The Wild Man of the West: A Tale of the Rocky Mountains

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

  MARCH GETS A SURPRISE; MORE THAN THAT, HE GETS A VARIETY OF SURPRISES--MEETS WITH A STRANGE HUNTER--GOES IN A STRANGE FASHION TO A STRANGECAVERN AND BEHOLDS STRANGE SIGHTS--BESIDES OTHER MATTERS OF INTEREST.

  On recovering consciousness, March discovered that it was broaddaylight--from which he argued in a confused sort of way that he musthave lain there all night. He also discovered that his head, whichached violently, rested on the knee of some unknown individual, whobathed his temples with cold water. Looking up he encountered the gazeof a pair of soft blue eyes.

  Now there is something exceedingly captivating in a pair of soft blueeyes--not that there may not be something quite as captivating in a pairof brown or black or grey eyes--but there is something singularlycaptivating in the peculiar style of captivation wherewith a man iscaptivated by a pair of blue--distinctly _blue_--eyes. Perhaps it isthat their resemblance to the cerulean depths of the bright sky and theblue profundities of the ocean invests them with a suggestive influencethat is agreeable to the romantic and idealising tendencies of humannature; or that the colour is (or ought to be, if it is not) emblematicof purity. We throw out this suggestion solely for the benefit ofunimpassioned philosophers. Those whose hearts are already under thepleasant thraldom of black or brown eyes are incapable of forming anopinion on the abstract question.

  Well, March observed, further, that below those soft blue eyes, therewas a handsome Roman nose, and immediately below that a moustache, and athick short beard of curly light-brown hair. A slight, very slight,feeling of regret mingled with the astonishment with which March passedfrom the contemplation of the soft blue eyes to the bushy beard. Healso noted that the stranger wore a little leathern cap, and that aprofusion of rich brown hair descended from his head to his shoulders.

  "Ye're better, lad," said the owner of the blue eyes in that deepmusical bass voice which one meets with but rarely, and which resemblesstrongly, at times, the low pipes of a cathedral organ.

  "Thankee, yes, I'm--"

  "There, don't move yet awhile. You're badly bruised, lad. I'll gofetch ye another drop o' water."

  The owner of the blue eyes rose as he spoke, laid March's head softly onthe ground, and walked towards a neighbouring brook. In doing so hedisplayed to the wondering gaze of March the proportions of a trulysplendid-looking man. He was considerably above six feet in height, butit was not that so much as the herculean build of his chest andshoulders that struck March with surprise. His costume was the ordinaryleather hunting-shirt and leggings of a backwoodsman, and, althoughdeeply bronzed, his colour not less than his blue eyes and brown hairtold that he was not an Indian.

  As he returned, carrying a little birch-bark dish full of water in hishand, March observed that the lines of his forehead indicated a mingledfeeling of anger and sadness, and that his heavy brows frowned somewhat.He also noted more clearly now the man's towering height, and theenormous breadth of his chest. As he lay there on his back with hishead pillowed on a tuft of moss, he said inwardly to himself, "I neversaw such a fellow as this before in all my life!"

  And little wonder that March Marston thought thus, for, as no doubt thereader has already guessed, the far-famed Wild Man of the West himselfstood before him!

  But he did not know him. On the only occasion on which he had had anopportunity of beholding this renowned man, March had been renderedinsensible just as he came on the field, and the exaggerateddescriptions he had heard of him seemed quite irreconcilable with thesoft blue eye and gentle manner of the hunter who had come thusopportunely to his aid. For one moment, indeed, the idea did occur toMarch that this was the Wild Man. It was natural that, having had histhoughts for so long a period filled with conjectures in reference tothis wonderful creature, he should suppose the first tall, mysteriousman he met must be he. But he dismissed the notion as untenable andabsurd on second thoughts. That the blue-eyed, calm, dignified hunterwho kneeled by his side, and held the refreshing water to his lips as ifhe were a trained sick nurse, should be the Wild Man, the man reportedto be forty feet high, covered with hair, and exceeding fierce besidesugly, was out of the question. And when March shut his eyes in the fullenjoyment of the cool draught, of which, poor fellow, he stood much inneed, and heard the supposed Wild Man give vent to a sigh, which causedhim to look up in surprise, so that he observed the mild blue eyesgazing sadly in his face, and the large head to which they belongedshaking from side to side mournfully, he almost laughed at himself foreven momentarily entertaining such an absurd idea.

  March Marston had much to learn--we mean in the way of reading humancharacter and in judging from appearances. He had not yet observed, inthe course of his short life, that if a blue eye is capable ofexpressing soft pity, it is also pre-eminently capable of indicatingtiger-like ferocity. He did not consider that the gentlest natures are,when roused to fury, the most terrible in their outward aspect. He didnot reflect that if this giant (for he almost deserved thus to bestyled), instead of being engaged in an office of kindness, thatnaturally induced gentleness of action, and that called for no otherfeelings than those of tenderness and pity, were placed on a warhorse,armed with sword and shield, and roused to fury by some such sight asthat of a large band of savage Indians attacking a small and innocentgroup of white trappers, he might then amply fulfil all the conditionsthat would entitle him to the wildest possible name that could beinvented.

  The prominent ideas in March's mind at that time were, a pair of blueeyes and a large, gentle hand; so he quietly and finally dismissed theWild Man from his thoughts.

  Luckily, the Wild Man did not treat March in a similar manner. Afterallowing him to rest quietly for a few minutes, he said--

  "Now, lad, I think ye're improvin'. Ye're badly battered about the headand shoulders, so I'll take ye home with me."

  "Home with you?" repeated March.

  "Ay, put your arms round my neck," returned the Wild Man in a tonewhich, though soft and low, it was not possible to disobey.

  March performed this somewhat endearing action in silent surprise,whereupon the Wild Man introduced his left arm below the poor youth'sback, and with his right grasped him round the legs, and thus lifted himfrom the ground and carried him away.

  March experienced a sensation as if all his larger joints were beingdislocated, and felt disposed to cry out, but restrained himself with apowerful effort. Presently his bearer stopped, and, looking round,March observed that he was standing by the side of a horse.

  "Hold on, lad, till I mount."

  "You'd better let me down till you get up," suggested March.

  "No," replied the singularly laconic individual.

  Standing as he was, the Wild Man managed by raising March a little tolay his left hand on the pommel of his saddle; next moment his foot wasin the stirrup, the moment after he himself was in the saddle, and atouch of his heel sent his horse cantering away towards the mountains.

  Had March Marston seen his deliverer at that moment, with his long hairwaving freely in the breeze, in emulation of the voluminous mane andtail of his splendid horse, his thoughts regarding the Wild Man of theWest would have certainly returned more powerfully than ever. But Marchdid not see him, his eyes being shut, his lips pursed, and his teeth setin a heroic attempt to endure the agonies to which he was subjected bythe motion of the horse.

  In half an hour they reached a rocky defile that led up into one ofthose wild, gloomy glens that are so characteristic of the RockyMountains. Here the Wild Man had to check his pace and proceed at awalk, thereby affording much relief to his wounded companion.

  "Art sore i' the bones, lad?" inquired the stout horseman, looking downat his charge as if he were a small infant in arms.

  "Rather," replied March. "Don't you think it would be better for me toride behind you? I think I could manage to hold on."

  "No, you couldn't."

  "I fear I must be a terrible weight carried in this fashion," urgedMarch.

  "Weight!" echoe
d the hunter with a quiet chuckle; but, as he did notvouchsafe any further reply, March was left to interpret the expressionas he thought fit.

  "I hope no bones are broken," inquired March in a tone of anxiety.

  "Hope not," replied his captor.

  We use the word "captor" advisedly, for March was so utterly unable atthat time, physically as well as morally, to resist the will of thisstrange hunter, that he felt much more like a captive in the grip of amighty jailer than an invalid in the arms of his nurse.

  "I fear there are," said March, as a rude motion of the horse caused himexcruciating agony.

  "Very likely," replied the other--not by any means in a careless,indifferent way, but with the air and tone of a straightforward mangiving his opinion in reference to a matter of fact. "But," he added ina consolatory tone, "I'll see when we get home."

  "Home!" repeated March. "Why, where _is_ your home?"

  "In the mountains here. We're about there now." As he spoke, thehunter turned his horse sharp to the left and entered a still morenarrow and gloomy defile than the one they had just been ascending. Sonarrow was it, and overshadowed by high precipitous cliffs, that thelight of day had to struggle for entrance even at noontide. At night itwas dark as Erebus. The horse had considerable difficulty in advancing.Indeed no horse that had not been trained to pick its steps among theconfused masses of rock and debris that formed the bottom of that ravineor chasm, could have ascended it at all. But the fine animal which boreMarch and the Wild Man of the West seemed to act more like a human beingthan a horse in winding out and in among the intricacies of the place.

  At length they reached the upper end of the gorge. Here the cliffs,which rose perpendicularly to a height of three or four hundred feet,drew so near to each other that at one place they were not more thanthree yards asunder. Just beyond this point they receded again andterminated abruptly in a sort of circle or amphitheatre, the floor ofwhich could not have been more than thirty yards in diameter, and wascovered with small gravel; the sides were quite perpendicular, and roseso high that on looking up one felt as if one had got into the bottom ofa natural tunnel, at the top of which a round bit of bright blue skysent down a few scanty rays of light.

  In spite of the pain it caused him, March raised his head and lookedround as they rode into this gloomy cavernous place. Then, glancing atthe face of the strange being who carried him, a feeling ofsuperstitious dread took possession of his heart for a moment, as heremembered the many conversations he and Bounce had had about evilspirits appearing in human form, and he thought that perhaps he hadactually fallen into the hands of one. But the grave quiet face, andabove all the soft blue eyes, quickly put to flight such fears, althoughthey could not altogether dispel the solemn awe he felt at being carriedso suddenly into such a mysterious place.

  But he had scarcely recovered some degree of confidence, when his mindwas again thrown into a violent state of agitation by the fact that thehorse, turning to the right, began deliberately to ascend the precipice,which was as perpendicular as a wall. It did not indeed ascend afterthe manner of a fly on a window, but it went up on what appeared to be anarrow, spiral pathway. In a few seconds they had ascended about fiftyfeet, and March, projecting out from the precipice as he did, owing tohis position in the rider's left arm, felt a horrible sensation ofgiddiness come over him, and could not suppress a slight groan.

  "Don't be afear'd, lad," said his companion, "I've got ye tight, an' thehorse is used to it. The track's broader than ye think, only ye can'tsee it as ye lie now."

  March felt reassured; nevertheless, he shut his eyes very tight and heldhis breath.

  Presently he felt that they had turned sharp to the right, so heventured to open his eyes, and found that they were standing at themouth of what appeared to be a cavern. In another moment they wereunder its dark roof and the horse came to a stand. From the hastyglance he gave it, he could only ascertain that the interior was buriedin profound darkness.

  Without causing March to move in any way, the stout horseman dismounted.In fact, the burden seemed no greater to him than a child would be toan ordinary man.

  "Here we are--at home," he said. "Come, old horse, get away in."

  The horse obeyed, and disappeared in the darkness beyond.

  "Now, lad, don't be afear'd, I know every fut o' the way. Ye can shutyer eyes an ye like--but there's no occasion."

  Saying this, he advanced with a steady tread into the cave, the echoesof which were still ringing with the clatter of the horse's hoofs as itpassed over the stone floor. It could not have been more than a quarterof a minute when they reached the end of what appeared to be the outervestibule of this cavern, though to March it seemed to be more than fiveminutes; and, now that he could no longer see the blue eyes, all mannerof horrible doubts and fears assailed him. He felt deeply his helplesscondition, poor fellow. Had he been sound in wind and limb he wouldhave cared little; for a brave and a strong man naturally feels that hecan fight a stout battle for life in all or any circumstances. But partof this prop (namely, strength) having been removed by his recentaccident, he felt like a miserable child.

  Doubtless it is good for strong men to be brought thus low sometimes,just to prove to them, what they are by nature very slow to believe,that they, quite as much as the weak and helpless ones of this world,are dependent at all times on their fellows.

  On reaching the end of the outer cave, the hunter turned to the left,stooped down in order to pass below a small natural arch, and finallystood still in the middle of another cavern, on the floor of which hedeposited his burden with much tenderness and care.

  There was light in this cave, but it was so dim as to be insufficient toilluminate the surrounding objects. March perceived on looking up thatit entered through a small aperture in the side of the cavern near theroof, which was not more than twelve feet from the floor. There wereseveral pieces of charred wood on one side of the cave, in which a fewsparks of fire still lingered.

  Without saying a word the owner of this strange abode went towardsthese, and, blowing them into a flame, heaped large logs upon them, sothat, in ten minutes, the place was brilliantly illuminated with a ruddyblaze that did one's heart good to look upon.

  By the light of the fire March perceived that he had been deposited on acouch of pine-branches. He was about to make other observations, whenhis captor turned to him and said--

  "I'll go an' see to the horse, and be back in a minute; so keep yer mindeasy."

  "And, pray, what name am I to call my host by?" said March, unable torestrain his curiosity any longer.

  A dark, almost fierce frown covered the man's face, as he said angrily,"Boy, curiosity is a bad thing--anywise, it's bad here. I've broughtyou to this cave 'cause you'd ha' died i' the woods if I hadn't. Don'task questions about what don't consarn ye."

  "Nay, friend, I meant no offence," replied March. "I've no desire topry into any man's secrets. Nevertheless, it's but natural to want toknow how to address a man when ye converse with him."

  "True, true," replied the other, somewhat mollified. "Call me Dick;it's as good a name as any, and better than my own."

  There was a slight touch of bitterness in the tone in which this wassaid, as the man turned on his heel to quit the cave.

  "Stay," cried March, "you only give me one name, friend, so I'll do thesame by you. My name's March--there, now you may march about yourbusiness."

  Dick smiled and said, "Well, March, I'll be with ye again, and have alook at your sore bones, in two minutes."

  When he was gone March, for the first time since his accident, bethoughthim of his comrades. Since recovering from the state of insensibilityinto which his fall had thrown him, his mind had been so absorbed by thestrange events that had been presented to him in such rapid succession,as well as with the pain that racked his head and limbs, that he had hadno time to think about them. But, now that he was left in that quietplace alone, the whole circumstances of the recent pursuit and flightrushe
d suddenly upon him, and his mind was filled with anxiousforebodings as to the fate of his comrades.

  "Oh! I'm glad you've come back," he cried, as Dick re-entered the cave;"I quite forgot my comrades--shame on me! but my miserable head has gotsuch a smash, that a'most everything's bin drove out of it."

  "Time enough to speak o' them after we've seen to your bones," saidDick.

  "Nay, but--"

  "_After_," said Dick in a tone that was not to be gainsaid.

  March submitted with a sigh, and his eccentric host proceeded tomanipulate and punch him in a way that might perhaps have been highlynecessary, but was by no means agreeable. After a few minutes hepronounced his patient all right, only a little bruised! Having saidwhich, he proceeded to prepare some food, and said to March that hemight now speak about his comrades.

  At first he seemed to pay little attention to the youth's hastynarrative; but on hearing that the Indians were hastening to attack theMountain Fort, he sprang up, and asked a few questions eagerly. It wasevident that the news troubled him deeply.

  Taking one or two hasty strides up and down the cavern, and paying noattention to the roasting meat, which he seemed to have utterlyforgotten, the Wild Man of the West muttered angrily to himself, and aslight dash of that tiger-like flash, which had gone so far to earn himhis title, lighted up his blue eyes, insomuch that March Marston lookedat him in amazement not unmingled with awe. Thoughts of the Wild Man ofthe West once more occurred to him; but in his former cogitations onthat subject he had so thoroughly discarded the idea of this kind,blue-eyed hunter being that far-famed and ferocious individual, that histhoughts only took the form of the mental question, "I wonder if theWild Man o' the West could beat such a fellow as that at a fair stand-upfight?" So powerfully did this thought affect him, that he could notrefrain from exclaiming--

  "I say, Dick, did you ever hear of the Wild Man of the West?"

  Dick was so much tickled by the question that his angry mood vanished,and, turning towards his guest with a smile, while his blue eyes seemedmilder than they ever had appeared before, he said--

  "Yes, lad, I've heard of him."

  "Have you seen him?" continued March eagerly.

  "I have, many a time."

  "What is he like?"

  "He's like me," replied Dick with another smile, the softness of whichwould have driven March to an immeasurable distance from the truth, hadhe ever been near it.

  "Like _you_! Oh, I suppose you mean he's something about your size.Well, I don't wonder at that, for you're an uncommonly big fellow, Dick;but I fancy his appearance is very different."

  "Well, no. He's got light hair and blue eyes, like me."

  This was a poser to March. It was so totally subversive of all hispreconceived ideas, that it reduced him for some moments to silence.

  "Isn't he hairy all over, like a fox, and very ugly?" inquired March,recovering from his surprise.

  This was a poser, in turn, to the Wild Man. To be called upon suddenlyto pronounce an opinion on his own looks was embarrassing, to say theleast of it.

  "He's not exactly hairy all over," said Dick after a moment's thought,"though it can't be denied he's got plenty of hair on his head andchin--like me. As for his looks, lad, it ain't easy to say whether he'sugly or pritty, for men don't agree on sich pints, d'ye see?"

  "Do sit down beside me, Dick, and tell me about this Wild Man," saidMarch earnestly. "You can't fancy how anxious I am to see him. I'vecome here for that very purpose. No doubt I've come to shoot and trap,too, but chiefly to see the Wild Man o' the West. An' isn't itprovokin'? I might have seen him some weeks agone, if I hadn't binstunned with a fall jist as he came jumpin' into the middle o' us like aclap o' thunder--"

  "What, lad," interrupted Dick, "was it _you_ that I--"

  Just at this moment Dick was seized with a very violent fit of coughing,which, coming as it did from such a capacious chest and so powerful apair of lungs, caused the roof of the cavern to reverberate with whatmight have been mistaken, outside, for a species of miniature artillery.

  "You've caught cold," suggested March, who gazed in unspeakableadmiration at the magnificent locks and beard of this remarkable man, asthey shook with the violence of his exertion.

  "I _never_ had a cold," replied Dick, becoming quiet again; "there'sother things as cause a man for to cough, now and agin', besides colds."

  "True," rejoined March; "but you were sayin' somethin'--do you know ofthe fight I was speakin' of?"

  "Know of it--ay, that do I."

  "Why, how did you happen to hear of it?"

  "It's wonderful, lad, how I comes to know about things in this part o'the country. I know everything the Wild Man does. He can't movewithout my bein' on his track d'rectly. In fact, I follers him like hisshadow--leastwise, his shadow follers me."

  "Indeed," exclaimed March, whose interest in Dick became suddenlytenfold more deep on learning this. "But why do you follow him about inthis fashion? Does he like your company, or do you only follow him onthe sly, and keep out of sight? Explain yourself, Dick--you puzzle me."

  "I can't explain just now, lad," said Dick, rising abruptly. "Youforget that your comrades may be in a fix before now wi' them blackguardredskins. I must go an' help them. It's but right that white menshould lend one another a helpin' hand in these regions, where theInjuns have it almost all their own way."

  "But the Mountain Fort is far away from this, an' I'm afraid you'llnever be able to get there in time," said March with an anxiousexpression of countenance.

  "I'll try," returned Dick. "Anyhow, I'll send the Wild Man o' the Westto help them," he added with a peculiar smile. "Now, boy, listen, Imust not waste more time in idle talk. I shall leave you here under thecharge of my little girl--"

  "Your little girl!" echoed March in surprise.

  "Ay, she ought to have been in before now," continued Dick, withoutnoticing the interruption, "an' I would like to ha' told her who ye are,and how I come by ye, an' what to do till I come back. But I can'twait; time's precious as gold just now; so I'll tell ye what to say toher when she--"

  At that moment a light footstep was heard in the outer cavern. The WildMan sprang up on hearing it, and strode hastily through the naturaldoorway, leaving March to listen, in a state of the utmost bewilderment,to a silvery musical voice, which held rapid converse with his strangehost.

  Presently Dick returned, followed by a--_vision in leather_! the sightof which struck March Marston dumb, and rendered him for a few momentsas totally incapable of moving hand, tongue, or foot, as if he had beenbewitched--which, in a sense, he was.

  "This is the little girl I spoke of t'ye," said Dick looking at March,and patting the girl on her soft cheek with a hand that might havepassed for a small shoulder of mutton. "She'll take good care of ye,March. I've told her what to do; but she don't need to be told. Now,see ye don't do yerself a mischief, lad, till I come back. It won't belong--a day or two, mayhap, more or less; but ye'll take that time tomend; you're worse battered than ye think of--so, good-day."

  While the Wild Man was ejaculating these sentences abruptly, he wasstriding about the cave with what may be styled _enormous_ vigour,picking up and buckling on his weapons of war. He seized a double-edgedsword of gigantic proportions, and buckled it to his waist; but Marchsaw it not. He pulled on the scalp-fringed coat of a Blackfoot chief,with leggings to match; but March knew it not. He slung a powder-hornand bullet-pouch round his shoulders, stuck a knife and tomahawk intohis belt, and grasped a long rifle which stood in a corner; and, indoing all this, he made such a tremendous clatter, and displayed suchwonderful activity, and grew so much fiercer to look at in every stageof the process, that March would certainly have recurred to the idea ofthe Wild Man, had he been in his ordinary state of mind; but he was_not_ in that happy condition. March knew nothing about it whatever!

  Before going, Dick stooped and kissed the "vision" on the cheek. Marchsaw that! It recalled him for a moment and made him aware
of thedisappearance of his host, and of the loud clattering sounds of hischarger's hoofs, as he led him at a rapid walk across the outer cave.March even heard the general clatter of all his accoutrements, as hevaulted into the saddle at one bound, and went down that terrible rockyway at a breakneck gallop that would have caused him (March) in othercircumstances to shudder. But he did _not_ shudder. He was but faintlyaware of these things. His intellect was overturned; his whole soul wascaptivated; his imagination, his perceptions, his conceptions--all hisfaculties and capacities were utterly overwhelmed and absorbed by thatwonderful _vision in leather_!