Dusty Star Part 16

Another "woof," rather higher pitched than the first, rose angrily from below. The enemy had accepted Kiopo's challenge for the fight. A few minutes afterwards, a great, grey timber wolf came stalking down the promontory with the battle-light in his eyes.

As soon as he appeared, Dusty Star realized in a flash that they had met before, and that he was once again face to face with the giant wolf from whose murderous attack Goshmeelee had rescued him. For the Terror of the Carboona, Goshmeelee had been more than a match. But Kiopo, mighty fighter as he was, was not Goshmeelee. As he watched, an awful dread began to creep into Dusty Star's heart.

And now Kiopo prepared for what he knew must come. The first thing he did was to give Dusty Star a b.u.t.t with his head, which said clearly enough: "Get well out of the way."

Dusty Star was not so foolish as to disobey, knowing well that he could be of little use to Kiopo as soon as the fight began. So he scrambled hastily to the top of a high rock where he could watch what happened without being in danger.

On came the big grey stranger, walking stiffly, his tail waving slowly from side to side. As he advanced, he growled deeply. Kiopo awaited him without moving, every muscle tense, while he measured his enemy's points and probable strength. The Lone Wolf came to a stand, and for a few moments the wolves stood facing each other at the distance of a spring.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ON CAME THE BIG GREY STRANGER, WALKING STIFFLY, HIS TAIL WAVING SLOWLY FROM SIDE TO SIDE]

Both animals were splendid specimens of their cla.s.s. What Kiopo wanted in height, little though that was, he made up for in breadth and depth of shoulder and chest. An onlooker would have said that in actual fighting powers, the creatures were almost equally matched, though the chances lay on the side of the stranger. It would be only a close observer of beasts who would have marked not merely the depth of Kiopo's chest, but the greater width of his skull between the eyes.

It was plain that Lone Wolf was in an ugly mood. The hairs along his back stood stiffly, and his eyes gleamed like smouldering brands. In Kiopo he saw the hated rival whose hunting lay so close to the borders of his own range, and whose howling was a nightly challenge to the lordship of Carboona. He was well aware that Kiopo was not a foe to be slighted; but his repeated victories had made him insolent, and in the present instance he was confident of success.

Kiopo too, was in a rage; partly because his right to exist had been challenged by a powerful foe, partly because of the presence of Dusty Star. The mere idea that any harm threatened the Little Brother was more than enough to rouse him to a fury of fighting pitch. Rather than that a hair of the Little Brother should be injured, he would fight to the death. Yet in spite of his anger, he was wary. He had not fought Stickchi in vain. His strong limbs gathered well beneath him, he bided his time.

Suddenly, the Lone Wolf sprang.

Dusty Star caught his breath, and gripped his rock more tightly. The fight had begun!

Kiopo was not caught napping. In a flash he jerked his body sideways, so that Lone Wolf, instead of bearing him down as he had intended, and so gaining the advantage, landed close on his left flank. And although his fangs raked Kiopo's ribs, Kiopo replied at the same instant by a counter slash that ripped his antagonist's shoulder.

The fight had started now in real earnest. It was a wolfish whirlwind of motion. The two enraged animals bounded, slashed, gripped together, tore themselves apart, in a series of movements so lightning-swift as to baffle the eyes. When locked together, sometimes one would be on top, sometimes the other; but their immense strength, and amazing agility, made it impossible for either of them to hold the other down for any length of time. And Lone Wolf soon learnt that, when Kiopo was on his back, his methods were even more to be feared than when he was on his feet; for it was then that his hind quarters came most successfully into play. Those powerful quarters, fully armed with claws, were formidable engines of war when directed against Lone Wolf's stomach. More than once Lone Wolf was forced to loosen his grip upon his foe and tear himself away with a yelp of pain. And each time, like a relentless fury, Kiopo had leaped upon him in a fresh onslaught. Soon, both animals were streaming with blood; yet their many wounds, far from lessening their rage, seemed to make them more madly determined to fight on to the death.

Perched upon his rock, Dusty Star watched the appalling struggle going on immediately below him, with an excitement and a dread that pa.s.sed all bounds. His close intimacy with wild animals, had taught him that a fight of this sort could only be ended by the death of one or other of the fighters, and his terror naturally was lest Kiopo should not be able to hold his own. He had never known him to fail before; but then never before had he encountered a foe so nearly matched with him in strength.

So far, it would not have been possible to say that either wolf had gained any decided advantage over the other, but now Dusty Star observed something which filled him with a new fear. Either by chance or design, the wolves were very much nearer to the edge of the precipice than at the beginning of the fight. Surely, he thought, Kiopo, the always wary one, must have realized _that_? In his frantic anxiety to make sure that he realized, Dusty Star clapped his hands and shouted.

Whether Kiopo understood the warning or not, the sound of Dusty Star's voice seemed to goad him to fresh efforts. The Little Brother had cried.

He was fighting for the Little Brother as much as for himself. For a while it seemed as if the Lone Wolf must succ.u.mb to the fresh fury of his onslaught. In spite of this, Dusty Star saw with horror that the fight had rolled closer than ever to the edge.

And now it seemed that Kiopo had begun to lose his temporary advantage.

Soon it became all too plain that he was steadily losing ground, and was being pushed nearer and nearer to the fatal edge. At last he reached it.

In the final struggle for mastery, the wolves, still tearing furiously at each other, seemed poised on the very brink. In another moment, one or other, if not both, must surely be dashed to destruction. Again, in a fever of suspense, Dusty Star held his breath.

And then the thing happened-the amazing thing which, to the latest day of his life, he would never forget!

Just as Kiopo appeared to be pushed to his last foothold, with his hind quarters doubled under him beneath the fatal pressure of his all-but victorious foe, he gathered himself together for a last supreme effort, and the powerful sinews of those compressed hind legs did the work he relied on them to do.

In spite of appearances to the contrary, he had deliberately allowed himself to be pushed to the precipice. There was cunning in him, as well as courage. The breadth between the eyes was beginning to tell. If Dusty Star had been able to guess this, he might have been spared some, at least, of the terror of the last few eventful moments. What he actually saw was _this_--a violent movement throughout the whole of Kiopo's body; a mighty upward urge that lifted his enemy clean off his feet; then, a swift sideways wrench of his powerful neck and shoulders; and the heave of a dark body over the precipice edge.

With a thrill of unutterable relief, Dusty Star realized that the body which went crashing to its doom was not Kiopo's!

He sprang down from his rock, wild with exultant joy, Kiopo was safe!

Kiopo had won! The great fight was over, and Kiopo was the victor.

He rushed to the wolf, but in the very moment of throwing his arms about him, stopped. For, in spite of his overwhelming delight, his wilderness wisdom did not forsake him. He realized that Kiopo was too badly wounded to be touched.

The wolf lay on his side, bleeding from a dozen wounds. He took his breath in panting gasps that were almost sobs. It went to the boy's heart to hear the struggle for air, for life itself; yet for the moment he was helpless. If he had had a wound himself, he possessed sufficient Indian medical knowledge to treat it with healing herbs and bind it up.

But with the wolf it was altogether different. Kiopo could not have borne bandages, even if Dusty Star had had them to apply. The only remedies possible were three: rest, Nature, and his own wolfish tongue.

This Dusty Star knew quite well. All he dared to do was to kneel on the ground beside Kiopo while he gazed into his eyes, and made a murmuring medicine-talk with his mouth. And it needed no explanation to tell the wolf that all the love in the Little Brother's heart was flooding out through his eyes and mouth. He could not have borne the Little Brother's hand just then, tender though its touch would have been. But he was grateful for the medicine-talk of the Little Brother's Mouth; and the Little Brother's eyes comforted him: they seemed to lick him like soothing tongues.

For the rest of that night, and far into the next morning Kiopo lay where he was, licking his wounds. When the sun began to beat down upon the promontory, he dragged himself painfully into the shadows of the rocks, and remained there for the rest of the day. Dusty Star went in search of water and found a spring half-way down the gorge. By making a cup of a broad leaf of skunk cabbage, he was able to carry back a little water, which Kiopo eagerly drank. He had to make the journey many times, because no matter how cunningly he twisted the leaf, the pitcher would find a way of leaking; and although he always started with it as full as it would hold, it was more than half empty by the time it reached Kiopo's parched tongue.

There was another thing which Dusty Star found besides the spring. Down at the precipice foot, not far from the spot where the skunk cabbage grew, he came upon a large grey body which had broken its neck upon the rocks. And he knew for a certainty that the Terror of the Carboona would hunt on his range no more.

Nature, the great Mother of Healing, did her work. With her help, two nights and a day of rest and licking, and the cool water the Little Brother brought, enabled Kiopo gradually to regain his strength. Great was Dusty Star's joy, when, on the second morning after the fight, he saw Kiopo struggle to his feet and move slowly towards the forest.

They travelled slowly, but, in spite of that, reached home before sundown, while high over their heads, the tall tops of the spruces loitered in the golden light. Never had the valley looked more peaceful than on this still evening of early Fall. The restlessness which had waxed with the waxing of the moon, seemed to have departed from it on furtive feet beyond Carboona to the great Shuswap lake where the heavy waters rest. Yet the valley was not so deserted as it looked. For just as they came in sight of the camp, a large body was seen to move slowly away. Kiopo saw it, but did not growl. He recognized it as that of the old she-bear.

When Goshmeelee became aware of the travellers, she did not quicken her steps. Why should she? She never hurried unless folks worried her. She made a special point of living very slowly. It suited her digestion, and she usually had a great deal to digest. So instead of departing in a fl.u.s.ter, she sat down heavily in order to contemplate them at her ease.

"Been fighting," she said to herself, as soon as she had taken note of Kiopo, but she was too polite, or too lazy, to put it into speech.

Kiopo observed her out of the corner of his eye, walking past with great dignity, as much as to say that she needn't pity _him_. She was a very feminine bear, and he was a very masculine wolf. She took up more room in the world than he did, and had a wider way when she sat down. If it had not been for the Little Brother, he could do without her in a world where the bear-folk and the wolf-folk do not mix. But the Little Brother carried confusion with him. He seemed brother to half the forest. He made acquaintances right and left. If you made a kill, you could never be sure that the Little Brother would not make a fuss because you had killed one of his folk!

If the Little Brother's way got general, all the world would become brothers, and there would be nothing left to kill.

Dusty Star went up to the old bear joyfully, and gave her a playful push.

"We've come back," he said.

Goshmeelee grunted, as much as to say that she had already perceived the fact.

"Say you're glad!" Dusty Star said, shaking her thick coat.

Goshmeelee gave a second grunt, which might mean anything, or nothing.

She did not feel she had any cause for special thankfulness. But she looked at her tormentor with such a grave expression that he felt uncomfortable. Goshmeelee's way was to make you feel she had things to say before she said them.

"I am very glad to be back," Dusty Star said, pretending he hadn't noticed anything odd in Goshmeelee's manner.

There was a pause. Then Goshmeelee asked him suddenly:

"Will you be glad to go?"

"Go? But we have only just come back!" he exclaimed.

"In Carboona there are many comings and goings," Goshmeelee said vaguely. "One does not always remain."

"But why should I go?" Dusty Star asked earnestly; for his curiosity was now fully roused.

Goshmeelee swayed a little, and grunted, which meant that the _reason_ for his going was hidden from _her_.

"But we have come back to stay always," Dusty Star said uneasily. "Has anything happened since we have been away?"

"Strange feet are walking," the bear replied darkly. "In the forest there is a new trail."

What the trail told, where, by whom made, Goshmeelee would not say. All Dusty Star's utmost efforts were useless to induce her to throw any further light on her mysterious remarks. When she had stared at him for a little longer, in an aggravating dumbness, she dropped down on her front feet, and lumbered gently away.