Once more Motoza had allowed an American youth to get the drop on him, for he could not mistake the meaning of that command, nor the deeper eloquence of the pose of Fred Greenwood with his rifle at a dead level. The Sioux must have despised himself for his forgetfulness.
But he had already proven the readiness with which he accepted a situation, no matter how unwelcome. The hand that held the weapon of Jack Dudley whipped round to the front with a deft movement, which, however, was not quicker than the return of the grin to his countenance.
"Motoza friend--he not want gun of brother," he remarked.
"You wouldn't get it if you did want it," said Jack, not to be mollified by this sudden change of front. Instead of accepting the hypocritical proffer, the youth was imprudent enough to add, as he felt his Winchester once more in his grasp:
"You are the meanest thief in the country, Motoza, and this must be the last time you try your hand on us."
"Off with you!" added Fred, beginning to tire with the constraint of his position; "good-by, Motoza, and I hope we shall not meet again."
At the moment of obeying, the Sioux glanced at the lad who had thus turned the tables on him. The expression of his face was frightful. Ferocious hate, thirst for revenge and flaming anger shone through the coat of paint and were concentrated on the younger of the youths. Fred saw it and cared not, but Jack was so alarmed that he almost wished his comrade would fire his weapon and thus shut out the fruition of the horrible threat that gleamed through that look.
It lasted, however, but an instant. Much in the same manner as in the grove, when caught at a disadvantage by Jack Dudley, the Sioux walked off and was quickly lost to view.
Neither of the boys spoke for several minutes. Then Jack asked, in an awed voice:
"Did you see his face when he turned toward you just before walking away?"
"Yes; and I have seen handsomer ones."
"You may make light of it, Fred, but I was much nearer than you, and that expression will haunt me for many a day and night to come."
To the astonishment of the elder, Fred began laughing, as if he found it all very amusing. Jack, in surprise, asked the cause of his mirth.
"If Motoza had only known the truth! There isn't a cartridge either in the magazine or the chamber of my rifle, which reminds me."
And still laughing, the younger proceeded to fill the magazine from his belt and to put his Winchester in condition for immediate use.
"We have been told many times, Jack, that the first thing to do after firing a gun is to reload, and I see how much more important it is here than at home."
When Jack came to examine his weapon he found a half-dozen cartridges remaining in the magazine, and he, too, placed the weapon in the best form for use. They changed their position, returning to the spot where the crisis had taken place with the grizzly, for both felt some misgiving concerning the Sioux, who could not be far off.
"Jack, what about the feelings of Motoza now?"
"It begins to look as if Hank was right. I am sure the Indian doesn't hold much friendship for either of us. He is bad clean through."
"He may have some regard for you, but there wasn't much tender affection in the last lingering look he gave me."
Jack shuddered.
"I never saw anything like it. If he had had the power he would have killed you with that look. I feel like urging Hank, when we next see him, to make a change of quarters."
"Why?"
"That we may find some section where we are not likely to meet Motoza again. I don't understand why so many Indians are off the reservation. There must be a number of them that are friends of Motoza, and they will try some other trick on us."
"He has tried one or two already," replied Fred, much less impressed with the danger than his friend.
"True, we have had remarkably good fortune, but it can't last. Motoza will learn to be more cunning next time."
"If you feel that way, Jack, the best thing for us to do is to go home."
"Your words are hardly worthy of you, Fred," replied Jack, hurt at the slur.
"I ask your pardon. I know it is your friendship for me that speaks, but I cannot feel the fear that disturbs you. Suppose we drop the question till we see Hank. We will let him know everything that has taken place and rely upon him."
This was a wise conclusion, but the fact remained that there was no expectation of seeing their guide until night, which was a number of hours distant, and, since the Indians were in the vicinity, there was plenty of time for a great many things to happen. It would seem, indeed, that the advantage was almost entirely on the side of Motoza, for, with his superior woodcraft, he could keep track of the movements of the boys without their discovering or suspecting his presence. Altogether, it looked as if a meeting with their guide could not take place too soon.
From a point perhaps a mile away came the faint report of a rifle, followed in the same second by another report. The fact suggested more than one startling supposition, but the youths were in no mood to speculate thereon, for it will be admitted that the incidents of the forenoon were sufficient to engage their thoughts.
It was a hard fact, however, that when they looked at their watches and found that it was noon, the most interesting subject that presented itself was as to how they could secure the meal which they felt was overdue.
"Let's make a hunt in a different direction," said Fred. "It is best to keep away from the neighborhood of those Indians, so far as we can locate them from the shots we occasionally hear, for the game isn't likely to stay where they are."
"Off yonder to the north appears to be a valley," remarked Jack, after the two had studied their surroundings for some minutes through their glasses. "I can't tell how extensive it is, for it is shut out by that mountain peak on the right, but I suppose one place is as good as another."
Having agreed as to their course, they wasted no time. It was a long and severe tramp to the locality, for again the peculiar purity of the atmosphere misled them, and what they took to be one mile proved to be fully double that length. Finally the hungry lads reached a ridge from whose top they could look down in the valley that had first caught their attention, but which for the last hour had been excluded from their sight by the intervening obstacles.
"Now, we can't tell whether any game is below waiting for us," said Jack, "but we can't lose anything by acting as if there is."
It was a wise precaution, as speedily became apparent. As carefully as a couple of Indians they picked their way up the slope, and just before reaching the crest sank upon their knees, and, crawling a little further, peeped over the top as if they expected to discover a hostile camp within a hundred yards.
The prospect caused an involuntary exclamation of pleasure from both. The valley was two or three hundred yards in width, and, after winding past, curved out of sight behind the mountain range already referred to. It was one emerald mass of rich grass, in which ten thousand cattle could have found abundant pasturage. No trees appeared anywhere except at the furthest bend in the valley, where a small grove stood near the middle, and seemed to surround a spring of water, which, flowing in the other direction, was not within sight of the young hunters.
What lent additional beauty to this landscape was the singular uniformity of the valley. The slope was gentle on each side, without any abrupt declivities, and there was hardly any variation in its width. The dark-green color of the incline and bottom of the valley gave the whole scene a softness that would have charmed an artist.
The young men admired the picturesque prospect, the like of which they had never before viewed, and yet it must be confessed that one feature of the landscape appealed more strongly to them than all the rest. Perhaps a half-mile away six or eight antelope were cropping the grass, unconscious of the approach of danger. They were near the small clump of trees alluded to, and may have lately drank from the water flowing therefrom. They were in a bunch, all their heads down, and had evidently taken no alarm from the occasional distant reports of guns.
"I say, Jack, there's a splendid dinner!" whispered Fred, excitedly.
"What good will it do us, so long as it is there? I should like to have it here."
"It ought to be easy to pick off one of those creatures; Hank told us they make fine eating."
"That is all true, but it is also true that the antelope is one of the most timid of creatures, and the best hunter finds it hard work to get within reach of them."
"You know how curious they are? The men at the ranch told the other night about lying down in the grass in the middle of a prairie and holding up a stick with a handkerchief at the end of it. Timid as was the antelope, it would gradually draw near to find out what the thing meant, and pay for its curiosity with its life."
Such incidents are quite common in the West, but neither of the boys felt it safe to rely upon the stratagem. They feared that at the first attempt the antelope would take fright and make off beyond recovery, and Fred Greenwood's proposition was adopted.
"There doesn't seem to be any wind blowing, but if we try to steal down the side of the valley we are sure to frighten them off. Now, if you will stay here, Jack, I'll pick my way round to the other side, so that the herd will be between us. Then I'll do my best to get near enough for a shot; if I fail, they will run for this point and come within range of you. Between us two, one is certain to get a shot at them."
"It's putting a big lot of work on you, Fred," said the chivalrous Jack.
"It won't be half as hard to bear as the hunger I'll feel in the course of an hour or two if we don't get one of them."
The plan was so simple that no explanation was necessary. Jack Dudley had only to remain extended on the ground where he was, with his Winchester ready, and keep an eye on the little herd, which could not observe him unless he was unusually careless. He could easily judge of Fred's success or failure by watching the animals, and it would seem that success was almost certain for one of the young hunters. The only thing to be feared was that Fred would betray himself before reaching the other side of the game that was so tempting to both.
The comrades looked at their watches at the moment of separating, and found it was precisely one o'clock. Fred gave himself an hour to reach a point from which to start on his return, though it was possible that double that time would be required. Before the interval had expired Jack had his glass to his eyes, and was studying the valley below.
As the antelope cropped the rich grass they occasionally took a step in the direction of the watcher; but the largest one, evidently the leader, changed his course so as to work back toward the little grove of trees, the others following. Now and then the leader raised his head and looked around, as if suspecting danger, though his fears were not confirmed. At longer intervals other members of the herd did the same, but it was evident that they neither saw nor scented anything amiss.
Jack's constant fear was that Fred would betray himself through some accident. His course would bring him nearer the game and the risk was considerable; but as the minutes passed without anything of that nature taking place, his hope increased.
"More than likely Fred himself will get the shot instead of me. It makes no difference, so that we don't lose our supper; for," he added, dismally, "the dinner is already gone."
When another half-hour had passed, he was sure his chum was on the other side of the herd.
"There must be a break pretty soon. Suppose that instead of coming toward me," added Jack, giving expression to a dread that had not occurred to him until then, "they dash off into the mountains on either side. Then we shall be doomed to starvation!"
He thought that with the aid of his glass he would be able to follow Fred as he stole down the side of the valley, since the position of the spectator was much more elevated than that of the antelope. It would require sharp scrutiny even with the aid of the instrument to do this, and, look as keenly as he might, he could discover nothing that suggested anything of that nature.
When three o'clock went by without any evidence of alarm among the animals browsing in the middle of the valley, Jack Dudley began to wonder what it could mean.
"Fred was sure that a single hour was enough to place himself on the further side of them, and double that time has passed. He ought to be well down the slope, but I can see nothing of him."
One fact, however, was apparent: the antelope were steadily though slowly working toward the ridge on which the young man lay. At the rate they were advancing it would not be long before it would be safe to try a shot.
This progress could not be laid to any alarm coming from the other side. If the animals received fright they would be off with the speed of the wind, instead of inching along in the fashion they were now following.
"It begins to look as if I am to secure the meal, after all," thought Jack, forgetting his slight uneasiness for his friend in his growing excitement.
The following minute gave proof of the timidity of the American antelope. With all the care possible, the youth extended his gun in front of him over the slope, but the herd took the alarm on the instant, though it seemed impossible that they should have seen or heard anything. The leader raised his head, and whirling to one side, started at a swift gallop toward the other end of the valley, the rest of the animals being hardly a second behind him.
The peculiar panic and stampede of the creatures gave Jack Dudley the best possible target, though the shot was a long one. He did not aim at the leader, but at a smaller animal that immediately followed him. The bullet pierced the heart of the antelope, which made a frenzied leap high in air, staggered a few paces, and dropped to the ground without a particle of life.
"Hurrah!" exclaimed the delighted Jack, springing up and dashing down the side of the valley toward his prize; "I beat you, after all, Fred!"
Not doubting that his comrade would speedily appear, Jack gave no further thought to him, but continued running until he reached the prize. He had learned the art so rapidly that it took but a few minutes to cut all he could need for himself and friend. Then he hurried to the little grove near by, washed and dressed the food, which seemed to be juicy and tender, and started a fire for the purpose of broiling it.
He had not paused in his work up to this point, but now he stopped with the first real thrill of alarm for his friend.
"Four o'clock!" he exclaimed to himself; "what can have become of him?"
He walked to the edge of the trees and looked out, anxiously peering in different directions, but nothing was seen of his friend. Knowing Fred's waggish nature, Jack hoped that he was indulging in some jest, but he could not quite convince himself that such was the fact. The hunger of Fred would have prevented his postponing the meal one moment longer than was necessary.
When an abundance of food was browned and crisped and ready the appetite of Jack Dudley was less than it was two hours before, the cause being his growing alarm over the unaccountable absence of Fred.
"I can't understand it," he repeated for the twentieth time; "some accident must have befallen him. Can it be Motoza has had anything to do with it?"
It was the first time that Jack had expressed this fear in words, but it was by no means the first time he had felt it. Rather curiously, from the moment his friend passed out of sight, several hours before, the vague misgiving began to shape itself in his mind. He fought it off and succeeded in repressing it for a time, but he could do so no longer.
"Fred didn't seem to give any meaning to that awful look of the Sioux when he started to walk away, but I saw what it meant, though I never dreamed the blow would fall so soon."
His heart was depressed almost beyond bearing, and the anguish was deepened by the fact that he could see no way of helping his friend. The only thing possible was to follow as nearly as he could the course taken by Fred, but there was no certainty of that. He knew he had turned to the right when he left the crest of the ridge, after which there had been no glimpse of him.
"But he made for a point over yonder," reflected Jack, "and there I'll search for him."
This was exceedingly indefinite, but it was better than standing idle. The antelope had long since vanished, and there was no need of care in his progress--rather otherwise, since he desired to attract the notice of his friend. Jack broke into a loping trot, emitting the familiar signal so often used by both, calling his name, and even firing his rifle in air; but there came back no response, and his fears deepened.
Jack was in the mood to be unjust.
"I don't understand Hank Hazletine's action. He sets out to take us on a hunt among the mountains, and then goes off and leaves us alone. Why doesn't he stay with us? If he had done that, this never could have happened. Fred and I can generally take care of ourselves, but we are not used to this plagued country, which I wish neither he nor I had ever set foot in."
