Snap: A legend of the Lone MountainPhillipps-Wolley, Clive
General
Snap: A legend of the Lone Mountain
Phillipps-Wolley, Clive
Canadian Rockies (B.C. and Alta.) -- Fiction; English fiction -- 19th century; Mountaineering -- Fiction
'No,' he muttered, 'it can't be. This is Blackfoot territory if
anything; and, besides, them Crows could never have got here by this
time. If it's Blackfeet, they'll not hurt old Dick Wharton.'
'Who will take the first watch?' asked Wharton two hours later, when
the last grouse-bone had been cleaned, and the old 'Cradle' hobbled
for the night. 'Perhaps I had better; I smoke and you lads don't;
and, besides, your young eyes are heavier than mine, I reckon,' he
added good-naturedly.
The boys made no objection. Towzer, for one, never heard, having
gone to sleep some minutes before with a grouse-bone in one hand and
a chunk of slap-jack in the other.
'Let the young 'un sleep until he wakes,' said Wharton; 'put him to
watch for an hour about midnight, and then one of you take the
morning watch, and let him sleep. He's very nearly played out, and
he's a game little chap,' said the grey old cowboy kindly.
It was midnight before any one of the boys opened his eyes again, to
find old Wharton still watching and still smoking. Towzer had got
up, wakened by the chill night-air, to re-arrange his blanket.
'Let me take a turn now, Dick,' he said; 'I've had my beauty sleep
and feel as fit as a flea.'
'All right, I'll help you make up the fire,' said Dick, 'and when you
have watched for a couple of hours, wake your brother. Let Snap
sleep right away until dawn, if he will. He has done more than we
have--stalking deer, and so on.'
In ten seconds Wharton was asleep. His tough old form seemed to
settle down as easily on to the turf as if it had been a feather-bed.
If there were roots or stones about, they didn't seem to incommode
him in the least. 'I guess I hurt the roots' is what he once said,
when Frank pointed out to him a peculiarly knotty point on which he
had been sleeping.
Towzer thought he had never known a night so still. He could hear
'the Cradle' cropping the grass quite plainly.
'What an appetite you have got for a late supper!' thought he as he
turned and saw the old pony hopping about in his hobbles.
By-and-by the pony gave a snort, and, looking up with a start--for,
truth to tell, he had been nodding sadly--Towzer saw 'the Cradle'
standing, with ears keenly cocked, staring into the gloom by the
river. Gazing intently in the same direction, Towzer made out the
cause of Cradle's alarm. A big grey wolf was sneaking along by the
river's edge. The beast seemed to know that he was seen, for,
sitting up on his haunches, he gave a low howl and then slipped back
into the bushes.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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