Chapter 16: The Cry of the Wolf

None spoke for a while, and there was no sound save the light pit-a- pat of our footsteps. I asked Pike which way he intended to take. He pointed to some light clouds that floated over a rent in the mountains.

“I hope that we will be thar afore mornin’,” he said.

The next moment all of us started, then stood as still as if we had lost the power of motion. A long, plaintive cry rose and echoed and re-echoed through the forest and then died away. It was the howl of a wolf. Pike seemed to divine our thoughts, for he said with his dry laugh:

“The reds have made a mistake thar. Ef they’d been in this valley as long as we have they’d have knowed thar war no wolves here. That cry came from the throat of a redskin, and I guess it’s a signal from one lot of ‘em to another that they’ve found our camp. We didn’t move a minute too soon, boys. I wish night wuz here.”

Pike cast up his eyes, but the sun still showed above the crest of the mountain. “We’re goin’ it blind, fellers,” he said.

“Like as not we’ll tumble right into a nest of the scamps. They may be scattered all over the valley.”

We pushed on rapidly towards the western mountains and with infinite joy saw the sun sinking behind their crest. We were skirting the margin of the lake, which at this point had a sandy beach. Pike said it would be a good idea to hide our trail, and we waded in the water until it was halfway up to our knees. Thus we trudged in the edge of the lake as long as the beach lasted, when we came out on dry land again.

We heard the cry of the wolf a second time, apparently a quarter of a mile behind us, and it was answered far off to our left. “The varmints are searchin’ the woods fur us,” said Pike, “an’ I guess they think they’ve got an easy thing of it this time. We’ve been through some pretty tight rubs together, haven’t we, boys? an’ I guess we can pull out of this hole too,”

We talked in whispers, but we gave a hearty reply to Pike’s cheering assurance. We were fully conscious of our peril, but having become inured to danger it did not weigh so heavily upon our spirits as one might think. Night was now coming on fast, and that fact added to our hopes. Beyond and above us loomed our goal, that great slash in the hills.

We proceeded with the utmost caution and there was need for us to exercise prudence. The undergrowth was dense, and the stumble or the cracking of a stick beneath a heavy footstep might bring our enemies upon us. Occasionally we heard the cry of the wolf, followed in a moment by its answering cry. The cries were invariably behind us or off to our left. The lake lay on our right. We had remained very near it for a while, but at length Pike led us away from it. He said he did not wish, in case of a crisis, to have us hemmed between the warriors and the water.

We were about four miles from the base of the mountains, when the cry of the wolf came, louder and more piercing than ever. But this time the sound was directly in front of us. All stopped involuntarily, and every face was turned towards Pike. It was too dark for me to see the expression of those faces, but I know my own heart was beating violently. Again the wolf howled, and answers came from behind us and also from our left.

“Boys,” said Pike in a cautious whisper, “we’re in a ring of death. Them fellers have surrounded us. The wolves scent prey, and we’ve got to be as crafty as the wolves theirselves to escape ‘em. Now you foller my lead an’ whenever I give a little whistle—it won’t be heard more’n ten feet away—jest you drop down to the ground as easy and gentle ez you can an’ lay thar ez still ez stones.”

Pike bore further away to the left, stealing noiselessly forward with his rifle at the trail. We followed as silent and ghostlike as he. All of us wore moccasins of elk hide, or our shoes had been worn out long ago, and the soft skin made no sound as it touched the earth.

Pike stopped presently and stood stock still for at least five minutes. He was bent forward in a listening attitude, but I could hear nothing. He resumed his wary flight and we followed close after. The wolfish howls grew more numerous and also closer. The circle of death was closing in. I loosened the pistol in my belt and held my rifle ready to be thrown into position at a moment’s notice. Even if the warriors overtook us there was hope left. We were five men—for Henry and I could be called men now—well armed, and we could make a great deal of trouble for an attacking party.

Pike uttered a faint whistle, and we sank to the earth. I heard nothing and believed it was a false alarm, but looking towards the right I saw a half dozen figures stalking past us and not thirty feet away. They walked in single file, and, though it was too dark to distinguish their features, we knew very well they were Indians and enemies. The ghostly procession soon passed and disappeared in the woods beyond us. We lay quite still for a little while, but saw no other forms.

“Sence them fellers have gone back,” whispered Pike, “there may be no more left ahead of us, an’ ef that’s so, our way is open.”

He rose to his feet and stole on, with us in his wake. Some night birds fluttering among the leaves of the trees thrilled our nerves, and then came the long-drawn plaintive note of the wolf again, directly ahead of us. Pike snarled like a catamount at bay and stopped abruptly. He said nothing, but we knew as well as he that the ring of warriors still inclosed us, and our danger was increasing every moment.

After some hesitation, Pike sheered away towards the lake again, and soon we could see the silver sheen of its water through the trees. The frequency of the howls to the left showed that there was no thoroughfare in that direction, and our only chance for a passage lay near the lake. The nearest mountain slopes were now not more than two miles away. We had paused to listen when Henry stepped forward and called Pike’s attention to the dense trees and undergrowth that crowded the edge of the lake and even grew in the shallower part of its waters. There was a kind of saw-grass, very thick and tall, which grew out of the water and rose two or three feet above it. Henry proposed that we wade into the water and conceal ourselves in the grass and under the overhanging boughs of the trees. Pike was much taken with the idea.

“It’s fust-rate,” he said, “but tie your ammunition and your pistols ‘roun’ your necks and hold your guns up. An’ be shore you don’t splash the water about.”

We adjusted our ammunition and weapons in order to keep them dry, and then crept into the water. We waded out until it rose almost to our waists, and stood there completely concealed by the water, the grass and the drooping foliage. We could not have found a better covert, but the water was chill, and in a few minutes I was shivering. I dare say the others were too.

But soon we were very thankful for Henry’s suggestion, for presently we heard the Indian signal not forty feet from us. Answering signals came, and in time we heard the murmur of voices. Evidently the circle of the Indians had closed in and the warriors, in their surprise at finding nothing, were discussing new plans.