Part 31 (1/2)

”No, no; com! Me git you spear, hatchet very quick; but com.”

So saying, she dragged rather than conducted March to the little opening which led into her dormitory. He had to stoop on entering; and great was his amazement on finding himself on the brink of a black yawning gulf, that seemed to descend into the bowels of the earth. The end of a narrow plank rested on the edge of this gulf, and appeared to bridge it over, but the other end of the plank, and all beyond, were lost in impenetrable darkness.

”Com after me,” said Mary, pa.s.sing rapidly across the gulf, and disappearing--absolutely like a vision.

March hesitated. He tried to steady his somewhat giddy head, but the single word ”Com” issuing from darkness in a very commanding tone settled the point. He staggered across, held out his hands, and almost tumbled over his fair guide, on reaching the other end of the plank much sooner than he had expected.

”Now, wait. I will com agin,” said Mary, recrossing.

The view back was a very different thing from the view forward. As he stood there, on the brink of the yawning gulf, March could see right through into the cavern he had just left, and could observe everything that took place there. Mary hastily loaded herself with a rifle and the blunderbuss, also with powder-horn, bullet-pouch, and a bag containing buffalo tongues. With these she returned quickly, and, brus.h.i.+ng past her companion, carried them farther into the cave.

”Now, help me pull,” she said, laying hold of the end of the plank.

March obeyed; and obedience cost him much, poor fellow, for it seemed as if, in the act, he had rent asunder every muscle in his right shoulder.

The plank being thus drawn away, an impa.s.sable gulf was left between the inner and middle cavern, which, even in the event of its being discovered, presented no particular temptation to induce any one to explore farther. Mary drew the plank into the long natural pa.s.sage which led to her private apartment; and as this pa.s.sage turned abruptly to the right, there was no possibility of any one on the other side of the gulf being able to see into it. Indeed, a light in it was not visible from that point of view, and their voices could not be heard unless they spoke loudly.

Just as the plank was withdrawn, the Indians discovered the mouth of the cavern, and in a few minutes the two watchers beheld a painted savage peep in at the opening of the centre cave. Seeing that it was empty, and observing at a glance the opening into the inner cave, he drew back quickly. A minute after, the four Indians darted across, and got out of range of that opening--evidently fearing that some one was there. They flitted past so quickly, yet noiselessly, that they appeared more like shadows than real men.

Presently one of them stepped full in front of the opening with a bow and arrow in his hand. The light of the fire was strong. March saw him raise the bow, and had just time to draw back when an arrow whizzed past him, and was broken to pieces on the rock behind his back. Instantly after the echoes of the place burst forth as a shot was fired in the same direction. Having thus made sure that the way was clear, the boldest of the savages entered with a blazing pine-knot held high above his head--the others following with bows ready, and arrows fitted to the string.

On reaching the edge of the yawning chasm, the foremost savage held the torch over it, and they all gazed in silence into its unfathomable depths. Satisfied that it was impa.s.sable, they consulted for a few minutes, and then, apparently coming to the conclusion that the place was untenanted, they returned to the middle cave, and began to rummage and toss about the things they found there.

”Bring the rifle,” whispered March. ”I can floor two at a shot as they now sit.”

”No,” Mary replied firmly. ”Why make blood? They will go 'way soon.”

Mary was right; but a circ.u.mstance occurred which caused them to go away sooner than either she or they had antic.i.p.ated.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

A GALLOP TO THE RESCUE--A DISCOVERY--RIGHT-ABOUT FACE--A DISAGREEABLE SURPRISE AND A SUDDEN EJECTION--A CALM AFTER THE STORM--MARY A HUNTRESS--d.i.c.k'S STORY OF THE MURDERED TRAPPER.

When d.i.c.k, _alias_ the Wild Man of the West, left his cave, as narrated in a previous chapter, and galloped away with reckless speed to afford the aid of his stout right arm to his friends in the Mountain Fort--for he counted them friends, although they little knew it--he felt that if he was to be of any use he must travel over the country as he had never travelled before, except once, when he had to fly for his life before five hundred p.a.w.nee warriors.

It was a grand sight to behold that herculean backwoodsman on his n.o.ble steed, which seemed so well proportioned to its rider that it carried him as if he were but a boy, flying over the country on this brotherly errand. Mile after mile was pa.s.sed, not indeed at full speed, for that would have broken the good horse down long before the goal was reached, but at a bowling gallop, taking bogs, and rocks, and fallen trees, and watercourses, with an elastic bound that told of bone and muscle overflowing with surplus energy.

d.i.c.k patted the horse's arching neck with a look of pride and affection, and the animal tossed its head with a slight neigh of pleasure and a playful snap towards its rider's right foot; for it loved its master, as the lower animals do always love those who treat them well, and it loved a wild, long, careering gallop, for that was the only means by which it could relieve its feelings.

There was something unusually wild-like about this horse, besides its great size and extraordinarily long mane and tail. It carried its head high and its ears pointed forward, and it looked boldly from side to side, as it went springingly along, more like a human being than a horse. It actually appeared to be taking intelligent notice of things around it. So much so, that d.i.c.k had got into a habit of saying a word or two now and then to it in a grave tone, as if he were conversing with a friend.

”Ay, it's a fine country, isn't it?” he said, patting the neck again.

The ears were pointed backwards at once, and a little neigh or squeak, with a toss of the head, was the reply.

”Pity ye can't speak, an't it?” continued d.i.c.k in a low, quiet tone.

The horse appeared to know that this was merely a meditative remark, not pointedly addressed to itself for it only put back one ear and kept the other forward.

”Now, la.s.s,” said d.i.c.k firmly (both ears went full back at that sound and remained there), ”take it easy; don't exert yerself over much. It an't o' no use--a short pace or two, and--so.”

The horse went full swing over a roaring watercourse as he spoke, and alighted safe on the opposite bank, but the gravelly soil was treacherous; it gave way, and the animal's hind legs slipped back. With a bound d.i.c.k sprang to the ground.