Part 19 (1/2)

”In about ten minutes after, we saw the Wild Man riding slowly forward.

He was a strange sight. It was the first time I had seen him, although I had often heard of him before.

”Well, on he came, with his head bent and his eyes fixed on the ground.

A dense thicket hid his enemies from him, though not from us, we being so high above them. The Wild Man was armed with his long rifle slung at his back, a hunting-knife, and a small s.h.i.+eld, such as the Blackfoot Indians use to protect themselves from arrows. The only unusual sort of weapon he carried was a long sword.

”Not knowing at the time that the Indians were waiting for him, of course I gave no alarm to warn him of his danger. When he came within a hundred yards of the thicket, I saw him push his arm a little further into the handle of the s.h.i.+eld. It was but a slight action such as one might perform to ease the arm by change of position; but the redskins are quick-witted. They knew that he suspected they were there, so, giving one tremendous yell, they sent a cloud of arrows at him, and sprang out upon the plain at full gallop with their spears lowered.

”Instead of turning to fly from such an unequal combat, the Wild Man drew his sword and rushed at them like a thunderbolt. His onset was the most awful thing I ever saw in my life. The plain seemed to shake under the tread of his gigantic horse. His hair streamed wildly out behind him, and as he was coming towards me I could see that his teeth were set and his eyes flashed like those of a tiger. The Indians were appalled by the sight. The idea of one man attacking twenty had never occurred to them. They drew up; but it was too late to prevent a shock. There was a yell from the savages, a shout like the roar of a lion from the Wild Man, and two horses and their riders lay on the plain. I saw the long sword gleam for one moment, just as the shock took place, and the head of a savage rolled immediately after along the ground.

”The Indians, though overawed, were brave men. They turned to pursue the flying horseman, but they needed not. The Wild Man was not flying, he was only unable at first to check the headlong pace of his charger.

In a few seconds he wheeled about and charged again. The Indians, however, did not await the issue; they turned and fled, and they have ever since remained in the firm belief that the Wild Man is a 'great medicine' man, and that no one can kill him. They say that neither arrows nor bullets can pierce his skin, which is an inch thick; that fire and smoke come out of his mouth and eyes, and that his horse is, like himself, invulnerable. I must confess, however, that with the exception of his enormous size and his ferocity, he is, from what I saw of him, much the same as other men.”

McLeod concluded his description of this singular being, to which his guests listened open-eyed and mouthed, and helped himself to a buffalo-steak.

”An' what did he when the Indians ran away!” inquired March Marston.

”Oh! he quietly pulled up his horse and let them run. After they were gone, he continued his journey, as slow and cool as if nothing had happened. Few Indians attack him now, except new bands from distant parts of the country, who don't know him; but all who meddle with him find, to their cost, that it would have been better had they let him alone.”

”Is he cruel? Does he eat men and childers?” inquired Bounce, commencing a fourth steak with a degree of violent energy that suggested the possibility of his being himself able to do some execution in the cannibal line if necessary.

McLeod laughed. ”Oh dear, no; he's not cruel. Neither does he eat human flesh. In fact, he has been known to do some kind acts to poor starving Indians when they least expected it. The real truth is, that he is only fierce when he's meddled with. He never takes revenge, and he has never been known to lift a scalp.”

”But what like is he when he comes to trade his furs at the fort here?

how does he speak, and in what language?” inquired Marston, who, although delighted with the account given of the strength and valour of the Wild Man of the West, was by no means pleased to learn that he was not an absolute giant, something like the Giant Despair of whom he had read in the ”Pilgrim's Progress.”

”He's just like a trapper--only he's a tremendous big one--six feet six, if he's an inch, and would make two of the biggest of the present company round the shoulders. But he's very silent, and won't let any one question him. The long and the short of it is, that I believe he is a madman--luckily he's a well-disposed madman, and I can vouch for it he is a crack hunter, though he don't bring many furs to trade. I think he spends most of his idle time in moping among the caves of the mountains.”

”Does any one know where he lives?” asked Bertram, who was gradually becoming interested in this strange being.

”No. We have sometimes tried to track him, but at a certain place we have invariably lost all traces of him.”

”But what is his face like, and how does he dress?” inquired March eagerly; ”you have not yet said anything about that.”

McLeod was about to reply, when he was interrupted by a loud shouting in the yard of the fort. Leaping from their seats, the whole party ran to the windows.

”I thought so,” cried McLeod, seizing his cap and hurrying out. ”These are six of my men who have been out after the buffalo, and I see they have been successful.”

The fort gate had been swung open, and, just as the guests issued from the reception hall, six hunters galloped into the square with all the reckless noise and dash peculiar to that cla.s.s of men. Leaping from their foaming steeds, they were quickly surrounded by their comrades, and by the women and children of the place, who congratulated them on their success in the chase, and plied them with eager questions.

That they had indeed been successful was evident from the ma.s.ses of fresh meat with which the horses were laden.

”Well done, Davis,” said McLeod, stepping up to one of the men, who, from his age and intelligence, had been put in command of the hunting party. ”You are back sooner than I antic.i.p.ated. Surely, your good genius sent the buffalo across your path.”

”We have bin in luck, sir,” replied the hunter, touching his cap.

”We've killed more than we could carry, an', what's worse, we've killed more than we wanted.”

”How so?”