"The time is not limited," returned Kiddie. "Rube and I are a long way from bein' tired of campin' out, and we've got 'most all we want. We ain't worryin' about letters or newspapers or any engagements or duties. We're havin' a real good holiday, an' it's goin' ter last as long as the fine weather holds. But I'll tell you what you c'n do for us, sheriff. You've got plenty of cargo space in that canoe, an' we've some green pelts—the skins of critters we've trapped—that you c'n take back with you. Abe Harum knows what to do with 'em."
"Figurin' ter make this yer island your headquarters, I guess?" observed Isa.
"No," Kiddie answered, glancing aside at Rube. "We've exhausted the interests of the island. Rube has an idea he'd like t' explore some of those dark an' dismal cañons on the far side of the lake. We're only waitin' until he makes up his mind which one to choose."
"Then we've no need ter hang around much longer," said Rube, "for I've fixed on Lone Wolf Cañon. There's a strong appeal in the name of Lone Wolf."
"Gives promise of romantic solitood, don't it?" mused the sheriff. "I'm not hankerin' after solitoods, myself. For real enjoyment, give me Brierley's saloon in Laramie on a Saturday night."
"Ah," rejoined Rube, "you never learnt the meanin' of campin' out. You ain't got the instincts of a scout, the same as Kiddie an' me. Don't suppose you even knows the name of the bird that's bin warblin' so sweet for the past half-hour in the tree over your head."
Isa turned and looked up into the tree.
"No," he said, "until you mentioned it, I wasn't aware that there was any warblin' in the programme."
"Don't you pay any heed to Rube, sheriff," Kiddie interposed. "It's a special hobby of his to know a bird by its notes. The songster you're listenin' to now is just a whip-poor-will. It starts every evening precisely at sunset. When it quits singing, we reckon it's time to crawl into our sleepin' bags."
Isa Blagg was in no hurry for the bird to cease its singing. Indeed, it was long after the usual bed-time when at length he consented to leave the bivouac fire.
On the following morning he awoke with alarm to find himself alone on the island. He searched for Kiddie and Rube, and was beginning to fear that they had marooned him, when at last he discovered them swimming far out in the lake, where he had never thought of looking for them. They were so far away that he supposed he would have ample time to prepare breakfast for them; but on going to the fire he found the kettle boiling, the clean plates set ready, and the cut bacon waiting in the frying-pan. He strode to the creek and saw that his canoe was already loaded with the neatly-packed pelts that he was to take with him to Birkenshaw's.
"Gee!" he said to himself. "Never seen such a pair as them two in all my days. I ain't in it. They gets in front o' me every time!"
"We didn't ask you to come out and have a swim with us, Isa," greeted Kiddie as he stepped ashore.
"No use if you had done, Kiddie," returned Isa. "I never been in deep water in my life. None the less, I've gotten a healthy appetite for that bacon. Sleepin' on a island suits me. I'm real glad I came."
He paddled off in his canoe immediately after breakfast, when also Kiddie and Rube prepared to break camp.
CHAPTER XIV
LONE WOLF CAÑON.
They were not long in crossing to the farther side of the lake and making a landing within the entrance to Lone Wolf Cañon. Neither of them had ever been here before, and they were disappointed in the prospect presented by the steep walls of barren cliff and the sunless gloom.
"Seems ter me we may as well leave our traps in the canoe," said Rube. "There ain't much chance of findin' any game where there's no bush for the wild critters ter hide, an' no herbage for the little 'uns ter feed on."
"It's the kind of place where our guns'll be of more use than the traps," Kiddie added. "I c'n make out a beaten track winding down among the rocks there. 'Tain't a human footpath, I reckon. Guess it was made by mountain goats, antelopes, deer, foxes, wolves, an' even buffalo, comin' down t' th' water for their evenin' drink. Have a close look, an' see if you can distinguish any footprints."
Rube examined the ground at various points, particularly near the water, where it was moist.
"Quite right, Kiddie," he reported. "It's sure a water trail. I made out the tracks of a bear and a lynx; an' thar's heaps of others that might be any of the critters you've named."
"There's birds as well," said Kiddie, "eagles, hawks, wild turkeys, grouse."
"I've never seen a eagle close at hand," Rube regretted. "I want to, badly. Did y' ever shoot one, Kiddie?"
"No, I've no use f'r a dead eagle. Caught one in a fox-trap once, in Lost Man's Gulch. Hadn't visited that trap for several days. When I went to it, there was a fine male eagle in it, an' all round about were the remains of rabbits an' birds. Couldn't make out at first just how that trapped eagle had gotten so much food. The rabbits an' lambs an' grouse didn't sure go up an' ask him ter kill an' eat them, and thar wasn't any humans near to take pity on him. Well, I watched from a distance, an' after a while I see the eagle's mate fly down an' give him a cub fox. That's how it had been all the time."
"Say, what did you do then, Kiddie?" Rube asked.
"Went an' opened the trap an' came away with two fine tail feathers and a nasty scratch on the arm," Kiddie answered, turning from the canoe to search for a suitable pitch for the camp.
He found a good place on a stretch of sloping ground between two high rocks at the edge of the lake, and in a very little time the teepee was erected, a fire well kindled, and the camp in order.
Their store of food had been almost exhausted on the island, where they had not set their traps and had caught only fish. They still had abundance of flour, however, as well as tea, sugar, tinned milk, and rice; and Kiddie was confident in the prospect of being able soon to add meat to his larder.
On that same evening of their arrival in Lone Wolf Cañon, he went out with his gun and climbed the mountain side in search of game. But he returned to camp without having fired a shot, and with only a capful of thimbleberries as spoil.
"Didn't you see anything?" Rube questioned.
"Oh, yes," said Kiddie, "I saw plenty—a big-horn antelope that was too far away for a shot, a herd of black-tail deer, still farther away, a family of rattlesnakes, a skunk, and a racoon. And you'll be interested to know that there's a pair of white-tail eagles nestin' on one of the crags up the cañon. I got a good view of them from the opposite side."
"I'm goin' ter have a look at those eagles," decided Rube. "I'll go to-morrow evenin' the same time as when you were there, an' when they're likely to be at home."
On the following evening his expedition was interfered with by the fact that earlier in the day Kiddie had stalked and killed a black-tail deer and needed Rube's help in carrying the carcass into camp and cutting it up for venison.
But Rube was not to be denied a sight of the eagles, even if he could not hope to capture an eaglet and take it home with him as a pet.
"I see you're preparin' yourself for a climb up those crags, eh?" said Kiddie on the next afternoon. He spoke without encouragement.
"Yep," Rube nodded. "Any objections t' offer?"
"Not exactly objections," returned Kiddie. "I was only thinkin'."
"A habit you have—thinkin'. What was you thinkin', Kiddie?"
In response, Kiddie looked around at the mountains and the sky.
"Wind's changed," he said. "Looks like rain, don't it? Might keep off till after sunset time, though."
"Guess I'll chance it, anyway," resolved Rube.
Kiddie had told him exactly where the eagles' eyrie was situated and how he might most easily and safely approach it, first by ascending the gradual slope of the mountain and then working his way round on the face of the precipice, and then again ascending by a craggy cleft that would bring him close to the nesting-place. And Kiddie's directions and advice were always too practical to be ignored. Rube followed them exactly.
It would have been well for him if before
starting he had also paid more serious heed to Kiddie's suggestion regarding the weather. But Kiddie had not insisted. Like Rube himself, he had not foreseen more than a mere evening shower of refreshing rain.
In Rube's absence, Kiddie occupied himself with the ordinary work of the camp. He was always scrupulously orderly and methodical; never allowing any refuse to accumulate, always regulating the fire to his requirements, washing up after every meal, and having a fixed place for each utensil and for the different kinds of food and stores.
All of his camps were ordered on a similar plan; so much so that one was a duplicate of another, differing only in situation and natural surroundings.
It was the same with his packing. The things that were most urgently needed were always packed last, to be ready to hand on his arrival at a new pitch.
Over his work, Kiddie watched Rube climbing the mountain side, and once or twice he whistled to him to let him know that he was going all right. But very soon Rube disappeared into the brooding gloom of the cañon, and Kiddie continued with his work until every tin-pot shone like silver and the whole camp was faultlessly tidy.
"Queer how fond of that boy I've got to be," he said to himself. "I'm missing him already." He glanced round at the mountain tops and the lowering clouds. "Don't like the look of that mist that's rolling down," he reflected. "He ought to turn back; but I don't suppose he will. Hullo! he's disturbed the eagles! I hope he got a good view of them first."
The majestic pair of birds had taken wing, and were now gliding on seemingly motionless pinions through the misty air. Kiddie watched them as they crossed over the lake, growing smaller and smaller until they became tiny specks in the distance and were lost to sight among the dark ravines of the Rattlesnake Range.
At dusk, when it was time for Rube's return, Kiddie got ready some venison cutlets and chipped potatoes for frying with them for supper. But before beginning his cooking he waited until he should hear Rube's signal call from afar. He sat by the fire listening for it with his eyes bent on the slope of the hill where he expected Rube to appear.
The long minutes went by, but he heard no signal call and saw no sign of his companion. Still, he was not anxious. Rube might be sheltering from the rain under the lee of some rock.
The mist on the mountains thickened, the darkness of night and the drizzling rain blotted out all landmarks.
Kiddie whistled at regular intervals—a long, penetrating whistle it was. He piled more fuel on the fire, so that the glow might serve as a guide. He knew that there would be no use in going out in search of Rube. They might so easily miss each other in these trackless wilds; unless indeed, Rube was hurt and unable to move about. Climbing in the fog among rocks slippery with rain and wet moss, he was likely enough to have missed his footing and injured a limb in his fall.
This thought that Rube was possibly lying helpless on the crags began to worry Kiddie as the night grew late. He blamed himself for having allowed the boy to go forth alone on such a hazardous adventure.
"It's the kind of thing I'd have done myself when I was his age," he reflected. "I can't blame Rube. But I ought to have stopped him from going when I saw that there was rain coming on and saw the mist gathering on the hills. Pity we didn't bring the hound with us after all. Sheila would sure have found him."
Fearing that he might yet have to go out in search of the boy, he cooked his own supper. He had already packed all his stores under the shelter of the wigwam and the canoe, covering the latter with the ground-sheet. He had also lighted the hurricane lamp and suspended it from the top of the totem pole.
He ate his supper in the teepee, but more than once got up from the solitary meal to open the door-flap and look out searchingly in the darkness for signs of Rube.
Towards midnight the light of the moon behind the clouds lessened the surrounding darkness. He could dimly distinguish the mountain ridges, outlined against the sky. The rain had ceased. The mist had lifted from the heights; but it still hung in fantastic layers between the walls of Lone Wolf Cañon.
"If it's only the fog that's kept him, he ought to be back in camp within another hour," he told himself, as the moon broke through a rack of drifting clouds.
He waited for a while, and then renewed his whistling, sending messages in the Morse code, which Rube very well understood.
But no answer came; only the repeated echoes of his own shrill whistle.
An hour went by, and yet another hour.
"Rube's wise in his way," Kiddie meditated. "I guess he's having a sleep up there rather than risk his neck by climbing down that precipice in the dark. There's no moonlight deep down in the cañon. Quite right of him to wait until sunrise."
Thus arguing, Kiddie entered the teepee, dropped the door-flap, and turned into his sleeping-bag.
But he did not sleep. All the while he lay listening and at the same time trying to realize just what had happened to Rube. It was his excellent habit when puzzling out any such problem as this to imagine himself to be the other person and to figure himself in that other person's situation. He did not consider what he himself would do in the circumstances, but what the other, having a different character, would attempt.
And so it was now. He imagined himself to be Rube Carter climbing across the face of a steep precipice overhanging a chasm so deep and narrow that the level strip of rocky ground at the base of it could not be seen. A false step, a slip of foot or hand, would mean a fall to certain death.
But Rube was too good and cautious a climber to make a mistake. He had got near enough to the eagles to startle them into flight, and this had happened just before the mist had rolled down the mountain sides into the cañon.
Now, Rube knew well that to climb down a precipice is always more difficult than the ascent; and that to attempt the descent in a thick mist was doubly perilous. Kiddie argued, therefore, that Rube had either remained where he was when overtaken by the mist, or else that he had climbed farther up the mountain. This, indeed, was in any case the safer way, and although it would mean a long and weary tramp back to camp, still he might be expected soon after daybreak.
From earliest dawn until long after sunrise, Kiddie waited in hope, and when Rube did not return he resolved to go out in search of him.
If Rube were seriously hurt, it would be necessary to take him home to Birkenshaw's with the least possible delay. Kiddie therefore packed up the teepee and the stores in the canoe and left the latter ready for launching. He took his rifle and revolvers with him, filled his haversack with food, and did not neglect to take his pocket box of surgical dressings. In case Rube should return in his absence, he left a message in picture-writing on the paddle of the canoe.
He followed Rube's direction over the shoulder of the mountain, and then began to look for tracks, finding them now and again, and particularly at the point where Rube had left the hill-side to begin his difficult climb across the face of the precipice. Here he had dropped a stick that he had carried, and he had evidently sat down to tighten the thongs of his moccasins. Kiddie had now no doubt of his way. He knew that Rube would instinctively take the easiest and quickest course to the eagles' nest.
He found the place without much difficulty, and had proof in some detached fragments of moss and lichen that Rube had been here in advance of him, and had been able to look down into the eagles' nest, where the female was even now sitting unconcerned on her eggs.
Kiddie did not disturb her, as Rube had probably done. Instead, he searched for signs of Rube himself.
Yes, Rube had not attempted the perilous descent. He had waited until the rain had ceased and the mist had lifted. High up above where he stood, Kiddie saw the scratch of a slipping foot on the wet moss, which showed that Rube had climbed upward. Again, still higher up, there was a similar mark, and above this the way was easy as a step-ladder, needing only very ordinary care, a sure foot, and steady nerves.
At the top of the ascent Kiddie came out upon the farther side of Lone Wolf Mountain, which now interposed be
tween him and Sweetwater Lake. To reach the lake side he must either return as he came, or else cross the next valley and work his way round the base of the mountain. He judged that Rube had not hesitated to take the latter and longer course.
He walked round in a circle, searching for a track in the soft ground, and at last he came upon the impression of Rube's moccasins. He followed their direction. Presently he realized that Rube had been running and that his tracks were leading in quite an unexpected direction.
Greatly wondering, Kiddie went on and on. Then he came to an abrupt stop and stood staring in astonished alarm at the ground. At his feet lay two crumpled up eagle's feathers. A yard or so away from them was Rube's fur cap, pierced by an Indian arrow. And all around were the confused impressions of Indians' feet.
Kiddie drew a long breath as he picked up the boy's hat.
"That's the way of it," he said. "That's why Rube never came back. He's been captured by Indians!"
CHAPTER XV
THE CRY OF THE JAY
Up to the point to which Kiddie had tracked him, Rube Carter had done precisely what Kiddie had conjectured he would do. He had reached the eagles' eyrie just as the mist began to envelop him and cut off his direct retreat.
He had not deliberately startled the birds to flight. The male had been perched like a faithful sentinel on a point of rock, above his mate sitting on her eggs. Rube had a long, close view of the pair of them, and had watched without molesting them. But presently he had the boyish idea that it would be interesting to see and count their eggs, and take note of how their nest was lined.
Cautiously he approached the nest, moving very slowly and stealthily. But the guardian male resented this bold intrusion, and attacked him with beak and talons and fiercely-flapping wings.
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