Felix tended the little horse as best he could, bringing her grass, which she would not eat and water, which she drank gratefully. At last, unbelievably tired, he built up the fire and lay down to sleep. His heavy eyes were just closing when he saw a black shadow move silently across the basin of the little watercourse and heard the crunch² of a pebble³ dislodged by a softly padding foot. As he sat up, a big gray wolf, as unafraid as a dog, from long following at the heels of the emigrant⁴ trains, came out into the circle of light. With its head lowered and its eyes shining in the dark, it sat down—to wait.  
The fire dwindled⁵, for there was little to burn save the dried twigs⁶ from the bushes that lined the stream, nor did Felix dare to leave the horse long enough to gather a fresh supply. More gray figures came through the dark to gather in a wide, waiting circle all about the fire. Within the limits of their brutish minds lay the knowledge that fires would die down, that strength of man and beast would fail, and that, once a straggler could not go on, patient waiting always made him their prey⁸ at last. Felix cocked his gun, took long aim at a pair of green eyes glittering in the dark, but in the end lowered the muzzle⁹ without firing. The flash of a rifle and its report carried far over the level prairie, and there were other eyes that might be watching for human stragglers, fiercer and hungrier eyes even than were the wolves'. As the foremost animal drew a little closer, he took up his violin and began to play.
 
He had a strange audience, the greedy white-fanged beasts that slunk away at the first strains of the unwonted sound, stole back, yet moved uneasily away again, the little fat, inquisitive¹⁰ prairie dogs that popped out of their burrows¹¹ and sat up to listen, the circling nighthawks that wheeled and called overhead. Hour after hour he played, but whenever he paused the hungry circle drew in about him and he was forced to raise his aching arm and ply⁷ his bow again. The first hint of dawn was brightening the sky when the creatures of the night began to slip away, and Felix, laying down his violin, suddenly laughed aloud.
 
"I wish that Granny Fullerton, who thought that it wasn't quite safe for us to live on the Windy Hill," he said, "I wish that she could see me now!"
 
Then he lay down, pillowed his head upon his arm, and fell so fast asleep that, as he said afterward¹², "a whole tribe of Indians could have ridden over him and he would never have moved."
 
It was, indeed, horse's feet that aroused him, but not, by good fortune, the unshod hoofs¹³ of Indian ponies¹⁴. A band of men was riding toward him from the westward¹⁵, hard, grizzled men, weather-beaten and toil¹⁶-worn beyond anything Felix had ever seen.
 
"We met your party back yonder," said their leader. "They asked us to look out for you as we went by. Glad to see the Indians haven't got you yet."
 
"Oh!" exclaimed Felix, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, "Have you—have you been in California?"
 
The man nodded. He drew out of his pocket a greasy¹⁷ little buckskin bag, opened the strings¹⁸, and poured a stream of something yellow into the boy's hand.
 
"Ever see gold dust before?" he asked.
 
It was Felix's first sight of the odd, flattened¹⁹ flakes²⁰ of metal that shine dully in your hand, that are no two alike, so that you can turn them over and over, always seeing different shapes and sizes, different gleams and lights upon their changing surfaces.
 
"There's a lot of it back there where we've been," the man said, grinning slowly as he saw Felix's excited face. "We left it there for you and those like you."
 
"And did you find all you wanted? Are you going home now to be rich and comfortable all your days?" the boy inquired.
 
The man's grin grew broader still.
 
"You don't know gold miners, sonny," he said. "We've been at work on the American River diggings, where your folks ahead there are going, and we found it good enough, but we've heard of something better. Over to the southward of that valley there's another one deeper, wilder, hard to get into but with the richest pay dirt you ever dreamed of. We staked out our claims and left one man to hold it, while we go back to the States for supplies and better equipment. The gold's harder to get out, but it's there all right. It makes American River look like nothing at all."
 
He turned in the saddle and looked up the little stream bed where the water lay in shallow pools below the overhanging bushes. The black mare²¹ had at last struggled to her feet and was now grazing on the sparse²² grass that bordered the river.
 
"It is none too safe for you to be here alone, young fellow," the man observed. "There's a band of Indians have been doing considerable mischief²³ around this neighborhood just lately. We've been hearing of them from every party as we came along."
 
"I'm not afraid," returned Felix stoutly²⁴. "One boy and one horse would be hard to find in this great wide prairie. Aren't you afraid you will meet the Indians yourselves?"
 
"Afraid!" The other laughed aloud. "Why, we're looking for them and it will be a sorry day for them when we find them." He sobered and went on earnestly: "The woman in that party you left called out a message for you as we came by. 'Tell him,' she said to us, 'that the horse is his and that he is to go back with you to the States. Tell him, God bless him,' she said. We'll be glad enough to have you if you care to come with us," he concluded.
 
Felix looked at the long, empty trail before him; he looked up at the prospector²⁵'s hard brown face, and then at the little heap of gold dust in his hand.
 
"I'll not go back—just yet," he said. "There are things I must see first."
 
They rode jingling²⁶ away, the sun glinting on their gun barrels and pistol butts²⁷ until they disappeared in the shimmering²⁸ hot distance of the dusty trail. Felix, as the heat of the day increased, led the mare up the watercourse to where the bushes were tall enough to afford a little shade. He, himself, crawled under a rock beside one of the pools and lay there very quietly, waiting for the long, sleepy day to pass. It was noontime, with the world so still that he could actually hear the water of the stream filtering through the sand as it ran sluggishly²⁹ from pool to pool, when a new sound caught his attention. There was a shuffling³⁰ of muffled³¹ feet, a stone dislodged from the bank above, the click of metal against metal, but every noise so stealthy and quiet that he could hardly believe he heard.
 
He did not dare to move, but peered through the branches of the bush beside him and saw a strange cavalcade³² passing on the high bank above, little brown and buckskin and piebald Indian ponies, their unshod hoofs stepping lightly and quietly over the dry grass, each with a painted, red-skinned rider, armed and decorated with all of an Indian's trappings of war. The feathered war bonnets³³ that crowned their heads and reached to their heels were of every gay color, their fierce faces were daubed with red and ocher, they carried, some of them, guns, more of them rude lances and bows and arrows. Felix was so near that he could make out the strings of beads³⁴ and claws of wild animals about their necks, could see their red skins glisten³⁵, and could watch the muscles of their slim thighs³⁶ move and ripple³⁷ as they guided their wise little horses more by pressure of the knee than by use of the rude Indian bridles³⁸. Not one of them spoke³⁹, once a pony⁴⁰ snorted in the dust, but that was the only sound as they moved past him and turned into the trail with their faces eastward⁴¹. The whole procession might have been a vision—a mirage⁴² of the high, hot noontide and of the boy's tired brain. But after the men were gone and he had crawled out from his hiding place he could see the horses' footprints in the dust and could assure himself that they were real.
 
After a long time he heard shots, very faint and far away, lasting⁴³ for an hour or more before the hush⁴⁴ of the prairie fell again. The cool night came at last, and the little mare, visibly strengthened by the rest and grazing, came trotting⁴⁵ to him, splashing happily through the water of the pool. Those gray enemies of the night before did not come near, nor, though he waited two days, watchful⁴⁶ and alert, did any of the Indians return. He thought of that band of men he had talked with, hard, seasoned, and well armed for the struggle. From the very first he had felt little doubt as to what the issue of such a battle would be.
 
It seems too long to tell of how Felix mounted the mare at last and cantered away along the trail, rejoicing in swift motion again after the long wait and the crawling pace of the ox team. Nor can it be fully¹ told how he and his friends toiled⁴⁷ forward across the plain, over that dreaded

Join or Log In! You need to log in to continue reading

Create a new account   I have a account already

	Create an New Account
Email:  (User Name)
Password:	Letters and numbers only. 6-20 characters.
Retype Password:
Screen Name:	Letters and numbers only. 6-50 Characters.
Confirmation Code:	(Please type in the characters in the green image.)

	Login into Your Account
Email:
Password:
	Remember me on this computer.

(Left Keyword <-) Previous: CHAPTER VIII THE FIDDLER OF APPLE TREE LANE Back Next: CHAPTER X A MAN OF STRAW (Right Keyword:->)