CHAPTER X
Big Pete was an expert backwoods tailor, shoemaker and shirtmaker, butthese were but few of his accomplishments, not his trade; he was first,last and aways a hunter and scout. No matter what occupation seemed toengage his attention for the time it never interfered with his abilityto hear, see or smell.
It was while I was going around camp minus my lower garments that I sawPete suddenly throw up his head and suspiciously sniff the air, at thesame time sharply scanning the windward side of our camp. Living so longwith this strange man made me familiar with his actions and quick todetect anything unusual and I now knew that something of interest hadhappened. To the windward and close by us was a mound thickly coveredwith bullberry bushes and underbrush, and so far as could be seen therewas nothing suspicious in the appearance of the thicket. Fixing my eyeson Big Pete, I saw a peculiar expression spread over his face whichseemed to be half of mirth and half of wonderment, and I immediatelyknew that his wonderful nose had warned him of the presence of somethingto the windward.
Slowly and quietly he laid aside my almost finished breeches andsilently stole away. It was only a few minutes before he returned with avery solemn face.
"Doggone my corn shucked bones, Le-loo, we've had a visitor but it gotaway mighty slick and quick. I hain't determint yit whether it wa' maner beast er both, er jist a thing wha' might change into 'tother. We'llhafter investigate later. Here git these duds on."
When I put on my new elk-hide knickerbockers with cuffs of dressedbuckskin laced around my calves, and my beautiful soft buckskin shirttucked in at the waist I began to feel like a real Nimrod, but after Iadded my "Moo-loch-Capo," the shooting jacket with elk-teeth buttons,pulled a pair of shank moccasins over my feet and donned a cap made oflynx skin, I was as happy as a child with its Christmas stocking. It wasa really wonderful suit of clothing; the hair of the elk hide was on theoutside, and not only made the coat and breeches warmer, but helped toshed the rain. The buttons of the elk-teeth were fastened on with thongsrun through holes in their centers, and my coat could be laced up afterthe fashion of a military overcoat. The elk's teeth served as frogs andloops of rawhide answered for the braid that is used on military coats.
My shank moccasins were made by first making a cut around each of thehind legs of an elk, at a sufficient distance above the heels to leavehide enough for boot legs and making another cut far enough below theheels to make room for one's feet. The fresh skins when peeled offlooked like rude stockings with holes at the toes. The skins wereturned wrong side out, and the open toes closed by bringing the lowerpart, or sole, up over the opening and sewing it there after the mannerof a tip to the modern shoe. When this novel foot-gear was dry enoughfor the purpose, Big Pete ornamented the legs with quaint coloreddesigns made with split porcupine quills colored with dyes which Petehimself had manufactured of roots and barks.
Dressed in my unique and picturesque costume I stood upright while Petesurveyed me with the pride and satisfaction of one who had done a finepiece of work. I had now little fear of being called a tenderfoot andwhen I viewed my reflection in the spring I felt quite proud of myappearance.
"Come along now old scout," said Pete viewing me with the pride of anartist, "come along and let me test you on a real trail. I want to seewhat my teaching has done for you."
Pete led me through the underbrush to a point among the rocks.
"Tha'. A trail begins right under yore nose; let's see what you make ofit," he said crisply.
Down on all fours I crept over the ground and, to my surprise and joy, Ifound that I could here and there detect a turned leaf the twist ofwhich indicated the direction taken by the party who made the trail. Inoticed that the bits of wood, pine cones and sticks scattered aroundwere darker on the parts next to the ground, and it only required simplereasoning for me to conclude that when the dark side was uppermost theobject had been recently disturbed and rolled over.
It was a day of great discoveries. I found that what is true of thesticks is equally true of the pebbles and a displaced fragment of stoneimmediately caught my eyes. With the tenacity of a bloodhound I stuck tomy task until I suddenly found myself at the base of the park wall, atthe foot of the diagonal fracture in the face of the cliff where I hadclimbed when I discovered the golden trout. As I have said, thefracture led diagonally up the towering face of the beetling precipice.
For fear that I might have made some mistake I carefully retraced mysteps backward toward the bullberry bushes near the camp. On the backtrail I came upon some distinct and obvious footprints in a dusty place,but so deeply interested was I in hidden signs, the slight but tell-taledisturbances of leaf and soil, that I once passed these plainly markedtracks with only a glance and would have done so the second time had nottheir marked peculiarities accidentally caught my attention.
When examining the trail of this mysterious camp visitor I suddenlyrealized that in place of moccasin footprints I was following beartracks, my heart ceased to beat for a moment or two before I could pullmyself together and smother the prehensile footed superstitious oldsavage in me with the practical philosophy of the up-to-date man oftoday.
Taking a short cut I ran back to the foot of the pass and there, onhands and knees, ascended for a hundred feet or more--the bear steps ledup the pass, and yet at the beginning of the trail the feet woremoccasins. This I knew because at one place the foot-mark showed plainlyin the gray alkali dust which had accumulated upon a projecting stone afew feet below the ledge. Obviously whoever the visitor was, he hadentered and left by this pass. Returning to camp I sat down on a loglost in thought. My reverie was at last broken by the voice of my guidequietly remarking. "Well, Le-loo, what's your judication?"
"Pete," I said, "that bear walks on its hind-legs; there is not the signof a forefoot anywhere along the trail. Now this could not be caused bythe hind feet obliterating the tracks of the front feet, because in manyplaces the pass is so steep that the forefeet in reaching out forsupport would make tracks not overlapped by the hind ones."
"That's true, Le-loo; sartin true. If you live to be a hundred yearsyou'll make as good a trailer as the great Greaser trailer of NewMexico, Dolores Sanchez, or my old friend Bill Hassler, who could followa six-month-old trail," replied my guide. "But," he continued, "maybewitch-bears do walk on their hind legs same as people."
"Witch be blamed!" I cried impatiently; "this is no four-legged witchnor bear either. That was a man and when he thought he would be followedhe put on moccasins made from bears' paws to leave a disguised trail.And moreover I believe that man is none other than the Wild Hunterwithout his wolf pack. And that pass is the pathway he takes in and outof this park. I'm going to trail him whether you want to or not. GoodbyePete, I'll come back for you," and picking up my gun and other necessarytraps, I prepared to start immediately upon my journey, for I felt thatto follow this trail would not only get us out of our park prison butwould lead me to the abode of the Wild Hunter, where perhaps I couldtalk with him and learn some of the things I was so eager to know aboutmy parents.
Big Pete looked at me solemnly for a while, ran over the cartridges inhis belt and went through all those familiar unconscious motions whichbetokened danger ahead, and said, "Le-loo, you are a quare critter;you're not afraid of all the werwolves, medicine ba'rs and ghosts inthis world or the next, but tarnally afeared of live varmints likegrizzly bars--one would think you had no religion, but, gosh allhemlock! If you can face a bear-man or a werwolf, even though all theHy-as Ecutocks of the mountains show fight, I'll be cornfed if I don'tstand by ye! Barring the Wild Hunter, I don't know as I ever ran agin aEcutock yit; that is if he be a Ecutock. Maybe he's a Econe? Yes, Ireckon that's what he is," continued Pete reflectively.
"Maybe he is a pine cone," I laughed. Then added, "Whatever he is, heknows the way out of this park of yours and I am going to follow him," Iemphatically answered.
"That's howsomever!" exclaimed my guide approvingly; "but," hecontinued, "the mountains are kivered with snow, while it is st
illsummer down here, so I reckon 'twould be the proper wrinkle for us topull our things together, have a good feed and a good sleep before westart. White men start off hot-headed and I kinder like their grit, butInjuns stop and sot by the fire an' smoke an' think afore they start ona raid an' I kinder think they be wiser in this than we 'uns, so let'sdo as the Injuns would do. We can cache most of our stuff and turn thehorses loose. Bighorn's mutton is powerful good, but tarnally shy andhung mighty high, an' billygoat is doggoned strong 'nless you know howto cook 'em. Yes, we'll eat an sleep fust an' then his for the landwhere the Bighorn pasture, the woolywhite goats sleep on the rocks, thewhistling marmot blows his danger signal an' the pretty white ptarmiganhides hisself in the snow-banks, the home of the Ecutocks.
"What the thunder is a Ecutock, Pete?" I asked.
"An Injun devil, I reckon you'd call it; it's bad medicine," he answeredsoberly, and continuing in his former strain, he exclaimed:
"Whar critters like goats, sheeps and rock-chucks kin live, you bet yourHy-as muck-a-muck we kin live too!"
That night I rolled up into my blanket, filled with strangepresentiments. Again the question came up: What is the source of theinfluence that this madman of the mountains, this wild hunter, thisleader of the black wolf pack, had on me to impel me to trail him overthe mountains? Was it mental telepathy? Could he really be my father?Somehow I felt convinced that soon I would be face to face with theriddle, soon I would know the facts and the truth about my parents. Itseemed unthinkable that all these weeks of wilderness travel had beenfor naught and that the Wild Hunter was nothing but a strange, eccentricold fellow living alone in the mountains and of no interest to mewhatsoever.