But that burst of unexpected joy hastened the falling of the last few grains of sand. For ten minutes longer they watched her as the breath went and came more and more feebly. Then it ceased altogether, and death sealed her eyes. But she did not release the hand of her son. He had some difficulty in loosening that clasp of maternal love which was stronger even than death.
After all was over, d.i.c.k seized the Indian and led him to the tree, to which he chained him again. Then he dug a grave in the soft soil, in which he placed the body of the old woman with gentle care. Having covered it over he went into the woods, caught and saddled his horse, and led him towards the wondering savage, whom he once more unbound and set free.
"Bighorn," said d.i.c.k impressively, "you"ve been made to comfort and gladden the heart o" yer old mother in her last moments. If ye was a pale-face, ye"d thank the Great Spirit for that to the last day o" yer life. If ye ever do come to think like the pale-faces, you"ll remember that you"ve to thank me for bringing ye here. Go, tell the redskins who it is that caught ye, and what he did and said to ye."
Saying this, d.i.c.k mounted his horse and rode very slowly into the forest, leaving the redman standing by the side of his mother"s grave.
After Mary had concluded this story, which, we may remark, she related with much fewer comments than we have seen fit to pa.s.s upon it, she and March looked at each other for a long time in silence. Then March suddenly exclaimed--
"He"s a splendid fellow--d.i.c.k!"
Mary, both by looks and words, highly approved of this opinion. "And yet," said she somewhat abstractedly, "this bees the man who peepils call--"
Mary pursed her lips suddenly.
"Call _what_?" inquired March quickly.
"Wicked, wild, bad man," replied Mary, who, fortunately, could say all this with perfect truth without betraying her secret. In fact, poor Mary had never had a secret confided to her before, and having been told by the Wild Man of the West that she was on no account to reveal his real t.i.tle to their guest, she was in the utmost perplexity lest it should slip out unawares.
"Mary," said March, who was always stumbling upon the verge of the truth in a most unaccountable way, without actually getting hold of it, "have you ever seen the Wild Man of the West?"
"Yes," replied the girl with a gay smile.
"Have you? Well now, that"s odd! How much I should like to see him.
To tell you the truth, one of my chief reasons for coming here was to see him. What like is he?"
"Like d.i.c.k," replied the girl quietly.
"Like d.i.c.k!" echoed March in surprise; "why, that"s what d.i.c.k said himself, and yet, by all accounts, his character must be very different from that of d.i.c.k, who seems to be the kindest, tenderest-hearted man that ever came to trap in the Rocky Mountains."
"What does peepil say "bout this Wild Mans of the West?" inquired Mary.
"That he"s awful fierce an" terrible cruel, an" ten or fifteen feet high, I forget which, for everybody gives him a different height."
Mary laughed. "Bees that all?"
"Oh no! They say he eats men."
Mary laughed again.
"An" women and bars--raw."
Mary laughed louder and longer than ever, and when she laughed she looked so ineffably sweet that March resolved to go on with the catalogue of the Wild Man"s virtues piecemeal, waiting for the laugh between each statement, until there was not another idea left in his brain for his tongue to utter. But this amiable intention was frustrated by the report of a gun outside, which echoed and re-echoed among these savage cliffs like muttering thunder. It was followed by a yell that caused Mary to start up with a look of horror and rush out of the cave, leaving the invalid in a most distressing state of uncertainty as to what he should do, and in no little anxiety as to what would happen next.
CHAPTER NINETEEN.
THE MYSTERIES OF THE CAVE EXPLAINED--INGENIOUS DEVICES OF THE WILD MAN-- MARCH AND MARY BESIEGED--THE REDSKINS PROCEED TO MAKE THEMSELVES AT HOME IN THE CAVERN.
There are few things in this world which are not somewhat mysterious, or that cannot be, by a peculiar combination of circ.u.mstances, more or less invested with mystery; and we hold it to be an unfair and a very paltry device on the part of an author to seek to mystify his readers by keeping them in unnecessary ignorance of that which is in itself simple and commonplace.
Therefore, we beg leave to state that the apparent mystery with which we concluded the last chapter was not a mystery at all! The loud report there referred to was caused by a savage discharging his gun, and the cry that followed was the result of that same savage opening his ugly mouth and giving vent to a tremendous howl.
That this was a howl of triumph was evident to ears accustomed to the war-whoop of the redman. That it was destined to be succeeded by an exclamation of mingled disappointment and surprise was evident, at least to Mary, who knew the mysteries of the place.
In order to make this plain without further circ.u.mlocution, we may as well inform the reader at once that the Wild Man of the West (perhaps we should call him d.i.c.k, in deference to March Marston"s ignorance of his real character at this time) was not only a subject of terror to the Indians inhabiting this region of the earth at that particular era in the world"s history, but also a subject of intense curiosity. Hence, for many years past, it had been an object of ambition, on the part of the more courageous of the Indian warriors, to trace this terrible creature to his familiar haunts, and "beard the lion in his den."
d.i.c.k soon became fully aware of this, and, _not_ being a mysterious monster or demon, but a mere mortal (although, doubtless, a singularly huge and eccentric one), it behoved him to frustrate the amiable intentions of his savage tormentors. In order to effect this, he first of all selected, as we have seen, a gloomy, secluded, and almost inaccessible spot among the Rocky Mountains as his residence, which he made a point of quitting and returning to only in the dark hours of night or early morning, as far as was practicable.
Still further to bewilder the savages--against whom he bore no grudge, and to avoid encountering whom was his chief desire--d.i.c.k varied his costume, appearing sometimes in the dress of a Blackfoot chief, or a Cree warrior; at other times in the hunting-shirt and cap of a trapper.
But, despite his utmost efforts, he occasionally had to face and fight the redskins--a necessity which so exasperated his naturally fiery temper that, on such occasions, he became utterly regardless of his life, and rushing upon any odds with a terrific roar of his deep ba.s.s voice, so different from the shrill yell of the Indians--would cleave his way right through their ranks with his long double-edged sword; then, returning to the charge with increased fury, would so appal and horrify them that the usual result was a general and precipitate flight.
Perhaps some readers may wonder how it was possible that he could escape being killed in these encounters; but it must be remembered that in those days guns were by no means so plentiful among the Indians as they now are, and arrows are comparatively harmless missiles. d.i.c.k always wore under his leather coat, a vest of thick buffalo leather, which rendered him arrow-proof in the vital regions of his body, unless shot at with a strong bow by a powerful arm from a short distance.
This undercoat or piece of armour added a little to his naturally gigantic proportions, which were still further enhanced by the flying tags and scalp-locks and fringes of his dress, and the wild ma.s.ses of his long hair. He rode, as we have elsewhere mentioned, a magnificent charger, which he had purchased in Mexico, and whose sire, no doubt, had been one of those n.o.ble barbs which bore the cavaliers of Spain to the conquest of the New World. The mane and tail of this animal, having never been cut, were of immense length, and, when violently agitated, seemed to envelop horse and man. Altogether, the _tout ensemble_ of d.i.c.k and his charger on any of the rencontres above referred to, was sufficiently awful, and as he was seldom seen near at hand, except in a condition of blazing fury, there is little wonder that, in the process of time, he became celebrated throughout the country as the Wild Man of the West. The white trappers, too, were somewhat curious to know something about this mysterious brother; but he shunned them even more determinedly than he did the Indians, though, of course, he never fought with them, seeing that they did not attempt to murder him or interfere with his movements as the savages did. But there were one or two bolder or more inquisitive than their comrades, who dogged the Wild Man, and tried to force themselves upon him. These he caught and thrashed soundly, after the fashion of a schoolmaster with a refractory boy, and turned them adrift with a warning thenceforth to mind their own business. At last the Indians set him down as a "great medicine-man,"
or a demon, whom it was impossible to slay; and the trappers shook their heads and touched their foreheads significantly, as if to indicate that they thought him mad.
Thus d.i.c.k, in course of years, freed himself in a great measure from annoyance, and many good and kind actions which he did both to Indians and trappers began to be circulated and exaggerated, so that he became a greater mystery than ever, especially to the savages, who naturally misconstrued the spirit in which he made his furious attacks, in self-defence, just as much as they misunderstood his motives in performing deeds of kindness. He was a monstrous mystery! the greatest mystery that had ever been seen or heard of in the Rocky Mountains since the beginning of time, and no doubt a greater mystery than will ever be heard of there again.
Having traversed this roundabout pathway, we now come to the explanation which we intended to have given much earlier in this chapter. But it is really wonderful how natural it is for the human mind to prose and to diverge, and how very difficult it is, at any time, to come to the point! Public speakers know this well. Perhaps their hearers know it better!
Well, although d.i.c.k was thus feared, yet he was not entirely unmolested.
Wandering tribes from distant hunting grounds used to go there, and, not knowing much about the Wild Man of the West, did not believe in him; even ventured to go in search of him, and on more than one occasion almost caught him asleep in his cave. Having an ingenious turn of mind, and being somewhat fanciful, he devised a curious plan to deceive the savages and warn him of their approach.
By means of an axe and a knife, he carved a representation of his own head, and covered it with hair by means of the tail of one of his light-coloured horses, which he docked for the purpose. (His steeds, by the way, occupied another chamber of the cavern in which he dwelt.) The head thus formed, he planted behind a bush that grew on a ledge of rock about two yards from the bottom of the cliff of the amphitheatre outside, and directly opposite to the entrance to it. The cave, it will be remembered, was on the right of that entrance. Thus, the first thing the savage beheld, on prowling up to the opening of the amphitheatre, was d.i.c.k"s image peeping at him over the bush opposite. Of course the instantaneous result was the firing of a shot or the discharge of an arrow, which, the Indians being excellent marksmen, invariably alighted on the bridge of d.i.c.k"s nose, or in the centre of his forehead, or in one or other of his eyes. As the head was balanced on the front edge of a deep narrow hole which happened to be there, it was invariably knocked into that hole by the blow, and disappeared.
This was the supposed fall of the famous Wild Man that caused the yell which has taken so long to account for, and the discovery of nothing behind that bush except a small deep hole, much too small to secrete even a little man"s body in, was the cause of the explanation of surprise which we a.s.serted would certainly follow.
When an event of this kind happened, d.i.c.k had a large blunderbuss in readiness. It was loaded with a tremendous charge of small shot, and a small charge of powder, for he did not want to kill. His object was simply to punish and to terrify. He also had in readiness a curious machine which we find it rather difficult to describe. Every one has heard, no doubt, of the wooden wheels, with wooden axles, attached to the carts in some eastern countries, which groan, and creak, and yell, and shriek for want of grease, in a manner that is almost maddening to all but native ears. d.i.c.k"s invention was founded partly on the principle of these eastern carts, only it was worked by turning a handle, and its sounds were much more excruciatingly intense.
On being startled, then, d.i.c.k was wont to seize his blunderbuss, rush into the outer cave where the shrieking-machine was, give the handle half a dozen turns, and thus awaken, as it were, all the demons of the Rocky Mountains. d.i.c.k came at last to know exactly what state of things he would find outside. At the first burst of discord the savages, however numerous, took to their heels, and when d.i.c.k emerged from his cave, they were always within a yard or two of the entrance to the amphitheatre, every man with outstretched arms, sloped forward at the acutest possible angle with the ground, rushing on the wings of terror in a flight of unparalleled precipitancy.
To pour the charge of small shot down into the centre of the flying ma.s.s was the work of a moment; to mount his unsaddled charger, and dash down the steep rugged path with a clatter equal to that of half a squadron of dragoons, was the work of two minutes more. To pull up suddenly, when he had terrified the spirits of the intruders wellnigh out of their bodies, return slowly to his rude domicile, reload his blunderbuss, and retire to rest with a grim smile on his bearded mouth, and a lurking expression of fun in his big blue eyes, as he drew his blanket over him, was the usual termination of such scenes.
But this was not all. d.i.c.k, like a wise man, had prepared for the worst. In the event of the Indians ever getting the length of the interior of his den, there were other contrivances ready for them; chief among which was a large cistern or tank of water, directly over the fireplace, the front of which was movable, and could be pulled down by means of a cord pa.s.sing into the innermost cave of all--namely, the third cavern which we have alluded to as being Mary"s dormitory. By pulling this cord, the result--instantaneous and hideous--would be, that a deluge of water would drown the fire black out, fill the cavern with hot suffocating steam and ashes, and flood the floor.
How the cavern was to be defended when he himself was not there was a problem which d.i.c.k, being a mere man and not a demon, had utterly failed to solve. Of course, he could easily have set all manner of man-traps and spring-guns, but as these might have taken effect upon some poor wretch who had no design upon his life, he could not venture to run the risk.
On the present occasion--d.i.c.k being absent, March being prostrated and all but helpless, and Mary being unable to turn the handle of the shrieking-machine or to fire the blunderbuss, which kicked like a small cannon--the case of the romantic pair was desperate, and their only hope seemed to be that the savages would go away without examining the cavern. Vain hope!
But d.i.c.k had not left them to take their chance in that way. He had warned Mary long ago how to act in such circ.u.mstances, and she soon returned to March with the news that there were four Indian warriors outside, examining the bush behind which the head had disappeared, and that they would very soon find out the cave.
"That"s not pleasant news, Mary," said March, starting up in spite of pain and giddiness; "you seem to take it very easy!"
"Com, quick," said she, seizing March by the hand; "com with me."
March said, mentally, that he would go with her into the jaws of death, if need be; but he followed up the mental speech with the audible remark that he had better take some weapon with him.