The Wild Man of the West by Robert Michael Ballantyne (epub e ink reader TXT) 📕

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 masses 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 masses that formed the outlet from the pass. 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 passion.

"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 passed. 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."

"So you won't return with us, young man?" said Macgregor to March Marston as he mounted his horse. "I'm in want of a stout young fellow, and you'll like the life."

"I thank ye, sir, for your good opinion," returned March; "but my mind's made up: I'll stick by my comrades; I like trappin', but I don't like tradin'--though I'm obliged to you for bein' so pressin' all the same."

The two parties bade each other adieu and separated--the one retracing its way through the Wild-Cat Pass; the other, with old Redhand at its head, descending into the beautiful country that has been briefly described in the last chapter.

Six quiet and peaceful weeks now succeeded to the stormy period that had just passed. During this time they wandered pleasantly about in as beautiful a region of the world as the heart of man could wish to dwell in. They reached this country after several days' travel. After arriving they moved about from one beautiful spot to another, setting their beaver traps in the streams, and remaining a longer or shorter time at each place, according to their success in trapping and hunting.

The country was of so peculiarly diversified a formation, that, within the compass of ten miles, every possible variety of scenery existed-- from the level stretch of prairie to the towering snow-peaks of the mountains; from the brake-encompassed swamp, in which frogs, ducks, geese, plover, and other denizens of the marshes maintained perpetual jubilee, to the dry bush-dotted mounds and undulating lands, where the badger delighted to burrow in the sandy soil, while in other places, the wolf, the fox, and the grisly bear prowled amid the dark recesses of the forest.

It was a truly beautiful and a pre-eminently enjoyable region, and, in the midst of it, under the spreading branches of a magnificent pine, which grew on the top of a little mound that commanded an extensive prospect on every side, the trappers pitched their camp, and began their campaign against the fur-bearing animals that dwelt there.

It was a quiet sunny Sabbath morning when our trappers arrived at the tree above referred to. They had encamped the previous night on a swampy piece of ground, having travelled too late to afford time to search for a better spot, so that they were glad to rise and push forward at the peep of day on Sabbath. But when, in the course of a couple of hours, they reached the dry country, they at once proceeded to encamp.

During their journeying the trappers had mutually agreed to rest from all labour on the Sabbath day. Some of them did so from no higher motive than the feeling that it was good for themselves and for their beasts to rest one day in seven from bodily labour. Although not absolutely regardless of religion, they nevertheless failed to connect this necessity of theirs with the appointment of a day of rest by that kind and gracious Father, who has told us that "the Sabbath was made for man." Made for him not only, and chiefly, for the benefit of his soul, but also, and secondarily, for the good of his body.

Others of the party there were, however, who regarded the Sabbath rest in a somewhat higher light than did their comrades; though none of them were fully alive to the blessings and privileges attaching to the faithful keeping of the Lord's day. Independently altogether of the delight connected with the contemplation of the wonderful works of God in the wilderness--especially of that beautiful portion of the wilderness--the trappers experienced a sensation of intense pleasure in the simple act of physical repose after their long, restless, and somewhat exciting journey. They wandered about from spot to