He watched their maneuvers with feverish interest. His very life mightdepend upon their actions within the next few minutes. On came theflock, and at last they were above the rock fort in which the boy hadtaken refuge. With burning eyes and rifle in hand, Sandy watched themfrom his place of concealment.
But they flew on over the mouth of the rift to alight in some otherfeeding place. Sandy might have risked a shot as they passed over him.But to hit a bird on the wing with a rifle is a feat so seldom performedas to be noteworthy, and Sandy did not dare risk frightening them awayaltogether by sending a useless shot among them.
After all, he conjectured, they would probably come to the patch he waswatching in the course of their wanderings about their feeding grounds.Throughout a great part of the morning he watched for the birds, butnone appeared. Below, the wolves from time to time gave tongue. Sandywould have liked to creep out and try the effect of a shot among them,but he did not dare to risk showing himself for fear of alarming any ofthe grouse that might be approaching.
All at once he noticed among the brush patch some white moving objects.He knew that these must be the grouse. They had wandered around belowhim without his seeing them and were now feeding in the patch upon whichhe had his rifle sights trained.
But there was a long wait, severely trying to the patience, before thegrouse began to move upward, making their way toward the rift andapproaching a position in which it would be possible to fire at themwith a reasonable prospect of success. Sandy's hands trembled withexcitement as the grouse fluttered and stepped daintily among theberries, pecking them off right and left.
At last one of them, a fine, fat fellow, came into full view. Againstthe dark brown of the dead brush his body made a splendid target. Sandyset his teeth, steadied his aim and fired.
The grouse fluttered into the air and then fell back upon the snow,dead. The boy had time for one more shot before the flock took wing.
He could not refrain from a cry of joy as he dashed down the rocks tosecure his game. For a time at least he could sustain life, even pent-upas he was in his rocky prison.
With a hideous roar, the boulder crashed downward andupon the trail.]
CHAPTER XXXIII--OVER THE CREVASSE!
For one moment Tom beheld the tableau that had his helpless brother forits central figure.
Then with a hideous roar, like that of an express train rushing at topspeed through a tunnel, the boulder crashed downward and upon the trail.Like figures that are wiped from a slate the mamelukes vanished, theirlives crushed out in a flash under the huge rock.
"Jack!" shrieked Tom, as he saw.
"Sacre nom!" roared old Joe. "See!"
As the boulder flashed downward, rumbling into the crevasse at the sideof the trail, the sled followed it!
In a small avalanche of snow and loosened shale Tom beheld his brotherbeing swept over the brink to what appeared certain annihilation.
Tom reeled back against the inner wall of the trail. He felt sick anddizzy. For some moments he knew nothing. The world swam in a dizzymerry-go-round before his eyes.
Then he was conscious of somebody plucking at his sleeve. It was oldJoe.
"Courage, mon enfant!" the old man was saying. "Eet may not be zee end.Wait here. Do not move. I weell go see. Whatever eet ees, I weell tellyou zee truth."
Tom could say nothing in reply. All he could see or think of was thatterrible picture. The downward rush of the loosened boulder, the sightof the obliterated mamelukes and then the last glimpse of the sled as,with Jack clinging helplessly to it, it had plunged over the brink in aswirl of loosened snow! The injured boy had not even had time to cry outor to utter a word. He had been carried to his doom in absolute silence.In fact, the whole thing had happened so quickly that only the horror ofthe sight had etched its every detail indelibly upon Tom's mind.
Old Joe cautiously approached the edge of the crevasse. He did not knowbut that there might be a treacherous "lip" of snow overhanging thebrink. In that case, if he went incautiously he might share Jack's fate.For, although he had tried to instill courage into Tom, the old trapperhardly entertained a doubt but that Jack's dead body lay at the foot ofthe precipice.
As he made sure of his ground and then thrust his head over the edge, hereceived a joyful shock. Below him, in a deep snow, lay Jack and whatwas left of the sled.
Joe's voice stuck in his throat, but at length he mustered up hiscourage and hailed the boy lying beside the crushed and broken sled.
"Hullo! mon ami!"
He paused while his heart beat thickly. And then a yell of joy burstfrom his lips.
The figure lying below him moved painfully and the boy waved an arm.Then, as if the effort had been too much, he collapsed again.
But Joe was jubilant. He sang and shouted his delight and hailed Tom instentorian tones.
"He lives! Le garcon, he lives!"
Tom, his face as white as a sheet, came to Joe's side. Together theygazed downward at the form of the boy on the snow bank below. It was aspot where the drifting snow, forced up the narrow canyon by some wildwind, had been piled within fifty feet of the trail. It was to this factundoubtedly that Jack owed his life.
Beside him, and not very far away, was a huge hole in the snow like thecrater of a volcano. It showed where the great boulder had bored its wayinto the soft snow with the velocity of a bullet. That hole gave themsome idea of the mighty force that had wiped out the lives of themamelukes.
Till the moment that Joe knew that Jack was alive he had given nothought to his precious dogs. But now he ran toward their mangled bodiesand bent over them, the tears running down his old cheeks and his voiceuplifted in lamentation.
He called to each dead beast by name and dwelt upon its particularvirtues. His grief was so genuine and so heartfelt that Tom, urgentthough the occasion was, yet felt some hesitancy in disturbing him untilsome minutes had passed.
Then the boy drew the old trapper's attention to the necessity ofdevising some means of rescuing Jack from the snow bank below the trail.As Tom addressed him the old man sprang to his feet. The tears stillstreamed down his cheeks and his face was working with grief. But heburst into a flood of self-reproach.
"Ah! I was forget zee enfant, zee brave garcon who lies below. Forgiveme, please. My heart ees veree seeck. I love my malukes lak I love mychildren. Now eet ees ovaire. We must work. Afterward I bury my dog. Enavant! Vitement! Courage!"
The old man smote himself upon the chest with each word as if to instillaction and courage into his breast.
"We must have a rope," he said at length.
"Of course. We can do nothing without one. But where can we obtain one?"
They looked at each other despairingly. Without a rope they could donothing. Yet Jack lay there below them, possibly in instant need ofattention, and they were compelled to stand there helpless, unable toaid him.
It was one of the most trying moments of Tom's life.
CHAPTER XXXIV--A BATTLE ROYAL.
Sandy cooked and ate one of his grouse and resumed his watching. Thecooking, thanks to his training in the ways of woodcraft, was an easymatter for him. He had a small, telescopic cleaning rod with him for hisrifle. Having plucked and split the grouse, he impaled it on this andcooked it over the embers.
He would have liked bread and salt, but was in no mood to grumble overhis meal. He was only too thankful to have secured it at all. He notedwith delight that the wolves were beginning to get uneasy. The hungerthat was gnawing at them was beginning to work upon their patience. Assoon as they saw Sandy they set up a chorus of howls and yapping barksand once more tried to scale the rocks. One almost succeeded in doingthis, but Sandy shot it before it had gained a foothold. It shared thefate of the dead leader, the ravenous pack leaving absolutely nothing ofits remains.
It was well on in the day when the pack began to raise their nostrilsand sniff the wind. Plainly something was in the air that Sandy knewnothing about. The wolves, however, appeare
d greatly excited. They goton their feet and began to mill about, barking and yapping inbewildering discord.
"I wonder what is the matter with them," thought Sandy, as he watched,and then it began to dawn upon him that something that either alarmed orexcited the wolves must be approaching the rocks.
"Perhaps it is a man," thought Sandy, with a thrill of pleasurableanticipation. The next minute he almost began to hope that no humanbeing was near unless there were several of them in a large party, for alone hunter or trapper would be able to make only a feeble stand againstthe pack.
At length, far out on the snow fields, he made out a dark form lumberingalong toward the rocks. For some time he could not think what it was,but at last he made out the nature of the creature.
It was a bear, and a big one, too. It was probably one of those surlyold fellows that refuse to hibernate like most of their kind and stayout the winter through, hunting what they can and maintaining a scantyliving till spring comes again.
A sensation by no means pleasurable possessed Sandy at the idea of suchcompany on the rocks. The wolves were bad enough; but a bear! However,he reflected, his rifle was of good heavy caliber and he had plenty ofammunition left to dispatch the bear if it should prove troublesome.Moreover, as Sandy knew, bear meat is good meat when one is hungry; andalthough the bear now approaching the rocks was undoubtedly poor andthin, its carcass would have at least some meat upon it.
But now his attention was distracted from the bear by the actions of thepack. They set up their hunting cry, which differs from their ordinaryyapping accents very widely. In fact, wolves appear to have arudimentary language of their own.
The constant milling round and round and up and out ceased. A suddenhush settled down over the pack and then, like one wolf, they were off.Sandy saw, with a thrill, what was coming. Their game was the bear! Abattle royal hung upon the issue.
With an interest which swallowed up all other considerations, Sandywatched as the pack swept down on the bear. The big, clumsy creature hadalready seen them coming and had quickened his pace to a lumberinggallop, which yet brought him over the snow at a good speed. He washeading directly for the rocks, where he could make a stand. Hisinstinct must have told him that out in the open he would have but apoor chance against his savage opponents.
Sandy felt a flash of sympathy for the great bear as the pack made adetour and were on his heels. He saw one chisel-clawed foot shoot outand a big wolf leap high and fall down, rent from shoulder to thigh. Thekilling gave the bear a breathing space, for the pack fell on theircomrade with hideous yelps. Their cannibal feast gave the bear time toincrease the distance between himself and his swarming foes.
He reached the rocks with the pack close on his heels, and then seeingthat he could not scale the rocks, the huge creature upreared himselfagainst the boulders and prepared to battle for his life.
With a yelp the leader of the pack flung himself at the great hairyanimal's throat. With one glancing sweep of his huge paw the beardisposed of him. One after another the wolves attacked their foe, onlyto be felled, wounded and bleeding, and to become victims to their ownhunting mates.
"Good boy!" Sandy found himself saying. "Hit 'em again!"
His sympathies were all with the bear, making the fight of his life.
The wolves fell back. But the bear was not deceived. He maintained hisstand against the rocks. The wolves crouched, glaring hatred anddefiance at him. The ground about the battlefield was red now. Tenwolves had given up their lives. But the bear, too, showed marks of thecombat. More than one pair of gleaming white fangs had met in his skin.
Sandy watched with the interest of someone who has a personal stake in abattle royal.
The wolves did not long remain quiescent This time they tried newtactics. They attacked _en masse_. Like a swarm of bees they flungthemselves on the great monarch of the northern forests. His steel-shodpaws swept right and left. Yelping and howling the wolves fell beforehim. But as fast as some fell, others took their places.
The bear was bleeding now. Wounded in a score of places, he fought onagainst his overwhelming foes with royal courage. To the boy watchingfrom the rocks above, there was something almost sublime in the fightfor life that the great creature was making against such overwhelmingodds. But plainly the contest could not last much longer.
Like great waves of gray the wolves were hurling themselves forward.They fought blindly and desperately and the bear's blows were growingweaker.
"I'll help you, old fellow!" breathed Sandy. "I'll take a hand in thismyself. I've no more reason to love your enemies than you have."
He reached out to the rocks and secured his rifle. When he turned backhe was just in time to see a gray form at the bear's throat. The wolfhung on while the big animal beat the air helplessly with his paws.
Bang!
Sandy's rifle cracked and the wolf dropped to the ground. But the othershardly seemed to notice the intervention of the bear's ally. So numerouswere they, that their ranks appeared to be hardly thinned by theirlosses.
Again and again, unbaffled by the tremendous courage and the sweepingblows of their adversary, they returned to the attack. Again and again,too, did Sandy's rifle crack, and each time a wolf drew his last breath.The battle was beginning to tell on the wolves as well as on the bear.Their leaders were gone. The pack began to fight in desultory fashion.
The bear's blows were feebler, but since that desperate assault on histhroat, the wolves had not had the courage to close with him. Sandy'srifle completed their rout. At last they appeared to realize that theywere pitted against the terrible fire tube of the white man as well asthe steel-shod paws of the bear. They wavered, broke ranks and then, asif by a concerted resolution, they turned tail.
Straight for the forest they sped, while the bear, flinging his big bulkdown on the snow began licking his wounds. Sandy looked down upon him.The big creature was an easy shot, pitifully easy, and his skin wouldmake a fine trophy. Sandy raised his rifle to his shoulder and aimed it.He put it down and raised it again. But again his resolution failed him."No, old fellow," he exclaimed aloud, "you helped me fight those graydemons and for all of me, you shall go where you like unharmed."
It was late afternoon before the wounded bear rose slowly to his feet,and without a backward glance shuffled off toward the south. Sandywatched him going across the snows for a long time. He was glad he hadnot shot him.
He turned from the trail of the wounded bear toward the north once more,and as he did so a shout burst from his lips.
Coming toward him over the snow were the figures of two men. With themwas a dog sleigh, and they were traveling fast on a course that wouldbring them past the rocks.
Ten minutes later Sandy recognized in the travelers his uncle and thelatter's partner, Mr. Colton Chillingworth.
CHAPTER XXXV--THE DEATH OF "THE WOLF."
Old Joe looked about him with despair in his eyes. When the sled hadgone over the edge of the cliff, the ropes that bound the load to it andthe harness of the dogs had gone with it. There was not so much as afoot of rope left by which they might devise a means of reaching Jack.
Tom groaned.
"What are we to do?" he demanded.
"We moost keep on and get help from La Roche. Eet ees not far now, mongarcon."
"But by the time we get back, Jack may be--may be----"
Tom could not complete the sentence.
For lack of something to say, old Joe gazed about him. Suddenly he gavea cry of delight. On a ledge not far above the trail there were growinga thick clump of cedar trees.
"Bien! I get rope queeck! Watch, mon garcon!" he cried.
"But how in the world!" began Tom.
"Nevaire min'. Len' me you' hunting knife. Eet ees bettaire dan mine.Bien! Now ole Joe, he get rope vitement."
The old trapper stuck Tom's knife in his belt and clambered up to thesteep plateau where grew the cedar trees. He ascended one after theother, peeling off long strips of bark from each. At length
he had a bigpile of long, pliant, tough strips collected on the ground. He broughtthese down to where Tom stood watching him with puzzled interest,although he had an idea of the object of Joe's labors.
"Voila! Behold, mon ami! Now we soon have rope."
"You mean to make one out of these?"
"Oui! Many a time have I make rope lak dat."
"A strong rope?"
"A rope dat would hold a wild buffalo. Oui!"
"It was fortunate that those cedars were there, then."
"Mon garcon," solemnly spoke old Joe, "le bon Dieu put dem dere toremain till dere appointed time came."
The old trapper set Tom to work plaiting the ropes in strands of threelengths of bark. These were knotted together till they made a strong,pliable rope of the required length.
Then they went to the edge of the crevasse. Jack was sitting up with oneof the blankets from the sled drawn about him for warmth. He looked upas they shouted down to him.
"Jack," hailed Tom, "do you feel all right now?"
"Sound as a bell, but I wish you could get me out of here."
"We are going to try to. Can you fasten this rope around you?"
As he spoke, Tom held up the bark rope.
"Easily. Lower it away. If it wasn't for this ankle of mine I might havetried climbing out, but I have had to cross that sort of exercise off mylist."
The rope was sent snaking down to Jack, and was found to be amply long,for the steep bank was not more than forty feet high instead of thefifty they had estimated.