The Sky Pilot's Great Chase; Or, Jack Ralston's Dead Stick Landing

Three of the horses were lying down, the fourth trying to find a few more stray wisps of green stuff by reaching out to the extent of his tethering rope. All seemed well with the world, and Jack judged it the part of wisdom to fight off dull cares until the time really arrived for action.

Then for the third time he opened his eyes and began to stretch his limbs, by that time feeling a bit cramped from his lying in a certain position so long.

“Must be getting daylight,” he told himself, noting how he could see objects at some little distance beyond the smouldering campfire; but as it was not the proper caper for a supposed young millionaire sportsman to be the first on stirring in camp, Jack concluded to just lie there and do a little calculating, having in mind the stirring drama they were likely to run into ere another day had come to an end.

“Huh! now, what in thunder does all that distant racket mean?”

Of course that was Perk muttering to himself, and turning his head Jack could see the other rising to a sitting position, with his head set on one side, as though he were straining his hearing.

This caused Jack to suddenly realize for the first time that it was not only the gurgling of the nearby running brook he had been hearing – somewhere within half a mile other sounds were rising, and even gradually drawing closer right along – yapping, for all the world like dogs chasing a rabbit, or a sly fox caught out with dawn coloring the sky.

Jack hastened to sit up.

“Yes, what can it be, do you think, Perk?” he asked, quietly.

“Awake are you, ol’ hoss?” the other went on to say though without turning his head. “Sounds like wolves, or I’d say kiotes only I happen to know they ain’t any sech animals ’way up here – leastways I never did run across sech all the time I rode ’round this section o’ country.”

“A pack of timber wolves, you mean, buddy – the big, gray chaps that can pull down a deer as easy as a mountain lion would do the job?”

“Them’s the kind like enough, Jack,” affirmed the other.

“The chase is on then, it seems, Perk; what d’ye reckon they’re after?”

“Some sorter game they’re meanin’ to make a breakfast off’n – mebbe a cow moose, or else it might be a caribou, partner,” Perk went on to say, as if mildly interested. “Huh! wouldn’t mind havin’ a juicy caribou steak myself for breakfast, on’y it’d be breakin’ the game laws to shoot sech a critter out o’ season. Say, they must be headin’ this way, Jack, ol’ pard!”

“Either that, or else there’s a change of wind,” agreed the other; “for the racket grows louder right along.”

Perk reached out and laid his hand on the ever faithful machine-gun, which it seemed he had carefully placed alongside on settling down for the night.

“I guess now I’ll get up, an’ toddle out by that openin’ in the timber,” Jack heard him saying; “mebbe we might have the good luck to look-in on the gay scrap, if the beggars bring their quarry to bay close by here. Anyhow it’s plumb mornin’, an’ plenty to do.”

Jack could not have told had he been asked why he should copy Perk’s example, possessing himself of the Winchester repeater, and even following his comrade in the direction of the open glade, toward which the suggestive sounds appeared to be heading.

There, too, was Red Lowden starting to “climb out” of his swathing blanket, apparently recognizing the fact that there might be something interesting on the carpet worth witnessing. All this movement must have aroused the doctor, for Jack noticed a movement in his quarter, as though the exodus from the camp were about to be made unanimous.

Jack and Perk dropped down on the edge of the opening.

“That’s in our favor,” the latter was whispering – “the wind, what little there happens to be ablowin’ is comin’ right in our face, so the pesky beasts ain’t agoin’ to scent us right away. I kinder guess they’s so crazy worked up over gitin’ a breakfast they ain’t so cunnin’ as usual. Wow! they’re sure closin’ in on the dick, that’s flat – I c’n notice a change in the yelpin’ that tells the story. Steady now, ol’ hoss, for here they come aswoopin’!”

Jack crouched low, with staring eyes – there was something that bordered on the thrilling about this dramatic panorama of the wilderness which a freak of good fortune was bringing under their observation – he even felt his heart beating as fast as a throbbing rivetting machine, such as he remembered once hearing at work on a skyscraper in the building in New York City – in fact, Jack rather fancied this was as close an approach to the real “buck ague” as he had ever experienced, for while “some hunter” he did not claim to be a veteran in the chase.

Suddenly some large object broke out from the scrub on the other side of the open glade – it was a bull caribou, all right, and extremely winded, the chase having evidently been a long and thrilling one. Gone was much of the spring to its gait, usually as swift as the wind – the pertinacity of its four-footed pursuers had completely worn the caribou out, and all that was left was for him to turn on the pack, and battle until they dragged him down by the weight of numbers, backed by ferocious hunger. There in the centre the gallant old fellow whirled around and stood at bay, just as Jack had seen in a celebrated engraving. One sweep of his half-developed antlers and a daring wolf was flung ruthlessly aside, to come back limping, but as eager as ever.

It was a spectacle Jack would not have missed for anything; and yet all his sympathies were for the poor stag, so sorely beset by those ravenous foes. Again and again did he strike out and scatter his enemies; but his condition this early in the season was not as hardened as would have been the case along toward late in the Fall months, so that his blows failed to cripple those he sent flying right and left.

Perk was on one knee, and with his machine-gun lifted halfway to his shoulder, as though the inclination to mix in the scrimmage had begun to grip him too powerfully to be long resisted.

The crisis came with lightning-like rapidity, and it turned out just about as Jack had anticipated would be the case. One of the half-dozen wolves made a bold leap just when the caribou, having sent another flying, was caught off his guard. He landed on the stag’s quarter, and fastened his teeth in his flank. That served to disconcert the doomed animal, so that a second of his persecutors was enabled to fasten on his neck, and weight him down. That hastened the inevitable end to the woods tragedy. There was no longer heard the yelps of the triumphant wolves – only a terrible snapping sound, and a mad scrambling, as the gallant caribou stag kept up the unequal fight, evidently determined to resist “to the last ditch.”

Perk had reached the end of his rope; he could no longer resist the temptation to throw his glove into the arena, and take up the cause of the weaker one of the contenders.

Jack heard the sudden crash of the machine-gun close to his ear. One of the maddened wolves fell at the report, to get up no more. A second bit the dust almost immediately afterwards, for Perk had only to swing his gun in a small section of a half-circle to spray the carnivora in succession.

Panic gripped those still remaining – possibly for the first time they whiffed the scent of human foes; so, too, they may have known what that crash of firearms, those spitting flashes of flame signified. Waiting not upon the order of their going they abandoned all hopes of a well earned meal, and made off like so many streaks.

Perk ceased firing – he also gave a little whoop, as if triumph filled his veins with exaltation that must find some sort of vent. “Hot ziggetty dig! jest see the cowardly critter lope out o’ here, will you, partner?” was the burden of his shout, as the remainder of the lupine pack disappeared among the tree-trunks well beyond; “but what a danged shame the poor caribou’s so bad hurt he jest can’t move off – there, by the great horn spoon if he ain’t laid down on the job; I kinder guess I hit in a little bit too late to help him any.”

As they approached the wretched victim of wolfish hunger and ferocity attempted to get on his legs again; but seemed too weak to do more than lift himself halfway, when he once more fell back.

“Better we put him out of his misery, Perk,” Jack, suggested, knowing full well that the animal was doomed, no matter what they did; for if left to himself the wolf pack – what was left of it at any rate – was bound to return, and finish their slaughter.

“You do it, brother,” begged Perk, “somehow I don’t seem able to jest up an’ knock him on the head. Your rifle’s a heap better for that job.”

“It will be a mercy, since he’s done for, no matter how we look at it,” the other went on to say; “so, game law or not, I’ve just got to do it.”

With the speedy crack of his thirty-thirty sporting rifle the caribou gave one expiring kick, and then lay there limp and lifeless.

Jack surveyed his victim, and shook his head as though he took no pleasure whatever in the act of mercy.

“Since necessity forced us into this game, Perk, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t have your caribou steak for breakfast; though I’ve got an idea it may give your grinders some job, from toughness. Go to it, brother; if you pronounce it eatable I may try a small portion myself, though I’m not building up any high hopes as to enjoying it.”

Since it was daylight, and they were all aroused, they concluded there was no sense of “making two bites of a cherry.” Accordingly Perk coaxed Red to build up a good cooking-fire, while he proceeded to cut some slices from the intact flank of the fallen stag.

At any rate it had an appetizing flavor while cooking, that caused Red to look expectant. Jack took a small portion on his pannikin, and started to masticate it in sections; but just the same he failed to clear off his plate, which would indicate that he hardly approved of that kind of venison.

From the fact that Perk did not see fit to select any more of the meat to carry along when they pulled out, one of three things must have affected him – either he did not anticipate having another chance to make use of a cooking fire in the near future; felt a bit worried as to what would happen if a game-warden, roving far afield, should happen along while he put in time at his culinary labors; or else even he had found the venison too tough for mastication – possibly a bit of all three reasons influenced him in abandoning the remainder of the carcass to those hungry brutes, undoubtedly still hovering in ambush not far away.

Then Jack called out “boots and saddles,” with the whole four mounting their waiting steeds, and galloping along the trail.

XXVII

ON THE DANGEROUS TRAIL

The horses being fresh after the all-night bivouac, the little party made good time along the crooked trail. Perk was enjoying himself to the limit, taking in all the old familiar sights – how well he remembered different happenings that were connected with this, or that special spot; indeed, he found it hard to believe some years had passed since he followed this path between Frazer’s trading-post of the great Hudson’s Bay Fur Company, and the Mounties’ further north station.

It was going on nine when they again came in sight of the long log building that housed the factor and his belongings – such as Hawk and his bold crowd had left untouched during their recent raid.

All seemed peaceful at the post, although the ashes marking the burned annex told how some unusual event must have recently taken place.

They found Old Jimmy getting along as well as could be expected, but anxious for the coming of the doctor, in whom he had every confidence in the world. A superficial examination quickly put Dr. Hamilton in possession of sufficient knowledge upon which to base a verdict.

“Nothing very serious, McGregor,” he told the factor, in a cheery tone that did much to dissipate any fears the other may have entertained as to the outcome of his wounds.

Jack and Perk too, were relieved, for both of them had reason to feel a burden was lifted from their hearts – Perk because of his old friendship for the factor; and Jack on account of his having given “first aid” to the victim of the lawless Hawk’s latest raid.

Turning to Jack Dr. Hamilton surveyed him with kindling eyes.

“If, as you said, young man,” he told the flyer, “you are only an amateur at handling cases like this, I want to tell you everything has been carried out in a way that would not have shamed the best of surgeons. Jimmy will owe a lot to your skillful work. And let me further say most earnestly, that if at some future date it ever occurs to you to change your profession, should you choose to follow that of surgery, I can easily predict a more than ordinary success awaits you – remember that, Jack.”