The Keepers of the Trail Part 14

The shiftless one rejoined Henry and they ran a little faster. His face was pale and one or two drops of perspiration fell from it. His breath was longer than mere flight would make it.

"I ain't goin' to try that ag'in, Henry," he said. "No more foolin' with sudden death. He's sh.o.r.ely the big tiger, the biggest o' them all that wuz. Why, when I stumbled he leaped like lightnin'. I didn't think anythin', not even a wolf, could be so quick."

"The rifle frightened them off. They didn't know what it was, but they were afraid it had something to do with wounds and death. Still, they're running a little closer to us than they were. That's about all that's come of your experiment, Sol."

"I ain't goin' to try it over ag'in, Henry, but it sh.o.r.ely begins to look ez ef we'd hev to use the bullets on 'em. I don't think anythin'

else will stop 'em."

"A little while longer, Sol, and they may abandon the chase. We must hold our fire just as long as possible. A shot may bring a cloud of the red hornets about us."

The shiftless one was silent. He knew as well as Henry that a shot was unwise. They were bearing back now toward the stone fortress and the Indian camps, and the forests near might be full of warriors. Yet it was a tremendous strain upon one's nerves to be followed in such a manner.

The wolves had come so close now that they could hear the light pad of their feet. Once Shif'less Sol picked up a stone and hurled it at the king wolf. The great s.h.a.ggy beast leaped aside, but it struck a wolf behind him, drawing an angry snarl, in which all the wolves joined.

Henry felt relief when they gave tongue, although the snarl was not loud. Hitherto they had pursued in total silence, which he had deemed unnatural and that angry yelp made them real wolves of the forest again.

"About how far would you say it is now to the cave?" he asked the shiftless one.

"Three or four miles, but with our lope it won't take us long to cover it. What hev you got in mind, Henry?"

"I think we've got to kill the king wolf. I didn't think so a little while ago, but they follow us hoping that some accident, a fall perhaps, will make us their prey."

"Do it then, Henry, an' take all the chances. I'm growin' mighty tired o' bein' follered by wolves that are re'ly tigers. After you shoot, we'll turn to the left an' run ez hard ez we kin."

Henry whirled suddenly about and raised his rifle. The king wolf, as if divining his purpose, sheered to one side, but he was confronting the deadliest marksman in the woods. The muzzle of Henry's rifle followed him, and when he pulled the trigger the bullet crashed through the great beast's skull.

When the king wolf fell dead the others stopped, stricken with terror, but from a point to the east came the long thrilling note of the war whoop. The warriors had heard the shot, and, knowing they would come swiftly to its sound, Henry and the shiftless one, turning due west, ran with amazing speed through the forest.

CHAPTER VII

THE FOREST POETS

Henry and the shiftless one knew that they had drawn danger upon themselves, but they had nothing to regret. The pursuit by the wolves had become intolerable. In time it was bound to unsettle their nerves, and it was better to take the risk from the warriors.

"How far away would you say that war whoop was?" asked Henry.

"'Bout a quarter o' a mile but it'll take 'em some little time to find our trail. An' ef you an' me, Henry, can't leave 'em, ez ef they wuz standin', then we ain't what we used to be."

Presently they heard the war cry a second time, although its note was fainter.

"Hit our trail!" said the shiftless one.

"But they can never overtake us in the night," said Henry. "We've come to stony ground now, and the best trailers in the world couldn't follow you and me over it."

"No," said the shiftless one, with some pride in his voice. "We're not to be took that way, but that band an' mebbe more are in atween us an'

our fine house in the cliff, an' we won't get to crawl in our little beds tonight. It ain't to be risked, Henry."

"That's so. We seem to be driven in a circle around the place to which we want to go, but we can afford to wait as well as the Indian army can, and better. Here's another branch and we'd better use it to throw that band off the trail."

They waded in the pebbly bed of the brook for a long distance. Then they walked on stones, leaping lightly from one to another, and, when they came to the forest, thick with grapevines they would often swing from vine to vine over long s.p.a.ces. Both found an odd pleasure in their flight. They were matching the Indian at his tricks, and when pushed they could do even better. They knew that the trail was broken beyond the hope of recovery, and, late in the night, after pa.s.sing through hilly country, they sat down to rest.

They were on the slope of the last hill, sitting under the foliage of an oak, and before them lay a wide valley, in which the trees, mostly oaks, were scattered as if they grew in a great park. But the gra.s.s everywhere was thick and tall, and down the center flowed a swift creek which in the moonlight looked like molten silver. The uncommon brightness of the night, with its gorgeous cl.u.s.ters of stars, disclosed the full beauty of the valley, and the two fugitives who were fugitives no longer felt it intensely. Henry was an educated youth of an educated stock, and Shif'less Sol, the forest runner, was born with a love and admiration in his soul of Nature in all its aspects.

"Don't it look fine, Henry?" said the shiftless one. "Ef I hed to sleep in a house all the time, which, thanks be, I don't hev to do, I'd build me a cabin right here in this little valley. Ain't it jest the nicest place you ever saw? Unless I've mistook my guess, that's a lot o'

buff'ler lyin' down in the gra.s.s in front o' us."

"Eight of 'em. I can count 'em," said Henry, "but they're safe from us."

"I wouldn't fire on 'em, not even ef thar wuzn't a warrior within a hundred miles o' us. I don't feel like shootin' at anythin' jest now, Henry."

"It's the valley that makes you feel so peaceful. It has the same effect on me."

"I think I kin see wild flowers down thar bloomin' among the bushes, an'

ain't that gra.s.s an' them trees fine? an' that is sh.o.r.ely the best creek I've seen. Its water is so pure it looks like silver. I've a notion, Henry, that this wuz the Garden o' Eden."

"That's an odd idea of yours, Sol. How can you prove it's so?"

"An' how can you prove it ain't so? An' so we're back whar we started.

Besides, I kin pile up evidence. All along the edge o' the valley are briers an' vines, on which the berries growed. Then too thar are lots o'

grapevines on the trees ez you kin see, an' thar are your grapes. An' up toward the end are lots o' hick'ry an' walnut trees an' thar are your nuts, an' ef Adam an' Eve wuz hard-pushed, they could ketch plenty o'

fine fish in that creek which I kin see is deep. In the winter they could hev made themselves a cabin easy, up thar whar the trees are thick. An' the whole place in the spring is full o' wild flowers, which Eve must hev stuck her hair full of to please Adam. The more I think o'

it, Henry, the sh.o.r.er I am that this wuz the Garden."

The shiftless one's face was rapt and serious. In the burnished silver of the moonlight the little valley had a beauty, dreamlike in its quality. In that land so truly named the Dark and b.l.o.o.d.y Ground it seemed the abode of unbroken peace.

"I reckon," said Shif'less Sol, "that after the fall Adam an' Eve left by that rift between the hills, an' thar the Angel stood with the Flamin' Sword to keep 'em out. O' course they might hev crawled back down the hillside here, an' in other places, but I guess they wuz afeard. It's hard to hev had a fine thing an' then to hev lost it, harder than never to hev had it or to hev knowed what it wuz. I guess, Henry, that Adam an' Eve came often to the hills here an' looked down at their old home, till they wuz skeered away by the flamin' o' the Angel's sword."

"But there's nothing now to keep us out of it. We'll go down there, Sol, because it is a garden after all, a wilderness garden, and nothing but Indians can drive us from it until we want to go."

"All right, Henry. You lead on now, but remember that since Adam an' Eve hev gone away this is my Garden o' Eden. It's sh.o.r.e a purty sight, now that it's beginnin' to whiten with the day."

Dawn in truth was silvering the valley, and in the clear pure light it stood forth in all its beauty and peace. It was filled, too, with life.

Besides the buffaloes they saw deer, elk, swarming small game, and an immense number of singing birds. The morning was alive with their song and when they came to the deep creek, and saw a fish leap up now and then, the shiftless one no longer had the slightest doubt.

"It's sh.o.r.ely the Garden," he said. "Listen to them birds, Henry. Did you ever hear so many at one time afore, all singin' together ez ef every one wuz tryin' to beat every other one?"

"No, Sol, I haven't. It is certainly a beautiful place. Look at the beds of wild flowers in bloom."

"An' the game is so tame it ain't skeered at us a bit. I reckon, Henry, that 'till we came no human foot hez ever trod this valley, since Adam an' Eve had to go."

"Maybe not, Sol! Maybe not," said Henry, trying to smile at the shiftless one's fancy, but failing.

"An' thar's one thing I want to ask o' you, Henry. Thar's millions an'

millions an' billions an' billions o' acres in this country that belong to n.o.body, but I want to put in a sort o' claim o' my own on the Garden o' Eden here. Thar are times when every man likes to be all by hisself, fur a while. You know how it is yourself, Henry. Jest rec'lect then that the Garden is mine. When I'm feelin' bad, which ain't often, I'll come here an' set down 'mong the flowers, an' hear all them birds sing, same ez Adam an' Eve heard 'em, an' d'rectly I'll feel glad an' strong ag'in."