CHAPTER VII

THE STRANGE AWAKENING

THERE was little that the two lads did not know about making a camp, for they had been accustomed to spending nights in the woods ever since they first learned to handle a gun, and bring down the game so necessary for daily food.

The spot chosen by their guide for passing the night was as suitable as could be found at that late hour. Around them lay the woods, the trees tall and not of any generous girth, for the slopes of the hills bordering the Yellowstone are covered with a growth of pine that is not noted for its size.

When Mayhew tossed his pack aside the boys followed suit. They had made a long day of it, and were tired, though ready enough to keep moving could it be to their advantage.

The woodranger started to make his little cooking fire, while Dick and Roger arranged their blankets and made other preparations for the night. If they noticed the actions of the guide at all it was with slight interest, for both were fully acquainted with the methods which he used in his work.

Like many other things copied from the Indians, this idea of a small blaze that could not betray their presence had become a part of every woodsman's education. The way in which it was done was very simple.

First a hole was scooped out of a place where there was something of a depression, and in this a small quantity of inflammable tinder was placed. Flint and steel, upon being brought violently together, produced the necessary spark, and the handful of fine wood took fire.

It was carefully guarded on all sides so that not a ray might escape to attract attention; and, when sufficient red coals had accumulated, what cooking was necessary could be carried on over them.

When properly done, this sort of fire might remain undetected twenty paces away by the possessor of the keenest vision. Only the presence of suspicious odors, such as of burning wood, or food cooking, might betray the fact that there was a fire in the vicinity.

All Mayhew wanted was to heat some water, and make a pot of tea, of which he was very fond, although it was a great luxury of that early day. The supper itself would have to be eaten just as it was. They had a fair amount of bread, such as was baked by the camp cook; plenty of pemmican, and that was about all. If the food supply ran short they must depend wholly on what game they could bring down with their rifles.

Most boys of to-day would view such a limited bill of fare with alarm, and think starvation was staring them in the face. These lads of the frontier, however, were accustomed to privations. They faced empty larders every time stormy weather prevented hunting. And early in life they learned that it does no good to borrow trouble.

The night closed in around them. Dick and his cousin lay in their blankets and conversed in whispers, while Mayhew continued to busy himself over his tiny fire.

Around them lay the wilderness that was almost unknown to the foot of white man, yet it did not seem to awe these adventurous souls, simply because they had been brought up in the school of experience, and were familiar with nearly all the ordinary features of a vast solitude.

When the guide had his pannikin of tea ready he told the boys to fall to, and, being sharp pressed by hunger, they did not wait for a second invitation. Meager though that supper may have been, there was not a word of complaint, even from Roger. The pemmican tasted good to him, the dry bread was just what he craved, and the bitter decoction which Mayhew had brewed seemed almost like nectar.

Having accomplished its mission, the tiny fire was allowed to die out. Mayhew managed to light his pipe, which appeared to afford him much solace, and all three lay there, taking things as comfortably as possible, while they discussed in low tones the prospects ahead of them.

Each one offered an opinion with regard to what sort of weather they might expect in the near future. In doing this they consulted the stars, together with the prevailing winds, and whether this last seemed to carry any moisture in its breath since that would indicate approaching rain or snow.

It was the general belief that the prospect could be set down as uncertain. It might storm, or another fair day might speed them on their way; matters had not as yet developed far enough to settle this question.

The silence that had accompanied the coming of the night no longer held sway.

From time to time various sounds drifted to their ears to announce that the pine forest bordering the banks of the mysterious Yellowstone River were the haunts of many wild animals that left their dens, after the setting of the sun, for the purpose of roaming the wilderness in search of prey.

Far in the distance they could occasionally hear, when the wind favored, the mad yelping of a pack of gray mountain wolves, undoubtedly on the track of a stag which they meant to have for their midnight supper, if pertinacity and savage pursuit could accomplish it.

Closer at hand there came other sounds. Once the boys stopped speaking, and bent their heads to catch a repetition of a peculiar cry that would have sent a cold chill through any one unaccustomed to woods life.

"That sounded like a painter to me, Dick!" ventured Roger, handling his gun, so as to make sure the weapon was within reach of his hand.

Of course a "painter" meant a panther, for it was so called by nearly all back-woodsmen and pioneers of that day. And these two lads knew well what a fierce antagonist one of those great gray cats became when wounded, or ferociously hungry.

"Yes, that was just what I thought," replied Dick; "but there isn't much chance he'll bother to pay us a visit to-night. The woods are big enough to give him all the hunting he wants, without trying to invade our camp."

"There seems to be plenty of life in this valley of the Yellowstone River," the second boy continued, "and, even if Jasper Williams fails to find the Happy Hunting Grounds he is looking for, he might do lots worse than stay around here."

"Yes, I am sure there must be lots of fur to be picked up, and we saw plenty of elk, you remember, Roger, as well as other food animals. From what we have learned, the Indians never come in this direction unless they are compelled to by a scarcity of game in other places."

"All on account of their believing an Evil Spirit haunts the land," commented Roger. "As for myself, I think all those stories must be made up in the brains of foolish people. I would never believe one of them unless I saw the things with my own eyes."

"We may know more about them before we finish this journey," Dick remarked complacently.

"When you last examined the tracks left by Jasper Williams and his party, Benjamin, how old did you make them out to be?" inquired Roger of the guide.

"We are one day's journey behind them," came the assured reply.

"And if they should choose to linger on the trail we may overtake them by to-morrow night," added Dick, in order to comfort his cousin.

"Then all I can say," continued Roger, "is that I hope they'll run short of fresh meat, and conclude to loiter on the road. If Jasper only discovers a big colony of beaver in a stream, I think he would be tempted to camp near by and start trapping."

"Yes," Mayhew remarked, reflectively, between puffs, "he is always talking about beaver pelts, and I have heard him say many times that he never could resist taking the broadtails if given a fair opportunity."

"Well, we have seen signs of the houses of the little animals several times as we came upon streams that flowed into the river," said Roger, "so there may be a chance of our coming upon him before another sun goes down."

The thought appeared to give him satisfaction, and from that time on Dick noticed a difference in Roger's manner. Only one thing kept cropping up to make him sigh occasionally, and this was the possibility of snow catching them, and in a short time obliterating the trail of the party ahead.

The last thing Roger did, before wrapping himself in his blanket, was to step over to where he could look up at the heavens. The stars were shining peacefully. They did not look unusually bright, which would have been a bad outlook, according to the woodsman's reckoning of the weather signs. The bank of low-hanging clouds must have remained close along the horizon, or else passed away by some other route, for he now saw no trace of them.

"I really believe it will be all right, Dick," was his cheerful announcement as he settled down for a good night's sleep.

Dick did not reply; but, knowing how capricious the weather could prove, he had already made up his mind to be surprised at nothing. Even if he awoke in the morning to find three inches of snow covering the ground, coming so silently they had not known of its fall, he was prepared to take it philosophically. Perhaps, like a wise general, he had already mapped out in his mind just what course they must pursue under such conditions, for Dick Armstrong had always been prone to foresee difficulties, and prepare to meet them as they came.

Roger soon fell asleep. Even his thoughts of the faraway home were of a pleasant nature, and not calculated to keep him awake. Besides, that long day's tramp over so much rough ground had wearied his muscles, and a languor came upon him shortly after he wrapped his blanket about him.

A root served as a pillow. These hardy sons of the frontier needed no down under their heads as they slept. Privations they had been accustomed to from infancy, and a small amount of comfort usually satisfied them. Doubtless their slumber was all the more sound on that account.

Roger had no means of telling whether one hour or five had crept by, when he was aroused by something that gave him a fierce tug. Instantly he was awake, and, although at first he imagined he must have been dreaming, he changed his mind when he heard a low, snarling sound close to his ears, and felt another of those queer tugs.

It was cold, for, in rolling about as he slept, he must have displaced his blanket.

That jerk at his right leg gave Roger a thrill. He realized that something had taken hold of his fringed deerskin trousers, and was endeavoring to drag him aside. Even as this startling conviction flashed through his mind, for a third time he heard that low growl. It was like that of a dog, when some one approaches while he is gnawing a bone.

Roger slightly raised his head and saw two gleaming yellow spots that seemed to glow like coals of fire.

He knew they were the eyes of some sort of forest beast that was crouching close alongside him; though why it had seized upon his trouser leg and kept up this spasmodic tugging Roger could not comprehend.

Where was his rifle? He put out a hand, groping for the weapon, which action was the signal for more growls, and a spitting sound such as a cat might make. Then he heard a low whispering voice saying:

"Keep still, Roger; don't move! I've got my gun, and can fix him! Steady, now!"

Then came a mighty crash that awoke the echoes of the forest.