CHAPTER XVIII
It was a strange place, indeed, in which I found myself. Our eyes wereunbandaged after we entered the portal of the ranch house, and when BigPete and I turned toward our guide, we were facing in a direction thatgave us a sweeping view of the entire ranch. And what we saw made usmarvel.
This farm, between the towering, almost insurmountable mountains, hadevidently been wrenched from what two decades before had been as much ofa wilderness as the Darlinkel Park across the divide. Timber clothed themountains on either hand but the fertile valley bottom was as rural as adistrict of the middle west. On one hand stretched acres and acres ofripened grain. Beyond was pasture land dotted with strange whitefacedanimals, which later proved to be hybrid buffalos, a strange crossbetween wild and domestic cattle.[3] In other pastures and on thehillsides I could see goats and sheep, and these too were evidently across breed of wild and domestic stock, the goats having a very strangeresemblance to the fleet-footed shaggy old fellows we had seen on themountains, while the sheep closely resembled usual domestic sheep.
[Footnote 3: Since that time the late Buffalo Jones has bred buffalo and domestic cattle and called the offspring "catelow."]
There were stables, too, and corrals, all made of logs, as was the ranchhouse, but what seemed very strange to me was the fact that there wereno horses in sight. All of the animals at work in the fields were thosestrange hybrid buffalo-oxen, all save one, a single, lame and apparentlyalmost blind burro that I saw lying in the sun. From his grayness aboutthe head I had little doubt that he was of great age.
There were hordes of strange poultry too,--strange to me at least, fornever had I expected to find flocking together wild turkeys, Canadiangeese, black ducks, wood ducks, and mallards (all with wings clipped sothat they never again could fly), sage hens, quail, spruce-grouse,partridge, ptarmigan and western mountain quail. All seemed perfectly athome and comfortably domesticated.
Beyond the poultry houses was still another outhouse, a long, low, logbuilding before which was a lawn. On the lawn were all manner of perchesand roosts and on these, sunning themselves and preening their feathers,were several types of predaceous birds, ranging from huge and powerfulfemale eagles to smaller hawks and true falcons. This evidently was theWild Hunter's falconry.
Another thing that made an instant impression upon me was the number ofmen at work about the place. The workmen were all, without an exception,Indians, and as they moved about silently, their stoic, almostexpressionless faces held a decided look of contentment, a few of themturned toward the porch with a frank, honest stare. There was noevidence of fear or restraint in their actions but they always gave thewolf dogs plenty of room as they passed them. These black beasts wereugly, snarling things that showed no love for anyone; on the leastprovocation menacing growls rumbled in their throats.
What manner of place was this that we had permitted ourselves to be ledinto? Indeed, what manner of man was this strange host of ours? I shot asidelong glance at him and it seemed to me as if I caught a strange,hunted look in his eyes, and a sad smile on his handsome but grimcountenance. A slight feeling of fear crept into my heart. Could thisstrange man be my father? For some reason he certainly did attract meand excite my sympathy, yet I stood in awe of him. The strangeness of mysurroundings, too, settled upon me. I turned toward Pete and I had apremonition of evil. I could see that he too was affected the same way.The valley was an earthly paradise, the Wild Hunter a kindly gentleman,what then was it that gave me an uncomfortable and uneasy feeling? Iwas eager to be alone with Pete for I knew that he would have someinteresting observations to make.
"I am disappointed, gentlemen, you say nothing. Isn't my ranchinteresting to you?" demanded the Wild Hunter, with a smile. In a lowsmooth voice he gave some orders to a young Indian who was walkingtoward the stables. The Indian instantly snapped into action and hurriedaway as if one of the black wolf dogs were snapping at his heels, and Ifelt certain that it was the youth whom we had been trailing.
A hurried and very unpleasant thought flashed through my mind: What wasthe source of the power the Wild Hunter held over these Indians? Theywere not slaves in this mountain-surrounded prison; this grim, forcefulbut kindly wild man did not hold them through fear. He always smiledwhen he greeted them, but he never smiled at his wolves; when givingthem orders or even looking at them, the expression of his face wasstern and almost fierce. But the man had asked a question. He wasexpecting an answer.
"It is a wonderful place," I managed to stammer; "who could conceive ofsuch a remarkable ranch buried here in the heart of the wilderness?"
"It's a ring-tailed snorter, hamstring me if it hain't," said Big Petein an attempt to be enthusiastic.
The man's face glowed with pleasure.
"You are the first white men to see it. I think I have achievedsomething here in the wilds, thanks a great deal to Pluto and hisstrain."
"Eh, what?" exclaimed Big Pete in alarm.
"To--to--whom," I gasped, for to have the man actually confess analliance with Satan rather startled me also.
The Wild Hunter chuckled in an amused manner.
"Thanks to Pluto, I said. But Pluto is that black wolf-dog over there,nevertheless. I think that the name 'Pluto' fits his character to anicety."
He pointed to the massive, deep-chested, long-haired, long-limbed,vicious looking leader of his black wolf pack where it was chained to apost. The great animal glared at his master when his name was mentioned.He crouched twenty feet away with his slanting green eyes fixedconstantly on his master's face and in them ever flared a fierce, wickedfire.
"Yes, you son of Satan, you and your hybrid whelps have helped me do allthis in spite of the fact that you hate me, and would love to tear melimb from limb. You splendid, ugly brute, you are insensible tokindness!"
I noticed that whenever he looked the wolf in the face his owncountenance became grim and his eyes exceedingly fierce and not unlikethe wolf itself in expression.
"I think the name 'Pluto' fits his character to anicety"]
"He hates me," he continued, turning to us, "because of his ancestors.In him is the blood of a Great Dane noted for its strength, size andferocity, a fierce brute which I brought over the mountains with me manyyears ago. Pluto's mother was a pure black wolf of a mean disposition,and his father the half-breed son of a Great Dane and a she-wolf. He isthe fiercest and most bloodthirsty beast in the whole pack, he hates mewith the intense hatred of his wolfish nature, he hates me because heknows that I am the master of the pack, the real leader, and he isjealous. Since his puppy days he has watched for a chance to kill me;twice he nearly succeeded--the time will no doubt come when it will behis life or mine. Yet because of his wonderful strength, endurance andsagacity, I could almost love him.
"His breed does not want to recognize any master. But _I am_ hismaster!" cried the Wild Hunter as his eyes flashed and he struck himselfon his chest, "and he knows it. The only way, however, that I keep mypower over him and his pack is by forcing myself to think every time Ispeak to them, now I am going to _kill you_, and brutes though they arethey can read my mind and fear me. Besides which self-interest helps alittle towards their loyalty. With me for a leader there is always akill at the end of the hunt, and they know that they come in for a shareof the food.
"Sometimes I fear the wolves will break loose and attack my Indians,which I would very much regret, for the Redmen are faithful fellows andwe form a happy community. The Indians look upon me as Big Medicinebecause I can control these medicine wolves."
Big Pete looked at the man with open admiration, a man who by the sheerpower of his will could control a band of wolves, any one of which waspowerful enough to kill an ox, certainly was a man to please the wildnature of Big Pete. "But," said Pete, "you say Pluto has helped you.How?" he asked.
"How," exclaimed the Wild Hunter, "why, gentlemen, by governing the packas savage as himself. The pack is the secret of my whole success; mypower over them first won the allegiance of the Indians, won their
admiration and their respect. They know that I could turn those wolvesupon them at any moment, but they also know that I would not think ofdoing such an act and they are human and love me; the wolves are brutesand not susceptible to kindness. The wolves hate the Redmen as they hateme, but they supplied us all with food, they secured for us our wintermeat while the men worked to build houses and clear the land, and thusmade it possible for us to start this settlement. They even acted aspack animals for us, each of them carrying as much as seventy pounds inweight on their backs. But be on your guard, gentlemen, be on yourguard! Remember that you are strangers to the wolves and they will nothesitate, if the opportunity offers, to rend you and even devour you."
A moment later his expression changed.
"Enough of this," he exclaimed in pleasanter tones, "come, dinner isserved," and turning, he led the way through the broad doorway of thelog ranch house into an almost sumptuously furnished dining room wheretwo silent, soft-footed Indians began immediately to serve a trulyremarkable meal.
"He may be lo-coed," whispered Pete to me as we took our places at thetable, "but I'll tell the folks, he is a master looney alright. He knowshow to make Injuns love him and varmints fear him, he kin pack all hisduffle in my bag, he need not cough up eny money when he's with me.Reckon we be alright here, but waugh! we've gotter watch tha' black wolfpack!--yes and also that young Indian whose ram you shot; it seems helooks after the wolves and sees to it that they are fastened up in theircorral. I wouldn't want him to be sort of careless, you know."