Born to Wander Part 28

There were friendly tribes of Indians, it is true, but there were others who hated the white man with an implacable hatred. And this hatred, it is only right to add, was returned with interest. It is terrible to think that the red man was looked upon in those days as if the brand of Cain were carved on his brow, so that whoever should meet him should kill him; that he was hunted down even as the wild beasts were hunted, and that the war declared against him was one of extermination, one to the bitter end.

On the other hand, the cruelties practised by the Indians on their white brethren of the outlying districts, when they succeeded in capturing a station or fort, were such as one cannot read of without a shudder of horror and a feeling of anger as well.

But our heroes and their party, including Captain Blunt, five friendly Indians, and a trapper--a Yankee of the real old school and a thorough backwoodsman--had made the long journey in safety. The mules that had carried their packs were even now quietly feeding in a rude enclosure, near the log hut which had been a home to the party for months.

But although these wanderers did not fear danger, they knew it existed, and no sooner had they arrived in the woodland glen close by a beautiful river, than they proceeded to make their encampment as like a fort as they could. Strong were their arms to work, and willing were their hearts. To Leonard and Douglas there was something quite delightful in this new free, wild life of independence; fis.h.i.+ng by lonely streams, wandering through the still, quiet forests, or bearding the wild beasts in their favourite haunts. The very knowledge that hostile Indians might be encountered at any time only added a zest to their adventures.

But before they, entered into their sports with earnestness, they fortified the site they had chosen as a camp. The trees were cut down all round, and a complete rampart, with ditch and drawbridge, was erected.

When all was complete the sport began in earnest; but it was not sport for the simple sake of killing. No, for they slew and fished but to fill their larder, and lay up a wealth of skins, which would help to pay for this pleasant outing when they returned to the great city of New York. Thereupon bears and beavers became their especial prey, to say nothing of innumerable furry denizens of forest, hill, and river bank.

LIFE IN THE ROCKIES.

They had arrived at the Rockies in early summer, and long before the hot season was at its hottest, long before the time came when at midday hardly would you have heard a sound in the woods, except the singing of the river that went rippling over its pebbly bed, or tumbling in miniature cataracts over rocks, and falling into deep dark pools beneath, where dwelt the largest trout, and near which, mayhap, the beaver had his haunt--long before midsummer, they were so perfectly at home that they felt no wish to leave the lovely glen. Both Leonard and Douglas were of those who dearly love--

"--The haunts of Nature; Love the suns.h.i.+ne of the meadow, Love the shadow of the forest, Love the wind among the branches.

"And the rain-shower and the snowstorm, And the rus.h.i.+ng of great rivers, Through their palisades of pine trees, And the thunder in the mountains."

They loved Nature, and Nature seemed to love them, for even the wild birds appeared to sing to them,--

"In the moorlands and the fenlands, In the melancholy marshes,--"

While the wild flowers told their tales in a language that only poets understand, whispered to them of their loves and sorrows,--

"In green and silent valleys, By pleasant water-courses."

Among the deep, dark forest glens, in the canons, and in caves among the bush that clad the mountain sides, lived in those days bears--chiefly the grizzly and cinnamon bear--far more fierce than any that are now found in the same quarter. It has been said, and with a good deal of truth, that bears seldom attack a man. There are exceptions to all rules, as the following adventure will prove. It was a lovely day in August. Our wanderers had gone out in two parties, Captain Blunt, Douglas, and a few Indians being together, and Leonard with the Yankee trapper and one Indian by themselves. The sport for a time was _nil_.

It was the hottest hour of the day, and every creature was sheltering from the fierce sunlight. Hardly knowing or caring what he did or where he went, Leonard went straggling up a mountain side, studying the flowers and the strange pieces of ore that lay here and there in all directions.

He was in the act of picking up one of these last when a coughing noise in the bush close by made him start and stand at once to arms. There, not twenty yards from him, and rapidly advancing, was a huge grizzly.

Hardly had he time to bring his gun to the shoulder ere the monster prepared to spring. By Heaven's own mercy Leonard fired in time. The roar changed to a choking one, and the bear spat blood; he turned to fly, Leonard following fast behind him. He managed to fire again ere the brute headed away for a canon at some distance--fired, but in his hurry missed. All along down the hill, after reloading, he tracked the bear by his blood. And all along the gra.s.sy canon bottom till halfway up, where it was evident the grizzly had climbed to his cave.

It was foolhardy of him to follow, but he was excited, and in a minute more he was at the cave mouth. In the darkness he could see the angry gleam of the monster's eyes; and at these he took aim, and fired. He remembered the roar the bear gave, then all was a mist. He was found by the Yankee trapper lying insensible at the cliff foot, the bear dead beside him.

Leonard got small praise for this exploit.

"It ain't sport," the Yankee told him, "it's idiocy; there ain't another name for it. You've done it once, but I guess it isn't in you to do it again and live."

One other adventure is worth relating, but in this instance it was Douglas who had a narrow escape. The dogs, of which they had several, had chased and treed an immense cougar or puma. This is but another name for the American lion, now I fear all but extinct. Why he had run from the dogs is a mystery, but there he was standing almost erect on a branch, and looking proudly and defiantly down. Douglas's approach, gun in hand, however, was the signal for resistance. The brute crouched down and prepared to spring. Douglas knelt and prepared to fire. Bang went the gun. Down sprang the fierce and wounded puma. It would have been death indeed for Douglas had not the dogs tackled the animal. It was death for one of these faithful creatures, and others were terribly wounded. But the sportsman had time to load and fire again, and this time he made sure.

There were panthers in the woods as well, but none so large or fierce as the puma.

Killing antelopes, and various kinds of deer and elks, following the wild buffalo on the plains, hunting up the silent haunts of the turkeys, fis.h.i.+ng and grouse shooting--all helped to make the time fly fast away, and the summer seemed to pa.s.s all too quickly by. Not that it was always fine weather in these vast solitudes. No, far from it. Out on the plains, more than once they were overtaken by terrible sandstorms, while often and often a thunderstorm broke over the mountains of such awful sublimity, that even Captain Blunt was forced to own he had never heard such sounds before, never witnessed such blinding lightning.

Anon a wind of hurricane force would arise suddenly and go tearing through the woods, breaking off branches and hurling them high in air, and snapping the largest trees off in their centres, or rending them up by the roots; and if this storm was accompanied, as it often was, by rains, then the torrents that came roaring down from the mountain sides, bringing boulders and broken wood with them, would have appalled the stoutest heart to look upon them.

Then came on the sweet, soft Indian summer, the woods arrayed in all the glorious tints of the autumn, the sunsets mysterious in their very beauty, the air soft and balmy and bracing.

It was on one of these delightful days that the whole party, with the exception of Leonard--who was busy curing bird-skins--set out for a hunt for wild sheep across the plains.

THE BLIZZARD. A RACE FOR LIFE.

Towards evening they were quietly returning after a successful day, and were still on the plains, when, with an alarming suddenness, the sun and sky became obscured, and a cold, cutting wind began to blow. Both the trapper and Indians knew what was coming. The buffalo meat was cast away, left on the plain to feed the wolves, and on they dashed to reach the shelter of the canon ere the blizzard came down on them in all its terrible and blinding force. It got rapidly darker, and the snow was driven and whirled around them with the force of a hurricane. Both Douglas and Blunt fell many times, and but for the Indians could never have reached the shelter. They got to the canon at last, however, and by good luck into the very cave where Leonard had killed the bear.

Meanwhile all was darkness, and storm, and chaos without. Here they were, and here they must remain till morning.

INDIANS.

But how fared it with Leonard? His work being finished, towards evening he took his gun, and accompanied by a dog set out to meet his friends.

As usual with this student of nature, he was looking more at the ground than around him, till the quick, sharp ringing bark of his dog fell on his ear. Then he glanced upwards, and found himself face to face with Indians in their war-paint. They were Ojibbeways. On levelling his gun they retreated to a bush, and he made his way back towards the fort, a shower of arrows falling around him, and some piercing his clothes as he did so.

He speedily got up the drawbridge, and none too soon, for on came the savages.

But on came the blizzard. Down swept the storm, and the boldest Indian that ever trod could not face that fearful snow-gale.

All that night the storm raged. All that night Captain Blunt and his party s.h.i.+vered in their cave, while at the fort Leonard waited and watched.

Book 3--CHAPTER TWO.

FIGHTING WITH INDIANS.

"But yonder comes the powerful king of day Rejoicing in the east. The lessening cloud, The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow Illumed with gold, his near approach Betoken glad."

Thomson.

Scene: The fort in the Rocky Mountains. Morning breaking in the east.

Wind hushed. Captain Blunt and party making their way along the bottom of the canon, which in many places is deep in drifted snow.

Who can paint in words the beauty, the glory of a sunrise among the mountains? Why wish to be a poet--even a Longfellow?

Why wish to be even a Turner? for what artist that ever lived could sketch in colour the deep blue of yonder sky, or the great grey clouds that, even as we look change slowly to yellow and gold; or that strip of crimson, or the darkness of those pine trees outs.h.i.+ning from the blue uncertain horizon's haze?

Some such thoughts as these rushed through Leonard's mind as he stood on the ramparts of the little fort that had been to him and his friends a quiet romantic home for so many months. For those friends, though still absent, he somehow felt no anxiety. They were well armed, and if they met the hostile Indians, they could no doubt give a good account of them, if indeed the enemy should be brave enough to come to close quarters. But despite the tales of Cooper--who has managed to encircle the Red Man with a halo of romance--Leonard had been long enough in the woods to find out that just as the American novelist depended upon imagination for the facts embodied in his delightful stories, so the American Indian depends upon numbers for his courage. He is bold and daring enough when he is in strong force, and when sure of victory.

Then he will fight. I am not belying him.

When the party did arrive at the fort, they were much astonished at what Leonard had to tell them.

"And the blizzard sent them adrift, eh?" said Captain Blunt. "Well, it's an ill wind that blows n.o.body good."

"But they'll come back," said the trapper. "Gentlemen, they'll return, that's as sartain as sunrise."

The Indian guides thought the same.

So the drawbridge was kept up all day.

But night after night pa.s.sed by, and still there was no sign of the Ojibbeways. Our party got bolder, and went hunting as usual.

But one day a scout found an unmistakable trail, and they followed it up and up for many miles, till it led them to the top of a high hill. They did not show themselves over this, for far away in a green valley beneath they beheld an encampment; Indians on the warpath undoubtedly, with fleet, wild-looking horses hobbled near them, and a cooking fire smoking in their midst. There could not be less than fifty at the least. Well, the fort was well stocked to stand a siege. But a siege was _the_ one thing the party wanted to avoid. Pleasant as was this land in summer and autumn, no one of them wished to winter here. It was determined, therefore, to dispatch one of the Indian scouts for a.s.sistance to his tribe. It would be a terrible adventure, to journey all alone over hill and dale and prairie land in an enemy's country, but the promise of a reward was sufficient to make several volunteer.