"I'm bitten!"
He was not only terrified but angered, and whirling about, he brought down his gun with spiteful violence on the writhing body. The reptile struck again, but it was already wounded to that extent that its blow was erratic, and, though it came near reaching the hand of Jack, it missed by a safe margin.
* * *
CHAPTER IX.
NIGHT IN THE MOUNTAINS.
One of the singular facts connected with the crotalus species is the ease with which it is killed. The writer once ended the career of a huge specimen with a single blow of a whip-lash. The first impact of Fred Greenwood's rifle-barrel upon the hideous reptile coiled in the scrub bushes inflicted a fatal wound, though the serpent continued blindly striking for a minute or two longer, and responded viciously to the attack of the scared and angry Jack Dudley, who struck it several times after it had ceased to struggle and all danger was past. A person's first impulse, after being bitten by a snake, is to kill it, after which he looks after the wound he may have received.
But Fred had heard the dreadful exclamation of his comrade and caught him by his arm as he was about to bring down his last blow upon the reptile.
"O Jack, are you sure he bit you?" he asked in a tremulous voice.
"Yes; I felt the sting in my left ankle, like the prick of a needle."
Dropping upon the ground, he hastily unfastened and turned down his legging. There, sure enough, was a tiny red spot, with a single drop of blood oozing from it.
"The rattlesnake has two fangs," said Fred; "but there is only one wound here."
"It wasn't a direct blow, I suppose," said the white-faced Jack, who had good reason to be terrified over the occurrence, for the rattlesnake, although ranking below the cobra in the virulence of its venom, is the most deadly serpent in America, and the veteran hunter fears it more than the most savage of wild animals.
Fred stooped down and examined the wound closely. A thrilling suspicion was becoming certainty in his mind.
"When did you feel that bite?" he asked.
"At the moment I landed on my feet. What a dreadful poison it is! I can feel it all through my body; and don't you see that my ankle has begun to swell?"
Fred continued to study the wound, pressing his finger around it and bending close to the limb. Had the hurt been caused by the fang of a serpent he would have tried to suck out the venom. Suddenly he looked up with glowing face.
"Now, Jack, my dear fellow, don't be frightened; you haven't been bitten at all."
"What do you mean?"
"At the moment you landed on your feet I was beating the life out of the snake, and he was giving his whole attention to me. He did not try to bite you till you turned about and began striking at him."
"But what made that wound?" asked Jack.
"I suspect the cause."
He drew up the legging and examined the part that covered the spot in the ankle which had received the blow.
"There! I knew it! That's what did it!"
He had plucked out a small, needle-pointed thorn. The bushes abounded with similar prongs, one of which had been torn off and pierced the legging of Jack when he was crashing through the tops of the bushes.
"Sure there isn't any mistake about that?" asked the youth, feeling as if a mountain were lifted from his shoulders.
"There can't be."
"Wait a minute!"
With one bound the happy fellow came to his feet, and throwing his arms about his comrade, hugged him into temporary breathlessness.
"Thank the Lord! Richard's himself again! The V. W. W. are born to good fortune."
And joining hands, the two danced with delight. Many in the situation of Fred Greenwood would have laughed at Jack and "guyed" him over his blunder, but the incident was too dreadful and the terror of his friend too intense for Fred to wish to amuse himself at his expense. However, he could not help indulging just a trifle. Suddenly pausing in his antics he looked down at the feet of Jack.
"I suppose in a few minutes your ankle will be so swelled that the buckles will fly off the legging. By this time, too, you must feel the poison in your head."
By way of answer, Jack, who, like Fred, had laid aside his Winchester and venison, seized his friend and tried to lay him on his back. They had had many a wrestling bout at home and there was little difference in their skill. Fred was always ready for a test, and he responded with such vigor that before Jack suspected he received an unquestioned fall, since both shoulders and hips were on the ground at the same time, with his conqueror holding him motionless.
"It was hardly fair," remarked Fred, allowing him to rise to his feet.
"Why not?" asked Jack, also coming up.
"The venom of the rattlesnake so weakened you that you are not yourself."
"I'll show you whether I am or not!"
At it they went again, and this time Jack was the victor, after which they brushed off their clothing and agreed to leave the deciding bout for a more convenient season. Night was rapidly closing in.
"That exercise has added to my appetite," remarked Jack, as they gathered up their belongings and moved off.
"It would have done the same for me, if the thing were possible."
Mindful of the danger of going astray, they carefully studied the landmarks, so far as they could see them. Their main reliance was the lofty peak that was visible for so great a distance, but with that help they saw it growing dark, while they were in a region totally strange to them.
"My gracious!" said Fred, as they came to a halt; "in the face of all that Hank told us, we have lost our way!"
"It has that look," replied Jack, removing his hat and drawing his handkerchief across his moist forehead; "but I don't see that it is such a serious thing, after all. We can spend the night here as well as anywhere."
"What will Hank think, when he goes to camp to meet us?"
"I reckon he'll not be disappointed; besides, we can't be far from the place, and can look it up to-morrow."
"I don't suppose it will hurt us to build a fire among these rocks and spend the night; but the air is pretty cool and we shall miss our blankets."
"Old hunters like ourselves must become used to such things," complacently observed Jack, who began preparations at the same moment for carrying out his own proposal. It was no trouble to find enough brush and wood to serve them, and they had brought such a goodly supply of matches from the ranch in their rubber safes that they soon had a vigorous fire going, over which they broiled their venison.
The meal of itself would not have been enjoyable at their home, for it was too "new," lacking a certain tenderness that forms one of its chief attractions. Besides, it was unavoidably scorched in the preparation; but the mixed pepper and salt sprinkled over it improved the flavor. But the great thing was their insatiate appetites, for it is a homely truth that there is no sauce like hunger. So it came about that they not only made a nourishing meal, but had enough left to serve them in the morning.
It was fully dark when the repast was finished. The fire had been started against the face of a boulder, and only a small quantity of wood remained—not sufficient to last half through the night. With the going down of the sun the air became colder. It seemed at times as if a breath of wind from the snowy peaks reached them, and it caused an involuntary shiver. The prospect of remaining where they were through the dismal hours of darkness was anything but cheering.
"Jack," suddenly said Fred in a guarded undertone, "there's some wild animal near us."
"How can you know that?"
"I heard him moving about."
"In what direction?"
"Just beyond the ridge there. Hark! Didn't you hear it?"
"You are right," whispered Jack; "let's find out what it is."
Gun in hand, they moved stealthily up the slight ridge near by. It was only a few feet in height. Their experience had taught them that danger was likely to break upon them at any time, and they did not mean to be caught unprepared. Neither spoke a
s they cautiously climbed the ridge, like a couple of Indian scouts on the alert for the first appearance of peril.
But they reached the crest of the slight elevation without having heard anything more of that which had alarmed them. The next moment, however, both caught the dim outlines of a large animal moving slowly from them. Before they were certain of its identity the creature neighed, as if frightened by the stealthy approach of the youths.
"It's a horse!" exclaimed Fred, who, suspecting the whole truth, moved over the ridge and called, in a coaxing voice:
"Dick! Come here, Dick!"
The animal stopped, looked inquiringly around, and then came forward with a pleased whinny. He was Fred's pony, and, brief as their acquaintance had been, recognized his voice. Fred stroked his nose and patted his neck, and the horse showed his pleasure at receiving the endearments.
When the youths made their halt and cooked their supper they were on the edge of the grassy plateau for which they were hunting, and whose features they would have been quick to recognize were the sun shining. Soon after, Jack's pony came out of the gloom as if to claim attention, and he received it.
"We are more fortunate than I dared hope," said Jack; "here we are at home, after all. I wonder whether Hank is ahead of us?"
This was unlikely, since, if he had reached the spot fixed upon as their headquarters, he would have kindled a fire, whereas it was dark in every direction. The partial cavern was on the other side of the plateau, and the boys walked rapidly to it, the route being clear, now that they had located themselves.
They appreciated the wisdom of Hank, who had made them help gather enough firewood to last through the night. He said (what proved to be the fact) that they were not likely to return till late, when it would be hard to collect the right kind of fuel.
In a brief while a second fire was under way. It was started in front of the cavern, which was of so slight extent that it received and held much of the warmth. Seated within the opening, with their heavy blankets wrapped about them, the boys were thoroughly comfortable. They had met with enough stirring adventure and had had sufficient rough experience to make the rest highly acceptable. They naturally wondered when nine o'clock passed without bringing Hank Hazletine.
"Maybe he has lost his way in the canyon," suggested Fred, giving expression to a fancy which was not serious.
"You mean that he has forgotten where the stairs lead up to the top?"
"I guess that's what I mean, though I never thought of it before. If that is the fact, he may have to pick his way for two or three hundred miles to the mouth of the canyon and then walk back to us."
"That will delay his arrival."
"Yes. He can hardly be expected before morning."
"Let me see," said Jack, becoming more serious; "Hank warned us that no matter where we went into camp, we must keep one person on duty as sentinel."
"Suppose we are separated, and there is only one of us in camp?"
"Then, I presume, he must sit up and watch over himself. But what's the use of one of us keeping guard here?"
"Why not?"
"We are in this cavern-like arrangement, where no one can come upon us from the rear, while the fire will ward off danger from the front."
"Suppose that danger comes in the form of an Indian; what would he care for half a dozen fires?"
"But there are no unfriendly Indians in these parts."
"You are thinking of Motoza. We have agreed that he is friendly, but sometimes I suspect we are making a mistake about him."
The boys would have been glad to convince themselves that it was safe to dispense with guard duty, for a night of undisturbed rest was exceedingly tempting, but no one who starts out with the set purpose of deceiving himself can do so. The result of it all was that the two decided that they must stand guard between them until the sun rose.
On such occasions the sentinel whose turn comes first has the preferable task, since every one will admit that it is easier to keep awake before midnight than afterward. The division was made more equitable by arranging that Jack Dudley should serve until two o'clock, and Fred Greenwood for the remainder of the morning. Before the hour of ten the younger lay down on the flinty floor, with his heavy blanket gathered around him, and sank into slumber. They had matched pennies for the first turn, else the elder would not have claimed it.
Jack found his duty similar in many respects to that of his first night on the prairie, but the surroundings and circumstances were in wide contrast. In the former instance they had the companionship of the cowman and veteran hunter, while now they could not know whether he was within a half-dozen miles of them. Jack, however, did not believe that anything in the nature of danger impended, and that to a great extent he was taking upon himself an unnecessary hardship.
So far as he could judge, the only possible thing to fear was wild animals. There were always some of them prowling through this region, but at that season of the year the wolves and other brutes were not pressed by hunger, and no matter how fierce the creature, he would not attempt to pass the mouth of the cavern so long as the fire was burning. Jack flung a number of sticks on the blaze and then passed outside, where he was beyond the circle of light. Standing thus, in the gloom of the night, he felt that the experience of that hour was worth the journey across the continent.
There was an impressive grandeur in the solitude that he had never felt before. On every side towered the immense peaks of one of the loftiest spurs of the grandest mountain chain of America. The crests resembled piles of blackness, with the stars gleaming behind them, while he, an insignificant atom, stood with gun by his side in one of the tiny hollows, as if to guard against attack from the sleeping monsters.
As is always the case, the stillness of the vast solitude seemed unlike silence, for a low, deep murmur was ever brooding in the air, varied now and then by the soft voice of some waterfall, borne across the vasty depths by an eddy in the gentle wind. Once the bark of a wolf sounded so sharp and clear that the youth started and looked to one side, expecting to see the animal steal forward from the gloom, but a moment's reflection told him the brute was a mile or more distant. Then, some time later, a mournful, wailing cry rose and fell from some remote point. He suspected that that, too, came from the throat of a wolf, but he was not sure.
Just a touch of homesickness came over Jack Dudley, and he felt lonely for the first time since leaving home. As he looked up at the clear sky he wondered whether his father and mother were well and asleep; whether they were dreaming of him; whether they missed him from that loved home and longed for the day when he should return to them.
"Suppose something happens that will prevent my ever seeing them?" he said to himself, while the tears filled his eyes. "I thought when I believed that rattlesnake had bitten me to-day that death was sure; and I was near it, though I was unharmed. We are in more danger here than I expected; but we are in danger every hour, no matter where we are. I hope nothing will befall Fred or me."
And standing alone in the midst of that wild, rugged scene, he silently lifted his heart to the only One who could protect and save them from the hundreds of perils that beset them.
His eye was fixed on the stupendous mountain beyond the plateau, at whose base wound the canyon, when he observed a growing light on its crest. The twinkling stars beyond grew dimmer, and the white blanket of snow that had lain there for centuries rapidly came out in bolder relief, until it sparkled and gleamed much as he had seen it do when the sun was shining. Then a curved yellow rim emerged from behind the mountain, its climbing of the sky so rapid that the progress was readily noted. In a brief while the whole form of the round full moon appeared clear of the peak, and its silvery rays began filling the gorges and chasms below.
The scene was picturesque and beautiful beyond description. As the moon climbed higher, the lower peaks, one after the other, leaped into view, while the hollows between became blacker and more awesome from contrast. Most of these were so deep that the illuminat
ion made them appear stronger by the contrast. As the orb ascended it seemed to shrink in size and to climb more slowly; but the shifting of the wonderful panorama, progressing as it did in complete silence, was impressive to the last degree.
It was as if the angels of the sky were noiselessly casting their fleecy veils of light over and into the awful depths below, and driving away the crouching monster of blackness that was thus roused from his slumber and forced to flee. Grand as was the scene, it was soothing in its effect upon the awed lad, who, leaning against the rock behind him, the stock of his rifle resting at his feet, surveyed it all with feelings that drew him nearer to heaven, and gave him a more vivid knowledge of the greatness and majesty of the Author of all that he saw and felt.
Standing thus, with his emotions stirred to their profoundest depths, Jack Dudley took no note of the passage of time. Midnight came and passed, and still he held his post, wondering, admiring and worshipping, as must puny man when brought face to face with such exhibitions of Omnipotence.
It was an unromantic ending to this experience that, forgetful of the consequences of what he did, he finally became sensible of the irksomeness of his standing position, and sat down, with his back to the rock, that he might enjoy it all without fatigue of body.
Need it be said what followed? He had not been seated ten minutes when his senses left him and he became as unconscious as Fred Greenwood, asleep in the cavern, on the other side of the smouldering fire. The hours passed until the light of the moon paled before the rosy hues of the rising sun, and still the boys slumbered and knew naught of what was passing around them.
* * *
CHAPTER X.
THE SIGNAL-FIRES.
Two Boys in Wyoming Page 9