Dusty Star Part 6

The Indians were taken by surprise. Before they realized what had happened, both boy and wolf were clear of the enclosing ring.

The prairie! To reach that was Dusty Star's one hope. Once out upon that he would trust to his speed and the darkness of the night. He shot forward at a headlong pace, urged by a frenzied fear. Behind him he heard the swish and thud of racing moccasins. Also there were cries. The cries struck terror into him as much as the feet. And they were terribly close.

On he sped, Kiopo running at his side. The fact that they were together seemed to lend him extra speed. He knew without a doubt that they were running for their lives. Had not Sitting-Always cried "_Kill! Kill!_"?

It was fortunate that his constant going to and fro upon the prairie had made him completely familiar with the lie of the land. If he continued in the same direction as he was going, he knew that he would reach broken ground where it would be impossible to keep up the pace, and not risk a fall. He swerved to the north. To swerve was to lose ground, but he dared not take the risk.

The sound of moccasins drew nearer. It seemed plain that some, at least, of his pursuers had discovered the alteration in his course. With every muscle and nerve strained to the utmost, Dusty Star fled desperately on.

From the sound behind, he judged that the Indian who was gaining was in advance of his companions. Kiopo made the same judgment with even greater exact.i.tude as to actual distance. For a moment or two, the wolf dropped a little behind. Before Dusty Star had grasped what was happening, there was a snarling growl, a noise as of a falling body, and the sound of the moccasins ceased. A second or two afterwards, Kiopo was again running at his side.

After that the sounds of pursuit died gradually away. But for a long time Dusty Star continued his flight. When he felt that he could run no further, he let himself sink to the ground, and lay for a long time, grasping for breath.

When at last his breathing became regular, he felt the dewy vastness of the prairie night cover him as with a robe. The darkness, the quiet, above all, the sense of immense relief after the danger escaped, lulled him, and he slept.

As dawn broke, he was on his feet, for he dared not risk remaining in the open during the day.

By that mysterious means through which the wild creatures convey ideas to each other, Dusty Star made it plain to Kiopo that they must go and hide. Kiopo understood hiding. Half his life long he had either been going into hiding, or coming out. Directly they came upon a deep gully with a thicket at the head of it, both the boy and the wolf knew they had found the place to lie in till the dark.

It did not take Kiopo long to make himself a lair in the centre of the thicket. It was a th.o.r.n.y covert, not too comfortable, but it was safe from prying eyes. As the sun rose higher, the air grew warm. The air was full of a drowsy silence in which tiny noises hummed. First the wolf, and then the boy, settled themselves to sleep.

Towards the middle of the afternoon, Kiopo began to be restless. In other words, his stomach reminded him that it was time to stop feeling empty. He crept cautiously to the edge of the thicket and looked out.

Down the gully on one side, far over the prairies on the other, there was nothing moving to be seen. Either the Indians had not started on their search, or else they had not come in this direction. True to his lifelong training, Kiopo examined the country carefully on every quarter before venturing to leave the thicket in search of game. Apparently his observations satisfied him that nothing dangerous was afoot, for Dusty Star, who was now awake, watched him quit the shelter of the bushes and drop over the edge of the gully as quietly as a cloud-shadow floats.

About half-way down the gully a large buck rabbit was was.h.i.+ng itself in the sun. The instant Kiopo sighted it, he flattened himself to the ground, and never blinked an eye.

The rabbit, utterly unconscious of the threatened danger, went on licking its paws and drawing them down its face, as if the only important thing in life was to be sure of being clean. And, as it did so, inch by inch and foot by foot, the grey flatness that was Kiopo moved very slowly towards it, and hardly seemed to breathe.

While Dusty Star watched the lithe wolf-body working its way down the gully, creeping nearer and nearer to its kill, he became aware of another similar shape approaching the same spot, but from a different direction and much higher up the further side. The wolfishness of its appearance was made all the greater by the fact that, like Kiopo, it kept very close to the ground in its stealthy onward movement, taking advantage of every bush, and rock, to screen its advance. As Dusty Star watched the two animals approaching the same point from different directions, it seemed almost impossible that neither of them should be conscious of the other's presence. Yet it only needed a few moments'

observation to convince him of the fact. He grew more and more excited.

Which of the two stalking animals would be the first to catch sight of the other? And what would happen when it did?

Nearer to the prey crept Kiopo; and still nearer to Kiopo crept the other wolf.

_Was_ it a wolf? As it glided over an open piece of ground from bush to bush, Dusty Star started. In the animal's shape and movements there was something strangely familiar. The next moment, he knew in a flash that the supposed wolf was a big husky, and that, moreover, the husky was none other but Stickchi himself.

If he had been excited before, he was doubly excited now. When the moment came that Kiopo found himself face to face with his hated enemy, Dusty Star knew that it must be a fight to the finish.

By this time Stickchi had reached the point where he must come into open view of the lower part of the gully along which Kiopo was travelling.

All at once, Dusty Star saw him stop dead, and stiffen into attention.

He was too far off to note the sudden rising of the hackles between his ma.s.sive shoulders or to catch the smothered growl that was rumbling in his throat. But, even at that distance, he could read perfectly what had happened. _Stickchi had seen!_

And still Kiopo kept moving on, utterly unconscious of the danger in his rear.

Instantly Stickchi altered his tactics. Hitherto he had only watched the game. Now he had a more absorbing interest--Kiopo himself! Dusty Star watched him slightly change his course, and then move forward again with redoubled caution. From this onward, the advantage, what ever might happen afterwards, lay entirely with the husky. Dusty Star's heart began to beat wildly. A lump rose in his throat. Suppose Kiopo should be taken unawares? A wild desire to warn his friend surged through him. But how to convey that warning? If he shouted, his voice might reach other ears than those for whom it was intended, and bring some Indian to the spot.

He ran the same risk if he ventured out into the open and tried to warn Kiopo by signs. There seemed nothing to be done but to wait, and let things take their course.

All this time the rabbit had continued was.h.i.+ng itself in total unconcern of the two deadly foes advancing upon it from different points, and it was not until Kiopo was close up to it that it realized its danger. In an instant the white tail flashed in the sunlight as it turned to run.

It was an instant too late. In two tremendous bounds, the wolf was upon it, and the great jaws snapped.

If Kiopo had started upon his meal at once, it is probable that his enemy might have been able to stalk him to a closer point before he made his rush; but in Kiopo's mind there was a clear idea that the kill must be shared with Dusty Star. If the Little Brother disdained the raw meat, it could not be helped. Kiopo would have behaved in the brotherly manner, and he could not be expected to do any more. He turned therefore with the rabbit in his mouth, to retrace his steps to the thicket. As he did so, the bush to his left opened in its middle and seemed to _explode_ upon him in a hairy ma.s.s, with a snarl that was like a roar.

It was not easy to stalk Kiopo, but Stickchi's tactics had been so carefully performed that, for once, the wolf was taken off his guard.

Dusty Star, from his look-out, watched the husky leap clean on Kiopo's back, and then saw both animals roll over together. There was a couple of moments of furious struggle and then Kiopo tore himself free.

The sudden attack, the rolling over, the taste of the husky's teeth, had done Kiopo good; it had aroused his fighting instincts to their utmost pitch. Besides, he had been attacked while in possession of his just-killed meat--an unpardonable offence in the law of the wilderness, in which to kill is to possess, and to possess is to make your kill a part of yourself by devouring it!

The instant he had wrenched himself free, he launched his counter attack; that is, he launched the entire weight of his hundred and forty-pound body through the air straight at the husky. Stickchi tried to evade the onset, but he was not quite so nimble as the wolf. Kiopo's charge struck him full on the shoulder, and carried him off his legs.

But a husky down is not by any means a husky beaten, and Stickchi showed that, although a bully and sometimes a coward, he could, when necessary, show a fighting spirit that was not easily cowed.

From the point at which Dusty Star stood it was not very easy to follow each movement of the struggle, partly because of the distance, partly owing to the fact that now and then the fighters were so mixed up with each other that it seemed hardly so much like a dog and a wolf fighting with two separate bodies, and sets of legs, as of one wildly-whirling, tumbling ma.s.s of bodies, legs, and tails. The excitement was too great to be borne, so throwing all caution to the winds, he ran down into the gully till he was within half-a-dozen yards of the fight.

By this time both animals were bleeding freely, but they fought on in apparent unconsciousness of their wounds. At a glance it was easy to see that their methods of fighting were plainly different; for while the husky's main object seemed to be to close with the wolf and, if possible, to hold him down by sheer force, Kiopo fought in true wolf fas.h.i.+on, springing away after each las.h.i.+ng stroke of his deadly fangs, and returning to the charge in a series of leaps that bewildered his foe by their lightning rapidity.

The end of the fight came more quickly than might have been expected, considering how powerful both animals were. In the most furious whirlwind of struggle, Kiopo's mind had never lost sight of one possibility. He knew, as all wolves know, that the hamstring, or tendon at the back of the leg, is one of the most vital spots in the whole fighting machine. If once that can be cut the result of the fight is only a question of time. At last, the opportunity, so long looked-for, came. There was a tremendous snap of Kiopo's terrible jaws, and Stickchi was disabled. After that, the husky's powers of resistance were speedily exhausted, and the bully Stickchi would bully no more.

After this second kill, Kiopo retired to the thicket to lick his wounds, and Dusty Star went with him.

PART II

CHAPTER X

"BALTOOK" THE SILVER FOX

News upon the prairie travels fast and far. That of the disappearance of Dusty Star and his wolf into the West, was no exception. After travelling many leagues, it reached at last the people of the Yellow Dogs, whose hunting-grounds extend from the Comanache Country to the great lakes in the north.

It was the famous spy Double Runner who carried the news. Double Runner was a true Yellow Dog; very fast and cunning. Also like all other true Yellow Dogs he hated the Comanaches with a bitter hatred. The Comanaches and the Yellow Dogs had been enemies so long that n.o.body knew what the original quarrel had been about. However, that didn't matter in the least so long as the hatred, which was older than history, wasn't allowed to die down.

When the Yellow Dogs heard Double Runner's news, they put their heads together in a great Pow-wow. If it were true what rumour and Double Runner said, that Dusty Star and his wolf had a strong medicine, it would be a splendid thing if they could capture or kill them, and get the medicine for themselves. And even if they failed in that, at least Dusty Star belonged to their ancient enemies, and it would be one more Comanache out of the way.

Now many moons before, a band of Yellow Dogs had gone into the West, and settled down by the river that flowed out of the Chetawa lake. If Double Runner could find their camp and carry his news, it might happen that they could put him in the way of finding a trail. And if Double Runner found a trail, many buffalo robes and ponies would be his on his return.

So that was how it came about that, one s.h.i.+ning morning, in the Moon of Roses, Double Runner disappeared into the West.

At the foot of a great boulder, high up on Carboona, Baltook, the Silver Fox, had his den. It was a wonderful look-out place from which to observe the world, and Baltook was a first-cla.s.s observer. What his piercing eyes didn't see, or his sharp ears detect, was caught by the amazing keenness of his nose. When the forest people glided softly from the good green gloom of the trees, Baltook marked them the moment they appeared. Below the level of his den went the runways of half the lower world. Deer, badger, mink, hare, opossum, took their ways delicately along the trails, and, all unconsciously to themselves, were instantly noted by Baltook's gleaming eyes. But whatever fine housings of hair or fur they wore, they paled before the splendour of Baltook in his wonderful black robe powdered with silver hairs.

No other fox on all Carboona had such a coat as he. Even in shadow it was beautiful; and when the fine machinery of his muscles moved beneath it in the sun, it rippled silver lights. And Baltook was as splendid as his coat. Certainly, his mate, Boola; the Cunning One, was convinced that he was lord of all the foxes; and as for the cubs, _they_ would have been equally convinced, if it had not been for a drawback which they couldn't help, and that was, they were too young to have any views about it at all. Besides, up to the present, they had had to do chiefly with their mother, and it was only recently that their father had appeared to be a person of great importance as the bringer of choice food, which they were allowed to worry and chew and swallow like the shameless little Greedinesses they were. And when they had finished a meal, they simply went to sleep, and slept and slept and slept, till they seemed to be furry lumps of warm fat sleep, all neatly rolled up with their noses under their tails.

One day, Baltook was sitting on his favourite look-out place on Carboona about a dozen yards from his den, gazing down into the green and golden depths of the drowsy afternoon.

To all outward appearances, the world looked pretty much as it had done for the last ten thousand years. So had the hemlocks looked, so had the spruces, ever since the first fox had made his earth upon Carboona, and the world of the foxes had clashed with, that of the lynxes, and the old hatred began. But Baltook was not thinking of lynxes today, not indeed of anything else in particular. He had just feasted off a very plump rabbit, and inside the den, the family was busy wrangling over the bones. So the possibilities of other game did not tickle his brain, although his nose kept up a series of fine wrinklings, just from force of habit, to find what sort of folk might be walking down the wind.