16 The Cry of the Wolf

None spoke for a while, and there was no sound save the light pit-a-pat of our footsteps. I asked Pike which way he intended to take. He pointed to some light clouds that floated over a rent in the mountains.

“I hope that we will be thar afore mornin’,” he said.

The next moment all of us started, then stood as still as if we had lost the power of motion. A long, plaintive cry rose and echoed and re-echoed through the forest and then died away. It was the howl of a wolf. Pike seemed to divine our thoughts, for he said with his dry laugh:

“The reds have made a mistake thar. Ef they’d been in this valley as long as we have they’d have knowed thar war no wolves here. That cry came from the throat of a redskin, and I guess it’s a signal from one lot of ’em to another that they’ve found our camp. We didn’t move a minute too soon, boys. I wish night wuz here.”

Pike cast up his eyes, but the sun still showed above the crest of the mountain. “We’re goin’ it blind, fellers,” he said.

“Like as not we’ll tumble right into a nest of the scamps. They may be scattered all over the valley.”

We pushed on rapidly towards the western mountains and with infinite joy saw the sun sinking behind their crest. We were skirting the margin of the lake, which at this point had a sandy beach. Pike said it would be a good idea to hide our trail, and we waded in the water until it was halfway up to our knees. Thus we trudged in the edge of the lake as long as the beach lasted, when we came out on dry land again.

We heard the cry of the wolf a second time, apparently a quarter of a mile behind us, and it was answered far off to our left. “The varmints are searchin’ the woods fur us,” said Pike, “an’ I guess they think they’ve got an easy thing of it this time. We’ve been through some pretty tight rubs together, haven’t we, boys? an’ I guess we can pull out of this hole too,”

We talked in whispers, but we gave a hearty reply to Pike’s cheering assurance. We were fully conscious of our peril, but having become inured to danger it did not weigh so heavily upon our spirits as one might think. Night was now coming on fast, and that fact added to our hopes. Beyond and above us loomed our goal, that great slash in the hills.

We proceeded with the utmost caution and there was need for us to exercise prudence. The undergrowth was dense, and the stumble or the cracking of a stick beneath a heavy footstep might bring our enemies upon us. Occasionally we heard the cry of the wolf, followed in a moment by its answering cry. The cries were invariably behind us or off to our left. The lake lay on our right. We had remained very near it for a while, but at length Pike led us away from it. He said he did not wish, in case of a crisis, to have us hemmed between the warriors and the water.

We were about four miles from the base of the mountains, when the cry of the wolf came, louder and more piercing than ever. But this time the sound was directly in front of us. All stopped involuntarily, and every face was turned towards Pike. It was too dark for me to see the expression of those faces, but I know my own heart was beating violently. Again the wolf howled, and answers came from behind us and also from our left.

“Boys,” said Pike in a cautious whisper, “we’re in a ring of death. Them fellers have surrounded us. The wolves scent prey, and we’ve got to be as crafty as the wolves theirselves to escape ’em. Now you foller my lead an’ whenever I give a little whistle—it won’t be heard more’n ten feet away—jest you drop down to the ground as easy and gentle ez you can an’ lay thar ez still ez stones.”

Pike bore further away to the left, stealing noiselessly forward with his rifle at the trail. We followed as silent and ghostlike as he. All of us wore moccasins of elk hide, or our shoes had been worn out long ago, and the soft skin made no sound as it touched the earth.

Pike stopped presently and stood stock still for at least five minutes. He was bent forward in a listening attitude, but I could hear nothing. He resumed his wary flight and we followed close after. The wolfish howls grew more numerous and also closer. The circle of death was closing in. I loosened the pistol in my belt and held my rifle ready to be thrown into position at a moment’s notice. Even if the warriors overtook us there was hope left. We were five men—for Henry and I could be called men now—well armed, and we could make a great deal of trouble for an attacking party.

Pike uttered a faint whistle, and we sank to the earth. I heard nothing and believed it was a false alarm, but looking towards the right I saw a half dozen figures stalking past us and not thirty feet away. They walked in single file, and, though it was too dark to distinguish their features, we knew very well they were Indians and enemies. The ghostly procession soon passed and disappeared in the woods beyond us. We lay quite still for a little while, but saw no other forms.

“Sence them fellers have gone back,” whispered Pike, “there may be no more left ahead of us, an’ ef that’s so, our way is open.”

He rose to his feet and stole on, with us in his wake. Some night birds fluttering among the leaves of the trees thrilled our nerves, and then came the long-drawn plaintive note of the wolf again, directly ahead of us. Pike snarled like a catamount at bay and stopped abruptly. He said nothing, but we knew as well as he that the ring of warriors still inclosed us, and our danger was increasing every moment.

After some hesitation, Pike sheered away towards the lake again, and soon we could see the silver sheen of its water through the trees. The frequency of the howls to the left showed that there was no thoroughfare in that direction, and our only chance for a passage lay near the lake. The nearest mountain slopes were now not more than two miles away. We had paused to listen when Henry stepped forward and called Pike’s attention to the dense trees and undergrowth that crowded the edge of the lake and even grew in the shallower part of its waters. There was a kind of saw-grass, very thick and tall, which grew out of the water and rose two or three feet above it. Henry proposed that we wade into the water and conceal ourselves in the grass and under the overhanging boughs of the trees. Pike was much taken with the idea.

“It’s fust-rate,” he said, “but tie your ammunition and your pistols ’roun’ your necks and hold your guns up. An’ be shore you don’t splash the water about.”

We adjusted our ammunition and weapons in order to keep them dry, and then crept into the water. We waded out until it rose almost to our waists, and stood there completely concealed by the water, the grass and the drooping foliage. We could not have found a better covert, but the water was chill, and in a few minutes I was shivering. I dare say the others were too.

But soon we were very thankful for Henry’s suggestion, for presently we heard the Indian signal not forty feet from us. Answering signals came, and in time we heard the murmur of voices. Evidently the circle of the Indians had closed in and the warriors, in their surprise at finding nothing, were discussing new plans.

The talking lasted fully half an hour. Then silence succeeded, and the next sound we heard was a wolf howl far down the valley behind us. I suggested that we leave the lake and push on for the pass, but Pike made us wait in the water fully an hour longer. In all that time we heard no signals ahead of us, and then Pike said our time had come to make a dash for the pass.

With benumbed limbs we waded back to dry land. We stood there for a while, shivering and rubbing our muscles to restore the circulation, and then we pushed on again for the pass. It was now the “darkest hour before the dawn,” when night is preparing to flee at the coming of day, and objects were not visible twenty feet off. This gloom served well to conceal our movements, but it might also cause us to plunge headlong into a party of our enemies.

“Them devils haven’t given up the chase,” growled Pike. “Don’t you believe for a moment that they have. They know we’re here, and they’re too fond of scalps to quit huntin’ fur ’em ez long ez thar’s a chance to find any. We must get into that pass afore daylight comes.”

We crept on through the woods, and presently I heard a whisper in my ear. It was Starboard Sam’s voice.

“I saw some mighty lively adventures on board ship,” he said, “when I was a lad, but darn my eyes, Master Joe, ef I ain’t seein’ jest about as lively ones in my old age on land. I never thought as there was so much variety on shore as this.”

But some signals which thrilled through the night air just then made me pray for an absence of variety. We were almost at the end of the valley now. A slender bar of gray was breaking through the darkness in the east, and by its pale light we could see the rough, rocky sides of the mountain looming above us. The sight was a welcome one, and in our anxiety to gain the pass we broke into a trot.

The opening into the pass was not more than twenty feet wide, and high, precipitous walls of granite rose on either side. It is just such a deep ravine as one sees frequently in the loftier Rockies.

Day was now breaking. The valley behind us which we had found so pleasant a home was swarming with enemies. We turned for one farewell look at it, and then we made a dash for the pass.

Pike emerged first into the open, and as his figure darted out from the trees a rifle cracked, and a bullet chipping his neck drew blood. A half dozen dark figures sprang up from the ground in the mouth of the pass, and all fired at us. But the uncertain light and our wavering figures caused every bullet to go amiss. Then Pike’s unerring rifle spoke, and a dusky brave emitting his death yell fell to the earth.

“Smash’em, boys! smash ’em!” shouted Pike, as he rushed upon them with clubbed rifle, his herculean figure towering up in the morning light. We fired with the best aim we could, and then with pistol or clubbed rifle we threw ourselves upon them. The conflict was short. We swept forward like a whirlwind. There was a popping of pistols, the smash of crushing blows, wailing cries like those of wolves, the half uttered death-yell, and then we swept on, leaving four dead Indians on the ground, while the others had fled for refuge in the forest.

As we ran Pike made a rapid accounting, and found that none of us had more than scratches. We had, indeed, come off wonderfully well.

“They tried to stop a cyclone that time,” chuckled Pike, in high glee, “an’ it whirled ’em aroun’ and chawed ’em up. Won’t the others of the band be mad when they hear of it, which will be mighty soon, too, fur they’ll all be snarling’ an’ yelpin’ on our trail now.”

He was right, for very soon we heard a chorus of discordant yells that caused us to hasten our footsteps and look well to the priming of our rifles. We were now deep in the pass, and though the sun was over the mountains, the walls rose so sheer and so high on either side that the light was faint around us. Still we could see that a fairly good natural road led on further into the mountains. Down the centre of it trickled a brook that flowed into the valley and mingled its waters with those of the lake.

Pike noticed our surroundings carefully as we fled, and I guessed that he was looking for some rocky breastwork that would serve us for a good battle-ground in case we were pushed to the wall.

We had settled into a jog-trot, but as we were gradually ascending we were soon panting. By Pike’s order we lessened our speed.

“It’s time them devils down thar were givin’ tongue,” he said, “for of course they know which way we’ve come, seein’ that this is the only path.”

Ere he uttered the last word a series of yelping cries arose behind us, and we knew the warriors were hot-foot in pursuit.

“Steady, boys, steady!” said Pike, using his favorite word of caution, “they’re a good bit behind us yet, and thar’s no use in windin’ ourselves in the first beat.”

The pass suddenly became precipitous, and we clambered up it with some difficulty. The water tumbled down a cliff in a silver cloud, and some beautiful pink flowers grew on its verge. I noted these things, but it was no time to stop and admire them, for we heard again the yells of our enemies.

A hundred yards further on the pass curved to the right, but the high granite walls still rose far up on either side. The light was still dim in that mighty trench.

The ground began to grow rougher, and with a sudden sickening of the heart we noticed that the pass was narrowing, and narrowing rapidly. The thought must have come to us at the same time that we were running up a blind alley. I saw even Pike’s face go pale in the misty light, I knew what my own must have shown.

“Run aground!” gasped Starboard Sam.

As if to convince us that our surmise was right, we heard behind us a yell that sounded like a whoop of triumph. Nevertheless we ran on, at full speed now, and came face to face with a blank wall of stone.

We stared at each other in despair.

“Vell, vat does zee General say? Vat shall we do?” exclaimed Bonneau.

“Where does this brook come from? It must flow out of that wall sumwhars!” cried Pike.

Henry, always quick, pointed to a dark hole in the cliff. A stream of water issued from it, but the stream was not as broad as the aperture.

“Come on, boys!” shouted Pike. “It’s a chance, and we’ve got to take it!”

He dashed forward and, dropping on his knees, crawled into the hole beside the stream. We followed, and in an Instant our party was burrowing in the side of the mountain like so many moles. We stumbled over some rocks, stepped into some shallow water, came to dry land again, and then at Pike’s warning cry we stopped.

“We must stay at the mouth of this hole for the present,” said Pike, “and hold it agin’ them yellin’ imps, who will be here in a minute. One man in a place like this ought to keep back a thousan’.”

We scrambled back, near enough to the mouth to see the light outside, and then waited for the appearance of the Indians.

►   ▲