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

“As,” resumed Bounce after a considerable pause, during which March looked and felt very uncomfortable, “the nat’ral eyes of the old men becomes more dimmer, d’ye see? their mental eyes, so to speak, becomes sharper, so as that they can see through no end o’ figurative millstones. That bein’ the case when there’s no millstone to be seen through at all, but only a oncommon thin trans—trans—”

“Ollification,” suggested Waller modestly.

“Not at all,” retorted Bounce with much severity in his tone. “I wos goin’ to have said—transparientsy; but I’ll not say that now, seein’ it’s too feelosophical for the likes o’ you; but, as I wos sayin’, that bein’ the case, d’ye see? it’s quite plain that—”

Here Bounce, having got into depths unusually profound even for his speculative and philosophical turn of mind, sought refuge in a series of voluminous puffs, and wound up, finally, with an emphatic assertion that “there wos somethin’ wrong, an’ it wos o’ no manner o’ use to try to throw dust in his eyes, seein’ that his winkin’ powers wos sich as to enable him to keep it out, no matter how thick or fast it should come.”

“Ah, that’s yer sort! I calc’late you’re floored there, March,” said Waller gravely. “The fact is, boy, that it won’t do; you’ve got somethin’ in the background, that Mr Bertram talks sich a heap about. You ought to be fair an’ above-board with comrades, ye ought.”

“Oui,” added Gibault. “Of course, you have lived somewhere, an’ somehow, all dis time. It am not posseeble for live nowhere on noting.”

“Well, I tell you I have lived with a hunter, who treated me very well, and told me I’d find you here; having learned that, as I understand, from the Wild Man o’ the West himself.”

“Very true,” said Bounce; “but where does the hunter live?”

“In the mountains,” replied March.

“So does the Blackfeet, an’ the Peigans, an’ the Crows, an’ the foxes, an’ wolves, an’ grisly bars,” retorted Bounce dryly.

“I’ll tell ye what it is,” cried the exasperated March, “the curiosity of you fellers beats the squaws out an’ out. Now, I’ll be open with ye, an’ then ye must hold your tongues. This man that I’ve been stayin’ with is a very fine fellow, an’ a very wonderful fellow, an’ his name’s Dick—”

“Dick what?” inquired Bounce.

“Dick nothing,” said March.

“Ay! that’s a odd name.”

“No, I mean he’s only called Dick, an’ he wouldn’t tell me his other name, if he has one. Well, he said to me I was not to tell where he lived, as he don’t like company, an’ so he made me promise, an’ I did promise, d’ye see? so I mean to stick to my promise, and that’s all about it. I would like to tell ye about him, comrades, but you wouldn’t have me break my word, would you?”

“Cer’nly not, by no means,” said Bounce. “Does he live all by his lone?”

“No—eh—ah! Well, I fancy it’s not breakin’ my word to tell ye that—no, he’s got a little gal, an adopted daughter, livin’ with him.”

“Is she good-lookin’?” inquired Bounce quickly, with a sharp glance at the youth.

March looked a little confused, and, in a hesitating manner, admitted that she was.

“Ah! I thought so,” observed Bounce gravely, shaking his head and looking unutterably profound, while Gibault gave a low whistle and winked to Big Waller, who returned the mystic signal with the addition of a knowing nod, all of which movements were observed by poor March, who became very red in the face and felt very angry and remarkably uncomfortable, and quite unable to decide whether it were better to laugh or storm. He was saved from all further perplexity on this point, however, by the sudden appearance of a horseman on the distant plain, who seemed to be approaching the valley in which they were encamped. At first he looked like a black speck or a crow on the horizon, and, in the uncertain light of the rapidly closing day, it would have been difficult for any unaccustomed eye to make out what the object was.

In a short time he drew near enough to be distinguished clearly, and the rapid patter of the horse’s hoofs on the turf told that the rider was flying over the ground at an unusual speed. Passing round a clump of low trees that stretched out from the mouth of the valley into the plain, he came dashing towards the camp—a wild-looking, dishevelled creature, seemingly in a state of reckless insanity.

“The Wild Man again, surely,” said Bounce, who, with his companions, had risen to await the coming up of the stranger.

“D’you think so?” cried March Marston eagerly.

“Ye—eh? why, I do b’lieve it’s Mr Macgregor,” cried the astonished Bounce as the reckless rider dashed up to the camp fire, and, springing from his horse with a yell that savoured more of a savage than a civilised spirit, cried—

“Look out, lads; up with a pile o’ rocks an’ trees! They’ll be on us in a jiffy! There’s five hundred o’ the red reptiles if there’s one. The Mountain Fort’s burned to cinders—every man and woman dead and scalped—look alive!”

These words were uttered hastily in broken exclamations, as Macgregor seized the logs that had been cut for firewood, and began violently to toss them together in a pile; while the trappers, although much amazed and horrified at the news, seized their hatchets and began to make instant preparation to resist an attack, without wasting time in useless questions. They observed that the commander of the Mountain Fort was pale as death, that his eyes were bloodshot, his clothes torn, and his hands and face begrimed with powder and stained with blood.

March Marston worked like a hero at the rude breastwork for some time, although the effort caused him so much pain that he could not help showing it on his countenance.

“March,” said Bounce, seizing him suddenly by the shoulder, “you’re not fit to work, an’ much less fit to fight. I’ll tell ye wot to do, lad. Jump on my horse, an’ away to yer friend the trapper, an’ bring him here to help us. One stout arm ’ll do us more good this night than ten battered bodies sich as yours, poor feller.”

March felt the truth of this, so without delay turned to obey. Just as he was about to leave he heard a deep groan, and turning round, saw Macgregor fall to the ground.

“You’re ill,” he cried, running to him and kneeling down.

“No—not ill, just a scratch from an arrow,” gasped the trader with an oath. “I believe the head’s stickin’ in my back.”

“Away, March,” cried Redhand, “we’ll look to this. Waller, out wi’ the fire, man; ye used to be more spry when—ah! too late, there they are, they’ve seen us.”

“Into the fort, boys!” cried Bounce, alluding to the breastwork, “we don’t need to care; with plenty o’ powder and lead, we can keep five thousand redskins off.”

March heard no more. Dashing up the glen at full speed, he disappeared from the spot, just as the distant yell of the savage host came floating upon the wings of the night air, apprising the trappers that their fire had been observed, and that they would have to fight manfully if they hoped to carry their scalps home with them.

In a few minutes the Indians drew near, and scattering themselves round the little entrenchment, began to discharge clouds of arrows at it, but, fortunately, without doing any damage. An inaccessible cliff protected their rear, and behind a projection of this the trappers’ horses were secured. The breastwork lay immediately in front.

Again and again the savages let fly their shafts, but without drawing any reply from the trappers, who kept close under cover and reserved their fire. This tempted their enemies to approach, and, when within short range, they seemed about to make a rush, supposing, no doubt, that the party concealed behind the breastwork must be Indians, since they did not use firearms. Just then Redhand gave a preconcerted signal; three sheets of flame spouted from their guns, and three of the foremost Indians fell dead from their horses.

With a terrible yell the others turned to fly, but before they had retreated a yard three more shots were fired with deadly effect. They now took shelter behind trees and rocks, and attempted to dislodge the trappers by discharging arrows into the air at such an angle that they should drop into their fortress. One or two endeavoured to ascend the steep cliff, but the instant an arm or a shoulder appeared, a ball from Redhand’s deadly rifle struck it, so the attempt was abandoned.

While this was going on, March Marston galloped to Dick’s cave, and startled poor Mary not a little by the abruptness of his entrance. But, to his mortification, Dick was not at home. It so chanced that that wild individual had taken it into his head to remain concealed in the woods near the spot where he had parted from his late guest, and had not only witnessed the meeting of March with his friends, but had seen the arrival of Macgregor, the subsequent departure of March in the direction of the cave, and the attack made by the Indians. When, therefore, the youth was speeding towards his cavern, the Wild Man (who was not sorry to see him go off on such an errand), was busily planning the best mode of attacking the enemy so as to render effectual aid to the trappers.

Observing that the Indians had clustered together at the foot of a rugged cliff, apparently for the purpose of holding a council of war, Dick made his way quickly to the summit of the cliff, and, leaving his charger on an eminence that sloped down towards the entrance of the valley, quickly and noiselessly carried several huge stones to the edge of the precipice, intending to throw them down on the heads of his foes. Just as he was about to do so, he observed an overhanging mass of rock, many tons in weight, which the frosts of winter had detached from the precipice. Placing his feet against this, and leaning his back against the solid rock, he exerted himself with all his might, like a second Samson. No human power could have moved such a rock, had it not been almost overbalanced; but, being so, Dick’s effort moved it. Again he strained, until the great veins seemed about to burst through the skin of his neck and forehead. Gradually the rock toppled and fell, and the Wild Man fell along with it.

In the agony of that moment he uttered a cry so terrible that it might well have been supposed to have come from the throat of a supernatural being. The Indians had not time to evade the danger. The ponderous mass in its descent hit a projecting crag, and burst into smaller fragments, which fell in a rattling shower, killing two men, and wounding others. Those of the group who escaped, as well as those who chanced to be beyond the danger, saw, by the dim moonlight, the Wild Man of the West descending, as it were, like a furious demon in the midst of the dire confusion of dust and rocks. They knew him well. It wanted but this to fill them to overflow with superstitious dread. They turned and fled. The trappers, although amazed beyond measure, and half suspecting who it was that had thus suddenly come to their aid, mounted their horses, and, leaping over their barricade, rushed down the valley in pursuit, firing a volley at starting, and loading as they rode at full speed. In his descent Dick made what might well be termed a miraculous escape. Near the foot of the cliff he went crashing through a thick bush, which broke his fall. Still he retained impetus sufficient to have seriously injured if not killed him, had he not alighted in the midst of another bush, which saved him so completely that he was not even hurt.

Dick could scarcely believe his own senses; but he was not a man given to indulge much wandering thought in times of action. Giving himself one shake, to make sure of his being actually sound in wind and limb, he bounded away up the precipice by a path with which he was well acquainted, reached his horse, flew by a short cut to the mouth of the valley, and, wheeling suddenly round, met the horrified Indians in the very teeth!

The roar with which he met them was compound in its nature, and altogether hideous! His mind was in a mingled condition of amazement and satisfaction at his escape, triumph at the success of his plan, and indignation at the cowardly wickedness of the savages. A rollicking species of mad pugnacity took possession of him, and the consequence was, that the sounds which issued from his leathern throat were positively inhuman.

The rushing mass of terror-stricken men, thus caught, as it were, between two fires, divided, in order to escape him. Dick was not sorry to observe this. He felt that the day was gained without further bloodshed. He knew that the superstitious dread in which he was held was a guarantee that the savages would not return; so, instead of turning with the trappers to join in the pursuit, he favoured them with a concluding and a peculiarly monstrous howl, and then rode quietly away by a circuitous route to his own cavern.

Thus he avoided March Marston, who, on finding that his friend Dick was out, had returned at full speed to aid his comrades, and arrived just in time to meet them returning, triumphant and panting, from their pursuit of the foe!

“Are they gone?” cried March in amazement.

“Ay, right slick away into the middle o’ nowhar,” replied Big Waller, laughing heartily. “Did ye iver hear such a roarer, comrades?”

“Have you licked ’em out an’ out?” continued the incredulous March, “Ay, out an’ out, an’ no mistake,” replied Bounce, dismounting.

“Well, that is lucky,” said March; “for my friend Dick I found was not—”

“Ah! we not have need him,” interrupted Gibault, wiping the perspiration from his forehead, “de Wild Man of de West hims come, an’—oh! you should see what hims have bin do!”

“The Wild Man again!” exclaimed March in dismay—“an’ me absent!”