The Zane Grey Megapack

by Zane Grey

  Helen shuddered. She thought of the tame deer down at Dale’s camp. How beautiful and graceful, and responsive to kindness!

  They rode out of the woods into a grassy swale with rocks and clumps of some green bushes bordering it. Here Pedro barked, the first time Helen had heard him. The hair on his neck bristled, and it required stern calls from Dale to hold him in. Dale dismounted.

  “Hyar, Pede, you get back,” he ordered. “I’ll let you go presently.… Girls, you’re goin’ to see somethin’. But stay on your horses.”

  Dale, with the hound tense and bristling beside him, strode here and there at the edge of the swale. Presently he halted on a slight elevation and beckoned for the girls to ride over.

  “Here, see where the grass is pressed down all nice an’ round,” he said, pointing. “A lion made that. He sneaked there, watchin’ for deer. That was done this mornin’. Come on, now. Let’s see if we can trail him.”

  Dale stooped now, studying the grass, and holding Pedro. Suddenly he straightened up with a flash in his gray eyes.

  “Here’s where he jumped.”

  But Helen could not see any reason why Dale should say that. The man of the forest took a long stride then another.

  “An’ here’s where that lion lit on the back of the deer. It was a big jump. See the sharp hoof tracks of the deer.” Dale pressed aside tall grass to show dark, rough, fresh tracks of a deer, evidently made by violent action.

  “Come on,” called Dale, walking swiftly. “You’re sure goin’ to see somethin’ now.… Here’s where the deer bounded, carryin’ the lion.”

  “What!” exclaimed Bo, incredulously.

  “The deer was runnin’ here with the lion on his back. I’ll prove it to you. Come on, now. Pedro, you stay with me. Girls, it’s a fresh trail.” Dale walked along, leading his horse, and occasionally he pointed down into the grass. “There! See that! That’s hair.”

  Helen did see some tufts of grayish hair scattered on the ground, and she believed she saw little, dark separations in the grass, where an animal had recently passed. All at once Dale halted. When Helen reached him Bo was already there and they were gazing down at a wide, flattened space in the grass. Even Helen’s inexperienced eyes could make out evidences of a struggle. Tufts of gray-white hair lay upon the crushed grass. Helen did not need to see any more, but Dale silently pointed to a patch of blood. Then he spoke:

  “The lion brought the deer down here an’ killed him. Probably broke his neck. That deer ran a hundred yards with the lion. See, here’s the trail left where the lion dragged the deer off.”

  A well-defined path showed across the swale.

  “Girls, you’ll see that deer pretty quick,” declared Dale, starting forward. “This work has just been done. Only a few minutes ago.”

  “How can you tell?” queried Bo.

  “Look! See that grass. It has been bent down by the deer bein’ dragged over it. Now it’s springin’ up.”

  Dale’s next stop was on the other side of the swale, under a spruce with low, spreading branches. The look of Pedro quickened Helen’s pulse. He was wild to give chase. Fearfully Helen looked where Dale pointed, expecting to see the lion. But she saw instead a deer lying prostrate with tongue out and sightless eyes and bloody hair.

  “Girls, that lion heard us an’ left. He’s not far,” said Dale, as he stooped to lift the head of the deer. “Warm! Neck broken. See the lion’s teeth an’ claw marks.… It’s a doe. Look here. Don’t be squeamish, girls. This is only an hourly incident of everyday life in the forest. See where the lion has rolled the skin down as neat as I could do it, an’ he’d just begun to bite in there when he heard us.”

  “What murderous work, The sight sickens me!” exclaimed Helen.

  “It is nature,” said Dale, simply.

  “Let’s kill the lion,” added Bo.

  For answer Dale took a quick turn at their saddle-girths, and then, mounting, he called to the hound. “Hunt him up, Pedro.”

  Like a shot the hound was off.

  “Ride in my tracks an’ keep close to me,” called Dale, as he wheeled his horse.

  “We’re off!” squealed Bo, in wild delight, and she made her mount plunge.

  Helen urged her horse after them and they broke across a corner of the swale to the woods. Pedro was running straight, with his nose high. He let out one short bark. He headed into the woods, with Dale not far behind. Helen was on one of Dale’s best horses, but that fact scarcely manifested itself, because the others began to increase their lead. They entered the woods. It was open, and fairly good going. Bo’s horse ran as fast in the woods as he did in the open. That frightened Helen and she yelled to Bo to hold him in. She yelled to deaf ears. That was Bo’s great risk—she did not intend to be careful. Suddenly the forest rang with Dale’s encouraging yell, meant to aid the girls in following him. Helen’s horse caught the spirit of the chase. He gained somewhat on Bo, hurdling logs, sometimes two at once. Helen’s blood leaped with a strange excitement, utterly unfamiliar and as utterly resistless. Yet her natural fear, and the intelligence that reckoned with the foolish risk of this ride, shared alike in her sum of sensations. She tried to remember Dale’s caution about dodging branches and snags, and sliding her knees back to avoid knocks from trees. She barely missed some frightful reaching branches. She received a hard knock, then another, that unseated her, but frantically she held on and slid back, and at the end of a long run through comparatively open forest she got a stinging blow in the face from a far-spreading branch of pine. Bo missed, by what seemed only an inch, a solid snag that would have broken her in two. Both Pedro and Dale got out of Helen’s sight. Then Helen, as she began to lose Bo, felt that she would rather run greater risks than be left behind to get lost in the forest, and she urged her horse. Dale’s yell pealed back. Then it seemed even more thrilling to follow by sound than by sight. Wind and brush tore at her. The air was heavily pungent with odor of pine. Helen heard a wild, full bay of the hound, ringing back, full of savage eagerness, and she believed Pedro had roused out the lion from some covert. It lent more stir to her blood and it surely urged her horse on faster.

  Then the swift pace slackened. A windfall of timber delayed Helen. She caught a glimpse of Dale far ahead, climbing a slope. The forest seemed full of his ringing yell. Helen strangely wished for level ground and the former swift motion. Next she saw Bo working down to the right, and Dale’s yell now came from that direction. Helen followed, got out of the timber, and made better time on a gradual slope down to another park.

  When she reached the open she saw Bo almost across this narrow open ground. Here Helen did not need to urge her mount. He snorted and plunged at the level and he got to going so fast that Helen would have screamed aloud in mingled fear and delight if she had not been breathless.

  Her horse had the bad luck to cross soft ground. He went to his knees and Helen sailed out of the saddle over his head. Soft willows and wet grass broke her fall. She was surprised to find herself unhurt. Up she bounded and certainly did not know this new Helen Rayner. Her horse was coming, and he had patience with her, but he wanted to hurry. Helen made the quickest mount of her experience and somehow felt a pride in it. She would tell Bo that. But just then Bo flashed into the woods out of sight. Helen fairly charged into that green foliage, breaking brush and branches. She broke through into open forest. Bo was inside, riding down an aisle between pines and spruces. At that juncture Helen heard Dale’s melodious yell near at hand. Coming into still more open forest, with rocks here and there, she saw Dale dismounted under a pine, and Pedro standing with fore paws upon the tree-trunk, and then high up on a branch a huge tawny colored lion, just like Tom.

  Bo’s horse slowed up and showed fear, but he kept on as far as Dale’s horse. But Helen’s refused to go any nearer. She had difficulty in halting him. Presently she dismounted and, throwing her bridle over a stump, she ran on, panting and fearful, yet tingling all over, up to her sister and Dale.

  “Nell, yo
u did pretty good for a tenderfoot,” was Bo’s greeting.

  “It was a fine chase,” said Dale. “You both rode well. I wish you could have seen the lion on the ground. He bounded—great long bounds with his tail up in the air—very funny. An’ Pedro almost caught up with him. That scared me, because he would have killed the hound. Pedro was close to him when he treed. An’ there he is—the yellow deer-killer. He’s a male an’ full grown.”

  With that Dale pulled his rifle from its saddle-sheath and looked expectantly at Bo. But she was gazing with great interest and admiration up at the lion.

  “Isn’t he just beautiful?” she burst out. “Oh, look at him spit! Just like a cat! Dale, he looks afraid he might fall off.”

  “He sure does. Lions are never sure of their balance in a tree. But I never saw one make a misstep. He knows he doesn’t belong there.”

  To Helen the lion looked splendid perched up there. He was long and round and graceful and tawny. His tongue hung out and his plump sides heaved, showing what a quick, hard run he had been driven to. What struck Helen most forcibly about him was something in his face as he looked down at the hound. He was scared. He realized his peril. It was not possible for Helen to watch him killed, yet she could not bring herself to beg Bo not to shoot. Helen confessed she was a tenderfoot.

  “Get down, Bo, an’ let’s see how good a shot you are, said Dale. Bo slowly withdrew her fascinated gaze from the lion and looked with a rueful smile at Dale.

  “I’ve changed my mind. I said I would kill him, but now I can’t. He looks so—so different from what I’d imagined.”

  Dale’s answer was a rare smile of understanding and approval that warmed Helen’s heart toward him. All the same, he was amused. Sheathing the gun, he mounted his horse.

  “Come on, Pedro,” he called. “Come, I tell you,” he added, sharply, “Well, girls, we treed him, anyhow, an’ it was fun. Now we’ll ride back to the deer he killed an’ pack a haunch to camp for our own use.”

  “Will the lion go back to his—his kill, I think you called it?” asked Bo.

  “I’ve chased one away from his kill half a dozen times. Lions are not plentiful here an’ they don’t get overfed. I reckon the balance is pretty even.”

  This last remark made Helen inquisitive. And as they slowly rode on the back-trail Dale talked.

  “You girls, bein’ tender-hearted an’ not knowin’ the life of the forest, what’s good an’ what’s bad, think it was a pity the poor deer was killed by a murderous lion. But you’re wrong. As I told you, the lion is absolutely necessary to the health an’ joy of wild life—or deer’s wild life, so to speak. When deer were created or came into existence, then the lion must have come, too. They can’t live without each other. Wolves, now, are not particularly deer-killers. They live off elk an’ anythin’ they can catch. So will lions, for that matter. But I mean lions follow the deer to an’ fro from winter to summer feedin’-grounds. Where there’s no deer you will find no lions. Well, now, if left alone deer would multiply very fast. In a few years there would be hundreds where now there’s only one. An’ in time, as the generations passed, they’d lose the fear, the alertness, the speed an’ strength, the eternal vigilance that is love of life—they’d lose that an’ begin to deteriorate, an’ disease would carry them off. I saw one season of black-tongue among deer. It killed them off, an’ I believe that is one of the diseases of over-production. The lions, now, are forever on the trail of the deer. They have learned. Wariness is an instinct born in the fawn. It makes him keen, quick, active, fearful, an’ so he grows up strong an’ healthy to become the smooth, sleek, beautiful, soft-eyed, an’ wild-lookin’ deer you girls love to watch. But if it wasn’t for the lions, the deer would not thrive. Only the strongest an’ swiftest survive. That is the meanin’ of nature. There is always a perfect balance kept by nature. It may vary in different years, but on the whole, in the long years, it averages an even balance.”

  “How wonderfully you put it!” exclaimed Bo, with all her impulsiveness. “Oh, I’m glad I didn’t kill the lion.”

  “What you say somehow hurts me,” said Helen, wistfully, to the hunter. “I see—I feel how true—how inevitable it is. But it changes my—my feelings. Almost I’d rather not acquire such knowledge as yours. This balance of nature—how tragic—how sad!”

  “But why?” asked Dale. “You love birds, an’ birds are the greatest killers in the forest.”

  “Don’t tell me that—don’t prove it,” implored Helen. “It is not so much the love of life in a deer or any creature, and the terrible clinging to life, that gives me distress. It is suffering. I can’t bear to see pain. I can stand pain myself, but I can’t bear to see or think of it.”

  “Well,” replied. Dale, thoughtfully, “There you stump me again. I’ve lived long in the forest an’ when a man’s alone he does a heap of thinkin’. An’ always I couldn’t understand a reason or a meanin’ for pain. Of all the bafflin’ things of life, that is the hardest to understand an’ to forgive—pain!”

  That evening, as they sat in restful places round the camp-fire, with the still twilight fading into night, Dale seriously asked the girls what the day’s chase had meant to them. His manner of asking was productive of thought. Both girls were silent for a moment.

  “Glorious!” was Bo’s brief and eloquent reply.

  “Why?” asked. Dale, curiously. “You are a girl. You’ve been used to home, people, love, comfort, safety, quiet.”

  “Maybe that is just why it was glorious,” said Bo, earnestly. “I can hardly explain. I loved the motion of the horse, the feel of wind in my face, the smell of the pine, the sight of slope and forest glade and windfall and rocks, and the black shade under the spruces. My blood beat and burned. My teeth clicked. My nerves all quivered. My heart sometimes, at dangerous moments, almost choked me, and all the time it pounded hard. Now my skin was hot and then it was cold. But I think the best of that chase for me was that I was on a fast horse, guiding him, controlling him. He was alive. Oh, how I felt his running!”

  “Well, what you say is as natural to me as if I felt it,” said Dale. “I wondered. You’re certainly full of fire, An’, Helen, what do you say?”

  “Bo has answered you with her feelings,” replied Helen, “I could not do that and be honest. The fact that Bo wouldn’t shoot the lion after we treed him acquits her. Nevertheless, her answer is purely physical. You know, Mr. Dale, how you talk about the physical. I should say my sister was just a young, wild, highly sensitive, hot-blooded female of the species. She exulted in that chase as an Indian. Her sensations were inherited ones—certainly not acquired by education. Bo always hated study. The ride was a revelation to me. I had a good many of Bo’s feelings—though not so strong. But over against them was the opposition of reason, of consciousness. A new-born side of my nature confronted me, strange, surprising, violent, irresistible. It was as if another side of my personality suddenly said: ‘Here I am. Reckon with me now!’ And there was no use for the moment to oppose that strange side. I—the thinking Helen Rayner, was powerless. Oh yes, I had such thoughts even when the branches were stinging my face and I was thrilling to the bay of the hound. Once my horse fell and threw me.… You needn’t look alarmed. It was fine. I went into a soft place and was unhurt. But when I was sailing through the air a thought flashed: this is the end of me! It was like a dream when you are falling dreadfully. Much of what I felt and thought on that chase must have been because of what I have studied and read and taught. The reality of it, the action and flash, were splendid. But fear of danger, pity for the chased lion, consciousness of foolish risk, of a reckless disregard for the serious responsibility I have taken—all these worked in my mind and held back what might have been a sheer physical, primitive joy of the wild moment.”

  Dale listened intently, and after Helen had finished he studied the fire and thoughtfully poked the red embers with his stick. His face was still and serene, untroubled and unlined, but to Helen his eyes seemed sad, pensive
, expressive of an unsatisfied yearning and wonder. She had carefully and earnestly spoken, because she was very curious to hear what he might say.

  “I understand you,” he replied, presently. “An’ I’m sure surprised that I can. I’ve read my books—an’ reread them, but no one ever talked like that to me. What I make of it is this. You’ve the same blood in you that’s in Bo. An’ blood is stronger than brain. Remember that blood is life. It would be good for you to have it run an’ beat an’ burn, as Bo’s did. Your blood did that a thousand years or ten thousand before intellect was born in your ancestors. Instinct may not be greater than reason, but it’s a million years older. Don’t fight your instincts so hard. If they were not good the God of Creation would not have given them to you. Today your mind was full of self-restraint that did not altogether restrain. You couldn’t forget yourself. You couldn’t feel only, as Bo did. You couldn’t be true to your real nature.”

  “I don’t agree with you,” replied Helen, quickly. “I don’t have to be an Indian to be true to myself.”

  “Why, yes you do,” said Dale.

  “But I couldn’t be an Indian,” declared Helen, spiritedly. “I couldn’t feel only, as you say Bo did. I couldn’t go back in the scale, as you hint. What would all my education amount to—though goodness knows it’s little enough—if I had no control over primitive feelings that happened to be born in me?”

  “You’ll have little or no control over them when the right time comes,” replied Dale. “Your sheltered life an’ education have led you away from natural instincts. But they’re in you an’ you’ll learn the proof of that out here.”

  “No. Not if I lived a hundred years in the West,” asserted Helen.

  “But, child, do you know what you’re talkin’ about?”

  Here Bo let out a blissful peal of laughter.

  “Mr. Dale!” exclaimed Helen, almost affronted. She was stirred. “I know myself, at least.”

  “But you do not. You’ve no idea of yourself. You’ve education, yes, but not in nature an’ life. An’ after all, they are the real things. Answer me, now—honestly, will you?”