Dusty Star Part 10

Dusty Star was fully alive to the danger. But he knew that a still greater danger was coming on behind. He pressed himself against the rock at his back, in order to make the most of the few steps possible for a run, drew a deep breath, and then took a flying leap over the chasm. He heard the dull roar of the water, he saw the yawning blackness below, and then found himself clinging for dear life to the roots of a stone pine on the opposite bank.

He pulled himself into safety, and looked back, expecting to see Kiopo follow him at once; but Kiopo did not move.

"Kiopo!" he called. "Kiopo!"

The wolf never turned his head. Dusty Star looked nervously back along the gorge. A few moments afterwards the figure of an Indian came quickly around the turn. Rigid as the rock against which he crouched, Kiopo never stirred. Dusty Star watched with breathless excitement. He knew that the wolf's stillness meant deadly danger to the unconscious Indian.

The latter came quickly on. In the intense silence the soft padding of his deer-skin moccasins was plainly audible.

From where Dusty Star crouched, he was invisible to the Indian. So also was Kiopo hidden by the rock. The boy saw at a glance that the man was not of his own people, but belonged to the dreaded Yellow Dogs. Now the Indian had almost reached the rocks. Dusty Star saw Kiopo's powerful haunches quiver, and held his breath.

The next instant he saw the wolf's great body hurl itself through the air.

Quick as lightning, the Indian leaped aside. Kiopo's terrible fangs missed his throat by a finger's breadth. In a flash, the Indian's tomahawk was out. Kiopo did not wait, and cleared the chasm with a bound.

And now Dusty Star could see that several more Indians were coming down the ledge. When they reached the spot where Kiopo had launched his attack they stopped and examined the opposite bank carefully. Like Dusty Star, Kiopo had drawn himself out of sight, among the thick ma.s.s of brambles, and creepers.

The Indian who had been attacked could be seen pointing out to his companions the exact point at which the wolf had disappeared. Dusty Star watched them with a terrible fear growing moment by moment. If their pursuers succeeded in making the crossing, he and Kiopo were only two against five. At present, they were in a sort of rude cave formed by the roots of the pine and screened by the hanging foliage; but in order to continue their flight, it would be necessary to come out full in view of their enemies and risk exposure to their deadly arrows.

They had not long to wait in suspense. They saw one of the Indians prepare to take the leap.

Close against his side, Dusty Star could feel Kiopo's body s.h.i.+vering with excitement.

Through the opening in the leaves, he saw an Indian lean back against the rock as he himself had done in preparation for the spring. The next instant Kiopo dashed through the opening with a snarl of fury.

Dusty Star saw him meet the Indian at the moment his feet touched the rock. The body of the wolf and the man seemed to sway together for one agonized moment on the very brink of the precipice. Then there was a ringing scream, and both disappeared from view over the edge of the abyss.

CHAPTER XV

THE TAKING OF DUSTY STAR

For the first few moments after this awful event, Dusty Star was too terrified to do anything but crouch where he was. Through the opening he could see the Indians gesticulating wildly on the other side of the chasm, as they gazed down into the gorge. Then they disappeared, and peering out from behind the foliage, he saw that they were retreating rapidly along the ledge.

He waited a little to allow them to get out of sight; then cautiously climbed down from his hiding place, and, lowering himself by the pine-tree's roots till he hung over the very edge of the precipice, looked down, dreading what he might see.

What he saw, was only a ma.s.s of shadowy boulders, far below, with the wreck of a pine-tree fallen across the creek. Not a sign of Kiopo, or of his victim! He listened intently. He heard the hollow wash of waters, rising and falling in a m.u.f.fled roar, as the flow of the air rushed through the neck of the gorge. There was no other sound.

It was not possible to climb down at this point. Even if it had been, he dreaded lest the Indians might be there before him. Nevertheless he could not bear to remain in uncertainty as to what had been the fate of Kiopo, who had so n.o.bly defended his life at the risk of his own. He felt that, at all costs, he must find his way down to the depths of that terrible gorge.

To do this, owing to the necessity of travelling back along the ravine, took him so long that darkness had fallen before he would reach a place where the descent would be possible. After wandering about for some time, he became completely lost, and it was not till the morning of the following day that he was at length able to make his way back to the camp.

During all his wanderings, he was comforted by a vague hope that Kiopo might, after all, have miraculously escaped with his life, and have reached the camp before him. But when he came in sight of the familiar landmarks, and arrived at last to find the place wholly deserted, a terrible loneliness settled down upon him. The night pa.s.sed, and the following day. Still there was no sign of Kiopo. Dusty Star did not like to leave the camp, in case the wolf should return in his absence and not find him there to welcome him. He kept hoping against hope that the worst had not happened. The thought that Kiopo was killed, that he had seen his faithful companion for the last time, was unthinkable. Kiopo _must_ come back! He had told himself that he had been injured in the fall from the precipice, and was in hiding somewhere till his wounds should heal; Or that he had lost his way, and was wandering in the forest; Or, being hungry, that he had followed the trail of some far-travelling buck, and would not return till he had gorged himself with his kill! Any of these things! But not that other unthinkable thing, in the black throat of the gorge!

And all round the little valley that now seemed so deserted, the forest stood gigantically silent, as if it _knew_.

Not far from the camp, grew an immense hemlock. Over its dusky summit a thousand moons had waxed and waned. The shadow of its boughs was the darkness that had followed the dead moons. Several times, Dusty Star had seen Kiopo re-appear from its gloomy shade after he had been away on some of his long hunting expeditions. Now, he found himself continually turning his anxious gaze in its direction.

Suddenly, as he looked, he thought he saw something move. He was not sure. The s.p.a.ce under the tree was very dark. Anything might crouch there and be invisible, even at high noon. What was it?--animal or human? He could not tell. The great old tree looked as if it had known no motion within the circle of its shade for a thousand years. Yet Dusty Star was not to be deceived. He _knew_ that he had seen!

Yet for all his looking at the tree, he saw nothing more. The movement, whatever had made it, had been very slight. He would have thought nothing was there if it had not been for the instinct which continual dwelling among the wild creatures had developed in him: _he felt he was being watched_.

For some time, he could not make up his mind what to do. He knew that his smallest movement would not escape the unseen watcher. As the time went on, the suspense became unbearable. He felt he must do something definite. Gathering all his courage, he advanced deliberately towards the tree.

Except his hunting knife, he carried no weapon. But Dusty Star was no coward. Even though his heart was pounding, and his body tingling, he did not falter. Without pausing for an instant, he stooped beneath the sweepings boughs, gripping his knife.

To his astonishment, there was nothing to be seen. He went round the trunk to the farther side and gazed up into the overhanging gloom.

Still, nothing! He examined the ground all about with the minutest care.

Whatever had lurked there a minute before had left small trace of its presence yet slight though the traces were, he detected them. _Something had been there._

He remained where he was for a long time. He preferred to be the eyes under the tree rather than allow the tree to get eyes again so that it might keep watch on _him_!

He was so very still that a couple of wood-mice went running over his moccasins, and a little black-and-white woodp.e.c.k.e.r ran up and down the trunk, searching for insects almost within reach of his hand. But these things belonged to the ordinary happenings of the forest. There was neither sight nor sound which gave him any reason to think that the thing which had watched under the hemlock was still lurking in the neighbourhood.

After a while he felt he could not stay any longer in the gloom. As he stepped out into the warm current of air, he had a sense of intense relief. Yet he did not wish to continue his watch from the camp, because of its nearness to the hemlock, lest there should steal back into its blind gloom the eyes that made it see.

So he climbed through the scrub up the mountain-side till he came out upon a gra.s.sy slope, two hundred feet above the camp.

He was above the tops of the sombre spruce woods now. The slanting sunbeams touched their summits into bronze and ruddy gold. Yet always, beneath the gold,--as Dusty Star well knew--lay the heavy green silence that never stirred even at noon, where the furtive feet padded softly over the brown fir-needles, and the furtive eyes glimmered in the gloom.

In the valley beneath nothing moved. From a thousand miles of forest and mountain the silence seemed to be oozing into it, filling it to the brim. And at his back, rose Carboona. From all its gorges, precipices and barrens there came not a single sound. The vast world of the afternoon seemed heavily asleep. Worn out with all his watching, Dusty Star also slept.

When he awoke, the last ray of sunlight had left the eastern peaks. At his feet the camp lay in deep shadow.

Ah, why did not the Spirit of the Wild Places come to him now, and tell him not to go down? At various times already during the life the Spirit had warned him, he didn't know how. There had been no distinct shape, nor any sound. But the same mysterious warning, that tells moose and caribou when danger threatens, had come to him also, and he had turned aside, or taken another trail. And so, whatever the unknown peril was, it had been escaped. Yet now, even though he needed it as never before, the warning did not come. But perhaps the Spirit had gone upon a long trail, and had not yet returned? Or perhaps it had considered the experience of the hemlock sufficient. Whatever was the reason, nothing warned him now as he went into the shadow of the trees.

Dusty Star's mind was filled with one thought--the wild hope that Kiopo might have returned: but when he reached the camp the place was empty, and everything desolate as before.

He gave a long look up and down the valley into the fast-falling night, and his heart sank. The forest was very dark now. The hemlock was inky black. He went to bed with a heavy heart.

He slept uneasily, waking from time to time; but it was only to hear the solemn cry of a horned owl sitting on some dead limb, or rampike; or the long, wailing laughter of a loon from the water-meadows to the south.

And once, far off in Carboona, he heard the hunting-call of a wolf. Even at that remote distance he knew it was not Kiopo's deep-toned, vibrating bellow.

He was fast asleep when the wolf-call came again. As it rang faintly out, a shadowy form, gliding from under the hemlock, paused to listen.

When, receiving no answer, it had died away, the form moved stealthily on.

Dusty Star woke with a start. He knew that something had disturbed him, but could not tell what it was. He listened intently. Over the valley he heard the notes of a pair of night-hawks swooping down from the hill; and between the stones, the stream went with a wandering murmur. That was all.

He lifted himself on his elbow, and looked towards the doorway. A silvery glimmer showed that the moon had not yet set. As he looked out; a man's shape darkened the entrance of the hut.

Dusty Star held his breath. In the absolute stillness, he could hear his heart thump against his ribs.

The man entered the hut. Instantly Dusty Star sprang for the opening. As he did so, he felt arms thrown round him. He struggled frantically, but, in that strong Indian grasp, he was powerless, and the next moment he was dragged mercilessly outside the hut.

Half-a-dozen Indians immediately surrounded him; but not a word was spoken. While two of them held him, a third pa.s.sed a deer-skin thong round his chest, fastening it securely under his arms.