CHAPTER V
"Moseyed, by gum! I'll be tarnally tarnashuned if that terri-fa-ca-ciousspook hain't pulled out!" was the exclamation that awakened me themorning after our adventure with the bear.
Lazily opening my eyes I gazed a moment at the sun just peeping over themountain, then closed them again; but when I attempted to change myposition a sharp pain in my ankle thoroughly awakened me. Still I layquiet because it was some time before I could collect my scatteredsenses and separate in my mind the real incident and the dreamphantasms.
The pain in my ankle, the swelled and irritated condition of my noseplainly proved to me that there was no dream about my injuries, but Idiscovered that my head and leg were neatly bandaged with strips of finelinen. I sat for a while busily collecting the incidents of the pasttwenty-four hours, arranging them in my mind in their proper order andplace. I cut out the dream portion from the realities with very littletrouble until I reached the part where I had awakened in the night andhad seen the wolves, the eagle and the Wild Hunter. I could not be surewhether that was a dream or reality. Had I seen this strange old manwith his eagle and his wolf pack beside our camp fire or had I dreamedit? Had this hobgoblin man, who might be my own father, rescued me fromdeath at the claws of the grizzly and bound my wounds for me, or wasthat but a dream too? Had not Big Pete saved me perhaps and cared for meafterward?
"Pete, old fellow," I said presently, rising to my elbow, "who broughtme to camp? Who killed that bear? Who saved our lives?"
"The Wild Hunter," replied Pete gravely. "He bathed my head with somesort of good smelling stuff and, though I am as heavy as a deadbuffaler, toted me to camp; he 'lowed that I was all sort of shuk up anda little hazy; he fixed my blanket, then he fotched you in on hisshoulders just as if you was a dead antelope, fixed you up with bandagestorn from handkerchiefs in your pocket, gave you a drink which youdidn't seem to appreciate, but just swallowed like you were asleep, thenhe 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 bythe fire and was smoking tha' with his bird and his wolves around himwhen I went to sleep.
"He cut his bullets out, as he allus does," muttered Pete a little whilelater.
"Who cut what bullets?" I asked.
"Whomsoever cud I mean but th' Wild Hunter, and wha's tha' been anybullets lately but in th' b'ar?" queried my companion.
"Yes, of course," I admitted, "but why do you suppose he cut out thebullets?"
"Wal, I reckon tha' might be right scarce and he haster be kindersparing with them. I calculate you'd like to have a hatful of themballs, leastwise most folks would; cause the Wild Hunter don't use nocommon low-flung lead for his bullets, no-sir-ree bob-horsefly! Tain'tgood 'nuff for a high-cock-alorum like him--_he shoots balls of virgingold!_"
But I was more interested in what had become of this strange man than inthe sort of projectiles rumor said that he used in his gun and sodismissed the subject with a request for further information about ourrescuer.
"This morning when I opened my peepers," Pete continued, "I t'oughtmaybe the Wild Hunter had only gone off on a tramp; but he's done claredout for good, and tuk his wolves and bird with him. I'm some glad hetook th' wolves, I don't sorter like the look of their mean eyes; theydo say that he is a wolf himself and the head of the pack."
"What's that, Pete? Steady, old man, now let's go slow."
"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 usthe bulk of the b'ar too,--only took the claws, teeth and tenderloin ortwo for himself and pack; that is, if he be a wolf. But we will settlethat if your foot will let you walk a bit."
"How far?" I asked.
"Only over yan way to the first piece of wet ground, and the trail leadsdown to tha' spring tha', and tha' is quite a right smart bit of muddyswail beyont."
"All right, I'll try it," I exclaimed. But I could not touch my foot onthe ground, and it was not until my guide had made me a crutch of aforked branch, padded with a piece of fur, that I was able to go limpingalong after Big Pete.
We followed the trail left by the Wild Hunter to the spring. The trailafter that was plain, even to my inexperienced eyes; and when we reachedthe muddy spot the print of the moccasined feet and the dog-like tracksof the wolves were distinctly visible.
But look at Big Pete!
As motionless as a statue, with a solemn face he stoops with a rigidfigure pointing to the trail! I hastened to his side and saw that themoccasin prints ceased in the middle of an open, bare, muddy place andbeyond were nothing but the dog-like tracks of the wolves.
I looked up and all around; there were no overhanging branches that aman could swing himself upon, no stones that he could leap upon--nothingbut the straggling bunches of ferns; but here in this open spot the WildHunter vanished.
We walked back in silence, for I had nothing to say, and Pete did notvolunteer any further information.
The Black Wolf Pack Page 5