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Peril Finders

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<h3>Chapter Twenty Two.</h3> <h4>Bear and Buffalo.</h4> Distance is illusive in the clear atmosphere of high mountain lands, and it took two days longer than had been calculated before a position well upon the slope of the giant peak was reached—a grand shelf, covered with verdure close to where a sparkling stream gushed out of a patch of rocks and made a leap of fully a hundred feet down into a rift, along which it gurgled musically beneath a rainbow-like arch of ever-changing beauty on its way to the plain below. A more beautiful spot could not have been selected for the camp, presenting as it did shelter, shade, a comprehensive view of the country for probably a hundred miles round, and of the valleys that ran down and opened out from the mountain side into the plains, so that the presence of enemies could be made out and favourable parts selected for finding game. But Chris was not satisfied, and Ned expressed his disapprobation plainly to Griggs. “I thought we were going right up to the top of the peak,” he said. “This isn’t more than a quarter the way.” “It’s as far as we could get the mules and ponies by now,” replied the American. “What do you want to go up higher for?” “Why, to see, of course,” cried Ned. “You’re a hard one to satisfy,” said Griggs. “There’s hundreds of times as much down yonder as you can see anyhow. Besides, do you know how it would be if you climbed higher?” “Splendid.” “No it wouldn’t,” said Griggs. “It would be so cold you couldn’t bear it.” “What, up there in the blazing sunshine?” “Yes, up there in the blazing sunshine. That only lasts till sundown; after that ice would be forming in the water-bottles, while the wind would be so cold that you couldn’t bear it. We should want bearskin coats,” added Griggs meaningly, as he sheltered his eyes from the sun’s glare. He and the boys had climbed, after helping with the camping arrangements, some three or four hundred feet above the shelf, armed with the doctor’s glass. “We could keep ourselves warm enough, I dare say,” said Ned surlily, for the ponies had been walked up the final portion of that day’s journey so as to relieve them of their loads. “Strikes me,” said Griggs, “that this place will about do for a couple of weeks, and then we can get right round to the other side for a day or two to see what we can make out there.” “I should say we had better start right off there to-morrow,” said Chris, after taking a comprehensive glance round. “How far can I see, do you think?” “From here? Why, big things a hundred miles off, I dare say.” “Then it’s all a failure, so far,” said Chris; “there’s no sign of the mountains on the map. This is not the right part.” “I didn’t expect it would be,” said the American coolly. “Then why did we come?” cried Chris. “Just to make sure, my lad. That’s the sort of thing we shall have to do: keep on trying, and always expecting we are not right.” “Oh!” cried Ned impatiently. “Ah, you may ‘Oh,’ my lad, but that’s the way to succeed. We shall go about to hundreds of places before we’ve done, and out of those hundreds there’s only one can be right, and it isn’t natural to expect that it will be ready for us at the start. There’s no hurry.” “No hurry?” cried the boy, staring. “Not a bit. You chaps are a long way off twenty yet, and if you find the gold city before you’re seventy you’ll do well.” “Hark at him!” cried Chris merrily. “Griggs turned philosopher. What about you then? You’re past thirty.” “Ever so much,” said the American, “but I don’t mind if I never find it. This life’s quite good enough for me.” “Do you mean to tell me that you don’t want to find the old city?” cried Chris. “No, of course not. I should like to find it, my lads, and be a rich man; but I shan’t break my heart if we never go near the place. We shall have travelled half over America and seen plenty of the country. That’s good enough for a man who only wants to live.” “You’re a rum chap, Griggs,” said Chris. “I am, my lad, but I can’t help it. Now, let’s see: we came up here to see what there was to be seen, and you wanted to go up higher.” “And you said we should want bearskin coats.” “To be sure I did,” without moving a muscle. “Well, there’s one over yonder.” “A bearskin coat?” cried Ned. “Nonsense! Bearskin coats don’t grow on trees.” “Thank you for the information,” said Griggs, “but tell me something else; I knew that.” “Tell us something else,” cried Ned. “A bearskin coat on the mountain side! Where?” “Over yonder, I tell you, with the gentleman it belongs to wearing it. A splendid fit too, I should say, but it’s too far off to make sure.” The boys involuntarily cocked their pieces, as Chris said excitedly— “A man in a bearskin coat—an Indian?” “Oh no. Can’t you see him?” “No! Where?” “Look yonder across that bare slope that glistens in the sun as if the rock were granite.” “Yes, I see where you mean—a little higher up than we are.” “That’s right. Now, just above it there’s a patch of green running up to the fir-trees, all low bushes sprinkled about with the rocks between.” “Yes,” said Chris, “I can see that too. Well?” “Look, look, Chris,” cried Ned; “I can see it now—there, just crossing from one lot of bushes to another. There it goes.” “Yes, I see now. Why, you mean wool, Griggs. It’s a mountain-sheep.—No, it isn’t,” cried Chris excitedly; “it’s a bear.” “Yes, all alive, oh! and in his skin coat.” “And quite beyond reach, unless we stalk him. I say, Griggs, how lucky! Is that a grizzly?” “Oh, no; they’re twice as big. That’s only a brown bear.” “But is he coming after our mules?” “Not he. He’s hunting for wild fruit—berries and things of that sort.” “Then it’s not a dangerous one?” “Not if you leave him alone. He’d show fight, though, I dare say, if you went after him.” “Let’s climb higher up and get above him. We can easily get a shot at him then,” said Chris. “Do you want his skin?” said Griggs. “No.” “Well, you wouldn’t care about eating him, though bear ham isn’t bad.” “Oh, we don’t want to eat him,” cried Ned, watching the movements of the brute eagerly. “You don’t want his fat to make bear’s grease for your hair, do you?” “Of course not.” “Then I’d leave him alone. We’ve plenty of ammunition now, but we don’t want to waste any.” “But suppose he had been a grizzly?” said Chris, bringing the glass to bear on the distant animal. “If it had been a grizzly I should say the best thing would be to let him alone, and the same with a cinnamon, for they’re very dangerous beasts. If either of them came smelling after the mules or ponies of course it would be a different thing. There wouldn’t be room enough for him and us too on the same mountain side. Well! he’s gone, hasn’t he?” “Yes, right up amongst the fir-trees.” “Ah, he’ll be much safer there,” said Griggs. “You fellows would be tempted to have a shot at him if he came within reach. Now then, lend me the glass.” The binocular was handed to him, and while the two lads stood watching the woodland patch where the bear had disappeared, in expectation of its coming into sight again, the American stood sweeping the horizon and then bringing the glass to bear upon the wondrous view in every direction where he could bring mountain, valley, hill, and plain into the field of the glass. He had turned slowly till he was gazing in the direction from which they had come, leaving what looked like a band of deep green, to bring the glass to bear upon the pale ash-coloured desert part, which rapidly brightened into silvery grey, and from that became like the sea, half-hidden by a soft haze which died away into the sky-line. Quite ten minutes must have passed away, the boys having been too much occupied with the bear to heed their companion, when Ned said in a disappointed tone— “Gone! I should have liked to shoot that bear.” “And had his skin,” said Chris. “But look at Griggs,” he added, in a whisper; “he can see something.—What are you looking at?” cried the boy, aloud. “That patch far away over the salt plain. You can’t see it with the naked eye.—Yes: I can, but it only looks like a shadow. Here, try the glass.” He handed the binocular to the boy, who looked but could see nothing till his companion had given him a hint or two to follow an imaginary line upward from one of the eminences below. Chris caught the object sought then. “Yes,” he cried, “I see. Why, it’s a herd of buffalo!” “Try again,” said Griggs. “Yes: a herd of buffalo,” said Chris, lowering his glass and trying to fix the object with his eyes. “I can see it without the glass. Just like a cloud-shadow in the glistening, heaving plain, and moving slowly. I shouldn’t have thought that buffalo would be seen on a dry place like that.” “Let me look,” cried Ned, and after a try or two he caught the object visible through the glass. “Yes, buffalo,” he said, “and they’re moving slowly.” “Coming this way?” said Griggs. “I can’t hold the glass steadily enough to make sure. Yes, I can see now; they’re not coming straight for here, but they seem to be sloping across as if to get to the rich grass. That must be it, I think.” “Very likely,” said Griggs quietly. “Hunting.” “Yes, hunting for grass,” said Chris. “Let’s have another look, Ned.” He caught the glass and took a long look at the dimly-seen distant patch on the plain, to cry decisively without lowering the instrument— “Yes; you’re quite right, Ned. Why, they must be miles away. I should never have seen them. What eyes you have, Griggs!” “Been used more than yours have, lad, and that has made them a bit keener, I suppose. Try again, and see whether you can see buffalo.” “Yes,” said Chris, after a long pause, “buffalo, and they’re coming what you call it—diagonally across the country.” “That’s right,” said Griggs; “but they’re not buffalo.” “What then? They’re too big to be wolves.” “Yes,” said Griggs coolly; “it’s a big band of mounted Indians. Come down, quick.” The news they had to carry was too important to admit of delay, and the little party hurried down to camp, where fortunately as soon as the doctor had brought the glass to bear he was able to announce that the Indians were not visible from the sheltered nook that had been chosen on account of the trees and rocks around. “It’s fortunate for us that they have no telescope in their civilisation,” said Bourne. “Ah, but they have far sharper eyes than we have, sir,” said Griggs. “What do you mean to do, doctor?” “Send you up above again with the glass while we get the animals together ready for a start if it should prove necessary. The enemy are miles away yet.” “Yes, sir, and it’s hardly likely that they will come up here unless they see us or hit upon our trail. What do you say to the boys taking the glass up higher? You’ll want me.” “Very well,” replied the doctor. “Go up, boys, and while one keeps his eyes upon their movements, the other can act as messenger and come and tell us whether the situation gets better or worse.” The two lads started at once, eager to undertake the task like men, but in five minutes they were back like boys. “What is it?” said the doctor eagerly. “Are the Indians coming on?” “No, father,” said Chris, hesitating, for he stopped short, and Bourne looked anxiously at his son. “You two have not been disagreeing?” he said sharply. “No, father, not disagreeing,” said Ned, “but—” “Come, out with it,” cried the doctor sternly. “Why have you both come back?” “We’ve come back for orders, father,” said Chris, with a sharp look at Ned. “I thought I had given you full explanation as to what I wish you to do,” said the doctor. “Not quite, father. You left something out.” “What is it? Quick; we have no time to spare.” “You didn’t say which of us was to have the glass and do the looking out.” The doctor uttered a low angry sound which had he been a dog would have been called a growl, before saying firmly— “Ned is to use the glass, and you are to be messenger, for your words and tone say plainly enough that you have been stickling for your right to the glass, when you should at such a time of emergency have been ready to give up for the sake of all. Off with you.” “Serve you right,” said Ned, as they climbed quickly up towards the place from whence they had first seen the Indians. “If it had been my father’s glass I’d have given up in a moment instead of laying claim to it.” Chris was silent, and involuntarily he touched both of his cheeks, as if to feel whether they were as hot outside as they were in. He found them hotter, and they grew hotter still by the time they had reached their lookout, creeping to it during the last fifty yards and keeping behind stones and bushes and every other bit of cover in their way. “Wo-ho!” cried Chris cheerily then, as he lay on his chest looking down towards the salt plain, with the nettled feeling dying out fast. “Come on; you can see capitally from here.” “Oh!” cried Ned sharply.—“Here, catch hold.” As he spoke he held out the glass. “What’s the matter?” “Something in my right eye.—I can’t see.” He was rubbing it violently, and it certainly looked red and inflamed. “Got something in it?” “Yes, a fly or a bit of dust, or else I’ve rubbed it too hard. You must look out, and I’ll take the messages.” “Father’s orders were that you should use the glass and I was to take the messages.” “Yes, I know,” cried Ned irritably, “but who’s to use a glass with a fly in his eye?” “Lie down and turn over. I’ll take it out with a bit of grass,” said Chris gruffly. “No, no, catch hold of the glass and don’t waste time. I shall be able to rub it out directly.” “Better let me wipe it out gently with the strand of grass. I shan’t hurt you.” “Yes, you will. Eye’s such a tender part. I know; I’ll pull the lid up and look at the sun. Then it’ll water horribly, and wash the fly away.” “No, it won’t,” said Chris. “What!—How do you know?” “Because it isn’t a fly.” “What!” cried Ned, whose cheeks were scarlet, as much as could be seen for one hand held over the closed eye. “You heard what I said,” cried Chris. “It isn’t a fly.” “What is it, then?” said Ned, who kept on rubbing hard at the inflamed part. “A bit of grit or dust?” “No, it’s a fib, and it’s in both your eyes.” “What?” “There, don’t keep on whating about it. I can see it quite plainly.” “Don’t talk nonsense,” cried Ned hurriedly. “Can’t you see how it hurts me?” “Yes; but you needn’t have told a cram about it.” “What should I tell an untruth for?” cried Ned hotly. “Because you wanted to cheat me into using the glass because you thought I was hurt and disappointed.” “I tell you one of my eyes smarts horribly.” “Of course it does—stuffing your knuckles into it and rubbing like that. There, focus the glass and look out.” “I can’t see clearly with my right eye, Chris, honour bright. Catch hold.” “If a fellow tells you a fib once, you don’t believe him next time.” “What do you want me to say to make you believe me? It does hurt, really.” “Say there was no fly in the case, to begin with.” “Will you use the glass if I do?” “If you can make me believe that you can’t see well.” “Look, then,” cried Ned, and he dropped his hand, to open his right eye, which was quite bloodshot, “Now, is it likely that I can see steadily with that aching and watering so that I’m half blind?” “No,” said Chris quietly, and he took the glass and began to focus it on a distant object. “Now, own up; you did rub that hard on purpose?” Ned was silent. “I’m going to give you the glass back,” cried Chris. “No, you’re not; and you’re going to have a good look out. But I say, mind; don’t let the sun shine on the glass, or the Indians may see the flash. Pull out the sunshades.” “I have,” said Chris, taking a long look out in the direction of the enemy. “See ’em?” “No. All’s clear there.” “Take a good long sweep round and keep watching till you find out where the Indians are. I’m going down to the bottom of the fall to bathe my eye. It is bad.” “Make haste, then.” “All right. Call or whistle when you see them. I shall hear you.” Chris nodded and grunted, and then went on examining every part of the plain below, but without result, and he thought and muttered to himself the while. “He needn’t have told a fib over it. Now, I wonder where those red niggers are.—He might have known that I should see through him at once.—A nigger can’t be red. That’s stupid.—It was rather nice of old Ned, though. I’m afraid I shouldn’t have done as much for him.—They must have gone in amongst the grass and trees somewhere about there. I wish I could see them. But I don’t think they’re after us—only hunting.” He lay stretched out on his chest, slowly moving the glass so that he could sweep the edge of the plain; but the time went on, and the mounted party might, after all, have been a cloud-shadow for all the sign that he could see, and at last he began to grow weary and think of whistling to Ned to come up to him. “He ought to have been back again by now.” The words had hardly been muttered before Chris started, for a hand was laid upon his leg. “See ’em?” “No. I was just going to whistle. How’s your eye?” “Getting all right again now. But you ought to be able to see the enemy. Have you looked well?” For answer Chris began to shuffle himself back, moving on hands and toes till he was level with Ned. “Looked well? Of course. Here, you catch hold and have a good look yourself.—Ah! Don’t you say another word about that eye, or we shall fall out. I know: you’ve bathed it well, and it’s ever so much better. Catch hold, I say.” Ned took the glass without a word and crept up to the stone which had sheltered the observer, and there was silence for a few minutes, during which Chris’s patience became exhausted. Then he cried— “You ought to have seen them by this time. What are they doing?” “Cooking,” said Ned laconically. “What!” cried Chris in astonishment. “Well, I’m not sure they’re cooking, but they’ve made a fire.” “Where—where? I say: no nonsense. Can you really see them?” “No, but I can see the smoke of a fire curling up, and their horses are grazing just at the edge of the forest part where the long grass begins.” “Your eye must have grown worse and worse,” said Chris, with grim humour, as he crawled up alongside of his companion. “It must be very bad indeed, or you couldn’t see all that. Let’s have a look.” “Keep your head down, mind,” said Ned, handing the glass. “Oh, that’s all right; they couldn’t tell heads from stones at this distance. You must have been dreaming, Ned; I can’t see smoke or horses.” “You’re not looking in the right direction; bear round more to the left.” Chris made the object-glass of the binocular describe the segment of a circle, and then after another look he gave vent to a long, low whistle. “I never thought to look so far this way,” he said, as softly as if he was afraid of being heard. “You can see them, then?” “Yes, and the Indians too; dozens of them, I think. Here, catch hold.” “What are you going to do?” “Tell them down below, and see what they mean to do.” The glass was passed into Ned’s hand with a warning not to lose sight of the enemy again, and then Chris shuffled back and downward for a few yards, and then hurried down to the camp by an easier way of travelling than crawling on hands and toes. He was not long in doubt as to what was to be done, for the doctor gave his orders at once, all hands setting to work to drive in the mules, which were rapidly loaded up, Chris being sent back to rejoin Ned and return from time to time with any news worth communication. He descended twice to announce that the fire was burning still and the Indians’ mustangs still grazing, there being no suggestion of movement, and as soon as possible the little mule-train was once more in motion, the doctor making for a great gully a quarter of a mile beyond in the mountain side, a rift which opened into one of several by which they hoped to get round in time to the further side of the peak, though the way was long and the impediments many—not that this was minded, for every impediment partook in some way of a screen from the enemy behind, while the way was so rocky that the trail left was of the slightest kind. Camp that night there was none. There was a short halt or two, but they journeyed on for mile after mile by moonlight, and it was not till morning was well advanced towards mid-day that a suitable gully was found, offering all they needed in the way of water and pasturage, joined to a good lookout place for danger, which could only come to them from below, while the travellers had opened out to them an entirely fresh panorama of mountain and plain, any portion of which might contain the object for which they aimed. <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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