The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  As if in harmony with the spirit of his rider, the pony walked away in a direct line, until the figure of himself and master disappeared in the gloom. When he could see him no more, Jack lowered his gun, and stooping down, pressed his ear against the earth. He could hear the soft hoof-beats of the horse growing fainter and fainter, until at the end of a minute or two the impressive silence once more held reign. Then the youth arose to his feet.

  “I suppose Hank will tell me I did wrong,” he mused, “but my conscience does not; it would be a woeful memory to carry with me that on my first night in Wyoming I took the life of a human being. Perhaps it will be as well that Hank should not know it; I will think it over.”

  Now, while Jack Dudley had conducted himself in some respects like a veteran, yet he had shown a dangerous short-sightedness in another direction. It will be noted that he had busied himself wholly with the single intruder, and at the moment of losing sight of him the young man was a comparatively long distance from the camp-fire. Had it been that there were two or more hostiles stealing into camp, they could not have asked a better opportunity, for it was left wholly unguarded. A single warrior would have had no trouble in creeping undiscovered to a point from which he could have sent a bullet through the unconscious forms of Hank Hazletine and Fred Greenwood. This probability never occurred to Jack until he started on his return to the fire, from whose immediate vicinity he should never have allowed himself to have been tempted.

  Even then his strange remissness would not have impressed itself upon him but for a startling discovery. The fire was beginning to smoulder once more, but enough of its glare penetrated the wood for him to note the black, column-like trunks of the trees between it and him. With his gaze upon the central point, he saw a figure moving in the path of light and coming toward him. It looked as if stamped in ink against the yellow background, and, like the former intruder, was advancing without noise.

  An awful fear thrilled Jack Dudley as he abruptly halted and partly raised his Winchester.

  “While I have been busy with one Indian, another has entered the camp and slain Fred and Hank! He is now after me! There will be no hesitation this time in my shooting!”

  Before he could secure anything like an aim, the other stepped behind one of the trunks on his right. Jack waited for him to reappear, ready to fire, but unwilling to do so until the truth was established.

  While waiting thus, a low, faint, tremulous whistle reached his ears. It was the most welcome of all sounds, and raised him from the depths of woe to blissful happiness, for it was the familiar signal of Fred Greenwood that had been employed many times in their hunting excursions nearer home.

  Instead of an enemy, it was his chum and dearest friend who was approaching him. Jack instantly answered the guarded hail, and the next minute the two came together.

  “How is it you are awake?” was the first question of Jack.

  “Because it is time for me to awake; it was agreed that I should go on duty at a little after twelve, and it must be near one o’clock.”

  “But what awoke you?”

  “Nonsense! Haven’t you and I travelled together long enough to know that when you go to sleep with your mind fixed on a certain time to awake you are sure not to miss it by more than a few minutes?”

  “You are right; I had forgotten that. How was it you knew where to look for me?”

  “I didn’t. I’ve been prowling around camp for fifteen minutes, groping here and there and signaling to you, without the first inkling of where you were. I didn’t want to awake Hank, and therefore was as careful as I could be. I began to suspect you had sat down somewhere and fallen asleep.”

  “I have had enough to keep the most drowsy person awake.”

  And thereupon Jack gave the particulars of all that had occurred while he was acting as sentinel. It need not be said that Fred Greenwood was astonished, for the manner of their guide before lying down convinced them that no danger of any nature threatened them.

  “Do you think I acted right, Fred?”

  “Most certainly you did. Hank and the like of him out in this country talk about shooting down an Indian as if he were not a human being, but they have souls like the rest of us, and we have no more right to take the life of one of them than I have to take yours. I am sure I should have done just as you did.”

  “I am glad to hear you say that. I wonder whether, if we stayed out here a few years, our feelings would change?”

  “No; for the principle of right and wrong cannot change. Do you remember what that old settler told us on the train, a couple of days ago?”

  “I do not recall it.”

  “He said that at a little town in Montana they had a great moral question under debate for a long time without being able to decide it. It was whether it was wicked for the men to go out hunting for Indians on Sunday. It was all right on week days, but most of the folks seemed to think it was a violation of the sanctity of the day to indulge in the sport on the Sabbath. But, Jack, you are tired and in need of sleep. I’ll take charge of matters until two o’clock.”

  “I wonder whether anything will happen to you? It does not seem likely, for I must have given that fellow such a scare that he will not show himself again.”

  “But you mustn’t reason on the basis that he is the only red man in Wyoming. However, I shall do my best. Good-night.”

  Thus summarily dismissed, Jack returned to the camp-fire in quest of the slumber which he needed. Fred had thrown additional wood on the blaze, and that accounted for the increase in illumination. Hank Hazletine did not seem to have stirred since lying down. He breathed heavily, and doubtless was gaining the rest which men of his habits and training know how to acquire under the most unfavorable circumstances. The youth wrapped his blanket about his figure, for he was now sensible that the air was colder than at any time since leaving the railway station. He was nervous over the recollection of his experience, though it would have been deemed of slight importance to one who had spent his life in the West. The feeling soon passed off, however, and he joined the veteran in the land of dreams.

  And thus the burden of responsibility was shifted to the shoulders of Fred Greenwood, the junior by a few months of Jack Dudley. No one could have been more deeply impressed with his responsibility than Fred. He knew that a hostile red man had entered the grove while two of the party were asleep, and, but for the watchfulness of the sentinel, might have slain all three.

  “I don’t know much about Indians,” reflected Fred, “but I have been told that they are a revengeful people. That fellow must be angered because he was outwitted by Jack, and it will be just like him to steal back for the purpose of revenge. It won’t do for me to wink both eyes at the same time.”

  This was a wise resolution, and the youth took every precaution against committing what was likely to be a fatal mistake. Although his sleep was broken, and he could have consumed several hours additional with enjoyment, he was never more wide-awake. The temptation was strong to sit down on the ground with his back against a tree, but he foresaw the consequences. The man who yields only for a few minutes to the creeping drowsiness is gone.

  Fred was more circumspect, even, than his chum. Instead of taking his position beside the trunk of one of the trees, he walked silently around in a circle, keeping the camp-fire as a centre. By this means he not only kept his senses keyed to a high point, but made his espionage nearer perfect than his friend had done.

  That the night was not to pass without a stirring experience to the younger lad was soon evident. As nearly as he could guess, without consulting his watch, it was about one o’clock, when he became aware that some person or animal was astir in the grove. He heard the faint footfalls on the ground, though for a time he was unable to catch so much as a shadowy glimpse of the intruder.

  “I believe it is that Indian, who has come back to square accounts with Jack for getting the better of him. The wisest thing for me to do is to not allow him to see me.”

  Th
is was wise; and, to prevent such a disaster, Fred adopted the precise tactics that had been used by his friend. He stationed himself beside a friendly trunk, which so interposed between himself and the fire that he was invisible, no matter from what direction approached. Standing thus, he peered into the surrounding gloom and listened with all the intensity of which he was capable.

  Suddenly he caught a glimpse of the intruder. The relief was unspeakable when he saw that it was not an Indian, but some kind of a wild animal. It was but a short distance off, and between him and the outer edge of the grove.

  There being no one to replenish the fire, the light had grown dimmer, but a quick, shadowy flitting told Fred the brute was moving briskly about, only a few paces from where the lad was straining his vision to learn its nature.

  “We might as well wind up this business,” reflected Fred, as, with his hand on the trigger of his Winchester, he started abruptly in the direction of the stranger. The latter was quick to perceive him and whisked away. The lad followed, breaking into a trot despite the intervening trees. The beast continued fleeing, for nothing so disconcerts an animal as the threatening approach of a foe.

  It was but a few paces to the edge of the timber, when the brute leaped out into full view in the star-gleam.

  One glance was sufficient for the youth to recognize it as an immense wolf, which had probably been drawn to the spot by the odor of the meat that composed the dinner of the party. Fifty feet off the wolf stopped, turned partly about, and looked back at his pursuer, as if to learn whether he intended to follow him farther.

  Fred did not, but the opportunity was too good to be lost. The aim was inviting, and, bringing his rifle to his shoulder, he sighted as best he could and pulled the trigger. He could not have done better had the sun been shining. The bullet passed directly through the skull of the wolf, which uttered a sharp yelp, leaped several feet into the air, and, doubling up like a jack-knife, fell upon his side, where, after several convulsive struggles, he lay still.

  Naturally enough, the boy was elated over his success, for the shot was certainly an excellent one.

  “There!” he said. “Jack frightened off the Indians, and I think I have given the wild animals a good lesson. At any rate, you won’t bother us any more.”

  He supposed that the report of the gun would awaken Hazletine and bring him to the spot to learn the explanation, but nothing of that nature followed. If the report disturbed him, he merely opened and closed his eyes, and continued to slumber, after the manner of one who appreciates the value of rest.

  In truth, it was always a matter of wonderment to the boys that their veteran guide adopted the course he followed that night. That actual danger impended was proven by the incidents already narrated, and yet he entrusted the safety of one of the boys, as well as his own life, to another, who, until then, had never been in a similar position. Why he did so would be hard to explain, but he never admitted that his course was a mistake. Sometimes, as is well known, a boy is taught to swim by flinging him into deep water, where he must choose between keeping afloat and drowning; and it may be the guide believed that, by tossing his young friends into the midst of danger at the very beginning of their experience as Western hunters, they would acquire the needed skill the more quickly.

  CHAPTER V.

  “NOW FOR THE RANCH.”

  One of the singular features connected with the experience of our young friends during the first night they spent in Wyoming was that all the danger which threatened them came from one Indian and from one lupus. After Jack Dudley had expelled the prowling buck, the intruder took good care to remain away. Neither he nor any of his companions troubled the campers further. The presumption, therefore, was that this solitary specimen was a “dog Indian,” or vagrant, wandering over the country on his own account. Such fellows, as already explained, claim no kinship with any tribe, but are, like the tramps of civilized society, agents for themselves alone.

  Had the season been winter, with the snow deep on the ground, the trouble from the wolves would have been more serious. Those gaunt creatures, when goaded by hunger, become exceedingly daring, and do not hesitate to attack even armed bodies of men; but it was autumn time, when the ravenous brutes, who seem always to be hungry, find the least difficulty in procuring food, and they remained true to their cowardly disposition and refrained from everything in the nature of true courage.

  The curious fact, as we have remarked, was that, as in the case of the Indian, only a single wolf intruded upon the little company. The animals generally travel in droves, and when one is seen it is quite safe to count upon a dozen, or a score, or even more. It is possible that the victim of Fred Greenwood’s Winchester was also a sort of tramp, prospecting for his own benefit. It is more likely, however, that he was what might be considered a scout or advance agent of others. His pack was probably waiting among the foot-hills for him to return with his report. If so, the report is now considerably overdue.

  Fred was a model sentinel for the remaining hours that he continued on duty. He continued circling about the camp-fire, silent, stealthy, peering here and there, and listening for the first evidence of danger. Nothing of the kind was seen or heard, and he finally came back to the smouldering fire and looked at the face of his watch.

  Could it be possible? It lacked a few minutes of three o’clock. According to agreement, he should have called Hazletine an hour before.

  “I don’t suppose he will object,” said Fred, aloud; “I’m sure I shouldn’t, if allowed to sleep an hour beyond my time—”

  “I ain’t doing any kicking, am I?”

  Looking around, he saw the guide had flung aside his blanket and was sitting erect, with a quizzical expression on his face.

  “What made you fire your gun ’bout two hours ago?” he asked.

  “Did you hear me?”

  “How’d I know if I hadn’t heard it?” was the pertinent question.

  “A wolf was sneaking among the trees. I followed him out to the edge of the timber and let him have it between the eyes.”

  “Did you hurt him?”

  “Since he flopped over and died, I have reason to believe he was hurt.”

  “Good! That’s the style—always to shoot. Never waste your ammunition. You didn’t kill any Injins?”

  “I saw none at all.”

  Hank looked at the unconscious figure of Jack Dudley.

  “Wonder how it was with him?”

  “He did not fire his gun at anything.”

  Fred did not wish to tell his friend about that alarming visit earlier in the evening. That was Jack’s concern.

  “But he may have seed something. Howsumever, we can wait till morning. Wal, younker, if you’ve no ’bjection you can lay down and snooze till morning. I go on duty now.”

  There was vast comfort in this knowledge. It relieved the youth from the last remnant of anxiety, and he lost no time in abandoning himself to slumber. The man who was now acting as sentinel was a past master at the art, and there need be no misgiving while he was on duty. Thus it came about that neither Jack Dudley nor Fred Greenwood opened his eyes until the sun was shining into the grove.

  Each had had a refreshing night, but it cannot be said that their awakening was of the most pleasant nature. The hunger that had been twice satisfied the day before was not to be compared to that which now got hold of them. With the insatiate craving was the knowledge that there was not a scrap of meat, a crumb of bread nor a drop of milk in camp.

  “We can fill up on water,” remarked Jack, after they had bathed faces and hands and quaffed their fill.

  “But what good will that do? We might bubble over, but we should be just as hungry as ever.”

  “It seems to me that when a fellow is chock-full of anything he oughtn’t to feel much hunger.”

  “I’ve often thought that, but you can’t fool nature that way.”

  “If it gets any worse we can shoot the ponies and devour them.”

  “Why both of the
m?”

  “Because it would take a whole one to satisfy me. I don’t know how you feel, Jack, but if we are to have appetites like this I shall go in for buying a drove of cattle and spending the few weeks we have in these parts in eating.”

  The youths looked in each other’s face and laughed. Truly they were ahungered, but could never quite lose their waggishness.

  “I wonder what’s become of Hank,” suddenly exclaimed Fred, looking beside and behind them; “the fire is nearly burned out, and he is nowhere in sight. Halloo!”

  The hail was uttered in a loud voice, and was responded to, but from a point a considerable distance out upon the prairie, in the direction of the foot-hills. The open nature of the wood permitted the boys to see quite clearly in that direction.

  “Yonder he comes,” said Jack.

  “And, by gracious, he’s carrying something on his shoulders. I wonder if it is that Indian you chatted with last night.”

  “Better than that. It’s something to eat!”

  Jack Dudley was right. The guide was laden with the carcass of some animal. Its bulk was proof that he possessed an accurate idea of the appetite of these young gentlemen.

  “How careless in him to leave us thus alone,” remarked Fred, with mock reproof.

  “Do you wish he hadn’t done so?”

  “Don’t name it!” exclaimed Fred, with a shudder; “he knew the only way of saving our lives. It wouldn’t have done for him to postpone it another hour.”

  Hank Hazletine was never more welcome than when he entered the grove and let fall from his shoulders the carcass of a half-grown calf, plump, juicy, tender, and in the best of condition.