The Wild Man of the West by Robert Michael Ballantyne (classic novels for teens .TXT) 📖

aspect. He did not reflect that if this giant (for he almost deserved thus to be styled), instead of being engaged in an office of kindness, that naturally induced gentleness of action, and that called for no other feelings than those of tenderness and pity, were placed on a warhorse, armed with sword and shield, and roused to fury by some such sight as that of a large band of savage Indians attacking a small and innocent group of white trappers, he might then amply fulfil all the conditions that would entitle him to the wildest possible name that could be invented.

The prominent ideas in March's mind at that time were, a pair of blue eyes and a large, gentle hand; so he quietly and finally dismissed the Wild Man from his thoughts.

Luckily, the Wild Man did not treat March in a similar manner. After allowing him to rest quietly for a few minutes, he said--

"Now, lad, I think ye're improvin'. Ye're badly battered about the head and shoulders, so I'll take ye home with me."

"Home with you?" repeated March.

"Ay, put your arms round my neck," returned the Wild Man in a tone which, though soft and low, it was not possible to disobey.

March performed this somewhat endearing action in silent surprise, whereupon the Wild Man introduced his left arm below the poor youth's back, and with his right grasped him round the legs, and thus lifted him from the ground and carried him away.

March experienced a sensation as if all his larger joints were being dislocated, and felt disposed to cry out, but restrained himself with a powerful effort. Presently his bearer stopped, and, looking round, March observed that he was standing by the side of a horse.

"Hold on, lad, till I mount."

"You'd better let me down till you get up," suggested March.

"No," replied the singularly laconic individual.

Standing as he was, the Wild Man managed by raising March a little to lay his left hand on the pommel of his saddle; next moment his foot was in the stirrup, the moment after he himself was in the saddle, and a touch of his heel sent his horse cantering away towards the mountains.

Had March Marston seen his deliverer at that moment, with his long hair waving freely in the breeze, in emulation of the voluminous mane and tail of his splendid horse, his thoughts regarding the Wild Man of the West would have certainly returned more powerfully than ever. But March did not see him, his eyes being shut, his lips pursed, and his teeth set in a heroic attempt to endure the agonies to which he was subjected by the motion of the horse.

In half an hour they reached a rocky defile that led up into one of those wild, gloomy glens that are so characteristic of the Rocky Mountains. Here the Wild Man had to check his pace and proceed at a walk, thereby affording much relief to his wounded companion.

"Art sore i' the bones, lad?" inquired the stout horseman, looking down at his charge as if he were a small infant in arms.

"Rather," replied March. "Don't you think it would be better for me to ride behind you? I think I could manage to hold on."

"No, you couldn't."

"I fear I must be a terrible weight carried in this fashion," urged March.

"Weight!" echoed the hunter with a quiet chuckle; but, as he did not vouchsafe any further reply, March was left to interpret the expression as he thought fit.

"I hope no bones are broken," inquired March in a tone of anxiety.

"Hope not," replied his captor.

We use the word "captor" advisedly, for March was so utterly unable at that time, physically as well as morally, to resist the will of this strange hunter, that he felt much more like a captive in the grip of a mighty jailer than an invalid in the arms of his nurse.

"I fear there are," said March, as a rude motion of the horse caused him excruciating agony.

"Very likely," replied the other--not by any means in a careless, indifferent way, but with the air and tone of a straightforward man giving his opinion in reference to a matter of fact. "But," he added in a consolatory tone, "I'll see when we get home."

"Home!" repeated March. "Why, where _is_ your home?"

"In the mountains here. We're about there now." As he spoke, the hunter turned his horse sharp to the left and entered a still more narrow and gloomy defile than the one they had just been ascending. So narrow was it, and overshadowed by high precipitous cliffs, that the light of day had to struggle for entrance even at noontide. At night it was dark as Erebus. The horse had considerable difficulty in advancing. Indeed no horse that had not been trained to pick its steps among the confused masses of rock and debris that formed the bottom of that ravine or chasm, could have ascended it at all. But the fine animal which bore March and the Wild Man of the West seemed to act more like a human being than a horse in winding out and in among the intricacies of the place.

At length they reached the upper end of the gorge. Here the cliffs, which rose perpendicularly to a height of three or four hundred feet, drew so near to each other that at one place they were not more than three yards asunder. Just beyond this point they receded again and terminated abruptly in a sort of circle or amphitheatre, the floor of which could not have been more than thirty yards in diameter, and was covered with small gravel; the sides were quite perpendicular, and rose so high that on looking up one felt as if one had got into the bottom of a natural tunnel, at the top of which a round bit of bright blue sky sent down a few scanty rays of light.

In spite of the pain it caused him, March raised his head and looked round as they rode into this gloomy cavernous place. Then, glancing at the face of the strange being who carried him, a feeling of superstitious dread took possession of his heart for a moment, as he remembered the many conversations he and Bounce had had about evil spirits appearing in human form, and he thought that perhaps he had actually fallen into the hands of one. But the grave quiet face, and above all the soft blue eyes, quickly put to flight such fears, although they could not altogether dispel the solemn awe he felt at being carried so suddenly into such a mysterious place.

But he had scarcely recovered some degree of confidence, when his mind was again thrown into a violent state of agitation by the fact that the horse, turning to the right, began deliberately to ascend the precipice, which was as perpendicular as a wall. It did not indeed ascend after the manner of a fly on a window, but it went up on what appeared to be a narrow, spiral pathway. In a few seconds they had ascended about fifty feet, and March, projecting out from the precipice as he did, owing to his position in the rider's left arm, felt a horrible sensation of giddiness come over him, and could not suppress a slight groan.

"Don't be afear'd, lad," said his companion, "I've got ye tight, an' the horse is used to it. The track's broader than ye think, only ye can't see it as ye lie now."

March felt reassured; nevertheless, he shut his eyes very tight and held his breath.

Presently he felt that they had turned sharp to the right, so he ventured to open his eyes, and found that they were standing at the mouth of what appeared to be a cavern. In another moment they were under its dark roof and the horse came to a stand. From the hasty glance he gave it, he could only ascertain that the interior was buried in profound darkness.

Without causing March to move in any way, the stout horseman dismounted. In fact, the burden seemed no greater to him than a child would be to an ordinary man.

"Here we are--at home," he said. "Come, old horse, get away in."

The horse obeyed, and disappeared in the darkness beyond.

"Now, lad, don't be afear'd, I know every fut o' the way. Ye can shut yer eyes an ye like--but there's no occasion."

Saying this, he advanced with a steady tread into the cave, the echoes of which were still ringing with the clatter of the horse's hoofs as it passed over the stone floor. It could not have been more than a quarter of a minute when they reached the end of what appeared to be the outer vestibule of this cavern, though to March it seemed to be more than five minutes; and, now that he could no longer see the blue eyes, all manner of horrible doubts and fears assailed him. He felt deeply his helpless condition, poor fellow. Had he been sound in wind and limb he would have cared little; for a brave and a strong man naturally feels that he can fight a stout battle for life in all or any circumstances. But part of this prop (namely, strength) having been removed by his recent accident, he felt like a miserable child.

Doubtless it is good for strong men to be brought thus low sometimes, just to prove to them, what they are by nature very slow to believe, that they, quite as much as the weak and helpless ones of this world, are dependent at all times on their fellows.

On reaching the end of the outer cave, the hunter turned to the left, stooped down in order to pass below a small natural arch, and finally stood still in the middle of another cavern, on the floor of which he deposited his burden with much tenderness and care.

There was light in this cave, but it was so dim as to be insufficient to illuminate the surrounding objects. March perceived on looking up that it entered through a small aperture in the side of the cavern near the roof, which was not more than twelve feet from the floor. There were several pieces of charred wood on one side of the cave, in which a few sparks of fire still lingered.

Without saying a word the owner of this strange abode went towards these, and, blowing them into a flame, heaped large logs upon them, so that, in ten minutes, the place was brilliantly illuminated with a ruddy blaze that did one's heart good to look upon.

By the light of the fire March perceived that he had been deposited on a couch of pine-branches. He was about to make other observations, when his captor turned to him and said--

"I'll go an' see to the horse, and be back in a minute; so keep yer mind easy."

"And, pray, what name am I to call my host by?" said March, unable to restrain his curiosity any longer.

A dark, almost fierce frown covered the man's face, as he said angrily, "Boy, curiosity is a bad thing--anywise, it's bad here. I've brought you to this cave 'cause you'd ha' died i' the woods if I hadn't. Don't ask