The Red Moccasins Part 5

The roar of the bison bull was hardly out of his ears, when the boy heard another slight rustling in the leaves and gra.s.s near-by, and peeping out from behind his cap, he saw that the moccasins had again s.h.i.+fted their position. Looking in the direction toward which their toes were turned, he saw an object more to be dreaded, by far, than a bison bull.

A wild-cat it was, already too near at hand, creeping up in that soft, sly way peculiar to animals of the cat family whenever they have a victim in view. A wild-cat--fat; sleek sides, all ribbed with stripes of black and white; white teeth, very long and sharp; black claws, longer and sharper still; ringed tail, very long and very lithe, waving softly all the time from side to side, with a sort of quivering eagerness in its motion, as if the owner were trying his best to hold it still, and for the life of him could not do so.

By this time, the handsome savage had slipped himself within easy springing distance of his intended quarry. Here he paused, and fixing his wild, sly eyes on those of the boy, began purring in a soft way, and licking his red chops with his long, red tongue in a soft way--that uncontrollable tail still waving from side to side in the same soft way--all in the softest, slyest way that you could well imagine, as if he were saying within himself: "But won't a wild-cat pap and a wild-cat mam and their wild-cat kittens feast and be merry to-night?"

All this took the boy but three winks of the eye to observe; though, in the time, he had not winked once, so fascinated was he by the gaze of those wild, sly eyes, which shone like b.a.l.l.s of green fire, rather than eyes. Now was Wild Tom of the Woods making his squat for the long spring, and the poor little runaway screaming again to pap for help. But just then, in the very nick of time, with a swiftness that left a red streak in the air, the red moccasins darted directly at the wild-cat's face, and kicking the green fire out of his eyes, spoiled their charming expression in a twinkle. With a scream of amazement, fright and pain, which struck on the ear like the shriek of a terrified woman, the nimble creature spun lithely 'round, and, like the bull, reckless of all save the unseen foe behind him, made a blind leap sheer over the brink of the precipice, and in a moment sank out of sight.

This happily accomplished, the moccasins, precisely as they had done before, returned to their post; and the boy, precisely as he had done before, hid his face in his c.o.o.nskin cap. Nor even yet one word of thanks for timely rescue from untimely end. Now, had you been in our hero's place, you would have up and made friends with the moccasins, there on the spot, for so kindly stepping in betwixt you and peril--shaken hands with them as whole-souled fellows, with whom it was to a bare-footed boy's behoof to stand on a good footing. But Sprigg was the worst spoiled boy in the world; which, unless I am mightily mistaken, you are not; and it still rang in his foggy young noddle that it was all the red moccasins' fault that he had been brought to straits so sad and desperate. Therefore, he owed them no thanks whatever for helping him out, let them kick as they might. Such being the case, Sprigg would not have made friends with the moccasins, had it been to save their soles.

So, there sat the boy, with his face in his c.o.o.nskin cap; and there stood the thing, with its feet in the moccasins; and there flung the sun his last red beams, then went his way, unrecking who wept to see him go.

Now, shade by shade, with foot as stealthy and soft as the furred paw of the gray cat, came the gray twilight, creeping, creeping on. The hour, when the gray owl, with a whoop, from his hole in the tree; and the gray wolf, with a howl, from his cleft in the rock, come forth in quest of their prey. And woe to the fawn! And woe to the birdling! strayed from home for the first time, should the shadows of night, that tempt the famished foe abroad, find him still far from the old one's side; for chased shall he be, and caught up by the claws, or dragged down by the fangs of the dread destroyer!

And Sprigg--poor child! How weak and helpless to be in a spot so lonely and dreary and perilous, and so far away from the dear old hearts of home! Hearts, by this time, so overburdened with grief and distressing apprehensions--all for him! How weary, too, and faint he felt! And how he longed to lay him down to sleep and be at rest! But this, he dared not, lest he should awake but to find long, sharp horns at his breast, or long, sharp teeth at his throat. Or, if not this, he might, while yet asleep, be borne away to some spot, still more distant and lonely, by the strange being, who stood just there in the moccasins, the gaze of whose unseen eyes he now felt in his inmost heart.

At last, in spite of all his efforts to keep awake, the weary child was dropping off to sleep, when his ear, as yet but half closed, was caught by a dog-trot sort of a noise in the leaves quite near at hand. Rousing with a start and looking out, the boy saw there a wolf--gray, grim and gaunt, with eyes that glared upon him through the dusky shades, like b.a.l.l.s of red fire, rather than eyes. Sprigg was on the point of screaming again to pap for help, when he bethought him of the moccasins, and glancing down and perceiving that they had turned their toes toward the monster, he choked himself into silence. Though he still feared them, he had, by this time, learned to trust the red moccasins, and now felt a.s.sured that they would defend him against the wolf as they had done against the bull and the cat. Nor was he mistaken. Just as Wild Tray of the Woods would have made his spring and sprang on the boy, the moccasins made their spring and sprang on the wolf, driving directly at his ugly eyes, with a kick into each, which brought the red fire flas.h.i.+ng out into the darkness. Back, with a terrified howl, cowered the monster, and spinning swiftly 'round, vanished like the bison and the wild-cat, with a blind leap over the precipice. But this time, when the moccasins came back, a voice came with them; a new voice, whose tones, gentle and kind, reminded the poor boy of his mother's, and thus the new voice spoke:

"Now our Sprigg must feel a.s.sured he may trust us. Then sleep, poor boy!

You are weary, faint and sick at heart, and have but too much need of rest! A friend is here, who will watch over you and keep you safe from harm. Then, sleep, poor child, sleep!" And with these words the forlorn little castaway felt a tiny hand laid upon his head, and with a touch so gentle that a gush of soft, warm, grateful tears came welling up from his overburdened heart; and straightway a sense of rest and slumber stole over his spirit, and he sank into a deep sleep. Just then the moon wheeled up from behind the forest-bound East, and shot her first silver arrows, long-and level, against the s.h.a.ggy breast of the giant hill.

Round-faced, she was, and as bright as moon could well be, not to make day of night; for, be it borne in mind, that it was still the first of June, though gone the joyous sun, who had been blazing the thing to the world the livelong day.

The boy had slept but an hour or so, when he was aroused by a voice, whose tones seemed those of his father's, which said:

"Up, Sprigg! Up! They come!" as if he who spoke were in haste. With a wild start the boy sprang to his feet, and the first thing he knew he was standing bolt upright, looking straight down the vista, which ran along the crest of the ridge, as if his head had been turned by him that had spoken on purpose that way, that he might see what there he saw. And had Sprigg seen the bison, the wild-cat, the wolf, all there in a row, the sight could hardly have daunted him more than did that of the object which now met his eyes. A sight, it was, which brought to his memory all that his mother had told him concerning that terrible thing of the wilderness--the Indian mystery--Jibbenainesy, called by the white men, Nick of the Woods.

Yes, fancy it out as you please--it was a bear, with black hair, so s.h.a.ggy and long that his legs could scarcely be seen, and his tail not at all.

Sprigg's first thought, after the hundred thoughts which the object before him had awakened, was to rea.s.sure himself that the moccasins still stood guard. He looked! Dire to relate, the red moccasins had deserted their post--abandoned their trust! Nothing--no one left him to look to now for help! Down he crouched again at the foot of the old oak tree, hiding himself in its deepest shadow, in the forlorn hope that the monster might pa.s.s by without discovering his presence. On came the huge bulk of s.h.a.ggy blackness--now in the shadow of a tree, now in the belt of moonlight, slowly, steadily, trudged he along--his head bent down with the air of one who, while he walked, is absorbed in profound thought. When his deliberate pace had brought the bear to the third or fourth belt of light, Sprigg spied an object, which, for the moment, in spite of the terror he felt, caused his young heart to burn with indignation, reminding him, as it did, how he had been made a fool of, by something, or somebody, he had not fairly decided yet what or who.

But the moment after, remembering the voice, which, so like his mother's, had lulled him to sleep with words of rest and peace--this feeling gave place to one of joy and trusting rea.s.surance.

Side by side with the bear, and keeping exact step with his sloomy pace, Sprigg saw his cast-off moccasins, coming quietly on, as if with the sole intent of guiding the monster directly up to the tree, in whose dark shadow he had trusted to find a hiding place. Thus leading, thus led, composedly on they came together, step for step--now the three right feet, now the three left feet--each as pat to the other's movement as were they walking arm in arm. The next broad patch of moonlight gained, brought them square abreast with the boy; and here, within easy speaking distance, they came to a dead halt--the red moccasins and the bear.

CHAPTER XI.

An Agreeable Disappointment.

"Sing a song of moccasins, Pockets full of rye.

Four and twenty black bears.

Sniff! I smell a lie!"

So said the bear, in a nursery, sing-song tone of voice; then fetching a quick sniff at the air, began peering about him--first this way, then that way, then another way--every way, indeed, but straight at Sprigg.

"First behead the headsman, Then we'll fry the friar; Next we'll hang the hangman.

Snuff! I smell a liar!"

Again said the bear, still jingling out his words, and still stiffly sniffing the air. He now looked down at the earth, then up at the moon, then straight at Sprigg.

"Holloa!" he cried, abruptly modulating his voice into quite a different key, "who sits here, at this late hour, on Manitou hill, hiding himself from my moons.h.i.+nes?" And with these pleasant preliminaries to their better acquaintances, his bears.h.i.+p seated himself upon his stump of a tail, with his amiable muzzle directly confronting the boy, as though he were in for a good, long talk and meant to be at his ease while so engaged. He had the look of one who was conscious of being the possessor of immense wisdom, and was accustomed to seeing whatever he might choose to let drop from his sagacious jaw waited for, s.n.a.t.c.hed at and borne away as precious bits to be treasured up for lifelong use.

The moccasins daintily adjusted themselves beside the bear, the toe of the left foot resting on the ground, with the heel turned upward, as if the wearer were standing with his legs crossed, and with the left arm thrown carelessly over the bear's shoulders. The att.i.tude was, doubtless, an easy and graceful one: too fine, indeed, to be all lost in the air. But it pleased Sprigg exceedingly just as it was. It made him feel that the bear could not be such a terrible fellow after all, if the moccasins could make themselves so completely at home in his presence.

"Who, I say?" repeated the bear. "Who sits here at this late hour on Manitou hill, hiding himself from my moons.h.i.+ne? What's wrong about my moons.h.i.+ne?"

But Sprigg said never a word, moved never a limb, winked never an eye.

"I say, what's wrong about my moons.h.i.+ne? If you have a tongue, speak!"

Poor Sprigg had a tongue, but it stuck fast to the roof of his mouth, and when he world have told the bear as much, it stuck still faster.

"Speak, I tell you! None of your mums with me!" the bear's voice terribly gruff by this time. "If you don't----"

"Sir!" gasped out Sprigg at last.

"Sir!" mockingly echoed the bear. "Sir! and is 'Sir' all a boy has to say for himself, who dodged my moons.h.i.+ne? I knew that much before. Now, sir, to the purpose, and tell me something I don't know."

"Yes, sir," which was as near to the purpose as anything the boy could think of just then. His grim questioner looked at him with so hard a countenance that it kept his scared wits from performing the very office demanded of them.

"Now, there is some sense in that," remarked the bear, with a grim smile and with a nod of the head to the right, as if the comment was intended for his ear, who stood there; and Sprigg could see that the moccasins shook, as if the wearer were laughing heartily.

"Having discovered that he has a tongue," continued the bear, "we will now take a fresh start and find out, if we can, what stuff the cub is made of. Now, sir, what's your name?"

"Sprigg," replied the boy, glad to have an opportunity, at last, of saying something to the purpose.

"Is that an English name, or Indian name?" inquired the bear.

"It is my name, sir; and you can see that I am not an Indian, by my c.o.o.nskin cap."

"Bless a body!" exclaimed the bear, "but that was well turned. Now, sir, as you are getting a little glib, will you go still further and tell us how old you are?"

"Twelve years old, sir, next June-day come a year," replied the boy, in the peculiar sing-song way in which old-fas.h.i.+oned children were wont to answer the question.

"Why, that's to-day, you young gump!" cried the bear, "and your answer still leaves me in the fog as to your age--whether it's eleven or twelve.'

"I was eleven years old the last time, and I was to be twelve years old the next time, whenever that might be."

"Better and better," quoth the bear, with an approving nod, "and now I shouldn't be surprised if he were prepared to tell us whose son he is.

Can you tell us that?"

"Oh, yes, sir, very easily!"