The Wild Man of the West Part 28

March was mollified, however, when the girl suggested that his pillow seemed uncomfortable, and rose to adjust it with tender care. Then she said: "Now me bring blankit. You go sleep. Me sit here till you sleep, after that me go away. If ye wants me, holler out. Me sleep in next room."

So saying, this wonderful creature flitted across the cavern and vanished, thereby revealing to March the fact that there was a third cavern in that place. Presently she returned with a green blanket, and spread it over him, after which she sat down by the fire and seemed absorbed in her private meditations while March tried to sleep.

But what a night March had of it! Whichever way he turned, that vision was ever before his eyes. When he awoke with a start, there she was, bending over the fire. When he dreamed, there she was, floating in an atmosphere of blue stars. Sometimes she was smiling on him, sometimes gazing sadly, but never otherwise than sweetly. Presently he saw her sitting on d.i.c.k's knee, twisting his great moustache with her delicate hand, and he was about to ask d.i.c.k how he had managed to get back so soon, when he (the Wild Man) suddenly changed into March's own mother, who clasped the vision fervently to her breast and called her her own darling son! There was no end to it. She never left him. Sometimes she appeared in curious forms and in odd aspects--though always pleasant and sweet to look upon. Sometimes she was dancing gracefully like an embodied zephyr on the floor; frequently walking in mid-air; occasionally perambulating the ceiling of the cave. She often changed her place, but she never went away. There was no escape. And March was glad of it. He didn't want to escape. He was only too happy to court the phantom. But it did not require courting. It hovered over him, walked round him, sat beside him, beckoned to him, and smiled at him.

Never,--no, never since the world began was any scratched and battered youth so thoroughly badgered and bewitched, as was poor March Marston on that memorable night, by that naughty vision in leather!

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

THE CAVE OF THE WILD MAN OF THE WEST--MARCH AND MARY HOLD PLEASANT INTERCOURSE--d.i.c.k'S GOOD QUALITIES ENLARGED ON--THE WILD MAN GIVES A REDSKIN A STRANGE LESSON--A STARTLING INTERRUPTION TO PLEASANT CONVERSE.

When March Marston awoke the following morning, and found himself lying on a low couch in the mysterious cavern of the Wild Man of the West, he experienced the curious sensation, with which every one is more or less familiar, of not knowing where he was.

The vision in leather, which had worried him to such an extent during the night, had left him in peace--as most visions usually do--an hour or so before daybreak, and as the real vision had not yet issued from the inner chamber of the cave, there was nothing familiar near him when he awoke to recall his scattered senses. His first effort to rise, however, quickened his memory amazingly. Pains shot through all his limbs: the chase, the fall, d.i.c.k, the cavern, recurred to him; and last--but not least, for it obliterated and swallowed up all the rest-- the vision broke upon his beclouded brain and cleared his faculties.

Looking curiously round the cavern, he observed for the first time--what he might have observed the night before had he not been preoccupied with sudden, numerous, and powerful surprises--that the walls were hung with arms and trophies of the chase. Just opposite to him hung the skin of an enormous grisly bear, with the head and skull entire, and the mouth and teeth grinning at him in an awful manner. Near to this were the skin and horns of several buffaloes. In other places there were more horns, and heads, and hides of bears of various kinds, as well as of deer, and, conspicuous above the entrance, hung the ungainly skull and ponderous horns of an elk.

Mingled with these, and arranged in such a manner as to prove that d.i.c.k, or the vision--one or other, or both--were by no means dest.i.tute of taste, hung various spears, and bows, and quivers, and shields of Indian manufacture, with spears and bows whose form seemed to indicate that d.i.c.k himself was their fabricator. There was much of tasteful ornament on the sheaths and handles of many of these weapons.

The floor of the apartment in which he lay was of solid rock, cleanly washed and swept, but there was no furniture of any kind--only a pile of fresh-cut pine-branches, with which the place was perfumed, and two or three rough logs which had been used as seats the night before by the host and hostess of this--to March--enchanted castle.

March was staring earnestly at one of these logs which lay close to the ashes of the fire, trying to recall the form that had last occupied it, when a rustle at the inner pa.s.sage attracted his attention, and next moment the vision again stood before him. It was, if possible, more innocent and young and sweet than on the previous night.

"Good mornin'. You very good sleep, me hope?"

"Ay, that had I, a capital sleep," cried March heartily, holding out his hand, which the vision grasped unhesitatingly, and shook with manly vigour.

"Bees you hongray?"

"No, not a bit," said March.

The girl looked sad at this. "You muss heat," she said quickly, at the same time raking together the embers of the fire, and blowing them up into a flame, over which she placed a large iron pot. "d.i.c.k hims always heat well an' keep well. Once me was be sick. d.i.c.k him say to me, 'Heat.' Me say, 'No want heat.' Hims say, 'You _muss_ heat.' So me try; an' sure 'nuff, get well to-morrow."

March laughed at this prompt and effectual remedy for disease, and said, "Well, I'll try. Perhaps it will cure me, especially if you feed me."

Poor March saw, by the simplicity of his companion's looks, that gallantry and compliments were alike thrown away on her; so he resolved to try them no more. Having come to this conclusion, he said--

"I say, Mary, come and sit by me while I talk with you. I want to know how you came to be in this wild, out-o'-the-way place, and who d.i.c.k is, and what brought him here, an' in short, all about it."

The girl drew her log near as he desired, but said, "What d.i.c.k no tell, me no tell."

"But, surely," urged March in a somewhat testy tone, "you may tell me _something_ about ye."

Mary shook her head.

"Why not?"

"d.i.c.k say, 'No tell.'"

"Oh! d.i.c.k's an a.s.s!"

Had Mary known the meaning of her companion's rude speech, she might possibly have surprised him with a decided opinion in regard to himself.

But, never having heard of nor seen such a creature in all her life, she only looked up with a quiet expression of curiosity, and said--

"What bees an a.s.s?"

"Ha! ha!--ho! he! a--" roared our hero, with a mingled feeling of exasperation and savage glee--"an a.s.s? Why, it's a lovely slender creature, with short pretty ears and taper limbs, and a sleek, glossy coat, like--like _me_, Mary, dear; why, I'm an a.s.s myself. Pray, do get me somethin' to eat. I really believe my appet.i.te's comin' back agin."

Mary looked at March in much concern. She had once nursed the Wild Man through a severe illness, and knew what delirium was, and she began to suspect that her guest was beginning to give way.

"Now, lie down," she said with an air of decision that was almost ludicrous in one so youthful. Yet March felt that he must obey. "Me will git meat ready. You sleep littil bit."

March shut his eyes at once; but, the instant that Mary turned to attend to the iron kettle, he opened them, and continued to gaze at the busy little housewife, until she chanced to look in his direction, when he shut them again quickly, and very tight. This was done twice; but the third time Mary caught him in the act, and broke into a merry laugh. It was the first time she had laughed aloud since March met her; so he laughed too, out of sheer delight and sympathy.

When March had finished breakfast, he tried to get up, and found, to his great relief and satisfaction, that no bones were broken--a fact of which he had stood in considerable doubt--and that his muscles were less acutely pained than they had been. Still, he was very stiff, and quite unable, with any degree of comfort, to walk across the cave; so he made up his mind to lie there till he got well--a resolution which, in the pride of his heart, he deemed exceedingly virtuous and praiseworthy, forgetting, either deliberately or stupidly, that the presence of Mary rendered that otherwise dull cavern the most delightful of sick chambers, and that her attendance was ample compensation and reward for any amount of pain or self-denial.

"Mary," he said, when she had cleared away the debris of the morning meal, "sit down here, and tell me a few things. You're so terribly close that one doesn't know what he may ask an' what he mayn't. But if you don't like to speak, you can hold your tongue, you know. Now, tell me, how old are you?"

"Fifteen," replied Mary.

"Ay! I thought ye'd been older. How long have ye bin with d.i.c.k?"

"In cave here--ten year. Before that, me live in my father's wigwam."

"Was yer father a trapper?" inquired March tenderly.

Mary's face at once a.s.sumed an expression of earnest gravity, and she answered, "Yes," in a low, sad tone.

March was going to have inquired further on this point, but fear lest he should hurt the feelings of the poor child induced him to change the subject.

"And how came ye," said he, "first to meet with d.i.c.k?"

Mary pressed her lips.

"Oh! very well; don't tell if it ain't right, by no manner o' means. Do ye think that d.i.c.k intends to keep ye here always?"

"Me not know."

"Humph! An' you say he's good to ye?"

"Oh yes," cried Mary with a sudden blaze of animation on her usually placid countenance, "him's good, very good--gooder to me than n.o.body else."

"Well, I could have guessed that, seein' that n.o.body else has had anything to do with ye but him for ten years past."

"But him's not only good to me--good to everybody," continued the girl with increasing animation. "You not know _how_ good--can't know."

"Certainly not," a.s.sented March; "it ain't possible to know, not havin'

bin told; but if you'll tell me I'll listen."