +forsook that ancient path for a diagonal +fracture very similar to the one by which we +had ascended, which led down the face of the +precipice “slantendicularwise,” Big Pete said, +and soon plunged into the bluish gray sea +which filled the valley. We were now enveloped +in a dense fog, which added materially +to the dangers of the journey. I had had so +many thrills in the last few moments that my +nerves were becoming dull and failed to vibrate +on this occasion, so that descending the cliff +in a fog by a diagonal fracture in the rock +became only an incident of our journey; this +trail, however, was wider than the one by +which we ascended.</p> + +<p>The Rocky Mountains are full of new +sensations and I got a new one when I +discovered that the fog through which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> +we had been traveling was in reality a cloud, +and, all unexpectedly, we emerged into the +clear mellow light below the floating vapor. +It was an enchanting scene which met our +eyes; below us stretched a beautiful valley.</p> + +<p>For the first time in months I saw a human +habitation. The blue smoke from the chimney +ascended slowly in a tall column and then +floated horizontally in stratified layers. There +were fields of ripe grain, orchards, groves, +pasture lands and a winding stream fringed +with poplars, which flowed in a tortuous +course across the valley. As I feasted my eyes +on the peaceful scene a great longing took +possession of my soul.</p> + +<p>Big Pete, too, was lost in thought, conjured +up by the scene below us. He stood leaning +on his rifle with his eyes fixed on the enchanting +picture; so full of unconscious dignity +was his pose, so immovable stood the mountain +man that he looked like a grand statue +done by a master hand.</p> + +<p>But what thoughts were conjured up in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> +guide’s brain by the unexpected sight of +this ranch could not be interpreted from the +expression of his countenance, for that showed +no more trace of emotion than an American +Indian at the torture stake, or the marble +face of a Greek god. Presently he shifted +his pose, threw back his head, and Big Pete’s +eyes were fixed on the valley in front of us, as +with distended nostrils he sniffed the mountain +air, his brows contracted to a frown, his +eyes lost their gentle angelic look and seemed +to change from China blue to a cold steel +color, and his tightly closed mouth had a +stern expression about the corners which +appeared altogether out of keeping with the +occasion.</p> + +<p>“Rot my hide!” he exclaimed, “if I hain’t +had a neighbor all these years and never +knowed it. Waugh! Some emigrant—terrification +seize him!—has found another park +an’ squatted, t’ain’t more’n eight miles as a +crow flies from mine, nuther, Le-loo.” He +looked at the sun and muttered. “Hang me,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +but ’tis t’other end of my own park,” then +he paused a moment and added fiercely, +“if these geysers know when they are well off, +they’ll steer shy of Darlinkel Park. If I +catch ’em scoutin’ ’round my claim, I’ll send +’em a-hoppin’.”</p> + +<p>“Bless me, you are neighborly,” exclaimed a +voice in smooth, even tones.</p> + +<p>“What!” said Pete, looking sternly at me. +“Did you speak?”</p> + +<p>“I said nothing,” I replied.</p> + +<p>Big Pete’s countenance changed and he ran +his hands over the cartridges in his belt in +the old familiar manner, and with a motion +quicker than I can describe it, whipped out +his revolvers and wheeled about face, at the +same time snapping out the words, “Throw up +your hands!”</p> + + + + +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + + +<p>We were standing on the surface of a flat +table-rock, which jutted out from the face +of the towering cliff and overhung the valley +that was spread out like a map beneath us. +About twenty feet back from the edge of the +rock was a pile of debris heaped up against +the face of the cliff; but the remaining surface +of the stone was clean bare and weather-beaten. +The talus against the cliff was +composed of loose fragments of stone and +other products of wash and erosion. This +was overgrown with a thicket of stunted +shrubs, wry-necked goblin thistles and murderous +devil’s clubs. These bludgeon-shaped +plants, thickly covered with sharp thorns, +reared aloft their weapons as if in menace to +all living things; the unstable ground and +thorny thicket formed the only shelter where<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> +we could be ambushed in the rear, and it was +not a likely spot to be chosen for such a +purpose by man or beast.</p> + +<p>When Big Pete wheeled about face with his +trusty revolvers in hand, I quickly followed +his example, and our mutual surprise may be +imagined when we found ourselves gazing in +the faces of a semicircle of gigantic wolves. +The animals were squatting on their haunches +at the foot of the talus, their wicked slant +eyes fixed upon us and their red tongues +lolling out from their cavernous mouths.</p> + +<p>I cannot tell why, whether it was the state of +my nerves or the effect of the rare air of the +high altitude, or what, but I felt no fear at +facing this strange wolf pack. Indeed, to me +they appeared all to be laughing and their +red tongues lolled from their open mouths in +a very humorous fashion.</p> + +<p>The whole scene appeared to me to be +exceedingly funny and, in a spirit of utter +reckless bravado, I doffed my fur cap, with +exaggerated politeness made a low bow, and,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> +addressing the largest and most devilish-looking +wolf in the pack, exclaimed,</p> + +<p>“Ah! this is Monsieur Loup-Garou, I +believe. Pardon me, Monsieur, but did you +speak a moment since?”</p> + +<p>But Big Pete Darlinkel looked at the wolves, +and great beads of sweat stood on his forehead. +It was his turn to have the shivers. There +was no more color in his face than in a peeled +turnip. His gun shook in his left hand like a +aspen, while the spangled gun in his right +hand dropped its muzzle towards earth and +there was scarcely strength enough in his +nerveless fingers to have pulled a hair-trigger.</p> + +<p>Pete’s great baby-blue eyes turned helplessly +to me; but it was now my innings, and +with a cheery voice I cried,</p> + +<p>“Why, Pete, old fellow, what ails you?” +Then meanly quoting his own words, I added, +“They hain’t nothing but wolves!”</p> + +<p>There is not a shadow of a doubt that Pete +expected the wolves to answer me with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> +human voice, and I am willing to confess that, +even to me, there seemed to be no other +alternative for the slant-eyed bandits to +pursue. But for the present they appeared +to prefer to maintain a solemn silence.</p> + +<p>The middle wolf had been looking intently +at us for some time before a well-modulated +voice said,</p> + +<p>“I have answered your call, gentlemen; +how can I serve you?”</p> + +<p>I was more than half expecting some such +answer, but if it had not been so evident that +Big Pete was badly frightened and had lost +all his self-possession, I should have thought +he was again practising his art as ventriloquist.</p> + +<p>Of course I deceived myself. The wolves +had no more power of speech than a house-dog. +But I really thought the wolves were doing +the talking until I caught sight of a tall man +of handsome and distinguished appearance +seated among the weird goblin-thistles just +above the wolves. The stranger appeared +to be a man of almost any age; he might be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> +young but, if old, he was wonderfully well +preserved. He was clad in a light-colored +buckskin suit of clothes, edged and trimmed +with fur, a fur cap on his head and moccasins +on his feet. And I noticed, with a start, that +he had that same red porcupine quill ornament +on his hunting shirt that the young Indian wore.</p> + +<p>When I saw how his dress blended perfectly +with his surroundings I excused myself for +not sooner detecting him. I could not help +but admire his easy grace and the sense of +reserved strength in his strong figure. The +calmness and repose forcibly reminded me of +the mountain lion we had lately encountered.</p> + +<p>“You kin hackle me and card my sinews, +if it hain’t the Wild Hunter himself an’ his +pack,” said Big Pete under his breath.</p> + +<p>The color now began to return to his face +and at the recollection of his late rude words +the big fellow blushed like a school girl. +Gradually he recovered his self-possession, +and, doffing his cap, made a low bow as graceful +and as courtly as that of any polished<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> +courtier. This was an entirely new side to +my friend’s character and I listened with +interest when he said,</p> + +<p>“Sir, whether you be loup-garou, werwolf, +witch-b’ar or all them to onct, I do not care. +What I want ter say is ef that tha’ ranch +yander be your’n, you may hamstring me ef +I hain’t proud to have such a man for a neighbor. +Whatever else you be yore no shavetail +or shorthorn, an’ that’s howsomever. I don’t +mind sayin’ that yore a better shot an’ all +around hunter an’ mountain man than Daniel +Boone, Simon Kenton, Davy Crockett, Kit +Carson, Bison McClean and Jim Baker all +rolled in one. Yore the slickest woodsman +on the divide. I’m powerful proud of you as +a neighbor and would be still prouder ef I +might call you my friend.”</p> + +<p>Our strange visitor displayed a beautiful +white set of teeth as a frank smile played +over his smooth face. But his only answer +at that moment was an inclination of his +head and a muttered command to the wolves,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +which they instantly obeyed by silently +disappearing in the underbrush.</p> + +<p>After a pause the tall stranger came forward, +and, removing his own cap, made a bow even +more courtly than that of Big Pete, as he thus +replied: “Sir, I feel highly honored at this +flattering expression of commendation. I can +honestly say that it is the greatest compliment +I have ever received from a stranger, and,” he +added with another winning smile, +“you are the first stranger with whom I have +held converse in nearly twenty years. That +I am not unfriendly I have already proved by +some trifling services, but the honor of the +acquaintance is mine.”</p> + +<p>After the formalities of our meeting were +over the stranger stood for a few moments with +his chin resting on his breast. He was evidently +thinking over some serious subject. +His head was bare, his fur cap being in his +hands, and his hands locked behind his back. +A mass of light colored hair fell over his +forehead and shoulders.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>Presently he looked at us again, with that +same grave smile on his face, and said that +if we would consent to be blindfolded and +trust ourselves implicitly to his care, he would +be glad to take us to his home and would feel +honored if we should choose to visit him.</p> + +<p>“You can proceed no further on this trail +for it ends here, and not even a goat can go +beyond the rock on which we stand, therefore +we must retrace our steps a few hundred +yards,” he explained, as he apologized for his +strange proposition. He securely bandaged +our eyes with our own handkerchiefs, and +after turning us around until I at least had +lost all sense of direction, he placed thongs in +our hands, and then we discovered that we +were to be led by some sort of animals, presumably +wolves. Whatever else they were, +they proved to be careful and sagacious +leaders.</p> + +<p>After a short distance of rough climbing +where we constantly needed the personal help +of our mysterious host, we began to descend<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> +and soon our feet told us that we were traveling +on a comparatively smooth though steep trail. +Now and again our guide would speak to warn +us of stones or other obstructions in our path, +but, with the exception of these necessary +words of caution and brief words expressing +approval or reproof to the animals, we made +the journey in silence and in due time reached +the bottom, and our feet told us that we were +walking on a level shale-covered path.</p> + +<p>At this point the creatures leading us were +dismissed and we could hear them scrambling +back over the trail. We heard the bleating +of sheep, the lowing of cattle and all the +multiplicity of noises so familiar on a well-stocked +farm, and we could easily detect the +different odors as familiar and characteristic +as the noises. We enjoyed to its fullest +extent the novelty of the homely sensations +aroused by the smell of new-mown hay and +the familiar medley of sounds peculiar to the +farm.</p> + +<p>In due time we found ourselves at the foot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> +of a couple of wooden steps, which we ascended, +and, crossing a broad veranda, entered +a doorway. Here we stood awaiting further +commands in utter ignorance of our surroundings. +Of course, we surmised we were in the +ranch house which we saw from the table rock, +but this was only a surmise.</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen,” said the strange old man, +“you are welcome to my home, and allow me +to add that you are the only white men who +have ever crossed the threshold of this house.”</p> + +<p>As he ceased speaking he removed the +bandages from our eyes.</p> + + + + +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + + +<p>It was a strange place, indeed, in which +I found myself. Our eyes were unbandaged +after we entered the portal of the ranch house, +and when Big Pete and I turned toward our +guide, we were facing in a direction that gave +us a sweeping view of the entire ranch. And +what we saw made us marvel.</p> + +<p>This farm, between the towering, almost +insurmountable mountains, had evidently +been wrenched from what two decades before +had been as much of a wilderness as the Darlinkel +Park across the divide. Timber clothed +the mountains on either hand but the fertile +valley bottom was as rural as a district of the +middle west. On one hand stretched acres +and acres of ripened grain. Beyond was +pasture land dotted with strange whitefaced +animals, which later proved to be hybrid +buffalos, a strange cross between wild and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> +domestic cattle.<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> In other pastures and on +the hillsides I could see goats and sheep, and +these too were evidently a cross breed of wild +and domestic stock, the goats having a very +strange resemblance to the fleet-footed shaggy +old fellows we had seen on the mountains, +while the sheep closely resembled usual domestic +sheep.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Since that time the late Buffalo Jones has bred buffalo and +domestic cattle and called the offspring “catelow.”</p></div> + +<p>There were stables, too, and corrals, all +made of logs, as was the ranch house, but what +seemed very strange to me was the fact that +there were no horses in sight. All of the animals +at work in the fields were those strange +hybrid buffalo-oxen, all save one, a single, +lame and apparently almost blind burro that +I saw lying in the sun. From his grayness +about the head I had little doubt that he was +of great age.</p> + +<p>There were hordes of strange poultry too,—strange +to me at least, for never had I expected +to find flocking together wild turkeys, Canadian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> +geese, black ducks, wood ducks, and +mallards (all with wings clipped so that they +never again could fly), sage hens, quail, +spruce-grouse, partridge, ptarmigan and western +mountain quail. All seemed perfectly +at home and comfortably domesticated.</p> + +<p>Beyond the poultry houses was still another +outhouse, a long, low, log building before +which was a lawn. On the lawn were all +manner of perches and roosts and on these, +sunning themselves and preening their feathers, +were several types of predaceous birds, +ranging from huge and powerful female eagles +to smaller hawks and true falcons. This +evidently was the Wild Hunter’s falconry.</p> + +<p>Another thing that made an instant impression +upon me was the number of men +at work about the place. The workmen were +all, without an exception, Indians, and as they +moved about silently, their stoic, almost +expressionless faces held a decided look of +contentment, a few of them turned toward the +porch with a frank, honest stare. There was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> +no evidence of fear or restraint in their actions +but they always gave the wolf dogs plenty +of room as they passed them. These black +beasts were ugly, snarling things that showed +no love for anyone; on the least provocation +menacing growls rumbled in their throats.</p> + +<p>What manner of place was this that we had +permitted ourselves to be led into? Indeed, +what manner of man was this strange host of +ours? I shot a sidelong glance at him and it +seemed to me as if I caught a strange, hunted +look in his eyes, and a sad smile on his handsome +but grim countenance. A slight feeling +of fear crept into my heart. Could this +strange man be my father? For some reason +he certainly did attract me and excite my +sympathy, yet I stood in awe of him. The +strangeness of my surroundings, too, settled +upon me. I turned toward Pete and I had a +premonition of evil. I could see that he too +was affected the same way. The valley was +an earthly paradise, the Wild Hunter a kindly +gentleman, what then was it that gave me an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +uncomfortable and uneasy feeling? I was +eager to be alone with Pete for I knew that he +would have some interesting observations to +make.</p> + +<p>“I am disappointed, gentlemen, you say +nothing. Isn’t my ranch interesting to you?” +demanded the Wild Hunter, with a smile. +In a low smooth voice he gave some orders to a +young Indian who was walking toward the +stables. The Indian instantly snapped into +action and hurried away as if one of the black +wolf dogs were snapping at his heels, and I felt +certain that it was the youth whom we had +been trailing.</p> + +<p>A hurried and very unpleasant thought +flashed through my mind: What was the +source of the power the Wild Hunter held over +these Indians? They were not slaves in this +mountain-surrounded prison; this grim, forceful +but kindly wild man did not hold them +through fear. He always smiled when he +greeted them, but he never smiled at his +wolves; when giving them orders or even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +looking at them, the expression of his face +was stern and almost fierce. But the man +had asked a question. He was expecting an +answer.</p> + +<p>“It is a wonderful place,” I managed to +stammer; “who could conceive of such a +remarkable ranch buried here in the heart of +the wilderness?”</p> + +<p>“It’s a ring-tailed snorter, hamstring me if +it hain’t,” said Big Pete in an attempt to be +enthusiastic.</p> + +<p>The man’s face glowed with pleasure.</p> + +<p>“You are the first white men to see it. I +think I have achieved something here in the +wilds, thanks a great deal to Pluto and his +strain.”</p> + +<p>“Eh, what?” exclaimed Big Pete in alarm.</p> + +<p>“To—to—whom,” I gasped, for to have the +man actually confess an alliance with Satan +rather startled me also.</p> + +<p>The Wild Hunter chuckled in an amused +manner.</p> + +<p>“Thanks to Pluto, I said. But Pluto is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> +that black wolf-dog over there, nevertheless. +I think that the name ‘Pluto’ fits his character +to a nicety.”</p> + +<p>He pointed to the massive, deep-chested, +long-haired, long-limbed, vicious looking leader +of his black wolf pack where it was chained to +a post. The great animal glared at his +master when his name was mentioned. He +crouched twenty feet away with his slanting +green eyes fixed constantly on his master’s +face and in them ever flared a fierce, wicked +fire.</p> + +<p>“Yes, you son of Satan, you and your +hybrid whelps have helped me do all this in +spite of the fact that you hate me, and would +love to tear me limb from limb. You splendid, +ugly brute, you are insensible to kindness!”</p> + +<p>I noticed that whenever he looked the wolf +in the face his own countenance became grim +and his eyes exceedingly fierce and not unlike +the wolf itself in expression.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:290px;"><a name="illo3" id="illo3"></a> +<p><a href="images/illo3.jpg"><img src="images/illo3_th.jpg" +alt="“I think the name ‘Pluto’ fits his character to a nicety”" +title="“I think the name ‘Pluto’ fits his character to a nicety”" /></a></p> +<p class="caption">“I think the name ‘Pluto’ fits his character to a nicety”</p> +</div> + +<!-- <p>[Blank Page]</p> --> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p><p>“He hates me,” he continued, turning to +us, “because of his ancestors. In him is the +blood of a Great Dane noted for its strength, +size and ferocity, a fierce brute which I brought +over the mountains with me many years ago. +Pluto’s mother was a pure black wolf of a +mean disposition, and his father the half-breed +son of a Great Dane and a she-wolf. +He is the fiercest and most bloodthirsty beast +in the whole pack, he hates me with the intense +hatred of his wolfish nature, he hates me because +he knows that I am the master of the +pack, the real leader, and he is jealous. +Since his puppy days he has watched for a +chance to kill me; twice he nearly succeeded—the +time will no doubt come when it will be +his life or mine. Yet because of his wonderful +strength, endurance and sagacity, I could +almost love him.</p> + +<p>“His breed does not want to recognize any +master. But <i>I am</i> his master!” cried the +Wild Hunter as his eyes flashed and he struck +himself on his chest, “and he knows it. The +only way, however, that I keep my power +over him and his pack is by forcing myself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> +to think every time I speak to them, now I +am going to <i>kill you</i>, and brutes though they +are they can read my mind and fear me. +Besides which self-interest helps a little towards +their loyalty. With me for a leader +there is always a kill at the end of the hunt, +and they know that they come in for a share +of the food.</p> + +<p>“Sometimes I fear the wolves will break +loose and attack my Indians, which I would +very much regret, for the Redmen are faithful +fellows and we form a happy community. +The Indians look upon me as Big Medicine +because I can control these medicine wolves.”</p> + +<p>Big Pete looked at the man with open +admiration, a man who by the sheer power +of his will could control a band of wolves, +any one of which was powerful enough to kill +an ox, certainly was a man to please the wild +nature of Big Pete. “But,” said Pete, “you +say Pluto has helped you. How?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“How,” exclaimed the Wild Hunter, “why, +gentlemen, by governing the pack as savage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> +as himself. The pack is the secret of my +whole success; my power over them first won +the allegiance of the Indians, won their admiration +and their respect. They know that I +could turn those wolves upon them at any +moment, but they also know that I would not +think of doing such an act and they are human +and love me; the wolves are brutes and not +susceptible to kindness. The wolves hate +the Redmen as they hate me, but they supplied +us all with food, they secured for us our winter +meat while the men worked to build houses +and clear the land, and thus made it possible +for us to start this settlement. They even +acted as pack animals for us, each of them +carrying as much as seventy pounds in weight +on their backs. But be on your guard, +gentlemen, be on your guard! Remember +that you are strangers to the wolves and they +will not hesitate, if the opportunity offers, to +rend you and even devour you.”</p> + +<p>A moment later his expression changed.</p> + +<p>“Enough of this,” he exclaimed in pleasanter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> +tones, “come, dinner is served,” and turning, +he led the way through the broad doorway +of the log ranch house into an almost sumptuously +furnished dining room where two +silent, soft-footed Indians began immediately +to serve a truly remarkable meal.</p> + +<p>“He may be lo-coed,” whispered Pete to me +as we took our places at the table, “but I’ll +tell the folks, he is a master looney alright. +He knows how to make Injuns love him and +varmints fear him, he kin pack all his duffle +in my bag, he need not cough up eny money +when he’s with me. Reckon we be alright +here, but waugh! we’ve gotter watch tha’ +black wolf pack!—yes and also that young +Indian whose ram you shot; it seems he looks +after the wolves and sees to it that they are +fastened up in their corral. I wouldn’t want +him to be sort of careless, you know.”</p> + + + + +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + + +<p>What a dining room that was! All of logs, +high ceilinged, with smoked rafters stained +like an old meerschaum pipe. It reminded me +of a wealthy man’s hunting lodge in Maine, +perhaps, rather than the abode of a wild man. +There was a huge yawning fireplace at one +end, above which was the finest specimen of +an elk’s head I have ever seen. There were +other heads, too, prong-horned antelope, +beautiful bison heads, remarkable specimens +of bighorn sheep and mountain goats, there +were buffalo robes and wolf robes strewn over +the floor, and there were abundant well +stocked gun cases on every hand.</p> + +<p>But conspicuous among the collection of +firearms was one, kept apart, polished and +cleaned, and on a rack made of elk horns +handily placed just above the big mantle. +It was beautifully though not elaborately<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> +made, with a fine damascus barrel of tremendous +length, a lock and set trigger that +showed expert handicraft, and stock of beautifully +polished birds-eye maple. An expert +would have known immediately that it was a +first-water product of an expert gunsmith.</p> + +<p>Big Pete noticed it as soon as I did and he +could not keep his eyes from roving to it +occasionally during the meal.</p> + +<p>“You may scalp me, stranger, fer sayin’ it, +but I’d like mightily well to heft that tha’ +shooting iron o’ your’n and examine it when +we git through with chuck,” he said.</p> + +<p>Our strange host looked up at the rifle, then +searchingly at Big Pete.</p> + +<p>“I don’t mind showing it to you, but you +must not touch it,” he said finally.</p> + +<p>“I reckon I wouldn’t hurt it none. I’ve +handled guns before,” said Big Pete shortly, +and I could see that he was piqued at the +man’s attitude.</p> + +<p>“Guess you wouldn’t, but I’ve made it a +rule never to let strange hands touch that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> +rifle,” said the strange man, and there was a +grimness about his tone that forbade quibbling.</p> + +<p>“Huh, well I can’t say as perhaps yore not +right about yore shootin’ hardware at that,” +said Pete. Then after glancing at it again, +he added, “a hunter’s gun and a woodsman’s ax +should never be trusted in strange hands. Bet +a ten spot it’s a Patrick Mullen. Hain’t it?”</p> + +<p>The name of my kinsman, the famous +gunsmith, brought a sudden realization that +Mullen was my own family name.</p> + +<p>The mention of the gunsmith seemed also +to have a curious effect on the old man. +His face grew red under the tan and his brow +wrinkled and I could see his cold blue eyes +scrutinizing Big Pete closely. Finally he +said bluntly,</p> + +<p>“It is, and it’s worth a thousand dollars.”</p> + +<p>“A thousand dollars!” I exclaimed, “a +thousand dollars?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” cried the old man almost fiercely, +“yes, yes, and it is my gun. He gave it to +me, he did—to me and not to Donald. He—”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>He stood up suddenly as if he intended to +stride over and seize the gun, to protect it from +us but as quickly sat down again and buried +his face in his hands, and I could see him biting +his lips as if he were attempting to control his +feeling.</p> + +<p>As for me, quite suddenly a great light +seemed to dawn. This strange old man was +mentioning names that were familiar—that +meant worlds to me. I leaned toward him +eagerly. Big Pete stood quietly listening, a +silent but interested spectator.</p> + +<p>“Did you know Donald Mullen, a brother +to the famous gunsmith? Tell me, did you +know him? I have come all the way—”</p> + +<p>I stopped in wonder. Never in all my life +do I ever expect to witness such a pitiful +expression of anguish pictured so vividly on +the human countenance as it was on the face +of the Wild Hunter.</p> + +<p>“What,” he whispered, “did you know +him?”</p> + +<p>“He was my father,” I answered simply.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>For a moment the Wild Hunter looked at +me intently, then said, “I believe you, you +favor him somewhat.” He then came forward +as if to shake my hand, but changed +his mind and sat down with a forced and +wan smile.</p> + +<p>“Did I know Don Mullen? Did I? He +was my partner, my bunkee for many years +and on many prospecting trips, a better +bunkee no man ever had, but he is dead now, +dead! dead! dead! been dead for a dozen years. +He was killed by an avalanche. A better +partner no man ever had,” he murmured and +relaxed into silence.</p> + +<p>My efforts to get more information of my +parents were of no avail. The Wild Hunter +turned the conversation in other directions.</p> + +<p>Of course, the knowledge that my real +father was dead, had been dead a long time, +caused me a feeling of sadness, yet strangely +enough the little knowledge that I had gleaned +from this strange old man brought a sense of +relief to me. I think that it must have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +a certain sense of satisfaction to know that +this queer man was not my father.</p> + +<p>But if he was not Donald Mullen, who was +he? That question kept me pondering and for +the rest of the meal I was silent, speculating +on this strange situation, nor did I have an +opportunity to note, as Big Pete did, the +tearful, kindly glances that the Wild Hunter +shot at me now and then.</p> + +<p>Still, for all, he was sociable, extremely +sociable, and talkative, too, but I fancy now +as I recall it, he was simply keeping the conversation +in safe channels, for it was very +apparent that the rifle and his former mining +partner were painful subjects.</p> + +<p>Dinner over, we all went out onto the porch +of the ranch house, where we talked while +the twilight lasted. At least Big Pete and the +Wild Hunter talked as they smoked two of +those mysterious long cigars, but I was still +silent because of the many strange thoughts +that were romping through my mind.</p> + +<p>Soon darkness settled down and Big Pete<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> +began to yawn. I also was heavy-eyed, and +presently the Wild Hunter clapped his hands +and summoned a leather-skinned old Indian +to whom he gave brief low command in the +Mewan Indian tongue, as I was afterwards +informed by Big Pete, then turning to us he +said in his fascinating soft voice:</p> + +<p>“It will probably be a novelty for both of +you gentlemen to again sleep in a bed between +sheets and under a roof. I doubt whether you +will enjoy it even though the sheets are clean +linen which were spun and woven by my noble +Indians. Moose Ear, here, will conduct you +to your rooms and I will take a turn about +the place before retiring to see that all is well, +and also to see that my black wolf pack is +securely confined within the wolf corral. This +is a precaution, gentlemen, which I take every +night, because a wolf is a wolf no matter +how well trained he may be upon the surface, +and night is the time wolves delight to run. +These beasts are especially dangerous to +strangers and it is for that reason I am putting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> +you in the house in place of allowing you to +camp outdoors, as I know you would prefer to +do. Good-night, gentlemen, see that the +doors are closed. Pleasant dreams.”</p> + +<p>As we said good-night to him I wondered +vaguely if the wolf pen was securely built, for +it seemed to me that I detected a suggestion +of doubt in the mind of the Wild Hunter +himself. I little realized, however, the horrors +the darkness had in store for us.</p> + + + + +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> + + +<p>Moose Ear, the silent, wrinkled old Indian, +with lighted candles made of buffalo tallow, +guided Big Pete and me up the broad +skilfully built puncheon stairway to the upper +story of the surprisingly large ranch house, +where he showed us to our rooms, rooms +which were a joy to look upon. Each was +furnished with a heavy, hand-made four-posted +bedstead, which in spite of the massiveness +was beautifully made, and I wondered +at the patience of the Wild Hunter in teaching +the Indians their craftmanship.</p> + +<p>The other furniture in the room was also +hand wrought, as were the fiber rugs on the +floor and the checked homespun blankets on +the beds. There was a harmonious and +pleasing effect; the rooms were cheerful, +abounding in evidences of Indian handicraft. +Beadwork and embroidery of dyed porcupine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> +quills were prevalent, even the tester which +roofed the four-post bedstead was ornamented +with fringes of buckskin and designs made of +beads and porcupine quills. The chairs and +floors were plentifully supplied with fur rugs, +and the quaint, old-fashioned appearance of +the room in nowise detracted from its comfort +or even luxury.</p> + +<p>If it had not been for the uncomfortable +thought of that pack of black wolves outside, +I am sure I would have been supremely happy +at the prospect of once more spending a night +between clean and cool sheets and a real +feather pillow on which to rest my head. +Eagerly and almost excitedly I threw off my +clothes and donned the long, linen nightshirt +with which old Moose Ear had provided me. +Then I put the buckhorn extinguisher over +the candle and dove into the feather bed as +gleefully as a child on Christmas Eve.</p> + +<p>I expected to immediately fall asleep, but +there is where I made a mistake; my mind +would not cease working, the wheels in my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> +head kept buzzing and would not stop. I was +as wide awake as a codfish; the bed was comfortable, +too comfortable, but tired though I +was I felt no inclination to sleep. I thought +it was the strangeness of my surroundings +which kept me tossing from side to side, but +I soon realized that the trouble was to be +found in the fact that for months I had only +had the sky for my roof, never using our tents +or open faced shack except in bad weather; +but here, the ornamented tester of the bed +and the ceiling itself seemed to be resting on +my chest; in spite of the wide open windows +the room seemed stuffy and oppressive. I felt +as if I would suffocate.</p> + +<p>Twice I got up and sat by the open window +and gazed out at the black landscape. The +sky was cloudy and there were no stars; this +combined with the pine trees about the +ranch house made the darkness so black and +thick that it seemed as if one might cut it in +chunks, with a knife. The air felt good to +breathe but I did not propose to sit by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> +window all night so at last I arose, put moccasins +on my feet and, taking my blankets with +me, stole stealthily down the stairs, opened +the front door and made my bed on the floor +of the broad piazza. I had not forgotten +the warning to keep indoors, but I thought I +would rather risk the wolves than to smother +all night.</p> + +<p>In the darkness I discovered another occupant +of the piazza also rolled up in a blanket +taken from a bed in the house. Feeling with +my hands I discovered that it was Big Pete. +Comfortably settling myself in my blanket I +felt the breeze from the mountain blowing +over my face and through my hair, and it +soothed me until I dropped off into gentle +slumber; but during the months I had been +sleeping in the open I had learned the art, as +the saying is, of sleeping with one eye open. +In this case, however, if the eye had really +been wide open it could have seen nothing +because of the darkness, but the darkness +did not interfere with my ability to hear, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> +after I had been sleeping awhile I found +myself suddenly sitting bolt upright in my +blankets with beads of perspiration on my +forehead and that terrible sensation of horror +which one experiences in a nightmare. I +knew that I had heard something, but what?</p> + +<p>The oppressive silence of the wilderness +made the valley appear as if Nature was +holding her breath for a moment before giving +voice to an explosion of sound. I sensed +impending disaster of some sort. What it +was I could not guess, but was convinced that +something was about to happen.</p> + +<p>As I held my breath and listened, the ranch +house was silent; even Pete had not, apparently, +awakened, but I could not hear his regular +breathing. Now I thought I could detect +a soft and very faint noise as of some large +body creeping over the puncheon steps. I also +imagined I detected the noise of padded +feet and the scraping noise of claws on the +wood. A shudder ran through me. Was a +panther, a mountain lion, about to spring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> +upon me? No, I abandoned the thought +and instinctively I knew that it must be one +of the black wolf pack. Then I remembered +hearing the cracking and breaking of sticks +or timber while I was trying to sleep in the +bedroom, and I felt that Pluto had broken out +of the pen and was creeping up on us slowly +and stealthily as I have seen a fox creep up on +a covey of quail.</p> + +<p>Would the beast presently hurl its terrible +form upon me, or on Big Pete? I attempted +to warn my friend, but my tongue clung to +the roof of my mouth and for the moment I +was powerless and speechless, subdued by a +combination of fear of the real beast and +superstitious fear of the fabulous werwolf +or loup-garou,<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> but the next moment I pulled +myself together, mastered my trembling limbs, +rolled softly out of my blankets, and gun in +hand wormed my way toward the spot where +Big Pete lay, determined to sell my life +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>dearly. With Big Pete beside me, now that +I was thoroughly awake, I would fight all +the werwolves of the old world and all the +loup-garous of Canada. I reached out and +felt for Pete but he was not there, the blankets +were empty; once or twice I thought I detected +the glint of the wolves’ eyes, but the +night was very dark and in the shadow of +the roof I could really see nothing.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> A werwolf, or loup-garou, is a legendary man who, it was formerly +believed, could at will take on the form and nature of a wolf.</p></div> + +<p>Closer and closer sounded the stealthy, +dragging noise, and I heard a hand feel softly +for the latch of the front door and could hear +fingers scraping ever so softly over the wood +surface of the other side. A slight rattle +told me that the hand had found the latch +and that presently the door would be flung +open. With my revolver ready I waited +developments and braced myself for the +attack.</p> + +<p>The door flew open wide, and the voice of +the Wild Hunter cried,</p> + +<p>“Pluto, you fiend, down! down! I say!”</p> + +<p>But this time the huge brute did not obey<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> +and the command was answered by a low +rebellious growl, a scratching of feet on the +puncheons, and a heavy thud of someone +falling told me that the final struggle for the +leadership of the black wolf pack had begun.</p> + +<p>Then burst upon the stillness of the night +such an uproar that for a moment I thought +the whole pack was mixed in the fight, but +at length I heard Pluto’s snarling, rumbling +growl, answered by the distant howl of the +wolf pack, followed immediately by a close-by +yell that chilled my blood; after this came +Big Pete’s war cry, then the crash of falling +objects, shrieks and growls and savage yells.</p> + +<p>I had flung myself forward, and there in the +pitch darkness of the doorway of the hall I +felt and heard rather than saw the lean twisting +bodies of the Wild Hunter and Pluto +clasped in a life and death struggle on the +floor. I feared to use my revolver, as it would +have been impossible to tell whether I was +shooting the hunter or the wolf.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a light burst upon the scene.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> +Big Pete’s absence was explained; he had +secured a lantern and holding it aloft with his +left hand, with a six-shooter in his right, he +paused a moment over the struggling figures. +By the light of the lantern one could see that +the Wild Hunter was on his back struggling +with the giant beast which he was trying to +choke with his two hands, while the wolf’s +teeth were seeking the throat of the man. It +was a terrible scene but it was no time to waste +in horror. The efforts of the hunter to free +himself from his terrible assailant would have +been of little avail but for the assistance +of Big Pete, for the wolf was shaking the wild +man from side to side with terrific force, +very much the same as a bull-terrier might +shake a cat.</p> + +<p>Pete wasted no time but placing the muzzle +of his gun against the wolf’s head he fired, +then shouted to me, “Look behind you.”</p> + +<p>As I wheeled about I found that I was facing +the rest of the pack. Pluto reared upon his +hind legs, clawed the air frantically in his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> +death struggle, and fell with a thud across +his master’s body, but Pete and I were now +concentrating our fire on the snarling, leaping +bodies of the wolf pack. Fortunately the +death of Pluto and the silence of the Wild +Hunter seemed to discourage the pack, they +evidently missed their leaders and this gave +us the advantage, for if they had rushed us we +undoubtedly would have fallen victims to +their savage teeth.</p> + +<p>In the melee the lantern was upset and the +struggle ended in darkness as it began, but +when things quieted down and Pete relit the +lantern there were only two wolves which +were alive and they were fiercely attacking +each other. We soon dispatched them, however, +and then devoted our attention to the +Wild Hunter over whose body Big Pete was +now bending.</p> + +<p>“By the great horn spoon, Le-loo!” cried +he, looking up for a moment, “we’ve wiped out +the pack, and now that the scrap is over here +comes the Injuns. I calculate our friend here<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> +is a dead one; Pluto has chewed him to pieces. +Come, lend a hand and we will see what we +can do for the poor old man; he certainly did +put up a glorious fight.”</p> + +<p>Reaching down I gathered the old man’s +legs in my arms, and with Big Pete supporting +his head and shoulders, we carried him into +my room and laid him on the feather bed +under the savagely ornamented tester.</p> + +<p>Big Pete was all action then, and I helped +as best I could. The Scout ripped one of the +homespun sheets into ribbons and with these +made bandages and proceeded to stay the +flow of blood from the old man’s lacerated +throat. He worked hard and long and now +and then he would shake his head dubiously. +Presently he muttered, “’Taint much use, +Ol’ Timer, I guess yore a goner. Yore goneta +pass over t’ Divide this time, I guess. That +tha’ Pluto fiend done chewed you up fer +further orders.”</p> + +<p>At this the old man opened his eyes, and a +grim smile wrinkled his now ashen face.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>“I knew he’d do it some day, and I think +he got me this time. The Mewan Indians +call the giant wolf “Too-le-ze” and that is also +the name they gave me, but I am not a werwolf, +a loup-garou or a Too-le-ze. I was only +their master but now their victim.</p> + +<p>“I feared that Pluto, as I call him, or Too-le-ze, +was strong and treacherous and that +is why I ruled him with an iron hand. He’s +got me this time. I guess it had to end this +way—give me a cup of water.”</p> + +<p>He then fixed his gaze on me and I noticed +that he no longer had that worried, haunted +look which had heretofore characterized him.</p> + +<p>“So you are Donald’s son—well, when I +heard Pluto stalking you I knew that it was +you or your uncle that the beast would get; +it was fate that made me slip and fall, and +once down the wolf saw his long-looked-for +opportunity and instantly availed himself of it. +But the good Lord was not going to allow me +to bring bad luck to both you and your father, +boy. Yes, I am Fay Mullen and I caused<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> +the death of your father, and my brother. +I bear the brand of Cain.</p> + +<p>“We were crossing a steep bank of snow at +the foot of a cliff, and being both tired and +hungry we were bickering and quarreling over +nothing. I should have remembered that +your father was but just recovering from an +attack of nervous prostration, but I did not; +we had been months in the mountains prospecting +and the unprofitable toil and loneliness +must have got on my nerves. At any rate, +after some hot, unbrotherly language, we +agreed to part company.</p> + +<p>“We sat down on the snow and divided our +outfit by lot. I got the flint-lock Patrick +Mullen, the fierce Great Dane and the gentle +little donkey; your father got the packhorse +and the Winchester rifle.</p> + +<p>“We—we—parted without saying good-bye, +and just then an elk came out on the snow +bank. Instantly your father fired and I fired, +the elk fell, but the simultaneous concussion +of the reports of the two rifles started the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> +snow to moving. The Great Dane and the +donkey sensed the danger and fled to the +right. I turned to warn your father and +motioned him back, but he came on a run +toward me and I fled at the heels of my outfit. +The burro and dog escaped to safety, I was +caught in the edge of the slide, knocked unconscious +and buried in snow, from which the +dog rescued me.</p> + +<p>“A fragment of stone struck me on the head +and I have never been the same since then. +Your father and his outfit are buried under +five hundred feet of snow and rocks. I camped +nearby for days but could find no trace of my +brother and all the time a voice seemed to cry, +‘You killed your brother; you are marked +with the brand of Cain.’</p> + +<p>“This thought has haunted me night and day +and I have never quarreled with a man since +then; for fear that I might do so, I have +avoided white men ever since and buried +myself in these mountains. I found this +valley and I hid here and with the aid of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> +Great Dane and the wolf dogs I bred, as +beasts of burden, I built this ranch. I—I—was +afraid—all the time, though—afraid someone +would—find out about—Donald’s death +and blame it on me. When you—said—you—were—Donald’s +son I was frightened—I +thought you’d come to get me—for killing +your—father and—I—I—I was going to kill +myself. But Pluto got—me—and saved me +from further guilt. I—”</p> + +<p>He said more, but neither Big Pete nor I +could understand him. Indeed, he kept mumbling +incoherently for an hour or more while +we watched over him and did all that we could +to make him comfortable until the death +rattle in his throat put an end to his mumbling. +But despite our efforts, he passed on at dawn. +Just as the first warm light of the sun glowed +above the mountains, he breathed his last.</p> + + +<p class="newsection">Now you know why my private den is just +cram full of the things you fellows like. You +may also guess where I procured the black<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> +wolfskin rugs and the rare bead and porcupine +quill decorations. Yes, that long-barrelled +rifle hanging on the buckhorn rack +is the famous Patrick Mullen gun. It is a +rifle that Washington, Boone or Crockett would +have almost given their scalps to possess, +because it is the same pattern as the ones +they themselves used but more scientifically +and skillfully made. It’s a flint-lock, too, and +that is the funny part about it that interests +all the Scouts of our Troop. It is my good-turn +mascot, for as long as it hangs there I am +under the influence of my wild uncle and can +quarrel with no man.</p> + +<p>Now you know why the gun is preserved +as a trophy for my old Scouts and is an object +of veneration upon which they love to gaze +when they sit cross-legged on the skins of the +black wolf pack before the crackling fire of +their Scoutmaster’s private den.</p> + +<p>Big Pete? Oh, he now runs the Pluto +Ranch in Paradise Valley.</p> +</div> + + + + +<div class="advertisements"> +<h2><a name="THE_BEARD_BOOKS_FOR_BOYS" id="THE_BEARD_BOOKS_FOR_BOYS"></a>THE BEARD BOOKS FOR BOYS</h2> + +<p class="adauthor"><i>By</i> <span class="smcap">Dan C. Beard</span></p> + + +<h3>THE AMERICAN BOY’S HANDY BOOK. Or, What +to Do and How to Do It</h3> +<p class="contents"><i>Illustrated by the author</i></p> + +<p class="contents">Gives sports adapted to all seasons of the year, tells boys how to make all +kinds of things—boats, traps, toys, puzzles, aquariums, fishing-tackle; how +to tie knots, splice ropes, to make bird calls, sleds, blow-guns, balloons; how +to rear wild birds, to train dogs, and do the thousand and one things that +boys take delight in.</p> + + +<h3>THE OUTDOOR HANDY BOOK. For Playground, +Field, and Forest</h3> +<p class="contents"><i>Illustrated by the author</i></p> + +<p class="contents">“How to play all sorts of games with marbles, how to make and spin more +kinds of tops than most boys ever heard of, how to make the latest things +in plain and fancy kites, where to dig bait and how to fish, all about boats +and sailing, and a host of other things ... an unmixed delight to any +boy.”—<i>New York Tribune.</i></p> + + +<h3>THE FIELD AND FOREST HANDY BOOK. Or, New +Ideas for Out of Doors</h3> +<p class="contents"><i>Illustrated by the author</i></p> + +<p class="contents">“Instructions as to ways to build boats and fire-engines, make aquariums, +rafts, and sleds, to camp in a back-yard, etc. No better book of the kind exists.”—<i>Chicago +Record-Herald.</i></p> + + +<h3>SHELTERS, SHACKS, AND SHANTIES</h3> +<p class="contents"><i>Illustrated by the author</i></p> + +<p class="contents">Easily workable directions, accompanied by very full illustration, for over +fifty shelters, shacks, and shanties.</p> + + +<h3>BOAT-BUILDING AND BOATING. A Handy Book +for Beginners</h3> +<p class="contents"><i>Illustrated by the author</i></p> + +<p class="contents">All that Dan Beard knows and has written about the building of every simple +kind of boat, from a raft to a cheap motor-boat, is brought together in +this book.</p> + + +<h3>THE JACK OF ALL TRADES. Or, New Ideas for +American Boys</h3> +<p class="contents"><i>Illustrated by the author</i></p> + +<p class="contents">“This book is a capital one to give any boy for a present at Christmas, on +a birthday, or indeed at any time.”—<i>The Outlook.</i></p> + + +<h3>THE BOY PIONEERS. Sons of Daniel Boone</h3> +<p class="contents"><i>Illustrated by the author</i></p> + +<p class="contents">“How to become a member of the ‘Sons of Daniel Boone’ and take part in +all the old pioneer games, and many other things in which boys are interested.”—<i>Philadelphia +Press.</i></p> + + +<h3>THE BLACK WOLF-PACK</h3> + +<p class="contents">“A genuine thriller of mystery and red-blooded conflicts, well calculated to +hold the mind and the heart of its boy and, for that matter, its adult +reader.”—<i>Philadelphia North American.</i></p> +</div> + + +<div class="advertisements"> +<h2><a name="THE_BEARD_BOOKS_FOR_GIRLS" id="THE_BEARD_BOOKS_FOR_GIRLS"></a>THE BEARD BOOKS FOR GIRLS</h2> + +<p class="adauthor"><i>By</i> <span class="smcap">Lina Beard</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Adelia B. Beard</span></p> + + +<h3>THE AMERICAN GIRL’S HANDY BOOK. How to +Amuse Yourself and Others</h3> + +<p class="contents"><i>With nearly 500 illustrations</i></p> + +<p class="contents">“It is a treasure which, once possessed, no practical girl would willingly +part with.”—<span class="smcap">Grace Greenwood.</span></p> + + +<h3>THINGS WORTH DOING AND HOW TO DO THEM</h3> + +<p class="contents"><i>With some 600 drawings by the authors that show exactly how they should +be done</i></p> + +<p class="contents">“The book will tell you how to do nearly anything that any live girl +really wants to do.”—<i>The World To-day.</i></p> + + +<h3>HANDICRAFT AND RECREATION FOR GIRLS</h3> + +<p class="contents"><i>With over 700 illustrations by the authors</i></p> + +<p class="contents">“It teaches how to make serviceable and useful things of all kinds +out of every kind of material. It also tells how to play and how to +make things to play with.”—<i>Chicago Evening Post.</i></p> + + +<h3>WHAT A GIRL CAN MAKE AND DO. New Ideas +for Work and Play</h3> + +<p class="contents"><i>With more than 300 illustrations by the authors</i></p> + +<p class="contents">“It would be a dull girl who could not make herself busy and happy +following its precepts.... A most inspiring book for an active-minded +girl.”—<i>Chicago Record-Herald.</i></p> + + +<h3>ON THE TRAIL</h3> + +<p class="contents"><i>Illustrated by the authors</i></p> + +<p class="contents">This volume tells how a girl can live outdoors, camping in the woods, +and learning to know its wild inhabitants.</p> + + +<h3>MOTHER NATURE’S TOY SHOP</h3> + +<p class="contents"><i>Profusely illustrated by the authors</i></p> + +<p class="contents">How children can make toys easily and economically from wild +flowers, grasses, green leaves, seed-vessels, fruits, etc.</p> + + +<h3>LITTLE FOLKS’ HANDY BOOK</h3> + +<p class="contents"><i>With many illustrations</i></p> + +<p class="contents">Contains a wealth of devices for entertaining children by means of +paper building-cards, wooden berry-baskets, straw and paper furniture, +paper jewelry, etc.</p> + +<hr style="width: 90%;" /> + +<p class="publisher">CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS, NEW YORK</p> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Black Wolf Pack, by Dan Beard + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BLACK WOLF PACK *** + +***** This file should be named 22109-h.htm or 22109-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/1/0/22109/ + +Produced by Irma Spehar, Markus Brenner and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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