The Wild Man of the West Part 23

"An't it beautiful? eh? I say, just look at it now!--listen to me, Bertram--attentively, but gaze admiringly at the scene--_at the scene_-- oh! man, _do_ what I bid ye--your life hangs on it. _Pretend_ to admire it--we're in great danger--but--"

"Eh? what? where?" exclaimed the artist in a tone of intense excitement, at the same time laying his hand on one of his pistols and gazing anxiously all round him.

Alas! poor Bertram. It needed not the acute apprehension of a redskin to understand that you had been told of present danger. Neither did it require much acuteness on the part of March to divine what was to follow.

Scarcely had the symptoms of alarm been exhibited, when four arrows whizzed through the air and pa.s.sed close to the persons of the two friends, who instantly turned and made a dash for the entrance of the pa.s.s. At the same time the savages uttered a yell and darted after them.

"We'll never be able to escape by the pa.s.s," exclaimed March, looking behind him hurriedly, as they approached the rocky gorge, "and, I declare, there's only four o' them on foot. Come, Bertram, let's make a bold stroke for it. We'll easy break through 'em."

He reined up so suddenly as almost to throw the horse on its haunches, and, wheeling round, darted towards the savages. Bertram followed almost mechanically.

The Indians offered no opposition, but at that moment another yell rose from the hushes, and about thirty mounted Indians, who had been concealed behind a projecting cliff, sprang forward and closed up the only place of escape with a formidable array of spears. From their not using their arrows it was evident that they wished to capture the white men alive, for the purpose, no doubt, of taking them home to their wigwams, there to put them to death by slow torture with the a.s.sistance of their squaws.

March Marston's spirit rose with the occasion. He uttered a furious cry, flourished his hatchet above his head, and dashed at full gallop towards the line. Seeing this, one of the Indians levelled his spear and rode out to meet him. Bertram's nerves recovered at that moment.

He fired both pistols at the advancing savage, but without effect. In despair he hurled one of them violently at the head of the Indian. The missile went true to the mark and felled him. On beholding this the whole body of savages rushed upon the two white men.

One powerful Indian seized March by the throat. Before either could use his weapon the horses separated and both fell violently to the ground.

Bertram leaped off his horse and sprang to the rescue, but he was instantly surrounded, and for a few seconds defended himself with the b.u.t.t of his large cavalry pistol with an amount of energy and activity that would have filled those who knew him best with amazement. At that moment there was a clatter of hoofs in the gorge, and a roar or bellow was heard above the din of the fight. All eyes were turned towards the pa.s.s, and next moment a solitary horseman leaped over the broken rocks and bounded over the turf towards the combatants.

The aspect of this newcomer was something terrible to behold. Both he and his horse were gigantic in size. The man was dressed in the costume of an Indian, but his hair and beard were those of a white man. The mane and tail of his huge horse were of enormous length, and as he swept over the little plain, which seemed to tremble beneath his heavy tread, the wind blew out these and the tags and scalp-locks of his coat and leggings as well as his own beard and hair in such a confused and commingled way as to make the man and horse appear like one monstrous creature.

The Indians turned to flee, but, seeing only one enemy, they hesitated.

In another moment the wild horseman was upon them. He carried a round s.h.i.+eld on his left arm and a long double-edged sword in his right hand.

Two Indians lowered their spears to receive him. The point of one he turned aside with his s.h.i.+eld, and the shock of his heavy warhorse hurled horse and man upon the plain. The other he cut the iron head off with a sweep of his sword, and, with a continuation of the same cut, he cleft his opponent to the chin. Turning rapidly, he bounded into the very midst of the savages, uttering another of his tremendous roars of indignation. The suddenness of this act prevented the Indians from using their bows and arrows effectively. Before they could fit an arrow to the string two more of their number lay in the agonies of death on the ground. Several arrows were discharged, but the perturbation of those who discharged them, and their close proximity to their mark, caused them to shoot wide. Most of the shafts missed him. Two quivered in his s.h.i.+eld, and one pierced the sleeve of his coat. Turning again to renew his rapid attacks he observed one of the Indians--probably a chief--leap to one side, and, turning round, fit an arrow with calm deliberation to his bow. The furious horseman, although delivering his sweeping blows right and left with indiscriminate recklessness, seemed during the _melee_ to have an intuitive perception of where the greatest danger lay. The savages at that moment were whirling round him and darting at him in all directions, but he singled out this chief at once and bore down upon him like a thunderbolt. The chief was a brave man.

He did not wince, but, drawing the arrow to its head as the other approached, let it fly full at his breast. The white man dropped on the neck of his steed as if he had been struck with lightning; the arrow pa.s.sed close over his back and found its mark in the breast of one of the savages, whose death yell mingled with that of the chief as, a moment later, the gigantic warrior ran him with a straight point through the body.

The Indians were scattered now. The rapid dash of that tumultuous fight, although of but a few seconds' duration, had swept the combatants to the extreme edge of the woods, leaving Bertram standing in the midst of dead and dying men gazing with a bewildered, helpless look at the terrible scene. March Marston lay close by his side, apparently dead, in the grip of the savage who had first attacked him, and whose throat his own hand grasped with the tenacity and force of a vice.

Most of the Indians leaped over the bushes and sought the shelter of the thick underwood, as the tremendous horseman, whom doubtless they now deemed invulnerable, came thundering down upon them again; but about twenty of the bravest stood their ground. At that moment a loud shout and a fierce "hurrah!" rang out and echoed hither and thither among the rocks; and, next instant, Big Waller, followed by Bounce and his friends, as well as by Macgregor and his whole party, sprang from the Wild-Cat Pa.s.s, and rushed furiously upon the savages, who had already turned and fled towards the wood for shelter. The whole band crossed the battlefield like a whirlwind, leaped over or burst through the bushes, and were gone--the cras.h.i.+ng tread of their footsteps and an occasional shout alone remaining to a.s.sure the bewildered artist, who was still transfixed immovable to the ground, that the whole scene was not a dream.

But Bertram was not left alone on that b.l.o.o.d.y field. On the first sound of the approach of the white men to the rescue, the strange horseman-- who, from the moment of his bursting so opportunely on the scene, had seemed the very impersonation of activity and colossal might--pulled up his fiery steed; and he now sat, gazing calmly into the forest in the direction in which the Indians and traders had disappeared.

Stupefied though he was, Bertram could not avoid being impressed and surprised by the sudden and total change which had come over this remarkable hunter. After gazing into the woods, as we have said, for some minutes, he quietly dismounted, and plucking a tuft of gra.s.s from the plain, wiped his b.l.o.o.d.y sword, and sheathed it. Not a trace of his late ferocity was visible. His mind seemed to be filled with sadness, for he sighed slightly, and shook his head with a look of deep sorrow, as his eyes rested on the dead men. There was a mild gravity in his countenance that seemed to Bertram incompatible with the fiend-like fury of his attack, and a slow heaviness in his motions that amounted almost to laziness, and seemed equally inconsistent with the vigour he had so recently displayed, which was almost cat-like, if we may apply such a term to the actions of so huge a pair as this man and his horse were.

A profusion of light-brown hair hung in heavy ma.s.ses over his herculean shoulders, and a bushy moustache and beard of the same colour covered the lower part of his deeply browned face, which was handsome and mild, but eminently masculine, in expression.

Remounting his horse, which seemed now to be as quiet and peaceable as himself, this singular being turned and rode towards that part of the wood that lay nearest to the wild rocky ma.s.ses that formed the outlet from the pa.s.s. On gaining the verge of the plain he turned his head full round, and fixed his clear blue eyes on the wondering artist. A quiet smile played on his bronzed features for an instant as he bestowed upon him a cheerful nod of farewell. Then, urging his steed forward, he entered the woods at a slow walk, and disappeared.

The heavy tramp of his horse's hoofs among the broken stones of the rugged path had scarcely died away when the distant tread of the returning fur-traders broke on Bertram's ear. This aroused him from the state of half-sceptical horror in which he gazed upon the scene of blood and death in the midst of which he stood. Presently his eye fell, for the first time, upon the motionless form of March Marston. The sight effectually restored him. With a slight cry of alarm, he sprang to his friend's side, and, kneeling down, endeavoured to loosen the death-like grasp with which he still held the throat of his foe. The horror of the poor artist may be imagined, when he observed that the skull of the Indian was battered in, and that his young comrade's face was bespattered with blood and brains.

Just then several of the trappers and fur-traders galloped upon the scene of the late skirmish.

"Hallo! Mr Bertram, here you are; guess we've polished 'em off this time a few. Hey! wot's this?" cried Big Waller, as he and some of the others leaped to the ground and surrounded Bertram. "Not _dead_, is he?"

The tone in which the Yankee trapper said this betrayed as much rage as regret. The bare idea of his young comrade having been killed by the savages caused him to gnash his teeth with suppressed pa.s.sion.

"Out o' the way, lads; let me see him," cried Bounce, who galloped up at that moment, flung himself off his horse, pushed the others aside, and kneeling at his side, laid his hand on March Marston's heart.

"All right," he said, raising the youth's head, "he's only stunned.

Run, Gibault, fetch a drop o' water. The horse that brained this here redskin, by good luck, only stunned March."

"Ah! mon pauvre enfant!" cried Gibault as he ran to obey.

The water quickly restored March, and in a few minutes he was able to sit up and call to remembrance what had pa.s.sed. Ere his scattered faculties were quite recovered, the fur-traders returned, with Macgregor at their head.

"Well done, the Wild Man of the West!" cried McLeod, as he dismounted.

"Not badly hurt, young man, I trust."

"Oh! nothing to speak of. Only a thump on the head from a horse's hoof," said March; "I'll be all right in a little time. Did you say anything about the Wild Man of the West?" he added earnestly.

"To be sure I did; but for him you and Mr Bertram would have been dead men, I fear. Did you not see him?"

"See him? no," replied March, much excited. "I heard a tremendous roar, but just then I fell to the ground, and remember nothing more that happened."

"Was that quiet, grave-looking man the Wild Man of the West?" inquired Bertram, with a mingled feeling of interest and surprise.

This speech was received with a loud burst of laughter from all who heard it.

"Well, I've never seed the Wild Man till to-day," said one, "though I've often heer'd of him, but I must say the little glimpse I got didn't show much that was mild or grave."

"I guess your head's bin in a swum, stranger," said another. "I've only seed him this once, but I don't hope to see him agin. He ain't to be trusted, he ain't, that feller."

"And I've seen him five or six times," added McLeod, "and all I can say is, that twice out o' the five he was like an incarnate fiend, and the other three times--when he came to the Mountain Fort for ammunition--he was as gruff and sulky as a bear with the measles."

"Well, gentlemen," said Bertram with more emphasis in his tone than he was wont to employ, "I have seen this man only once, but I've seen him under two aspects to-day, and all that I can say is, that if that was really the Wild Man of the West, he's not quite so wild as he gets credit for."

On hearing this, March Marston rose and shook himself. He felt ill at ease in body and mind. The idea of the Wild Man of the West having actually saved his life, and he had not seen him, was a heavy disappointment, and the confused and conflicting accounts of those who had seen him, combined with the racking pains that shot through his own brain, rendered him incapable of forming or expressing any opinion on the subject whatever; so he said abruptly--

"It's of no use talking here all night, friends. My head's splittin', so I think we'd better encamp."

March's suggestion was adopted at once. Provisions had been carried with them from the fort. The dead bodies of the Indians were buried; a spot at some distance from the scene of the fight was chosen. The fires were lighted, supper was devoured and a watch set, and soon March Marston was dreaming wildly in that savage place about the Wild Man of the West!

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

THE HUNTING GROUND--HOW THEY SPENT THE SABBATH DAY AMONG THE MOUNTAINS-- THREATENING CLOUDS ON THE HORIZON.

Next day the fur-traders prepared to return to the Mountain Fort, and the trappers to continue their journey into the Rocky Mountains.

At the period of which we write, the fur of the beaver was much in demand in the European markets, and trappers devoted much of their time to the capture of that sagacious animal. From McLeod, Redhand learned that a journey of eight or ten days to the south-eastward would bring them to a country that was reported to be much frequented not only by the beaver, but by many other fur-bearing and wild animals; so it was resolved that, having brought their traps and supplies with them, the trappers, instead of returning to the fort, should part with their entertainers at the spot where the skirmish had occurred, and make for that hunting ground as quickly as possible.

"I suppose you don't want to part company with us yet, Mr Bertram?"

said old Redhand as they were about to start.

"By no means," replied the artist quickly; "I have no intention of quitting you--that is, if you do not find me a burden on your hands," he added with a sad smile.

"A burden!" cried Bounce in surprise; "I tell ye wot, sir, I consider yer company a honour."