1 The Hidden Village

The snows of the great winter were melting and streams of water were rushing down the steep sides of the mountains, but the air in the valley where the little Indian village lay was yet raw and cold. The wind out of the far north had a sharp edge from the fields of ice over which it blew, and the four who stood by the stream drew closely about their bodies the heavy cloaks of buffalo fur that draped them from shoulder to heel. They wore also high moccasins of the tanned hide of the moose, leggings and hunting shirts of deer-skin, and round beaver caps with flaps for the ears. They needed warm clothing and plenty of it in the long period of fierce cold, through which they had passed.

The setting for the human figures was wild and primitive to the uttermost. Here time had turned back, and the world in its present aspect was like the last days of the glacial age. The narrow river was filled with huge cakes of floating ice, which now and then, banking up against some jutting point of earth, groaned and slithered and fought together, until they broke away, and were carried off by the rushing current. The peaks and ridges, rising to tremendous heights, were still clothed in snow, which gleamed so brilliantly under the great sun that the eye, after a few moments, turned away for rest.

“When you look up,” said Will Clarke, “you see no signs of spring, but when you look down the broken ice in the river tells you it’s at hand.”

“It is so, Waditaka,” said old Inmutanka. “The wind is cold, but it is not as cold as it has been for many months. You can hear, too, the fall of the melting snow on the mountains. It plunges down in great masses. Listen!”

Will removed the flaps from his ears, and then a distant crash like the roar of a remote battle came to him. He knew it was the sound of an avalanche, and, by its token, all the slopes and crests would be bare in time, save for the evergreens. He was glad. He wished to see the tender grass and young flowers peeping up anew, and he was eager to roam with the warriors over wide spaces. The tremendous winter had bound him in chains of iron, but now he felt that the links were about to be broken and soon he would be free.

The singular circumstances of his captivity, its remoteness, the primeval character of the village, and the high place of honor won by him with his captors, had made an extraordinary change in young Will Clarke. His nature was plastic and adaptable far beyond the common. He was essentially a creation of atmosphere, taking the color and texture of his mind from the things around him, as the waters of a lake are dyed by the skies that bend above them.

His own white world had moved far away. The figures of Boyd and Brady and the Little Giant had become dimmed. The object of his search, the great expedition that had brought him into the west, was only a vague thought now and then. He still carried the map left by his father, but the subject of gold was seldom in his mind. He was engrossed in the struggle for existence with people who at first had seemed strange and savage but who, in the battle against terrific winter and mighty beasts, had grown into the truest of comrades. He had a genuine affection for his foster father, Inmutanka, and Pehansan and Roka were, in every sense of the word, brothers of his in arms and the chase.

It was another singular fact that his appearance had altered, so powerful are the effects of propinquity and thought. He was tanned almost as dark as the Indians about him. He had grown taller and thinner, though more powerful. His cheek bones seemed higher and his eyes more oblique. He habitually spoke the Sioux tongue with an accent as perfect as that of Pehansan or Roka, and even to the skilled observer he would have passed as a native of the little tribe with which he lived. But the greatest proof of his transformation was that he not only looked, talked and acted as the Sioux, but thought as they did.

“How long will it be, Inmutanka,” he asked, “before the barriers are broken down enough for us to leave the valley?”

“Two weeks more and we may go if we wish,” replied the Indian. “Old as I am, I feel the sap already rising in my veins, and as for you three who are young, you will be like the great bears breaking from their winter dens.”

“I suppose we’ll go back to the south and the warriors of the village will join the forces of Mahpeyalute?”

Inmutanka shrugged his shoulders.

“I cannot tell,” he replied. “Xingudan has not talked with me about it, and, as you know, there are not many among us who are fit to take the great war trail. It may be that Heraka will speak ill of us when he hears we have disobeyed his wishes about you, and then it would be wiser for us to stay in the north. As we stand now we are a lost village, separated by vast distances from the Sioux tribes and we may go where we please.”

“But I think it likely though that it will please Xingudan to return and join the main tribe to which we belong,” said Will.

Inmutanka and Roka exchanged glances, a fact that did not escape the notice of Will, as he had learned from his Sioux comrades to be watchful always and to observe everything. But he had also learned to ask few questions, to keep his own counsel and to be silent. He seemed not to see.

“It may be that we will not retrace our trail,” said Inmutanka. “The spirit of look and see, old though he be, fills the soul of Xingudan.”

“Look and see?”

“Yes, Waditaka, my son, to find new countries and to behold the wonders that are in them. The white men have roamed about the world seeking new rivers, lakes and mountains, but the Sioux also have ridden over the plains and amongst the great ranges, always with their eyes open to fresh wonders.”

“I know it, Inmutanka. Before I came among you I saw only with the eyes of my own people, but now I see as well or better with yours.”

A pleased smile passed over the face of the old Indian.

“We will go back to the village,” he said, “and we will wait until Xingudan, in his own good time, tells us which way to take. We are not many and most of us are very old or very young, but we are strong and well. Though the great winter shut us in we have not suffered.”

They walked slowly down the stream. Will’s breath made a light smoke before him, but he had become so thoroughly inured to cold that the sharp wind merely whipped his blood, and the signs of spring that he had seen filled him with an exhilaration both physical and mental. He was warm, there was abundant food in the village, life was varied and what more could be asked by a youth who had returned to the primitive time?

They entered one of the deeper recesses of the valley, where the overhanging cliffs with their thick array of spruce and pine formed much shelter, and many joyous neighs and whinnies welcomed Will, the foremost ranks of the ponies crowding forward to nuzzle his hands and to show their affection. The three Sioux glanced at one another. Waditaka’s power with horses was always a source of wonder and admiration with them, and it was due mainly to his advice and control that these invaluable animals had gone so well through such a fierce winter. They had stored much forage for them, and often they had been compelled to fight the great bears and panthers and the terrible mountain wolves, when, driven by hunger, they had come to attack the herd. More than one night they had kept fires burning and warriors on watch all about the little lateral valley that they had converted into a stockade.

“The young grass will be appearing soon,” said Will, “and then we’ll lead them out where they can graze. They’ll enjoy it after being so long a period in what must have been prison to them.”

“The sap rises in them as it rises in us,” said old Inmutanka gravely, “and they will be glad to gallop away on the work for which they are fitted. As you know, Waditaka, many of these are buffalo ponies, trained splendidly and always eager for the pursuit of the vast herds.”

Young Clarke’s eyes glistened.

“Since we can’t turn south into the mountains,” he said, “and I begin to believe our elders think it unwise to choose that way, it will, perhaps, be better to go east into the great plains and hunt the buffalo. They’re plentiful, even in the extreme north, are they not, Inmutanka?”

“Aye, Waditaka,” replied the old Sioux. “They roam far up in the land that you call Canada, even to the vast lakes in the uttermost north, beyond any point to which we have gone, and wherever the herds go the Sioux can live.”

Will’s face was illumined and he caught his breath. He shut his eyes for a moment or two and he beheld a wonderful prospect of vast green plains, illimitable forests, huge lakes, and miles of shaggy buffalo trailing on forever and disappearing continually under the dim horizon in the north. On their flank rode the Indian horsemen and one could go on that way for a whole life, finding new scenes and never tiring.

Old Inmutanka, who was watching him, saw his ecstatic state and he was satisfied. He had lived long, he was extremely shrewd, and he was very fond of this adopted son of his. He knew Will better than Will knew himself, and he played steadily to the wild instincts in the lad, instincts which were likely to keep him with the village, and which, if allowed to arrive at full bloom, would make him as much of a nomad as any of the Sioux themselves.

“The melting of the snow is not likely to be continuous,” said Roka. “There will be pauses, checks, and other freezes. Spring will not come at once, though it is on the way, and perhaps before the village moves Xingudan will send out an expedition which will both hunt and explore.”

“If so,” exclaimed Will, eagerly, “I hope I shall be one of the party! I think it’s my right to go forth with those chosen!”

“Fear not, O Waditaka,” laughed Inmutanka. “For such a duty our wise chief would select strong and enduring youth, and you are such.”

They left the horses and continued toward the village, the smoke of which rose sharp and clear against the frosty blue sky. It consisted of only a few lodges, containing mostly the very old and the very young, and yet it was to Will the center of a world, offering all the variety of primitive life and holding the sum of his present interests.

Xingudan met them and all of them greeted him with respect. Will reflected what a wonderful man the old chief was. He was clothed in furs, he was wrinkled and withered, his age the lad did not know, though he was sure it was near eighty, but he was erect, his muscles were still tough and elastic, his mind had the calm and judgment of age, with the receptivity of youth, and there was not a brighter eye in all the village.

“We have been watching the signs of spring, Xingudan,” said Inmutanka. “Roka, Pehansan and Waditaka, who have young bones, feel that we will be moving soon.”

“But they do not know which way we will go, though they would like to find out,” said the old chief, an enigmatic smile twinkling a moment in his eye. “Wait, my children, until the ice breaks up a little more and the snow melts down a little farther, and then all will be known. Patience is what our people always need most, and I am sure you have it.”

“Your words are wise as always, O, Xingudan,” said Inmutanka, “but my son, Waditaka, has one request to make.”

“What is it? He is a good lad, and if it be within reason, it is granted, of course.”

“If any expedition to hunt and explore be sent forth he wishes to be a member of it.”

Old Xingudan smiled again.

“It would not be a good band unless it had Waditaka with it,” he said.

Young Clarke felt a glow. It was the highest praise he had yet had from the venerable leader, whom he had begun by regarding as an enemy, and whom he now respected and liked.

“Thank you, Xingudan,” he said. “It’s an honor and I take it as such.”

“And when you are out of the valley,” said the chief, “you will not leave the other young men and begin a flight on your snow shoes to the people who were once your own? The temptation perhaps will be great. You will have but a thousand miles or two to go. You will have only about a hundred mountain ranges that pierce the sky to cross. You will have snow and ice upon which to travel for but a year, perhaps, and you will not have to pass the cordon of more than twenty tribes who are hostile to you and who would kill you at once or give you to a lingering death.”

Xingudan’s tone was dry and there was no twinkle in his eye. Will accepted his words as fact and replied in like vein.

“No, Xingudan, I will not leave the band. Since I’m to go with it I’ll betray no trust. Some day it’s likely I shall escape, but not now. I know too well the vast distances and dangers lying between me and my own people, and for the present I’ll make no effort to disturb my good situation.”

“The longer Waditaka lives with us the wiser he grows,” said the old chief. “Inmutanka has taught him the beginnings of wisdom, and some day he may learn enough to become a great warrior.”

Will saluted respectfully and with his comrades went into the village, where a scene of primitive but none the less happy life was in progress. All the snow within the circle of the lodges had been melted by the fires, many of which were burning brightly, and the earth there was dry. Some of the women were scraping hides pegged to the ground, and others were jerking the flesh of bears or the wood bison. The children, too small to work or to join in the fishing or trapping, were playing their own forest games. Food of many kinds was broiling or frying over the coals, and pleasant odors permeated the air. Old men were bending new bows or making arrows.

It was a successful and happy village of ten thousand years ago, with an abundance of warmth and food, nearly everything for which the primeval man fought. There were rifles and some ammunition in the village, but they were not used now, being held in reserve, and even the blankets bought from the white man were laid away, their places taken by buffalo robes. Nothing modern was visible. In Will’s mind, impressionable and filled with the dim visions of the past, the transformation was complete. They had really gone back ten thousand years, and he was one with those for whom the wheel of time had been reversed.

Thus it was that the sight of the village with its peace and plenty gave him great pleasure. He knew every man, woman and child in it, and understood all their variations of character and temperament. He had done some helpful deed for nearly every one of them, and he had been particularly kind to the old and almost helpless, who, in savage lands, usually fare so ill. So, his heart grew warm at the reception they gave him. In an Indian village when it was well supplied and safe from attack, as he had learned long before, life was light and careless. There was invariably much talk and chatter, and the young roamed about from lodge to lodge, playing games.

A favored place by one of the fires was made for Will, Pehansan and Roka. They were brave warriors and mighty hunters. They had won especial glory in the fight with the great carnivora that had come down from the north, and the people of the hidden village never forgot it. An old woman brought Will a tender piece of venison she had just broiled, his comrades were treated as well, and warmed by the bed of glowing coals, he ate and was satisfied. Meanwhile the life of the little community passed about him. The old went on with the household tasks now allotted to them, a warrior came in with the body of a deer that he had just slain, another brought the skin of a lynx taken in a trap, two boys proudly bore a burden of fish they had caught in the little river, and Will, with keen, roving eyes that quested continually like those of an Indian, noted everything.

As a warrior and hunter he was not bound to do anything except in the two pursuits to which he devoted his energies, yet enough of his white nature still clung to him to make him the champion and helper of the weak. He brought wood for a bent old man who was tending one of the fires, gave a woman aid in setting up a tepee, and an hour later was in the lodge that had been occupied throughout the winter by Inmutanka and himself.

The Doctor, as Will often called him, had advanced ideas and their home was easily the finest and most comfortable in the village. The two had lavished much work upon it. Several layers of bark made a floor impervious to damp, and heavy buffalo robes, soft and warm, were spread over the bark like a carpet. Will’s rifle, never used by him now, rested on hooks, and the few remaining cartridges were hidden carefully away for some great emergency. He relied wholly upon primitive weapons. His splendid bow of horn hung near the rifle and he had three others of wood that he had made for himself, while at least a dozen quivers were filled with arrows. He also had lance and war club, and he had learned to handle them with skill.

Weapons were not the only furniture of the lodge. There were spare garments of buckskin, heavy overcoats of buffalo hide, caps of fur and long snow shoes. In the center, where they had made a hearth of stone, a low fire burned and threw out a grateful heat. It is doubtful whether in all the vast northwest there was a lodge better equipped for the use and comfort of those who fitted into the wild.

Will regarded it all a few moments with a pleased eye, and then lay down upon his own particular couch of furs, a bed that would have been too costly in civilization for many a rich man to buy. His thoughts moved aimlessly over a wide region but they never once turned upon the lost treasure that had brought him into the west. Instead, they wandered most about the problems that lay before the village. If the people moved farther into the north and then went down into the plains what fate lay before them? He knew that Indians were perpetually at war with one another. It was not true that the white man had introduced battle into the New World. Tribes had been exterminated by tribes long before Columbus set foot on San Salvador.

It was likely that the little band of Xingudan would be attacked as interlopers by the warriors of the north, and Will set his teeth firmly. They were his people now, and he would fight for them to the uttermost. He wished that he had a great supply of cartridges, and perhaps he might obtain them in time from some wandering trader, but there was the mighty war bow of horn, and with it in his hands, he was now one of the best marksmen in the village.

Although he expected war with hostile tribes when the village moved, he did not feel fear. War was the natural state of the primeval man. It arose over disputed hunting grounds, rivalry or the suspicion with which one group of people in an earlier world always regarded another. Strangers as a matter of course were considered enemies. It would have surprised Will had he known how much of this feeling he had absorbed.

While he lay on his bed of costly furs and permitted his thoughts to ramble without sequence, the twilight came, and the wind from the high mountains grew colder. The work outside by the fires ceased, and old and young went to their lodges. Inmutanka entered and carefully closed the flap of buffalo robe over the narrow doorway. The light from the little fire on the hearth was sufficient for his eyes and Will’s which had become inured to dusk.

“I have talked with Xingudan,” the old man said, “and it is settled. In two days ten hunters, all young and strong, go forth on their snow shoes to explore. As you know, you, Pehansan and Roka are to be among them. You will go north and east until you reach the vast plains, and then, coming back, you will report to us what hunting grounds we may enter. It is a great trust and like most great deeds it must be done through hardship and danger.”

“I am eager to go,” said Will, “and I thank you and Xingudan for sending me. I’ve no doubt we’ll find the finest hunting grounds in the world for the village, and that all of us will come back safely.”

“I think so too, Waditaka. The hunting grounds we must have. Ours are not really mountain people. When the warm weather comes all of us will grow very restless and will crave the plains. Our warriors are happiest when they ride to the thunder of the buffalo herd. That is why we have kept the ponies. Nothing could hold us in the mountains when the spring is here.”

The flicker from the low fire among the coals was reflected in Will’s eyes. His spirit lifted up at the thought of the vast herd and the swift horsemen on its flanks.

“I’ve never been a real buffalo hunter yet, Inmutanka,” he said, “but I’d like to try it. I know I’ve a lot to learn, but I believe that in time I could ride with the best.”

The old Doctor looked into the coals. He was a shrewd man. He had not lived seventy years in the wild for nothing. He was a consummate judge of character, and he did not wish this adopted son of his to leave the people who had taken him unto themselves.

“Life offers no greater thrill,” he said, in the expressive Sioux tongue. “It is the first of all exploits to ride your horse up by the side of the mighty and charging buffalo bull and send your arrows into the game. It needs a steady hand, a true eye, and courage, always courage. Some are never able to achieve it, but one is not truly a warrior until he has done so. Moreover, it is in accord with the wishes of Manitou, who has sent the buffalo to the Sioux that by him we may live.”

The flicker in the eyes of the lad became a flame, and old Inmutanka, from under his lowered lids, observed it.

“We are never tied to one place,” he resumed. “As the buffalo travels far, so travel we. Our home is thousands of miles east and west and north and south. We grow tired of nothing, because change is always before us. If, for a while, we do not wish to follow the buffalo, we turn into the high mountains and trap the beaver. We risk our lives against the mightiest of beasts, the grizzly bear, and we slay the panther. Then, when the mountains weary us, we go back to the plains, and the buffalo is always there.”

“I must surely take part some day in a great buffalo hunt with Pehansan, Roka and the others.”

“You will have your chance, and you can choose the best of the ponies as your own. They all like Waditaka, who has the great gift with horses, and any one of them will obey his hand and voice.”

Long the wise old Doctor talked of the chase and wild life, deepening the colors, softening the hardships, and painting a picture that glowed with fire and life for Will.

The lad presently closed his eyes and listened to the soft, musical tones of Inmutanka, as he talked on and on, describing the freest and most glorious life that human beings had ever lived. Soon he slept and the old Sioux, laying a buffalo robe over him, sat long by the remains of the fire. The tie of adoption among the Indians was as strong as that of blood, and Inmutanka did not wish to lose the son, who had been such a good son to him. He was satisfied with the evening’s work, but he did not care to sleep. Instead, he listened to the rising wind as it whistled among the lodges, and he resolved that he, too, when the spring came again, should feel once more the thrill of the buffalo hunt. He had been speaking the truth, as he saw it, when he said it was the greatest of all thrills, and there was yet much vigor in his old frame. It was nearly dawn when he lay down on his own couch and drew the furs over his body.

The thaw was not resumed the next day, and the snow in the valley was firm enough to sustain snowshoes. They revised their calculations and decided that spring would be weeks in coming, but it was evident to the elders that the zenith of winter had passed and now was the time for the strongest and most daring to go forth and see what lay before them. So, the preparations for the journey of the ten were hastened. Will looked with sedulous care to his snow shoes, the use of which he had learned with pain and weariness, took down several times the rifle that Xingudan had returned to him, but at last put it back permanently, because one must not take too great a burden on his travels, though he did thrust into his belt his fine revolver and a small supply of cartridges for it. His chief weapon was to be his great bow of horn, and the large quiver of arrows. The others were armed in a somewhat similar manner, although he was the only one to carry any kind of firearm. Besides their arms they carried bags of pemmican, food in a light and sustaining form, which they expected to use only when their hunting failed.

Roka, the oldest, was to command by virtue of experience, and the ten men were to stand by one another through every form of hardship and danger, an injunction, however, that was scarcely needed, as among people situated in such fashion the principle that in union is strength had been learned long since. Yet Xingudan, as became a wise old chief, spoke briefly to them when they were ready for departure. He told them in terse Sioux that doubtless they carried with them the fate of all the village. They must be quick of eye and ready of hand, but neither eye nor hand would avail, if not directed by mind. Ten warriors must also be ten thinkers, else having seen much they might return and be able to tell nothing.

The ten listened gravely, taking his words much to heart, and the entire population of the village standing by uttered a deep murmur of approval. Then with brief farewells they sped away, the eyes of the two old men, Xingudan and Inmutanka, following them until they disappeared down the gorge.

Will felt some sadness at leaving his foster father and his friends, but it was soon blown away by the wind which their own speed made. The young blood rose in a tide in his veins. He was going to see the world and to share in great adventure. Roka led, Pehansan followed, Will came next and the rest followed, all in single file.

When they emerged from the valley they turned toward the north, seeking an outlet between the great ridges and peaks, passing nearly all the time through narrow defiles which the sun entered only in dim fashion. In these deep passes the snow was hard, not having melted at all, and they were able to maintain good speed, but after a while Roka began to lead more slowly. The first great burst of physical enthusiasm was over, and he was wise enough to nurse the spirit of his men and let it come back again.

At noon he halted in a small valley, and, since time had no particular value for them, they took off their snowshoes, scraped away the snow, built a fire and luxuriated. The mountains were full of running streams and little lakes, and Will and Pehansan, breaking the ice in one of the latter less than a quarter of a mile away, and letting down their lines, caught several large fish resembling pickerel.

The fish were delicate in flavor and the ten made their dinner of them, saving the pemmican, as they had intended. While they shared the food and refreshed themselves, the wind roared far above their heads, sweeping from peak to peak and from ridge to ridge, but the valley in which they lay was so deep that the air there scarcely stirred. The valley itself was sown with evergreens of tremendous size and height, but there were few bushes and vines.

Will noted the gigantic growth of the trees with great interest, and he surmised from the fact that the moisture from the Pacific Ocean reached all these slopes and gorges. A great fall of rain made for immensity, and he believed that the wild animals would be on a scale corresponding with the trees. The gigantic carnivora that had attacked the village in the winter were a proof of it, and his heart beat a little faster when he foresaw that they might meet again the great bears of the north. The huge timber wolves, too, beyond a doubt, would be abroad, and while one, alone, might fall a victim to them he felt no fear with this skillful and valiant band about him.

It was a full two hours before they put on the snow shoes and resumed a northward journey in the pass, the ground now rising but the mountains on either side seeming as high above them as ever. The trees were of undiminished size and their domed crests coming together protected them from the wind, the effect being that of continuous travel under a roof of great height. When the first gray of twilight came Roka stopped, the others stopping automatically with him, and the wise warrior surveyed the country.

“In the last mile,” he said, “the ground has been rising much faster. If we pressed on, night perhaps would find us at a much greater elevation, with the cold very severe. Doubtless it would be better to make our camp soon. What say you, Pehansan?”

“If we can find a good place,” replied the tall warrior. “The night is going to be very cold, and if our hearts are to remain happy within us we will need a big fire.”

“Pehansan speaks the truth,” said Roka. “It is likely that a lofty pass is before us, and, if we ascended too much, no forest might be there to shelter us. We will not go on more than a half hour.”

Will listened to them, but said nothing. He was all for the camp. His ankles were beginning to feel again the strain of the snowshoes, and they had no need of haste. Within the appointed time they found a recess in the side of the pass, clothed about so closely with great trees that it was sheltered from the wind. There by a pool, covered with thick ice, they built their second fire, and built it high.

Will believed that human beings had never been in the recess before, but Roka posted a guard as a sure watch against wild animals and wilder men. There were to be relays of two sentinels each, and Will, not being in the first relay, wrapped himself in his buffalo robe and lay down before their noble fire. His eyes were drooping and the flames were a red blur before him, but he heard the crackling of the wood, the roaring of the wind in the lofty tree tops, and a faint lonesome note which he took to be the howl of wolves. Then he fell asleep.

His own watch came about midnight and his comrade in it was a young warrior named Inmu, which in the Sioux tongue meant the Lynx. The fire had died down and it was hard to come out of the warm buffalo robe, but he never hesitated, and he and Inmu, a brave and good friend of his, walked back and forth with their bows in their hands and their quivers over their shoulders. Will heard gain the distant note which he had taken to be the howling of wolves, but it seemed to be a little nearer now.

“Think you they will attack us?” he asked of Inmu.

“We are too many,” replied the young Dakota, as they called themselves in their own language. “There are ten of us, and it may be that the wolves, who are the wisest of all animals, can count as far as ten. Do you believe, Waditaka, that a great mountain wolf can count?”

“I don’t know, Inmu. Before I was adopted into your tribe I certainly did not think so, but now I’m not so sure. Mountains and the wilderness change one’s opinions.”

“I asked you to hear what you would say, Waditaka. As for myself, I know that king wolves can count. You can hear the howls of four or five now, and the one louder than the rest is the voice of the king wolf. When he comes and sees between the trees he will know exactly how many of us are here, and you can believe what I tell you.”

Will believed him, at least at the time. The wolves were approaching, and the single voice that rose over the others was a wail at once mournful and full of ferocity. Will shuddered. The howl of a wolf on a cold, dark night always gave him a feeling of loneliness and desolation. He glanced at the eight sleeping figures by the low fire, and he was glad that such brave comrades were so near. He looked at Inmu and he was glad that such a fine young spirit stood beside him, one with whom he could talk, one who would assist to banish the feeling that oppressed him.

“You are sure they won’t attack?” he said to Inmu. “It would be a pity if we had to waste our arrows on wolves the first night we’re out from the village.”

“No, Waditaka,” replied Inmu. “They will not attack our camp, though they may hang around it, hoping to pull down some incautious straggler. As I told you, the great wolves can count, and they know that ten warriors, every one of whom can pull a strong bow, are too many for them. Listen to their howling now! There is more grief than ferocity in it.”

It was a curious fact—psychological and atmospheric perhaps,—but it seemed to Will, as it seemed also to Inmu, that a distinct change had occurred in the voice of the wolves. The note of ferocity surcharged with threat was going, and that of melancholy and grief was pervading all the chords, and octaves. King wolves and minor wolves alike were crying their woes to the chilly heavens. As a band they moaned and mourned.

“What does it mean?” asked Will.

Inmu laughed low, but with intense satisfaction.

“I understand them,” he replied. “I can almost talk with them. I know what they are saying now. They are very sad, they are telling one another that we are too numerous to become their prey, and in telling it they are lamenting the loss of so much good food. They know that we are fat, that we have fed well, and prospered through the winter, that we would be juicy to their teeth if they could only sink them in us, and their hearts are torn with agony because such a precious repast is so near and yet they cannot partake of it. That is why they mourn so hard.”

“Almost I believe you’re a humorist, Inmu.”

“No, Waditaka. It might seem so if I did not know the wolves, but speaking, or at least understanding, their language as I do, I only tell facts. Now we can hear again the voice of their leader above all the others and I will put it into our Sioux tongue for you. He, is chanting in his mournful wail: ‘They are there, O, my comrades, the creatures that stand upright and walk on two legs, and that are better to our taste than any other living things, the beings that, larger than we are, are nevertheless helpless against us with their own bare paws! But they carry with them the strange shapes that send through the air the long twigs with sharp ends that burn like fire, when they strike us! These creatures are men, and I have counted the men, O, my comrades! They are ten, and they are strong and skillful! I have counted them, not because I have seen them, but because I have smelled them out one by one, because it is given to us wolves, the wisest of all beasts, to smell from afar and to know! If we rushed at them they would pierce our sides from a distance with the sharp sticks that would burn and burn and at last kill us! That is why, O, my comrades, I cry my grief to the heavens, and you cry your grief with me! The savory odor of them fills our nostrils, but our teeth must remain clean, at least tonight!’”

“I believe, Inmu, that you are translating exactly what the great leader says.”

“Word for word, Waditaka. Did I not tell you that I understood him perfectly? He still howls. The strain of grief is yet in his voice, but another note is there too. It is one of advice, of instruction about the future. He is saying to the members of his band: ‘Not tonight, O, my comrades, can we attack them! And it is because of their burning sticks that they can throw from afar deep into our sides! Now why is our tribe the wolf the wisest of all living creatures? Why is he so much superior in wisdom to the huge lumbering bear, and the great, thoughtless moose? Because he does not live in the moment alone! Because he thinks of the next hour and the next day and the next week! Because he plans for the future. Because he thinks! That is why the wolf is the lord of all creation, superior to all other beasts, even to the one that walks on two legs who ranks next to him!’”

“Now that you translate it for me, Inmu, it sounds convincing.”

“Truth is truth always, Waditaka. The cunning leader goes on: ‘If we cannot eat them tonight, yet a time may come when we can eat them, O, my comrades! We are thoughtful and patient! That is another reason why we are wolves, the lords of creation, and all other living things are mere foolish beasts. The creatures that walk on two legs who call themselves men will watch through the night, and they will have their sharp sticks to use against us! As long as the dark lasts they will be wise, and they will be ready for us, but when the dawn comes they will grow foolish! Only a wolf, O, my comrades, can be wise both day and night! In the sunshine they will put the sharp sticks on their backs, and they will walk on, very careless, making much noise with their feet and talking! Then we will be in the bushes on either side of them, keeping pace with them, but as silent as still water, O, my comrades! Their dull nostrils will not scent us even though we be so near! Fear will depart from the foolish brain of man, because light is all about him, but the wise wolf knows better, and he will watch be it dark or bright! The time will come when some one of them will stray from the others into the bushes, and his sharp sticks will not be ready! Then our spring will be swift and sure, and our teeth will sink deep into him!’”

Will shuddered.

“I’m glad you’ve told me the plans of the big scoundrel, Inmu,” he said. “I’m going to stay close with the band tomorrow, and the next day, too, and if any chance should send me alone into the bushes, I’ll have my arrow on the string. He may be a wise old wolf, as you say, but he was foolish to talk when a man here could understand him.”

“It is true, Waditaka. There is no one so wise that he knows everything, and no one is so cautious that he can provide against every chance. The great wolf did not dream that I could speak his language. But he begins to believe now that he and his comrades have talked enough. Hear him! He is saying: ‘O, my comrades, we are near to the camp of foolish man! We can see through the bushes the light of his fire! Our sharp eyes can pick out the shadows of the two who watch, and of the eight who lie on the ground asleep. We will now be as silent as the death that we have in store for them, and we will be as patient as the mountains that never move!’”

A shiver ran down Will’s spine and he cast shuddering looks into the bushes. He believed implicitly every word that Inmu had said, and he expected to see there in dim outline the figures of the wolves, huge, gaunt and famished. He saw instead, or at least he believed that he saw, two coals of fire, and he knew they were the burning eyes of the great wolf who led his fellows. He watched them as they wavered and moved to different sides of the camp, and now he had the feeling that it was not so much the numbers of the warriors as the fire that protected him. He did not know it, but he was reverting then to the impulses and emotions of ancestors who had lived twenty thousand years ago, when flames in the night formed their sole but sufficient protection in the open against the huge carnivorous beasts.

“They’re all about us now,” he said to Inmu.

“So they are,” said the Lynx, “a pack of perhaps thirty. They circle around and around our camp, like scouts, studying us and using all their wisdom and cunning to see what kind of men we are.”

“And what do you think the master wolf is saying to his pack?”

“He speaks well of us,” replied Inmu, with pride. “His words are not in his throat, because as you know he gives no voice now, but they are in his eyes. He says: ‘O, comrades, I know when I look at them that they are ten chosen men of their tribe. There are no greater marksmen or stouter hearts among men. If we hunt them we will need all our courage and wisdom and patience. But to pull them down will be the greatest deed ever achieved by the lords of creation, the wolves, and so we will follow for days and days, until our chance comes.’”

“I see that you are troubled by no false pride, Inmu. You think well of the band to which you belong.”

“Why not speak the truth?” said the Indian simply. “I but say what is also in your own heart, Waditaka. Now the wolves have gone farther away. They know there will be no chance for them tonight, and they deem it foolish to remain so close and risk an arrow. When the dawn comes they will follow our trail.”

“We’ll try to be ready for them, but our watch is over now, and when we wake the relief we’d better tell ’em what’s lurking in the bushes.”

The two Indians who succeeded them were warned, and Will was soon fast asleep again.

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