The Wild Man of the West: A Tale of the Rocky Mountains

Chapter Twenty

A Gallop to the Rescue—A Discovery—Right-about Face—A disagreeable Surprise and a sudden Ejection—A Calm after the Storm—Mary a Huntress—Dick’s Story of the murdered Trapper

When Dick, alias the Wild Man of the West, left his cave, as narrated in a previous chapter, and galloped away with reckless speed to afford the aid of his stout right arm to his friends in the Mountain Fort—for he counted them friends, although they little knew it—he felt that if he was to be of any use he must travel over the country as he had never travelled before, except once, when he had to fly for his life before five hundred Pawnee warriors.

It was a grand sight to behold that herculean backwoodsman on his noble steed, which seemed so well proportioned to its rider that it carried him as if he were but a boy, flying over the country on this brotherly errand. Mile after mile was passed, not indeed at full speed, for that would have broken the good horse down long before the goal was reached, but at a bowling gallop, taking bogs, and rocks, and fallen trees, and watercourses, with an elastic bound that told of bone and muscle overflowing with surplus energy.

Dick patted the horse’s arching neck with a look of pride and affection, and the animal tossed its head with a slight neigh of pleasure and a playful snap towards its rider’s right foot; for it loved its master, as the lower animals do always love those who treat them well, and it loved a wild, long, careering gallop, for that was the only means by which it could relieve its feelings.

There was something unusually wild-like about this horse, besides its great size and extraordinarily long mane and tail. It carried its head high and its ears pointed forward, and it looked boldly from side to side, as it went springingly along, more like a human being than a horse. It actually appeared to be taking intelligent notice of things around it. So much so, that Dick had got into a habit of saying a word or two now and then to it in a grave tone, as if he were conversing with a friend.

“Ay, it’s a fine country, isn’t it?” he said, patting the neck again.

The ears were pointed backwards at once, and a little neigh or squeak, with a toss of the head, was the reply.

“Pity ye can’t speak, an’t it?” continued Dick in a low, quiet tone.

The horse appeared to know that this was merely a meditative remark, not pointedly addressed to itself for it only put back one ear and kept the other forward.

“Now, lass,” said Dick firmly (both ears went full back at that sound and remained there), “take it easy; don’t exert yerself over much. It an’t o’ no use—a short pace or two, and—so.”

The horse went full swing over a roaring watercourse as he spoke, and alighted safe on the opposite bank, but the gravelly soil was treacherous; it gave way, and the animal’s hind legs slipped back. With a bound Dick sprang to the ground.

“Hyp, good horse,” he cried, raising the rein.

A powerful effort, and footing was regained. Dick vaulted into the saddle (he seldom used the stirrup), and away they went again, blithe as ever. Then a long strip of tangled forest appeared. Dick diverged here. It was easier to skirt it than to crash through it. Presently a broad deep river came in view. There was no looking for a ford, no checking the pace. In they went with sounding plunge, as if water were their native element, breasted the foaming tide, and gaining the opposite bank, went steadily forward.

Thus on they sped, over hill and dale, all that night, for the moon was bright in a cloudless sky, and part of next day. Then Dick made a sudden halt and dismounted, to examine something on the ground. Footprints of Indian horses—four of them—going in the direction of his dwelling!

Dick rose, and his strong brows were knitted, and his lips firmly pressed together. For a moment or two he pondered, then he told his horse to follow him, and, dropping the bridle, set off at a rapid walk, keeping steadily on the tracks, and stooping now and then to examine them when the nature of the ground rendered them less discernible. Thus he retraced his course for about a mile, when he stopped and muttered, “No doubt o’t. Them reptiles niver come to these diggins but when they want to pay me a visit.”

As he said this he remounted his horse and sat for a minute or two undecided. It was hard to give up his purpose; but it was impossible to leave his cavern defenceless with Mary in it, and the certainty that savages were hunting it out. That thought settled the matter. He shook the reins, and back they flew again towards the cave, at a much quicker pace than they had hitherto maintained.

The result was that Dick gained the entrance of his ravine just two hours later than the savages, and in time to superintend personally the hospitalities of his own dwelling. Riding quickly up to the head of the gorge, he dismounted and ascended the pathway to his cave with giant strides and a beating heart, for Dick thought of Mary, and the words “too late” would whizz about in his brain.

The Indians were still sitting round the fire enjoying themselves when March and Mary, to their unutterable surprise, beheld Dick stride through the low doorway of the cave, raise himself to his full height, and stand before the stricken invaders, absolutely blazing with wrath. His eyes, his hair, his beard, his glistening teeth, seemed each individually imbued with indignation.

The Indians did not move—they could not move—they simply sat and stared; and thus both parties continued for a quarter of a minute.

Mary used that short time well. She knew exactly what to do. Darting into her chamber, she seized the end of the rope connected with the tank and pulled it violently. March saw the rock above the fireplace drop! A clear, sparkling cataract sprang as if by magic from the wall! Next instant there was black darkness and yells, steam, shrieks, and howls—a hissing, hurling hubbub, such as no man can possibly conceive of unless he has seen and heard it! We will not, therefore, even attempt a description.

The Indians rushed en masse to the doorway. Death in the jaws of the Wild Man of the West was infinitely preferable to being parboiled and suffocated; but the Wild Man had judiciously made way for them. They gained the outer cave, and sprang down the pathway. Dick plied the handle of the shrieking-machine with the secondary object in view of relieving his own feelings! The din was indescribable! If those Indians are not lunatics at this moment they must be dead, for there could be no alternative in the circumstances. Certain it is they vanished like smoke, and they have never been heard of since—from that day to this!

Really, dear reader, if it were not that we are recounting the doings of a Wild Man—a notoriously eccentric creature—we would feel it necessary to impress upon you that such scenes as we have been describing are not characteristic of life in the Rocky Mountains; nay, more, we question whether such scenes as these have ever been witnessed or enacted in those regions at any time, with the exception, of course, of the present occasion. But it must be carefully borne in mind that we are recounting the deeds of a “Wild Man,” and, although the aspect of outward things—the general tone and current of manners and customs and natural phenomena—may remain exactly the same as heretofore, and be faithfully described without exaggeration (as we maintain they are), yet the acts, devices, and vagaries of such a creature as a Wild Man may, indeed must necessarily, be altogether eccentric and unparalleled. We therefore pause here to express a hope that, whatever credit you may be able to give to the reported deeds of this hero, you will not withhold your belief in the fidelity of the other portions of this narrative.

No sooner, then, were those unwelcome visitors ejected than Dick returned to the scene of devastation and shouted, “Hullo! Mary!”

“Safe, all safe,” she replied, as, with the assistance of March Marston, she pushed the plank across the chasm, and returned to the centre cave.

“Is the lad March safe too?” inquired Dick as he busied himself in striking a light with flint and steel.

“All right,” answered the youth for himself, “but horribly battered, an’ fit to yell with pain, not to mention surprise. Do look sharp and get the fire up. Sich doins’ as this I never did see nor hear of since I left the frontier. I do declare it’s worthy o’ the Wild Man o’ the West himself. What d’ye find to laugh at, Dick? I’m sure if ye had my miserable bones in yer body at this moment, ye’d laugh wi’ your mouth screwed the wrong way. Look alive, man!”

“Patience, lad, patience. That’s one o’ the vartues, I believe; leastwise, so I’m told. Ah, it’s caught at last. (Hand me that dry stuff on the south shelf, Mary; ye can find it i’ the dark, I doubt not.) Yes, it’s a vartue, but I can’t boast o’ having much o’t myself. I dun know much about it from ’xperience, d’ye see? There, now, we’ll git things put to rights,” he added, applying the kindled spark to some dry chips and producing a flame, with which he ignited a pine-knot, and stuck it blazing in a cleft in the rock. “Just see what them reptiles ha’ done to me. If it wasn’t that I’m a good-tempered feller, I b’lieve I’d git angry. See, March, boy, there’s a shelf in the corner that’s escaped the flood. Lie ye down there, while Mary and me puts the place in order.”

“I’d rather help you,” said March dismally. “I don’t b’lieve it can make me worse, an’ perhaps it’ll make me better. I wonder what in the world pain was made for.”

“Ye’ll only be in our way, lad. Lie down,” said Dick, seizing a large broom and beginning to sweep away the water and ashes and pieces of charcoal with which the floor was plentifully covered, while Mary picked up the scattered skins and furniture of the cave, and placed them on the ledge of rock, about four feet from the ground, which Dick termed a shelf.

This ledge ran all round the apartment, so March selected a corner, and, throwing a dry skin upon it, stretched himself thereon, and soon found his sufferings relieved to such an extent that he began to question his host as to his sudden and unlooked-for return.

“How came ye to drop in upon us in the very nick o’ time like that?” he said, gazing languidly at Mary, who bustled about with the activity of a kitten—or, to use an expression more in keeping with the surrounding circumstances, a wild kitten.

Dick, without checking his broom, told how he had discovered the tracks of the Indians, and returned at once, as has been related.

“Then,” said March, looking anxiously at his host, “you’ll not be able to help my poor comrades and the people at the Mountain Fort.”

“It an’t poss’ble to be in two places at once nohow ye can fix it,” returned Dick, “else I’d ha’ been there as well as here in the course of a few hours more.”

“But should we not start off at once—now?” cried March eagerly, throwing his legs off the ledge and coming to a sitting position.

“You an’t able,” replied Dick quietly, “and I won’t move till I have put things to rights here, an’ had a feed an’ a night’s rest. If it would do any good, I’d start this minute. But the fight’s over by this time—leastwise, it’ll be over long afore we could git there! and if it’s not to be a fight at all, why nobody’s none the worse, d’ye see?”

“But maybe they may hold the place for a long time,” argued March, “an’ the sudden appearance of you and me might turn the scale in their favour.”

“So it might—so it might. I’ve thought o’ that, and we’ll start to-morrow if yer able. But it would be o’ no use to-night. My good horse can’t run for ever right on end without meat and rest.”

“Then we’ll start to-morrow,” cried March eagerly.

“Ay, if ye can mount and ride.”

“That I have no fear of; but—but—” at that moment March’s eye encountered Mary’s—“but what about Mary?”

“Oh, she’ll stop here till we come back. No fear o’ redskins troublin’ her agin for some time,” replied Dick, throwing down the broom and patting the girl’s head. “Come, lass, let’s have some supper. Show March what a capital cook ye are. I’ll kindle a rousin’ fire an’ spread some pine-branches round it to sit on, for the floor won’t be quite dry for some time. What red reptiles, to be sure! and they was actually devourin’ my poor old bay horse. What cannibals!”

In the course of an hour the cavern had resumed its former appearance of comfort. The ruddy glare of the fire fell warmly on the rocky walls and on the curling smoke, which found egress through the hole near the roof that let in light during the day. Branches were spread on the floor, so as to form a thick pile near the fire, and on the top of this sat the Wild Man of the West with the most amiable of smiles on his large, handsome countenance, and most benignant of expressions beaming in his clear blue eyes, as he gazed first at Mary, who sat on his right hand, then at March, who sat on his left, and then at the iron pot which sat or stood between his knees, and into which he was about to plunge a large wooden ladle.

“There’s worse things than buffalo-beef-bergoo, March, an’t there? Ha, ha! my lad, tuck that under yer belt; it’ll put the sore bones right faster than physic. Mary, my little pet lamb, here’s a marrow-bone; come, yer growin’, an’ ye can’t grow right if ye don’t eat plenty o’ meat and marrow-bones; there,” he said, placing the bone in question on her pewter plate. “Ah! Mary, lass, ye’ve been mixin’ the victuals. Why, what have we here?”

“Moose nose,” replied the girl with a look of pleasure.

“I do b’lieve—so it is! Why, where got ye it? I han’t killed a moose for three weeks an’ more.”

“Me kill him meself,” said Mary.

“You!”

“Ay, me! with me own gun, too!”