Part 22 (1/2)

He was awakened by the patter of something warm upon his face, and found that the day and rain had come together. d.i.c.k once more was struck to the heart with dismay. How could he stand this and the snow together? The plain would now run rivers of water and he must trudge through a terrible mire, worse even than the snow.

He imagined that he could see his mountains through the rain sheets, and he resumed his march, making no effort now to keep anything but his rifle and ammunition dry. He crossed more than one brook, either permanent or made by the rain and melting snow, and sloshed though the water, ankle deep, but paid no attention to it. He walked with intervals of rest all through the day and the night, and the warm rain never ceased. The snow melted at a prodigious rate, and d.i.c.k thought several times in the night that he heard the sound of plunging waters. These must be cataracts from the snow and rain, and he was convinced that he was near the mountains.

The day came again, the rain ceased, the sun sprang out, the warm winds blew, and there were the mountains. Perhaps the snow had not been so heavy on them as on the plain, but most of it was gone from the peaks and slopes and they stood up, sheltering and beautiful, with a shade of green that the snow had not been able to take away.

The sight put fresh courage in d.i.c.k's heart, but he was very weak. He staggered as he plowed through the mixed snow and mud, and plains and mountains alike were rocking about in a most uncertain fas.h.i.+on.

In a ravine at the foot of the mountains he saw a herd of about twenty buffaloes which had probably taken refuge there from the snowstorm, but he did not molest them. Instead, he shook his rifle at them and called out:

”I'm too glad to escape with my own life to take any of yours.”

d.i.c.k's brain was in a feverish state and he was not wholly responsible for what he said or did, but he began the ascent with a fairly good supply of strength and toiled on all the day. He never knew where he slept that night, but he thinks it was in a clump of pines, and the next morning when he continued, he felt that he had made a wonderful improvement. His feet were light and so was his head, but he had never before seen slopes and peaks and pines and ash doing a daylight dance. They whirled about in the most eccentric manner, yet it was all exhilarating, in thorough accord with his own spirits, and d.i.c.k laughed aloud with glee. What a merry, funny world it was! Feet and head both grew lighter. He shouted aloud and began to sing. Then he felt so strong and exuberant that he ran down one of the slopes, waving his cap. An elk sprang out of a pine thicket, stared a moment or two with startled eyes at the boy, and then dashed away over the mountain.

d.i.c.k continued to sing, and waved his fur cap at the fleeing elk. It was the funniest thing he had ever seen in his life.

The whirling dance of mountain and forest became bewildering in its speed and violence. He was unable to keep his feet, and plunged forward into the arms of his brother, Albert. Then everything sank away from him.

Chapter XIII Albert's Victory

When d.i.c.k opened his eyes again he raised his hand once more to wave it at the fleeing elk and then he stopped in astonishment.

The hand was singularly weak. He had made a great effort, but it did not go up very far. Nor did his eyes, which had opened slowly and heavily, see any elk. They saw instead rows and rows of furs and then other rows hanging above one another. His eyes traveled downward and they saw log walls almost covered with furs and skins, but with rifles, axes, and other weapons and implements on hooks between. A heavy oaken window shutter was thrown back and a glorious golden sunlight poured into the room.

The sunlight happened to fall upon d.i.c.k's own hand, and that was the next object at which he looked. His amazement increased.

Could such a thin white hand as that belong to him who had lately owned such a big red one? He surveyed it critically, in particular, the bones showing so prominently in the back of it, and then he was interrupted by a full, cheerful voice which called out:

”Enough of that stargazing and hand examination! Here, drink this soup, and while you're doing it, I'll tell you how glad I am to see you back in your right mind! I tell you you've been whooping out some tall yarns about an Indian following you for a year or two through snow a mile or so deep! How you fought him for a month without stopping! And how you then waded for another year through snow two or three times as deep as the first!”

It was his brother Albert, and he lay on his own bed of furs and skins in their own cabin, commonly called by them Castle Howard, snugly situated in the lost or enchanted valley. And here was Albert, healthy, strong, and dictatorial, while he, stretched weakly upon a bed, held our a hand through which the sun could almost s.h.i.+ne. Truly, there had been great changes!

He raised his head as commanded by Albert--the thin, pallid, drooping Albert of last summer, the l.u.s.ty, red-faced Albert of to-day--and drank the soup, which tasted very good indeed. He felt stronger and held up the thin, white hand to see if it had not grown fatter and redder in the last ten seconds. Albert laughed, and it seemed to d.i.c.k such a full, loud laugh, as if it were drawn up from a deep, iron-walled chest, inclosing lungs made of leather, with an uncommon expansion. It jarred upon d.i.c.k. It seemed too loud for so small a room.

”I see you enjoyed that soup, d.i.c.k, old fellow,” continued Albert in the same thundering tones. ”Well, you ought to like it. It was chicken soup, and it was made by an artist--myself. I shot a fat and tender prairie hen down the valley, and here she is in soup. It's only a step from gra.s.s to pot and I did it all myself. Have another.”

”Think I will,” said d.i.c.k.

He drank a second tin plate of the soup, and he could feel life and strength flowing into every vein.

”How did I get here, Al?” he asked.

”That's a pretty hard question to answer,” replied Albert, smiling and still filling the room with his big voice. ”You were partly brought, partly led, partly pushed, you partly walked, partly jumped, and partly crawled, and there were even little stretches of the march when you were carried on somebody's shoulder, big and heavy as you are. d.i.c.k, I don't know any name for such a mixed gait. Words fail me.”

d.i.c.k smiled, too.

”Well, no matter how I got here, it's certain that I'm here,” he said, looking around contentedly.

”Absolutely sure, and it's equally as sure that you've been here five days. I, the nurse, I, the doctor, and I, the spectator, can vouch for that. There were times when I had to hold you in your bed, there were times when you were so hot with fever that I expected to see you burst into a ma.s.s of red and yellow flames, and most all the while you talked with a vividness and imagination that I've never known before outside of the Arabian Nights. d.i.c.k, where did you get the idea about a Sioux Indian following you all the way from the Atlantic to the Pacific, with stops every half hour for you and him to fight?”

”It's true,” said d.i.c.k, and then he told the eager boy the story of his escape from the Sioux band, the terrible pursuit, the storm, and his dreadful wandering.

”It was wonderful luck that I met you, Al, old fellow,” he said devoutly.