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
'I don't know; that Indian was a wolf last night, it's likely enough
he'll be a hind to-night; but, hind or Indian, I'm going to put a
bullet into him as soon as he comes close enough to make certain,'
answered the boy savagely, and he sank slowly on to his stomach to
get a steady shot with his rifle.
Just then the thing, whatever it was, came out into the moonlight.
'Hold hard, Towzer, it's "the Cradle"; I can see his white fetlock as
plain as the nose on your face.'
'Might be an Indian in his skin,' answered Towzer, only half
convinced.
'No, no, I can see him quite plainly, can't you? And he is alone and
unsaddled. Let's see what he'll do.'
Slowly the pony came along, smelling every now and then at the
ground, and at last walked boldly into the camp, and, bending his
neck, hung his wise old head over Snap's sleeping form, and rubbed
his velvet muzzle against the boy's cheek.
Snap was on his legs in a minute.
'Why, old chap, where have you come from?' he cried, and the pony
laid back his ears and whinnied ever so softly. It was a regular
pony whisper.
Frank and Towzer came up and by this time old Wharton was sitting up
too, his hand upon his rifle.
'Slipped them durned Redskins, hev you, old fellow?' laughed Dick
softly. 'Well, I've known you get rid of better men than they'll
ever be, before now; but bust me if I can guess how you found us out.
You haven't brought Frank's rifle along, I suppose,' he added, for
the shot fired the night before had been from Frank's rifle, which
the Indian had somehow managed to steal from the bough from which it
was hanging. Unfortunately, even 'the Cradle's' 'cuteness had not
gone as far as this.
'I say, Snap,' said Wharton, coming out of a very brown study, in
which he had remained for nearly five minutes, 'it's a very bright
moon to-night, isn't it?'
'Never saw a brighter,' said the boy.
'That isn't the way "the Cradle" kem along, is it now?' asked
Wharton, pointing down the glade.
'Yes, that's where I first saw him,' said Towzer, pointing.
'Ah!' continued Wharton. 'Now, did it ever strike you that that haze
down theer wasn't altogether nat'ral, not on a night like this,
anyway?' and he pointed to a thin vapour which hung about the trees
some three miles away.
The boys looked in the direction indicated, and saw the vapour
plainly enough.
'Well?' said Snap, and waited.
'Wal!' returned Dick, 'that's them durned Redskins. They don't think
we'll dare to follow them; the pony has slipped 'em, that shows they
are pretty careless, and' (with a vigorous slap on his thigh) 'if
you're game I'm going the way that theer Cradle came, and am goin' to
have Frank's rifle and an Injun's hair in camp right here before
daylight.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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