Dupont and Lincoln kept together, as we have said, for some time after starting, but before they had cleared the first half of the course the former was considerably in advance of the latter, much to the delight of most of the excited spectators, with whom he was a favourite. On gaining the loop above referred to, and making the graceful sweep round it, which brought the foremost rider into full side view, the distance between them became more apparent, and a cheer arose from the people near the fort gate.

At that moment a puff of smoke issued from the bushes. Dupont tossed his arms in the air, uttered a sharp cry, and fell headlong to the ground. At the same instant a band of Indians sprang from the underwood with an exulting yell. Lincoln succeeded in checking and turning his horse before they caught his bridle, but an arrow pierced his shoulder ere he had galloped out of reach of his enemies.

The instant Dupont fell, a savage leaped upon him, and plunged his knife into his heart. Then, passing the sharp weapon quickly round his head with his right hand, with his left he tore the scalp off, and, leaping up, shook the bloody trophy defiantly at the horrified spectators.

All this was accomplished so quickly that the horror-stricken people of the Mountain Fort had not time to move a finger to save their comrade. But, as the savage raised the scalp of poor Dupont above his head, Redhand's rifle flew to his shoulder, and in another moment the Indian fell to the earth beside his victim. Seeing this, the other Indians darted into the forest.

Then a fearful imprecation burst from the lips of Macgregor, as, with a face convulsed with passion, he rushed into the fort, shouting: "To horse! to horse, men! and see that your horns and pouches are full of powder and ball!"

The commotion and hubbub that now took place baffle all description. The men shouted and raved as they ran hither and thither, arming themselves and saddling their horses; while the shrieks of poor Dupont's widow mingled with those of the other women and the cries of the terrified children.

"Half a dozen of you must keep the fort," said McLeod, when they were all assembled; "the others will be sufficient to punish these fiends. You'll help us, I suppose?"

This latter question was addressed to Redhand, who, with his comrades, stood armed, and ready to mount.

"Ready, sir," answered the trapper promptly.

McLeod looked round with a gleam of satisfaction on the stalwart forms of his guests, as they stood each at his horse's head examining the state of his weapons, or securing more firmly some portion of his costume.

"Mount! mount!" shouted Macgregor, galloping at that moment through the gateway, and dashing away in the direction of the forest.

"Stay!—my sketch-book!" cried Bertram in an agony, at the same time dropping his reins and his gun, and darting back towards the hall of the fort.

"Git on, lads; I'll look arter him," said Bounce with a grin, catching up the bridle of the artist's horse.

Without a moment's hesitation, the remainder of the party turned, and galloped after Macgregor, who, with the most of his own men, had already wellnigh gained the edge of the forest.

In a few seconds Bertram rushed wildly out of the fort, with the sketch-book in one hand and the two blunderbuss-pistols in the other. In leaping on his horse, he dropped the latter; but Bounce picked them up, and stuck them hastily into his own belt.

"Now put that book into its own pouch, or ye'll be fit for nothin'," said Bounce almost sternly.

Bertram obeyed, and grasped the rifle which his friend placed in his hand. Then Bounce vaulted into his saddle, and, ere those who were left behind had drawn the bolts and let down the ponderous bars of the gate of the Mountain Fort, the two horsemen were flying at full speed over the plain in the track of the avengers of blood who had gone before them.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

THE PURSUIT—CONSCIENTIOUS SCRUPLES OF THE ARTIST—STRATEGIC MOVEMENTS— SURPRISED IN THE WILD-CAT PASS—MARCH SHOWS COOLNESS AND PLUCK IN THE HOUR OF DANGER—A TERRIFIC ONSLAUGHT BY A WONDERFUL WARRIOR—THE BATTLE—HARD KNOCKS AND MYSTERIOUS DIFFERENCES OF OPINION.

Crossing the open ground in front of the Mountain Fort, Bounce and Bertram entered the wood beyond, and traversed it with comparative ease, by means of a bridle-path which had been cut there by the fur-traders. A few minutes' gallop brought them to the other side of the wood, which was one of those narrow strips or clumps of forest which grow, more or less thickly, on the skirts of the Rocky Mountains, forming that fine picturesque region where the prairie and the forest meet and seem to contend for the mastery.

The plain beyond this belt of wood was open and level—at least, sufficiently so to enable the two horsemen to see for a considerable distance around them. Here, in the far distance, they descried their companions, sweeping over the turf at their utmost speed, and making towards a low hill or ridge that intercepted the view of the more distant country.

"They'll have to draw in a bit," said Bounce, turning to his comrade. "Horses no more nor men can't go helter-skelter up a hill without takin' breath; so rouse up your beast, Mr Bertram, an' we'll overtake 'em afore they gits to the t'other side."

Bertram obeyed his friend's command, but made no rejoinder, his thoughts being too deeply engaged at that moment in a controversy with his conscience as to the propriety of the business he had then in hand.

The young artist had a deep veneration for abstract truth—truth pure and simple, not only in reference to morals, but to all things terrestrial and celestial; and he was deeply impressed with the belief that what was right was right, and what was wrong was wrong, and could not, by any possibility, be otherwise. He felt, also, that the man who recognised truth and acted upon it must go right, and he who saw and did otherwise must go wrong!

Holding this simple creed very tenaciously, and, as we think, very properly, Bertram nevertheless found that his attempts to act up to it frequently involved him in a maze of perplexities.

On the present occasion, as he and Bounce thundered over the green turf of the flowering plains, scattering the terrified grasshoppers right and left, and causing the beautifully striped ground-squirrels to plunge with astonishing precipitancy into their holes, he argued with himself, that the mere fact of a murderous deed having been done was not a sufficient reason, perhaps, to justify his sallying forth with a reckless band of desperate fur-traders, bent on indiscriminate revenge. It was quite true, in his opinion, that a murderer should be punished with death, and that the pursuit and capture of a murderer was not only a legitimate act in itself but, in the circumstances, a bounden duty on his part. Yet it was equally true that most of the men with whom he was associated were thirsting for vengeance, and from past experience he knew full well that there would be no attempt to find out the murderer, but a simple and general massacre of all the Indians whom they could overtake.

Then it suddenly occurred to him that the murderer had already been shot by Redhand, so that his mission was one of simple revenge; but, a moment after, it flashed across his troubled mind that Lincoln had been left in the fort wounded—might possibly be dead by that time; so that there were probably among the flying savages other murderers to be dealt with. This idea was strengthened by another thought, namely, that the savage who stabbed and scalped Dupont might not have been the savage who shot him. The complication and aggregate of improbability amounted, in Bertram's mind, so nearly to a certainty, that he dismissed the digressive question as to whether there might or might not be a murderer among the Indians, and returned to the original proposition, as to whether it was right in him to take part in a pursuit of vengeance that would very likely terminate murderously. But before he could come to any satisfactory conclusion on that point he and Bounce found themselves suddenly in the midst of the cavalcade, which had halted on the summit of the ridge, in order to allow them to come up.

"Here we are, lads," cried Macgregor, his flushed face still blazing with wrath, which he made no effort to subdue, and his eyes red with prolonged debauchery, flashing like the eyes of a tiger—"here we are, too late to cut off the retreat o' these detestable reptiles from the woods, but not too late to circumvent them."

The fur trader spoke rapidly, almost breathlessly, and pointed to the band of Indians they were in pursuit of, who, observing that their pursuers had halted, also drew rein on the edge of a belt of thick forest that extended for miles into the mountains. They appeared to wait, in order to ascertain what their enemies meant to do.

"The villains," continued Macgregor, "think we've given up pursuit as hopeless, but they're mistaken—they're mistaken, as they'll find to their cost. Now, mark me, men; we shall turn back as if we had really given in; but the moment we get down into the hollow, out of sight, we'll go as hard as we can bolt up that valley there, and round by the place we call the Wild-Cat Pass. It's a difficult pass, but who cares for that? Once through it we can get by a short cut to the other side of that wood, and meet the redskins right in the teeth. They're Blackfoot Indians, I know by their dress; and, as they don't belong to this part o' the country, they can't be aware of the pass. But some of us must go back a good way towards the fort, so as to deceive the blackguards, who'll be sure to get on the first hill they can to see where we've gone to. Now—away! Stay," he added in a less commanding tone, "I don't know that my guests are willing to go with us through thick an' thin in this fashion. I've no desire to have unwilling warriors."

"Had we not been willing" replied Redhand dryly, "we wouldn't have come even thus far."

"Very good," rejoined Macgregor with a grim smile; "then, perhaps, since you are so good as to go along with us, you'll make for the head of that valley, and when you come to the Wild-Cat Pass I've spoken of, you'll wait there till the rest of us, who are to sham going back to the fort, come up with ye; then we'll go through the pass together, and polish off the redskins."

To this plan Redhand assented; so he and his comrades prepared to take the way to the pass, while the men of the fort turned homewards. A triumphant shout from the Indians showed that they imagined the pursuit was given up; but Macgregor knew their cunning too well to fall into the mistake of at once concluding that they were thoroughly deceived. He knew that they would send out scouts to dog them, and felt, that if his plan was to succeed, he must put it into execution promptly.

"I've scarce had time to ask your names or where you've come from," he said on parting from the trappers; "but there'll be plenty of time for that when we meet again. Keep close in the bottom, and ride fast, till the shadow of yonder crag conceals you from view. If the Indians get sight of you, they'll smell the dodge at once and escape us. Perhaps, young man, you'd like to come with my party?"

The latter part of this speech was made rather abruptly to March Marston, who received it with some surprise, and with a distinct refusal.

"I'll stick by my comrades," said he, "till I see good reason—"

"Well, well, boy—please yourself!" muttered the trader angrily, as he broke away at full speed, followed by his men.

Our trappers instantly turned their horses' heads towards the mountains, and made for the Wild-Cat Pass.

Macgregor's estimate of the cunning of the Indians was but too correct. The instant the fur-traders disappeared behind the ridge, as if on their return homewards, several of their fastest riders were dispatched to the nearest hill, to watch the movements of the enemy. They ascended one which commanded a wide view of the surrounding country, and thence beheld the fur-traders proceeding swiftly back in the direction of the fort. Unfortunately, they also perceived the bottle-brush of Bertram's steed, as it disappeared behind the crag which already concealed the rest of his comrades from view. One instant later, and the Indians would have failed to make this discovery, for a deep impassable gorge lay between them and the ravine which conducted to the pass. It was but the barest possible glimpse they got of that shabby tail; but it told a tale which they perfectly understood, for they flew back in the utmost haste to warn their comrades, who, knowing the smallness of the party thus sent against them, from the largeness of the party that had shammed returning to the fort, resolved upon executing a counter movement.

They had a shrewd suspicion, from the nature of the country, that the intention of the whites was to get through a pass of some sort and intercept them, and, concluding that this pass must lie at the head of the valley up which the bottle-brush had vanished, they resolved to proceed to the same spot through the gorge that separated the hill from the crag or rocky ridge before referred to.

Promptitude they knew to be everything, so they swept up the gorge like a whirlwind. Thus both parties drew nearer to the chaotic opening styled the Wild-Cat Pass—the trappers, all ignorant of what awaited them there; the savages bent on giving their enemies an unpleasant surprise.

But, unknown to either, there was a pair of eyes high on a rock above the Wild-Cat Pass, that overlooked the two valleys or ravines, and gazed with considerable interest and curiosity on the two advancing parties. Those eyes belonged to a solitary horseman, who stood on the edge of the wild precipice that overhung the pass. The hunter, for such his leathern dress bespoke him, stood beside his horse, his right arm over its arched neck, and his right hand patting its sleek shoulder. From the position which he occupied he could see without being seen. His magnificent steed seemed to be aware that danger was at hand, for it stood like a statue, absolutely motionless, with the exception of its fine fiery eyes. Whatever this solitary hunter's thoughts regarding the two approaching parties might be, it was evident that he meant to remain an invisible spectator of their doings; for he stood in the same attitude of statue-like attention until they reached the heads of the two ravines, where they were separated from each other only by the pass. Here, on the one side, the Indians, about forty in number, lay in ambush among the rocks, prepared to surprise and attack the trappers when they should pass. On the other side the trappers halted, and dismounting, allowed their horses to graze while they awaited the arrival of Macgregor and his party.

"They won't be long o' comin'," remarked Redhand, seating himself on a stone and proceeding to strike a light. "That fellow Macgregor an't the man to waste time when he's out after the redskins. I only hope he won't waste life when he gets up to them."

"So do I," said Bounce, seating himself beside Redhand and carefully cutting a small piece of tobacco into shreds by means of a scalping-knife. "A sartin amount o' punishment is needful, d'ye see, to keep 'em down; but I don't like slaughtering human bein's onnecessary like."

"I'd skiver 'em all, I guess—every one," observed Big Waller angrily. "They're a murderin', thievin' set o' varmints, as don't desarve to live nohow!"

"Bah!" exclaimed Gibault in disgust; "you is most awferfully onfeelosophicule, as Bounce do say. If dey not fit for live, for fat vas dey made? You vicked man!"

Big Waller deigned no reply.

"I'm off to look at the pass," cried March Marston, vaulting suddenly into the saddle. "Come, Bertram; you'll go with me, won't you, and see if we can find some wild-cats in it?"

The artist, who had not dismounted, merely replied by a nod and a smile, and the two reckless youths galloped away, heedless of Bounce's warning not to go too far, for fear they should find something worse than wild-cats there.

The Wild-Cat Pass, through which they were speedily picking their steps, in order to get a view of the country beyond, was not inappropriately named; for it seemed, at the first glance of those who entered it, as if no creature less savagely reckless than a cat could, by any possibility, scramble through it without the aid of wings.

The greater part of it was the ancient bed of a mountain torrent, whose gushing waters had, owing to some antediluvian convulsion of nature, been diverted into another channel. The whole scene was an absolute chaos of rocks which had fallen into the torrent's bed from the precipice that hemmed it in on the west, and these rocky masses lay heaped about in such a confused way that it was extremely difficult to select a pathway along which the horses could proceed without running great risk of breaking their limbs. The entire length of the pass could not have been much more than a quarter of a mile, yet it took March Marston and his companion full half an hour to traverse it.

When about half through the pass March, who led the way, drew up on a small rocky elevation, from which he could survey the amphitheatre of rugged and naked rocks in the midst of which he stood.

"Upon my word, Bertram," he said gazing round, "if Bunyan had ever been in the Rocky Mountains, I think he would have chosen such a spot as this for the castle o' Giant Despair."

"I know not," replied Bertram with a deep sigh, as he drew rein, "what Bunyan would have done, but I know that Giant Despair has already located himself here, for he has been trying to take, possession of my bosom for at least twenty minutes. I never rode over such ground in my life. However, it ill becomes pioneers to be overcome by such a giant, so pray push on; I feel quite eager to see what sort of region lies beyond this gloomy portal."

March laughed and turned to continue the scramble; Bertram removed his brigandish hat, wiped his heated brows, replaced the hat firmly thereon, and drove his heels violently against the ribs of his horse, an act which induced that patient quadruped to toss its head and shake its bottle-brush ere it condescended to move on. It was quite evident that, although Bertram spoke in a half-jesting tone of Giant Despair, he was in reality much delighted with the singularity of this extemporised and interesting ramble.

"I say, Bertram, don't you like this sort of thing?" inquired March, looking back at his companion, on reaching a somewhat level part of the pass.

"Like it? Ay, that do I. I love it, March. There is a freedom, a species of wild romance about it, that is more captivating than I can describe."

"You don't need to describe it," returned March. "I have it all described splendidly within me. One don't want words when one's got feelins. But I've often thought what a pity it is that we can't describe things or places at all with words. At least, I can't," he added modestly. "When I try to tell a fellow what I've seen, it ain't o' no manner of use to try, for I don't get hold of the right words at the right time, and so don't give out the right meanin', and so the fellow I'm speakin' to don't take up the right notion, d'ye see? It's a great pity that words are such useless things."

"Why, that was spoken like Bounce himself," said Bertram, smiling.

"Look out, or you'll go bounce into that hole, if you don't have a care," cried March, turning aside to avoid the danger referred to. They proceeded through the remainder of the pass in silence, as the rugged nature of the ground required their undivided attention.

Had there been a sprite in that place, who could have hopped invisibly to some elevated pinnacle, or have soared on gossamer wings into the air, so as to take a bird's-eye view of the whole scene, he would have noted that while March Marston and the artist were toiling slowly through the Wild-Cat Pass, the solitary hunter before referred to regarded their proceedings with some surprise, and that when he saw they were bent on going quite through the pass, his expression changed to a look of deep concern.

With slow and gentle hand this man backed his quiet and docile horse deeper into the bush; and when he had got so deep into the shade of the forest as to be perfectly safe from observation, he leaped on its back with a single bound, and galloped swiftly away.

A few minutes after the occurrence of this incident, March and his friend emerged from the pass and trotted out upon a level plain whence they obtained a fine view of the magnificent country beyond. The pass from which they had just issued seemed to be the entrance to the heart of the Rocky Mountains. The plain, or rather the plateau, on which they stood was a level spot covered with soft grass, free from bushes, and not more than a hundred yards in extent. On three sides it was encompassed by inaccessible precipices and rocky ground, in the midst of which the opening out of the pass was situated. On the fourth side it was skirted by a dense thicket of bushes that formed the entrance to a magnificent forest which extended for several miles in front of the spot. Beyond this forest the scene was broken by hills and valleys, and little plains, richly diversified with wood and water—the former in dense masses, scattered groups, and isolated clusters; the latter shining in the forms of lakelet and stream, or glancing snow-white in numberless cascades. Beyond all, the dark-blue giant masses of the Rocky Mountains towered up and up, hill upon hill, pile upon pile, mass on mass, till they terminated in distant peaks, so little darker than the sky that they seemed scarcely more solid than the clouds with which they mingled and blended their everlasting snows.

"An't it beautiful?" cried March, riding forward with a bounding sensation of inexpressible delight.

Bertram followed him, but did not answer. He was too deeply absorbed in the simple act of intently gazing and drinking in the scene to listen or to reply.

At the precise moment in which March made the above remark, his quick eye observed a spear head which one of the savages, hid among the bushes there, had not taken sufficient pains to conceal.

March Marston was a young hunter, and, as yet an inexperienced warrior; but from childhood he had been trained, as if it were in spirit, by the anecdotes and tales of the many hunters who had visited Pine Point settlement. His natural powers of self-control were very great, but he had to tax all these powers to the uttermost to maintain his look of animated delight in the scenery unchanged, after making the above startling discovery. But March did it! His first severe trial in the perils of backwoods life had come—without warning or time for preparation; and he passed through it like a true hero.

That a spear handle must necessarily support a spear head; that an Indian probably grasped the former; that, in the present position of affairs, there were certainly more Indians than one in ambush; and that, in all probability, there were at that moment two or three dozen arrows resting on their respective bows, and pointed towards his and his comrade's hearts, ready to take flight the instant they should come within sure and deadly range, were ideas which did not follow each other in rapid succession through his brain, but darted upon the young hunter's quick perceptions instantaneously, and caused his heart to beat on his ribs like a sledge-hammer, and the blood to fly violently to his face.

Luckily March's face was deeply browned, and did not show the crimson tide. With a sudden, mighty effort he checked the natural look and exclamation of surprise. That was the moment of danger past. To continue his praise of the lovely scene in gay delighted tones was comparatively easy.

"Isn't it beautiful?" he said, turning his face full towards the ambushed savages, gazing over their place of concealment with an unconscious joyous air, and sweeping his hand towards the mountains, as if to draw the attention of his companion to them. March's only weapon at that moment was the small hatchet he was wont to carry in his girdle. This implement chanced to be in his hand. Placing it carelessly in his belt, as though nothing was further from his mind than the idea of requiring to use it at that time, he cried—

"See, yonder is a mound from which we may get a better view," and trotted to the summit of the spot alluded to. In doing so, he placed himself still nearer to the Indians. This was a bold stroke, though a dangerous one, meant to deceive the enemy. After gazing a few seconds from this spot, he wheeled round and walked his horse quietly towards the entrance to the pass. Arrived there, he turned, and pretending that he saw something in the far distance, he shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed for a short time intently, then calling to Bertram, who still remained in his original position all unconscious of his danger, said—

"I say, come here; look at yonder splendid lake, it's worth seeing—well worth seeing; and if you don't see it with that curious light on it, you'll not care to see it at all."

March did not dare, by energy of voice, to force his friend's attention, therefore the first part of this speech was unheeded; but the reference to a "curious light" had the desired effect. Bertram turned, and rode to join his companion. Getting Bertram into such a position that his own person partially screened him from the Indians, he made the following remarkable speech, from beginning to end, in the gay tones of one who discourses eloquently on the beauties of nature; pointing here and there as he rattled on.

"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 passed close to the persons of the two friends, who instantly turned and made a dash for the entrance of the pass. At the same time the savages uttered a yell and darted after them.

"We'll never be able to escape by the pass," 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 assistance 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 butt 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 pass, 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 shield 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 shield, 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 shield, 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 passed 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 Pass, 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 crashing tread of their footsteps and an occasional shout alone remaining to assure 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 bloody 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 grass from the plain, wiped his bloody 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 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 spot, from hill to hill, in a species of charming indolence of body, that seemed to increase, rather than to diminish, the activity of their minds. Sometimes they rambled or rested on the sunny slopes in groups, sometimes in couples, and sometimes singly. March Marston and the artist sauntered about together, and conversed with animated fluency and wandering volubility—as young minds are wont to do—on things past, present, and to come; things terrestrial and celestial. In short, there was no subject, almost, that did not get a share of their attention, as they sauntered by the rippling brook or over the flowering plain, or stood upon the mountain side. They tried "everything by turns, and nothing long," and, among other mental occupations, they read portions of the Bible together; for Bertram found that March carried his mother's Testament in an inner breast-pocket of his hunting-shirt, and March discovered that his friend had a small copy of the Bible—also a mother's gift—which shared the pouch of his leather coat with the well-known sketch-book. They conversed freely and somewhat boldly on what they read, and we doubt not that our learned divines, had they listened to the talk of the youthful pioneer and the young hunter, would have been surprised, perhaps edified, by the simple, practical, common-sense views promulgated by those raw theologians. Certainly, any one listening to the grave, kindly, philosophical commentaries of March Marston, would never have believed in the truth of that statement at the commencement of this story, wherein it is asserted somewhat positively that "March Marston was mad!"

Bounce, and Big Waller, and Black Gibault, drew naturally together and speculated, after their own peculiar fashion, on every subject of thought within the reach of their capacities; and as Bounce's capacities embraced a pretty wide range, the "feelosophical" views he set forth upon that lovely Sabbath day were so varied, so eccentric, so graphic, and so apparently inexhaustible, that he effectually quelled Gibault's inveterate tendency, to jest, and filled Big Waller with deeper admiration than ever.

As for Redhand and the Indian, they wandered about in sympathetic silence, broken ever and anon by the old trapper passing a remark on some interesting peculiarity of a leaf, an insect, or a flower. It has been said, that as men grow older they find deeper pleasure in the contemplation of the minute things of nature, and are less desirous than they were wont to expatiate on the striking and the grand. What truth there is in the remark we cannot tell; but, certain it is, while the younger men of the party seemed to cast longing, admiring, and gladsome looks over the distant landscape, and up at the snow-clad and cloud-encompassed heights of the Rocky Mountains, old Redhand bent his eyes, we might almost say lovingly, on the earth. He would sit down on a stone and pluck a leaf, which he would examine with minute care; or watch with the deepest interest the frantic efforts of a little ant, as it staggered along under its gigantic burden of a single seed, climbing over a mountainous twig, tumbling into a cavernous hole the size of a hazelnut, or being brought to a hesitating pause by a mountain torrent a quarter of an inch broad.

The sedate Indian took special pleasure in watching the doings of his old friend. Usually, he contented himself with a grunt of assent when Redhand made a remark on the peculiarities of a plant or an insect, but sometimes he ventured on a brief observation, and occasionally even proposed a question to his aged companion, which Redhand found it difficult to answer. There was little interchange of thought between those two silent men, but there was much of quiet enjoyment.

So passed the Sabbath day. Early on the following morning the trappers were astir, and before the sun tinged the mountain peaks, their beaver traps were set, an extensive portion of the territory they had thus quietly taken possession of had been explored in several directions, a couple of deer had been shot, a mountain goat seen, and a grisly bear driven from his den and pursued, but not killed; besides a number of wildfowl having been bagged, and an immense number of creatures, including mustangs, or wild horses, roused from their lairs.

When the scattered hunters returned to the camp to breakfast, they found themselves in a satisfied, happy state of mind, with a strong disposition, on the part of some, to break their fast without wasting time in cooking the viands. "It was of no manner of use cooking," Big Waller said, "when a feller was fit to eat his own head off of his own shoulders!" As for Gibault, he declared that he meant to give up cooking his victuals from that time forward, and eat them raw. The others seemed practically to have come to the same conclusion, for certain it is that the breakfast, when devoured on that first Monday morning, was decidedly underdone—to use a mild expression!

But it was when the pipes were lighted that the peculiarities and capabilities of that wild region became fully known, for then it was that each hunter began to relate with minute accuracy the adventures of that morning. As they had scattered far and wide, and hunted or trapped separately, each had something new and more or less interesting to tell. March told of how he had shot a grey goose, and had gone into a moving swamp after it, and had sunk up to the middle, and all but took to swimming to save himself, but had got hold of the goose notwithstanding, as the drumstick he had just picked would testify. Bounce told of having gone after a moose deer, and, failing to come up with it, was fain to content himself with a bighorn and a buck; and Big Waller asserted that he had suddenly come upon a grisly bear, which he would certainly have shot, had it not run away from him. Whereupon Gibault, wilfully misunderstanding, said, with a look of unutterable surprise, that he would never have believed it—no, never—had anybody else told him, that Big Waller had actually run away from a bear! He couldn't bear to hear of it, and would not believe it though Waller himself said it. As for Bertram, having filled the pages of his sketch-book, back and front, he was compelled to take to miniature drawing in corners and blank bits, and in this way began to book the entire region, and to revel in his loved art.

Several weeks passed away, and during that time of peace and plenty, our trappers had it all to themselves. They caught and killed numbers of animals; stripped off, dried, and packed quantities of valuable furs; ate enormous meals, with the gusto of men who had laboriously earned the right to do so, and related stories and anecdotes enough to fill a huge volume. In short, they enjoyed themselves beyond conception, and Bertram agreed with March Marston in thinking that Bunyan's land of Beulah could not have surpassed that delightful region.

But one day there came a small cloud on their blue sky of felicity. An event occurred which rudely dispelled their pleasant dreams, filled their hearts with anxiety, and finally broke up their camp in a way that led to disastrous, though not altogether ruinous, consequences.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

BUSINESS UNPLEASANTLY INTERRUPTED—THE MOUNTAIN FORT IN DANGER—TRAPPERS TO THE RESCUE—A RUDE MEETING WITH FOES IN THE DARK—A WILD RACE—MARCH MEETS WITH A SEVERE MISFORTUNE.

One morning, just as the trappers were dropping into camp about the usual breakfast hour, laden with the produce of the trap and the chase, they were startled by the sudden appearance of a large band of mounted Indians, who galloped to the top of a neighbouring mound, and, crowding together, stood still to gaze upon the invaders of their hunting grounds, for such they deemed the trappers, no doubt.

To snatch up their arms and run to a place of safety was the work of a moment. It must not be supposed that such experienced men as Redhand and Bounce were altogether unprepared for a surprise of this sort. On the day of their arrival at the hunting ground, their first care had been to select such a place for their camp as lay in close proximity to some natural stronghold. Not ten paces from the camp fire there was a sort of hollow in the ground, on the very summit of the mound on which they were encamped. Here all their valuables had been placed, and round the edge of the hollow a rude breastwork had been raised, so that the party, when in it, could fire through little openings in the breastwork without exposing themselves to view.

To this fortress they retired the instant the Indians made their appearance. Fortunately all the members of the little party had come in.

"They're holdin' a council o' war," said Bounce, carefully examining the priming of his piece. "It's as like as not they'll attack us, but they'll get a hearty and an oncommonly warm welcome."

"They'll not attack us," said Redhand. "They know that white men never travel without plenty of powder and ball, and they don't like taking a place by storm."

"Ay," remarked Waller sarcastically, "'cause they knows that the first man as comes on is sartin sure to fall, an' they knows that they can't come on without somebody comin' first."

"But there's brave fellers among the redskins," rejoined Bounce. "I knowed a set o' young fellers as banded theirselves together, and swore they'd go through fire an' water, thick an' thin, but they'd niver turn back from the face o' danger wherever they met it. So, one day they wos crossin' a river on the ice, an' the first on 'em fell in, an' wos carried away by the current; an' what does the second do, but he walks straight into the hole, an' wos drowned too; an' the nixt wos goin' to foller, when the old warriors ran at him an' forced him back. If they hadn't stopped him, I do b'lieve—"

"They're makin' up their minds to do somethin' or other," interrupted March.

"I sincerely hope they won't fight," murmured Bertram earnestly. "It is fearful to think of the blood that is shed by these men needlessly."

From the conduct of the Indians it became evident that on this occasion they sympathised with the artist in his desire not to fight, for one of their number dismounted, and, advancing unarmed towards the trappers, made signs of friendship.

"It's as well to be bold an' appear to trust 'em," said Redhand, laying down his rifle and leaping over the breastwork; "keep your guns ready, lads, an' if ye see treachery, let drive at once. Don't be afraid o' hittin' me. I'll take my chance."

After a few minutes' conversation with the Indian, Redhand returned to his party.

"That redskin," said he, "tells me they're on an expedition to hunt the buffalo on the prairie, and that they're good friends of the white men, and would like to have a talk with us before they go on; but I don't believe 'em. From what I heard Mr McLeod say at the Mountain Fort, I think it not unlikely they are bound on an expedition against the whites. The very fact of their wishin' to keep friends with us instead of tryin' to lift our scalps and carry off our furs and horses, shows me they've some more pressin' business on hand. Mr McLeod described to me the appearance of one or two o' the Injuns that hates the fur-traders most, so that I might be on my guard, an' I'm quite sure that some of them are with that band. Now, what say ye? Shall I tell 'em we don't want their acquaintance?"

"Tell 'em they're a set o' lyin' thieves," said Big Waller. "I guess we'll have nothin' to say to 'em wotiver."

"Oui, et give to dem mine complements," added Gibault, "an' say we ver' moch 'blige by dere goodness, mais dey vill all be shooted if dey not go away queek."

Redhand did not give these polite messages to the Indian, but on returning to him he presented him with a piece of tobacco, and advised him to continue his journey without loss of time, as the buffaloes were travelling south and might be out of the way when they reached the prairie.

Whether the Indians felt angry or not it is impossible to say. They seemed indifferent to their cool reception by the trappers, and soon after rode off at full speed, in a direction that led away from the Mountain Fort, a circumstance which still further confirmed Redhand in his suspicions.

After an eager, hasty consultation, it was resolved that they should follow the savages, and if their trail was found to diverge, as was fully expected, towards the fort, that they should endeavour to pass them in the night, and proceed by forced marches, in order to get there in time to warn the fur-traders of their impending danger.

In less than an hour after the Indians left them, the trappers were galloping after them in hot haste. During the course of the day they found that the trail doubled back, as they had anticipated, so, making a wide detour, they headed the Indians, and during the afternoon got a little in advance of them on their way to the Mountain Fort.

But the trappers had a subtle enemy to deal with. Just as the Indians were about to encamp that night for a few hours' rest, they chanced to diverge a short way from the direct line of march, and, in doing so, crossed the tracks of the trappers. A halt was called, and a minute inspection of the tracks made. One of the savages galloped back on them a considerable distance, and soon returned with the information that they led towards the camp of the pale-faces. From the appearance of the hoof-prints they knew that they were fresh, and thus at once guessed that their true intentions had been suspected, and might yet be frustrated by the trappers. Instead of encamping, therefore, they pushed on at full speed and very soon came up with the white men. It was a dark night, so that they could not see far in advance of them, and thus it happened that the two parties, on entering a narrow defile, almost rode into each other, with a yell of fierce surprise on both sides.

As there were at least fifty Indians, Redhand thought it better to avoid a doubtful combat by scattering his men through the woods, and letting each make the best of his way to the fort singly.

"Run, boys! scatter! to the fort!"

This was all that he deemed needful in the way of command or explanation. Firing a single volley at the enemy, they turned and fled.

"Foller me," shouted Waller to the bewildered Bertram, as a shower of arrows whistled past their ears. The artist obeyed mechanically, and in another moment they were flying through the wood at a pace that seemed, and actually was, reckless under the circumstances. But the Indians did not attempt to pursue. They knew that their intention had been discovered, and that their only chance of success now lay in outriding the pale-faces. The ride, in fact, became a long race, neither party making the slightest attempt to hunt up the other, but each straining every nerve and muscle to get first to the doomed fort.

The scattered trappers rode for a long time singly, but as they neared the fort, one or two of them met, and when they came first in sight of the tall flagstaff, Bounce, Redhand, and Gibault rode abreast.

McLeod was standing in front of the fort, when the three horsemen came dashing over the plain. He hastily summoned his men and closed the gate, but as the foremost rider came near, he was recognised; the gate was thrown open, and they galloped into the square. In a few hasty words their errand was explained. Arms and ammunition were served out, and six men were stationed at the gate, to be in readiness to open it to approaching friends, or to shut it in the face of foes.

But the others of the party were not so fortunate as these three. The Indians reached the fort before they did, and one of their number was left, unknown to them, in a state of insensibility near the spot where the first rencontre had taken place.

When the Indians and trappers met in the narrow defile, as before related, one of the arrows, which had been discharged very much at random, entered the shoulder of March Marston's horse and wounded it mortally. At first March thought the wound was slight, and, hearing the shouts of some of the savages not far behind him, he urged his horse forward as rapidly as the nature of the ground would admit of. Before he had gone a quarter of a mile, however, the poor steed fell, throwing March over its head. In his flight the youth's forehead came into violent contact with a branch, and he fell to the ground insensible.

His comrades, ignorant of his fate, continued their wild flight. Thus, our hero was forsaken, and left bruised and bleeding in the dark forest.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

MARCH GETS A SURPRISE; MORE THAN THAT, HE GETS A VARIETY OF SURPRISES— MEETS WITH A STRANGE HUNTER—GOES IN A STRANGE FASHION TO A STRANGE CAVERN AND BEHOLDS STRANGE SIGHTS—BESIDES OTHER MATTERS OF INTEREST.

On recovering consciousness, March discovered that it was broad daylight—from which he argued in a confused sort of way that he must have lain there all night. He also discovered that his head, which ached violently, rested on the knee of some unknown individual, who bathed his temples with cold water. Looking up he encountered the gaze of a pair of soft blue eyes.

Now there is something exceedingly captivating in a pair of soft blue eyes—not that there may not be something quite as captivating in a pair of brown or black or grey eyes—but there is something singularly captivating in the peculiar style of captivation wherewith a man is captivated by a pair of blue—distinctly blue—eyes. Perhaps it is that their resemblance to the cerulean depths of the bright sky and the blue profundities of the ocean invests them with a suggestive influence that is agreeable to the romantic and idealising tendencies of human nature; or that the colour is (or ought to be, if it is not) emblematic of purity. We throw out this suggestion solely for the benefit of unimpassioned philosophers. Those whose hearts are already under the pleasant thraldom of black or brown eyes are incapable of forming an opinion on the abstract question.

Well, March observed, further, that below those soft blue eyes, there was a handsome Roman nose, and immediately below that a moustache, and a thick short beard of curly light-brown hair. A slight, very slight, feeling of regret mingled with the astonishment with which March passed from the contemplation of the soft blue eyes to the bushy beard. He also noted that the stranger wore a little leathern cap, and that a profusion of rich brown hair descended from his head to his shoulders.

"Ye're better, lad," said the owner of the blue eyes in that deep musical bass voice which one meets with but rarely, and which resembles strongly, at times, the low pipes of a cathedral organ.

"Thankee, yes, I'm—"

"There, don't move yet awhile. You're badly bruised, lad. I'll go fetch ye another drop o' water."

The owner of the blue eyes rose as he spoke, laid March's head softly on the ground, and walked towards a neighbouring brook. In doing so he displayed to the wondering gaze of March the proportions of a truly splendid-looking man. He was considerably above six feet in height, but it was not that so much as the herculean build of his chest and shoulders that struck March with surprise. His costume was the ordinary leather hunting-shirt and leggings of a backwoodsman, and, although deeply bronzed, his colour not less than his blue eyes and brown hair told that he was not an Indian.

As he returned, carrying a little birch-bark dish full of water in his hand, March observed that the lines of his forehead indicated a mingled feeling of anger and sadness, and that his heavy brows frowned somewhat. He also noted more clearly now the man's towering height, and the enormous breadth of his chest. As he lay there on his back with his head pillowed on a tuft of moss, he said inwardly to himself, "I never saw such a fellow as this before in all my life!"

And little wonder that March Marston thought thus, for, as no doubt the reader has already guessed, the far-famed Wild Man of the West himself stood before him!

But he did not know him. On the only occasion on which he had had an opportunity of beholding this renowned man, March had been rendered insensible just as he came on the field, and the exaggerated descriptions he had heard of him seemed quite irreconcilable with the soft blue eye and gentle manner of the hunter who had come thus opportunely to his aid. For one moment, indeed, the idea did occur to March that this was the Wild Man. It was natural that, having had his thoughts for so long a period filled with conjectures in reference to this wonderful creature, he should suppose the first tall, mysterious man he met must be he. But he dismissed the notion as untenable and absurd on second thoughts. That the blue-eyed, calm, dignified hunter who kneeled by his side, and held the refreshing water to his lips as if he were a trained sick nurse, should be the Wild Man, the man reported to be forty feet high, covered with hair, and exceeding fierce besides ugly, was out of the question. And when March shut his eyes in the full enjoyment of the cool draught, of which, poor fellow, he stood much in need, and heard the supposed Wild Man give vent to a sigh, which caused him to look up in surprise, so that he observed the mild blue eyes gazing sadly in his face, and the large head to which they belonged shaking from side to side mournfully, he almost laughed at himself for even momentarily entertaining such an absurd idea.

March Marston had much to learn—we mean in the way of reading human character and in judging from appearances. He had not yet observed, in the course of his short life, that if a blue eye is capable of expressing soft pity, it is also pre-eminently capable of indicating tiger-like ferocity. He did not consider that the gentlest natures are, when roused to fury, the most terrible in their outward aspect. He did not reflect that if this giant (for he almost deserved thus to be styled), instead of being engaged in an office of kindness, that naturally induced gentleness of action, and that called for no other feelings than those of tenderness and pity, were placed on a warhorse, armed with sword and shield, and roused to fury by some such sight as that of a large band of savage Indians attacking a small and innocent group of white trappers, he might then amply fulfil all the conditions that would entitle him to the wildest possible name that could be invented.

The prominent ideas in March's mind at that time were, a pair of blue eyes and a large, gentle hand; so he quietly and finally dismissed the Wild Man from his thoughts.

Luckily, the Wild Man did not treat March in a similar manner. After allowing him to rest quietly for a few minutes, he said—

"Now, lad, I think ye're improvin'. Ye're badly battered about the head and shoulders, so I'll take ye home with me."

"Home with you?" repeated March.

"Ay, put your arms round my neck," returned the Wild Man in a tone which, though soft and low, it was not possible to disobey.

March performed this somewhat endearing action in silent surprise, whereupon the Wild Man introduced his left arm below the poor youth's back, and with his right grasped him round the legs, and thus lifted him from the ground and carried him away.

March experienced a sensation as if all his larger joints were being dislocated, and felt disposed to cry out, but restrained himself with a powerful effort. Presently his bearer stopped, and, looking round, March observed that he was standing by the side of a horse.

"Hold on, lad, till I mount."

"You'd better let me down till you get up," suggested March.

"No," replied the singularly laconic individual.

Standing as he was, the Wild Man managed by raising March a little to lay his left hand on the pommel of his saddle; next moment his foot was in the stirrup, the moment after he himself was in the saddle, and a touch of his heel sent his horse cantering away towards the mountains.

Had March Marston seen his deliverer at that moment, with his long hair waving freely in the breeze, in emulation of the voluminous mane and tail of his splendid horse, his thoughts regarding the Wild Man of the West would have certainly returned more powerfully than ever. But March did not see him, his eyes being shut, his lips pursed, and his teeth set in a heroic attempt to endure the agonies to which he was subjected by the motion of the horse.

In half an hour they reached a rocky defile that led up into one of those wild, gloomy glens that are so characteristic of the Rocky Mountains. Here the Wild Man had to check his pace and proceed at a walk, thereby affording much relief to his wounded companion.

"Art sore i' the bones, lad?" inquired the stout horseman, looking down at his charge as if he were a small infant in arms.

"Rather," replied March. "Don't you think it would be better for me to ride behind you? I think I could manage to hold on."

"No, you couldn't."

"I fear I must be a terrible weight carried in this fashion," urged March.

"Weight!" echoed the hunter with a quiet chuckle; but, as he did not vouchsafe any further reply, March was left to interpret the expression as he thought fit.

"I hope no bones are broken," inquired March in a tone of anxiety.

"Hope not," replied his captor.

We use the word "captor" advisedly, for March was so utterly unable at that time, physically as well as morally, to resist the will of this strange hunter, that he felt much more like a captive in the grip of a mighty jailer than an invalid in the arms of his nurse.

"I fear there are," said March, as a rude motion of the horse caused him excruciating agony.

"Very likely," replied the other—not by any means in a careless, indifferent way, but with the air and tone of a straightforward man giving his opinion in reference to a matter of fact. "But," he added in a consolatory tone, "I'll see when we get home."

"Home!" repeated March. "Why, where is your home?"

"In the mountains here. We're about there now." As he spoke, the hunter turned his horse sharp to the left and entered a still more narrow and gloomy defile than the one they had just been ascending. So narrow was it, and overshadowed by high precipitous cliffs, that the light of day had to struggle for entrance even at noontide. At night it was dark as Erebus. The horse had considerable difficulty in advancing. Indeed no horse that had not been trained to pick its steps among the confused masses of rock and debris that formed the bottom of that ravine or chasm, could have ascended it at all. But the fine animal which bore March and the Wild Man of the West seemed to act more like a human being than a horse in winding out and in among the intricacies of the place.

At length they reached the upper end of the gorge. Here the cliffs, which rose perpendicularly to a height of three or four hundred feet, drew so near to each other that at one place they were not more than three yards asunder. Just beyond this point they receded again and terminated abruptly in a sort of circle or amphitheatre, the floor of which could not have been more than thirty yards in diameter, and was covered with small gravel; the sides were quite perpendicular, and rose so high that on looking up one felt as if one had got into the bottom of a natural tunnel, at the top of which a round bit of bright blue sky sent down a few scanty rays of light.

In spite of the pain it caused him, March raised his head and looked round as they rode into this gloomy cavernous place. Then, glancing at the face of the strange being who carried him, a feeling of superstitious dread took possession of his heart for a moment, as he remembered the many conversations he and Bounce had had about evil spirits appearing in human form, and he thought that perhaps he had actually fallen into the hands of one. But the grave quiet face, and above all the soft blue eyes, quickly put to flight such fears, although they could not altogether dispel the solemn awe he felt at being carried so suddenly into such a mysterious place.

But he had scarcely recovered some degree of confidence, when his mind was again thrown into a violent state of agitation by the fact that the horse, turning to the right, began deliberately to ascend the precipice, which was as perpendicular as a wall. It did not indeed ascend after the manner of a fly on a window, but it went up on what appeared to be a narrow, spiral pathway. In a few seconds they had ascended about fifty feet, and March, projecting out from the precipice as he did, owing to his position in the rider's left arm, felt a horrible sensation of giddiness come over him, and could not suppress a slight groan.

"Don't be afear'd, lad," said his companion, "I've got ye tight, an' the horse is used to it. The track's broader than ye think, only ye can't see it as ye lie now."

March felt reassured; nevertheless, he shut his eyes very tight and held his breath.

Presently he felt that they had turned sharp to the right, so he ventured to open his eyes, and found that they were standing at the mouth of what appeared to be a cavern. In another moment they were under its dark roof and the horse came to a stand. From the hasty glance he gave it, he could only ascertain that the interior was buried in profound darkness.

Without causing March to move in any way, the stout horseman dismounted. In fact, the burden seemed no greater to him than a child would be to an ordinary man.

"Here we are—at home," he said. "Come, old horse, get away in."

The horse obeyed, and disappeared in the darkness beyond.

"Now, lad, don't be afear'd, I know every fut o' the way. Ye can shut yer eyes an ye like—but there's no occasion."

Saying this, he advanced with a steady tread into the cave, the echoes of which were still ringing with the clatter of the horse's hoofs as it passed over the stone floor. It could not have been more than a quarter of a minute when they reached the end of what appeared to be the outer vestibule of this cavern, though to March it seemed to be more than five minutes; and, now that he could no longer see the blue eyes, all manner of horrible doubts and fears assailed him. He felt deeply his helpless condition, poor fellow. Had he been sound in wind and limb he would have cared little; for a brave and a strong man naturally feels that he can fight a stout battle for life in all or any circumstances. But part of this prop (namely, strength) having been removed by his recent accident, he felt like a miserable child.

Doubtless it is good for strong men to be brought thus low sometimes, just to prove to them, what they are by nature very slow to believe, that they, quite as much as the weak and helpless ones of this world, are dependent at all times on their fellows.

On reaching the end of the outer cave, the hunter turned to the left, stooped down in order to pass below a small natural arch, and finally stood still in the middle of another cavern, on the floor of which he deposited his burden with much tenderness and care.

There was light in this cave, but it was so dim as to be insufficient to illuminate the surrounding objects. March perceived on looking up that it entered through a small aperture in the side of the cavern near the roof, which was not more than twelve feet from the floor. There were several pieces of charred wood on one side of the cave, in which a few sparks of fire still lingered.

Without saying a word the owner of this strange abode went towards these, and, blowing them into a flame, heaped large logs upon them, so that, in ten minutes, the place was brilliantly illuminated with a ruddy blaze that did one's heart good to look upon.

By the light of the fire March perceived that he had been deposited on a couch of pine-branches. He was about to make other observations, when his captor turned to him and said—

"I'll go an' see to the horse, and be back in a minute; so keep yer mind easy."

"And, pray, what name am I to call my host by?" said March, unable to restrain his curiosity any longer.

A dark, almost fierce frown covered the man's face, as he said angrily, "Boy, curiosity is a bad thing—anywise, it's bad here. I've brought you to this cave 'cause you'd ha' died i' the woods if I hadn't. Don't ask questions about what don't consarn ye."

"Nay, friend, I meant no offence," replied March. "I've no desire to pry into any man's secrets. Nevertheless, it's but natural to want to know how to address a man when ye converse with him."

"True, true," replied the other, somewhat mollified. "Call me Dick; it's as good a name as any, and better than my own."

There was a slight touch of bitterness in the tone in which this was said, as the man turned on his heel to quit the cave.

"Stay," cried March, "you only give me one name, friend, so I'll do the same by you. My name's March—there, now you may march about your business."

Dick smiled and said, "Well, March, I'll be with ye again, and have a look at your sore bones, in two minutes."

When he was gone March, for the first time since his accident, bethought him of his comrades. Since recovering from the state of insensibility into which his fall had thrown him, his mind had been so absorbed by the strange events that had been presented to him in such rapid succession, as well as with the pain that racked his head and limbs, that he had had no time to think about them. But, now that he was left in that quiet place alone, the whole circumstances of the recent pursuit and flight rushed suddenly upon him, and his mind was filled with anxious forebodings as to the fate of his comrades.

"Oh! I'm glad you've come back," he cried, as Dick re-entered the cave; "I quite forgot my comrades—shame on me! but my miserable head has got such a smash, that a'most everything's bin drove out of it."

"Time enough to speak o' them after we've seen to your bones," said Dick.

"Nay, but—"

"After," said Dick in a tone that was not to be gainsaid.

March submitted with a sigh, and his eccentric host proceeded to manipulate and punch him in a way that might perhaps have been highly necessary, but was by no means agreeable. After a few minutes he pronounced his patient all right, only a little bruised! Having said which, he proceeded to prepare some food, and said to March that he might now speak about his comrades.

At first he seemed to pay little attention to the youth's hasty narrative; but on hearing that the Indians were hastening to attack the Mountain Fort, he sprang up, and asked a few questions eagerly. It was evident that the news troubled him deeply.

Taking one or two hasty strides up and down the cavern, and paying no attention to the roasting meat, which he seemed to have utterly forgotten, the Wild Man of the West muttered angrily to himself, and a slight dash of that tiger-like flash, which had gone so far to earn him his title, lighted up his blue eyes, insomuch that March Marston looked at him in amazement not unmingled with awe. Thoughts of the Wild Man of the West once more occurred to him; but in his former cogitations on that subject he had so thoroughly discarded the idea of this kind, blue-eyed hunter being that far-famed and ferocious individual, that his thoughts only took the form of the mental question, "I wonder if the Wild Man o' the West could beat such a fellow as that at a fair stand-up fight?" So powerfully did this thought affect him, that he could not refrain from exclaiming—

"I say, Dick, did you ever hear of the Wild Man of the West?"

Dick was so much tickled by the question that his angry mood vanished, and, turning towards his guest with a smile, while his blue eyes seemed milder than they ever had appeared before, he said—

"Yes, lad, I've heard of him."

"Have you seen him?" continued March eagerly.

"I have, many a time."

"What is he like?"

"He's like me," replied Dick with another smile, the softness of which would have driven March to an immeasurable distance from the truth, had he ever been near it.

"Like you! Oh, I suppose you mean he's something about your size. Well, I don't wonder at that, for you're an uncommonly big fellow, Dick; but I fancy his appearance is very different."

"Well, no. He's got light hair and blue eyes, like me."

This was a poser to March. It was so totally subversive of all his preconceived ideas, that it reduced him for some moments to silence.

"Isn't he hairy all over, like a fox, and very ugly?" inquired March, recovering from his surprise.

This was a poser, in turn, to the Wild Man. To be called upon suddenly to pronounce an opinion on his own looks was embarrassing, to say the least of it.

"He's not exactly hairy all over," said Dick after a moment's thought, "though it can't be denied he's got plenty of hair on his head and chin—like me. As for his looks, lad, it ain't easy to say whether he's ugly or pritty, for men don't agree on sich pints, d'ye see?"

"Do sit down beside me, Dick, and tell me about this Wild Man," said March earnestly. "You can't fancy how anxious I am to see him. I've come here for that very purpose. No doubt I've come to shoot and trap, too, but chiefly to see the Wild Man o' the West. An' isn't it provokin'? I might have seen him some weeks agone, if I hadn't bin stunned with a fall jist as he came jumpin' into the middle o' us like a clap o' thunder—"

"What, lad," interrupted Dick, "was it you that I—"

Just at this moment Dick was seized with a very violent fit of coughing, which, coming as it did from such a capacious chest and so powerful a pair of lungs, caused the roof of the cavern to reverberate with what might have been mistaken, outside, for a species of miniature artillery.

"You've caught cold," suggested March, who gazed in unspeakable admiration at the magnificent locks and beard of this remarkable man, as they shook with the violence of his exertion.

"I never had a cold," replied Dick, becoming quiet again; "there's other things as cause a man for to cough, now and agin', besides colds."

"True," rejoined March; "but you were sayin' somethin'—do you know of the fight I was speakin' of?"

"Know of it—ay, that do I."

"Why, how did you happen to hear of it?"

"It's wonderful, lad, how I comes to know about things in this part o' the country. I know everything the Wild Man does. He can't move without my bein' on his track d'rectly. In fact, I follers him like his shadow—leastwise, his shadow follers me."

"Indeed," exclaimed March, whose interest in Dick became suddenly tenfold more deep on learning this. "But why do you follow him about in this fashion? Does he like your company, or do you only follow him on the sly, and keep out of sight? Explain yourself, Dick—you puzzle me."

"I can't explain just now, lad," said Dick, rising abruptly. "You forget that your comrades may be in a fix before now wi' them blackguard redskins. I must go an' help them. It's but right that white men should lend one another a helpin' hand in these regions, where the Injuns have it almost all their own way."

"But the Mountain Fort is far away from this, an' I'm afraid you'll never be able to get there in time," said March with an anxious expression of countenance.

"I'll try," returned Dick. "Anyhow, I'll send the Wild Man o' the West to help them," he added with a peculiar smile. "Now, boy, listen, I must not waste more time in idle talk. I shall leave you here under the charge of my little girl—"

"Your little girl!" echoed March in surprise.

"Ay, she ought to have been in before now," continued Dick, without noticing the interruption, "an' I would like to ha' told her who ye are, and how I come by ye, an' what to do till I come back. But I can't wait; time's precious as gold just now; so I'll tell ye what to say to her when she—"

At that moment a light footstep was heard in the outer cavern. The Wild Man sprang up on hearing it, and strode hastily through the natural doorway, leaving March to listen, in a state of the utmost bewilderment, to a silvery musical voice, which held rapid converse with his strange host.

Presently Dick returned, followed by a—vision in leather! the sight of which struck March Marston dumb, and rendered him for a few moments as totally incapable of moving hand, tongue, or foot, as if he had been bewitched—which, in a sense, he was.

"This is the little girl I spoke of t'ye," said Dick looking at March, and patting the girl on her soft cheek with a hand that might have passed for a small shoulder of mutton. "She'll take good care of ye, March. I've told her what to do; but she don't need to be told. Now, see ye don't do yerself a mischief, lad, till I come back. It won't be long—a day or two, mayhap, more or less; but ye'll take that time to mend; you're worse battered than ye think of—so, good-day."

While the Wild Man was ejaculating these sentences abruptly, he was striding about the cave with what may be styled enormous vigour, picking up and buckling on his weapons of war. He seized a double-edged sword of gigantic proportions, and buckled it to his waist; but March saw it not. He pulled on the scalp-fringed coat of a Blackfoot chief, with leggings to match; but March knew it not. He slung a powder-horn and bullet-pouch round his shoulders, stuck a knife and tomahawk into his belt, and grasped a long rifle which stood in a corner; and, in doing all this, he made such a tremendous clatter, and displayed such wonderful activity, and grew so much fiercer to look at in every stage of the process, that March would certainly have recurred to the idea of the Wild Man, had he been in his ordinary state of mind; but he was not in that happy condition. March knew nothing about it whatever!

Before going, Dick stooped and kissed the "vision" on the cheek. March saw that! It recalled him for a moment and made him aware of the disappearance of his host, and of the loud clattering sounds of his charger's hoofs, as he led him at a rapid walk across the outer cave. March even heard the general clatter of all his accoutrements, as he vaulted into the saddle at one bound, and went down that terrible rocky way at a breakneck gallop that would have caused him (March) in other circumstances to shudder. But he did not shudder. He was but faintly aware of these things. His intellect was overturned; his whole soul was captivated; his imagination, his perceptions, his conceptions—all his faculties and capacities were utterly overwhelmed and absorbed by that wonderful vision in leather!



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

THE VISION IN LEATHER.

It is all very well for men of the world, men of fashion, men who pride themselves on being highly civilised and peculiarly refined, to fancy that there are no other visions in this world than "visions in silk," "visions in white," and the like. Those who think thus labour under an egregious, though a civilised, mistake.

Happily there are kind, loving, pretty faces in this world, the possessors of which know nothing about pink gauze or white muslin—faces that have never felt the hot air of a drawing-room, but are much used to present themselves, unveiled, to the fresh breezes of the prairie and the mountain; faces that possess the rare quality of universal attraction, and that cause men to fancy, when they see them for the first time, that they have beheld a vision!

The fact is that some faces are visions, whether the forms that support them appear to us in muslin or in deerskin. The only requisite needful to constitute a face a vision to any particular person, is that it should have in it that peculiar something which everybody wants, but which nobody can define; which is ineffably charming, though utterly incomprehensible; and which, when once seen by any one, constitutes the countenance that possesses it a vision evermore!

It is quite immaterial what material composes the dress in which the vision appears. No doubt, the first time it bursts upon the smitten victim, dress may be a powerful auxiliary; but, after the first time, dress goes for little or nothing. March Marston's vision appeared, as we have said in leather.

After the Wild Man had vanished, March continued to gaze at his new companion with all kinds of feelings and emotions, but without being able to move or speak. The vision returned the compliment, also without speaking or taking any further notice of him.

She was a wonderful creature, that vision in leather! That she was of Indian extraction was evident from the hue of her skin, yet she was not nearly so dark as the lightest complexioned Indian. In fact her clear soft forehead was whiter than those of many so-called pale-faces; but her ruddy cheeks, her light-brown hair, and, above all, her bright brown eye showed that white blood ran in her veins. She was what men term a half-caste. She was young, almost girlish in her figure and deportment; but the earnest gravity of her pretty face caused her to appear older than she really was. March, unconsciously and without an effort, guessed her to be sixteen. He was wrong. She had only seen fifteen summers.

Her dress was a beautifully dressed deerskin gown, reaching below the knees, as soft as chamois leather, and ornamented with beads and quill work. It was girded round her small waist by a leather belt, from which depended a small hunting-knife. A pair of ornamental leggings of the same material as the gown covered her limbs, and moccasins her feet, which latter, as well as her hands, were small and beautifully formed. Over her shoulders were slung the masculine appendages of a powder-horn and bullet-pouch, proving that this creature was, so to speak, a Dianic vision.

Her staring so hard and so long at March without speaking or smiling, or taking any more notice of him than if he had been an effigy on a tombstone, seemed unaccountable to that youth. Had he been able to look at himself from her point of view he would not have been so much surprised.

In his late accident he had received so severe a blow on the left eye that that orb was altogether shut up. As he did not move, and as the other eye, with which he gazed in supreme astonishment at the sweet face before him, happened to be farthest from the fire, besides being hid in the shadow of his own nose—which was not a small one by nature, and was a peculiarly large one by force of recent circumstances—the vision very naturally thought that he was fast asleep. As she stood there gazing wonderingly and somewhat sadly at the poor youth, with the red flickering flame of the fire lighting up her yellow garments, deepening the red on her round cheeks, glinting on the loose masses of her rich tresses, and sparkling in the depths of her bright brown eyes, March thought he had never in all his life before beheld such an exquisite creature.

Supposing that he was asleep, the vision sat down quietly on a log beside the fire, still keeping her eyes, however, fixed on her guest. The action took her out of "the direct line of fire" of March's sound eye, therefore he turned his head abruptly, and so brought his staring orb into the light of the fire, and revealed the fact that he was wide-awake; whereupon the vision uttered an exclamation of surprise, rose hastily, and went to his side.

"You is woke," she said. "Me tink you was be sleep."

"Asleep!" cried March with enthusiasm, "no, I wasn't asleep. More than that, I'll never go to sleep any more."

This bold assertion naturally filled the vision with surprise.

"Why for not?" she asked, sitting down on a log beside March in such a position that she could see him easily.

"For thinkin' o' you!" replied the bold youth firmly.

The vision looked at him in still greater astonishment, opening her eyes slowly until they seemed like two pellucid lakelets of unfathomable depth into which March felt inclined to fling himself, clothes and all, and be drowned comfortably. She then looked at the fire, then at March again. It was evident that she had not been accustomed to hold intercourse with jocular minds. Perceiving this, March at once changed his tone, and, with a feeling of respect which he could not well account for, said rather bluntly—

"What's your name?"

"Mary."

"Ay! did your father give you that name?"

"My father?" echoed the girl, looking hastily up.

"Ay, did Dick give it you?"

"Did him tell you him's name be Dick?" asked Mary.

"Oh! he's known by another name to you, then, it would seem. But, Mary, what is his name?"