University of Virginia Library

24. CHAPTER XXIV.
THE WOLVES OUR FRIENDS.

There was a kind of subdued, melancholy pleasure,
in sitting there, by the side of one I loved, and listening
to her gentle breathings, while “nature's sweet
restorer” set a quiet, peaceful seal upon her external
senses. Minute succeeded minute, hour followed
hour, and yet she continued to sleep as tranquilly as
if upon a bed of down, her gentle respirations being
barely audible to her lonely listener. Had the future
opened serenely to the mind, without the dark shadows
which fancy now placed in the vista through which it
looked forward to a distant point of time, those hours
of lonely, solemn watching would have been among
the happiest of my life; but it was impossible to

divest myself of a fear of approaching danger in some
form, or think of coming hours without an undefinable
dread. Happy sleeper—happy now, at least, in her
unconsciousness—to what scenes of peril, trial, and
suffering might she not awake! It was pleasure to
see her sleep; it would be happiness to guard, protect,
and provide for her necessities; but it would be more
than death to see her snatched suddenly from me, by
man or beast, without the means of striking a single
blow in her defence; or see her wither and waste
away, like a blasted flower, without the power of supplying
the common demands of nature. It was this
reflection that made me sad, gloomy, and wretched,
even while my heart felt something like joy that she
was still safe and sleeping sweetly under my vigilant
eye.

For hours, I say, I sat by the side of her I loved—
my back braced against the trunk of a large cotton-wood—my
eyes wandering over the dark plain, in
search of danger—and my ears listening to catch the
slightest sound. We were in a lonely region of
country, where wild and savage beasts, and wild and
savage men, were lords and masters of the soil; and
there was no telling what moment we might be
surprised by a foe, against whose fell design, weak
and defenceless as I was, I could bring no opposing
force. The fact that I had no weapons of defence, and
for this reason knew myself almost as helpless as
an infant, rendered me in a great degree a very
coward; and therefore I watched with timid uneasiness,

often starting at the objects of my fancy, and fairly
trembling at any unusual sound.

While I watched, I gradually fell into that comatose
state, in which the mind acts in the double capacity
of sleeping and waking—when we dream, and know
we dream, and yet are conscious of external surroundings,
but without the power of distinct comprehension.
At length I began to experience a sensation of fear
and dread, as if some dark object were creeping softly
to my side; and arousing myself suddenly, I beheld,
by the light of the moon, which had now risen and
was pouring its silvery beams upon the broad plain,
a large prairie wolf within ten feet of me. I started
to my feet, with a cry of alarm; and taking fright,
he bounded away, with a fierce howl, and soon disappeared
in the uncertain light.

The noise awoke Adele, who also started up in
alarm, exclaiming:

“Where am I? what is it?”

I hastened to explain, and endeavored to persuade
her to lie down again and sleep on; but she declared
she felt quite refreshed, and insisted that I should take
her place, and allow her to watch, according to our
agreement. I was loth to do so; but she held me to
my promise; and feeling the need of rest, to enable
me to make a long journey on the morrow, I finally
yielded assent.

But my first care now was to picket our horse,
which was still feeding at no great distance; and
having accomplished this, I took a general survey of

the mighty scene, by the pale light of the waning
moon, which shone through a cloudless sky, its silvery
rays falling upon the great desert with a subdued and
solemn effect; and finding all still and quiet, as if
nature herself had sunk to repose, I placed my head
upon the saddle, intending merely to rest my weary
body and limbs, and keep watch with Adele at the
same time. But scarcely had my head touched my
pillow, when my eyes closed, my senses grew confused
and wandering, and in less than five minutes I was
sound asleep.

I slept for hours, unconscious of everything; and
when I at last awoke, I saw, to my surprise, that the
moon was high in the heavens, and that her pale light
was feebly struggling with the first gray of morning.
I started up, and looked around me for Adele; but,
to my dismay and alarm, she was not to be seen. I
called her by name—but received no answer. I
looked for my horse; but he was quietly lying on
his side by the picket, where I had left him before
lying down myself. What could have happened?
Apprehensive of something terrible, though I knew
not what, and with a cold sweat starting from every
pore, I hurried about in search of her, continually
calling her by name. It was not long ere I espied
her fragile form, lying upon the bank of the little
stream, a few rods below the camp. I ran to her side,
bent over her, and seized her small, white hand,
fearful of finding it cold in death. But no—to my

unutterable joy it was warm—her pulse beat regularly,
and her respiration was gentle as one in sleep.

“Adele!” I cried, still frightened and apprehensive.
“Adele! dear Adele! for God's sake, awake!”

“Oh, Roland, what is it?” she exclaimed, starting
up in terror. “Quick! Tell me what has happened?”

“Nothing, dear Adele, if you are well. I was
alarmed for you. Why are you here? are you ill?”

“Forgive me!” she said, looking hurriedly around;
“forgive me, dear Roland! I am but a poor sentinel,
I see. Ah me! to fall asleep on my post!”

“God be praised if it be nothing worse!” said I,
with a feeling of relief which can better be imagined
than expressed. “I was fearful something terrible
had happened to you. To fall asleep was natural, for
one who had undergone so much fatigue as you, dear
Adele; but pray tell me how it is I find you here?”

“I will, dear Roland, and you must forgive me—it
shall not happen again. After you fell asleep, I began
to grow drowsy myself; and fearing I should give
way to my feelings and lose myself, I got up and
commenced walking to and fro in front of you. Then
feeling thirsty, I came down here to take a drink;
and having drank, I sat down on the bank, and that
is the last I remember.”

“Poor girl!” cried I, clasping her to my heart:
“I am glad you slept, for you were wearied out; but
you should have left me on the watch, for we might
have been surprised and killed. But all is well—God
in his mercy has guarded us!”

“Oh, dear Roland, I am so grieved and troubled
at this!” she continued. “You will not dare to trust
me again; and you will wear yourself out in keeping
guard, because of my present neglect.”

“Say no more about it, dear girl; perhaps we shall
have no more need of nocturnal vigilance. It was all
for the best, I think; and if you feel refreshed, I am
glad it happened.”

“Oh, yes, I am greatly refreshed, and feel quite
well.”

“But you must be faint, nevertheless!” said I,
despondingly; “for it has now been twenty-four hours
since you have tasted food.”

“And longer since any passed your lips, dear
Roland,” she replied, in a tone of deep feeling. “You
do not seem to think of yourself.”

“God grant we may find some means to allay the
cravings of hunger ere we sleep again!” I rejoined;
“though I confess I have but little hope. But come!
day is dawning; and if you feel able to ride, we will
set off at once; for it is useless to remain longer here,
since our gallant steed has received his proper food
and rest.”

“I am ready, dear Roland; and oh! believe me, I
feel quite strong.”

I hastened to prepare our horse for our second day's
journey; and having watered him at the brook, and
drank as much as we could ourselves, we mounted
him once more, and were soon galloping easily and
swiftly over the plain, still keeping as near as possible

due west. This course, much to our regret, in a very
short time led us across the little stream—which, on
account of its channel running almost north and south,
we were compelled to leave behind us; but I thought
it more expedient to incur the risk of finding water on
our route westward, than to delay reaching the
mountains by taking another course.

Never did I behold a more grand and glorious
sunrise than on that morning. The atmosphere was
clear and still—not a single cloud dotted the heavens
—and the even line of the eastern horizon, stretching
away north and south, as far as the eye could reach,
allowed every tint and shade to be perceived in its
dimmest and brightest hue, and in its deepest and
broadest extent. First a pale, golden streak shot up
toward the zenith, and gradually spread abroad to the
north and south, till it so perfectly blended with the
serene blue sky that the eye could not mark where it
began or ended. Then came another streak of brighter
gold, and floated away like a thin, transparent
vapor, or tissue-tint, deepening the hue and heightening
the beauty of the first. Then another and another
followed in rapid succession, till the whole east was a
deep golden glow. Then shot up a streak of pale
crimson; and as it floated over the golden background,
the effect was beautiful beyond description.
A few more shades rapidly succeeded each other, each
deeper and brighter than the last; and then the eye
was enchanted with a golden vermillion, which grew
brighter and more bright, with the increasing light,

till the golden vermillion seemed blended with a flood
of liquid silver; and then the sun burst upon the
scene with a glory beyond the power of language to
portray.

Notwithstanding our trying, painful, and perilous
situation—a condition calculated to withdraw our
thoughts from all things foreign to self-preservation
—we could not forego the pleasure of turning to view
so glorious a manifestation of God's limning on the
canvas of heaven, nor look upon it unmoved by a
thrill of delight that penetrated to the very soul.

“Oh! how gorgeously, gloriously beautiful!” exclaimed
Adele; “and with such a beginning of the
day, can we augur a night of gloom and despair to
follow?”

“We will hope otherwise, dear Adele,” I replied,
with what cheerfulness I could assume.

We rode on, at an easy gallop, for some two or
three hours, when we came to another little run, or
water-course, which was almost dry. Here we stopped
and watered our horse, and drank what we could
ourselves. On casually examining the ground here,
I noticed, with uneasiness and some alarm, the hoof-prints
of other horses, in the yielding sand or clay—
and that they led off in a southerly direction—but
whether they were wild, or carried Indians on their
backs, I could not determine. There were buffalo
tracks here, also, in great numbers; and I thought it
not improbable that a party of Indians had recently
passed here in pursuit of them. The ground here,

too, I observed, began in a slight degree to change
its character; and looking carefully westward, I perceived,
with feelings of delight, that the surface grew
gradually rougher, more broken, and rolling. I
pointed out the change to Adele, with the observation:

“I think we must be nearing the base of the lower
range of mountains.”

“We are—we are!” she cried, joyfully, clapping
her hands, and her sweet features beaming with animation.
“Look yonder, Roland—I have just made
one discovery more—do you see it?”

“I do not—what is it?” I replied, after a quick,
eager look westward.

“Do you not see yonder mountain peak?”

“No! no! where? where?”

“There—yonder—in the direction I am pointing—
do you not see it now?”

“No, I do not, I am sorry to say.”

“Do you see anything?”

“Ah! now I see some dark objects in the distance,
which appear to be moving—but it is more reasonable
to suppose them buffaloes than mountains.”

“No, no, Roland—higher—farther.”

“I see a white, fleecy cloud, near the horizon.”

“That is it—that is it: it is no cloud: it is the
snowy peak of one of the Rocky Mountains.”

“Are you sure, Adele? Oh, do not let us deceive
ourselves!”

“I am sure, dear Roland—for I always used to

see similar peaks after crossing the prairies toward
Santa Fe!”

“Heaven be praised! then we may reach the lower
hills before night-fall. Come! come! I am impatient
now: let us remount and press forward!”

“And what shall we do when we reach the hills?”
inquired Adele, despondingly, as I lifted her upon
the saddle, and sprung up after her.

“We may be able to subsist on roots and berries,
till we find some station,” was my reply, as I started
our gallant beast forward at a quicker pace than
usual.

The sun by this time had begun to heat the dry
atmosphere, and our long fast began to cause us
unpleasant sensations. We now began to experience
the keen gnawings of hunger, accompanied with a
feeling of faintness and lassitude, which greatly
depressed our spirits, and created serious apprehensions
that we should not be able to even ride through
the heat of the day, and might consequently be
compelled to pass another night on the open plain.
But we strove to cheer ourselves with hope, and nerve
ourselves with will; and on we dashed, with all the
speed which our poor beast could sustain.

Presently we perceived, by unmistakable signs, that
we were approaching the borders of a buffalo range;
and had I been in possession of any of my weapons,
my weakened and wearied frame would have been
strengthened by the certainty that we should soon be
in possession of life-sustaining food; and even as it

was, it afforded me some consolation to hope that
some accident among the herd might put a portion
of a carcass at my command. I knew that wolves
followed the buffaloes, and killed the disabled, and
sometimes the calves; and I thought it barely possible
we might come upon the slaughtered game, in time
to frighten away the voracious destroyers, and get
enough for a single meal. The animals I had seen
in the distance, proved indeed to be buffaloes—the
straggling members of a large herd—and the first we
had seen since the few which had fled from us the
morning previous. As we neared them, they took
fright, and ran westward; and we pressed on after
them keeping them in sight, till we had the satisfaction
of seeing them join the main body, which gradually
came into view, stretching away, north and
south, in a long, unbroken line, and numbering thousands,
and hundreds of thousands, and perhaps
millions.

Cheered by the sight, and the hope of soon getting
possession of food, I still urged on our gallant beast,
almost forgetful of our present sufferings in the anticipation
of soon finding relief by some Providential
acquisition. As we neared the body of the herd, which
was slowly moving southward, I eagerly ran my eye
up and down the long line; and with a thrill of joy,
of which no language can convey an adequate idea, I
soon perceived, away to the north, a small band of
wolves, harassing a cow and her calf, which they had
managed to separate from the herd, and were now

trying to separate from each other; while she, turned
at bay, was eagerly striving to protect her young
and get back to where she would be protected by
numbers. Instantly I turned my horse in that direction,
but checked his speed, that I might not advance
upon them prematurely, and thus destroy what might
possibly prove our salvation. Gradually drawing as
near to the hungry wolves as I thought prudent, I
made a halt, and watched the operations of the carnivorous
beasts, and their distressed victims, with
such contending emotions of hope and fear as kept
my poor brain in a whirl of painful excitement. Some
idea of our feelings may be formed, when I state
that our minds became gradually wrought up to such
a pitch, as to mentally stake our own lives upon the
success of the canine beasts; and although we could
not but pity the poor mother, striving to protect her
helpless young, yet every advantage obtained by her
foes—which, under the circumstances, we regarded as
friends to us—sent the quickened blood, heated with
joy, to our very hearts.

“Oh, holy saints,” prayed Adele, “assist us in this
our last extremity!”

“Amen!” said I—“if the saints have power.”

“If?” exclaimed Adele, crossing herself, and turning
upon me a startled, reproachful look: “do you
then doubt, Roland, that the saints have power?”

“I believe God has the power,” I replied; “but I
was not, like you, educated in the belief that the
saints have any control over things terrestrial.”

“Oh, Roland—I thought, till now, your belief and
mine was the same.”

“Will it lessen your estimation of me to know the
contrary?”

“I cannot say now—I must think the matter over
in a calmer moment.”

“That is best, Adele,” I replied; “and it is hardly
proper to enter into a theological discussion while on
the point of starvation. You believe in God—so do
I; and we can in this meet on equal grounds, and
both appeal to the Divine Creator and Ruler of the
Universe, without either doing violence to the educational
doctrines of the other.”

The subject, which was not appropriate to the
occasion, dropped here, and we both directed our
attention to the contest, in which we felt as if our
lives were at stake. Never did moments pass in
which I experienced more intense excitement, than
in watching the issue between the poor buffalo-mother
and her blood-thirsty foes. The former was standing
at bay, bellowing in her anger, fright, and despair,
and making desperate efforts to break through the
line of her snarling, growling persecutors; while her
frightened calf cowered tremblingly behind and under
her, and continually gave voice to its terror, in tones
to excite human, if not brute, commiseration. It was
clearly the design of the wolves to separate the calf
from the cow; and to accomplish this, they would
completely surround both; and while those in front
would arrest the attention of the mother and draw an

attack upon themselves, the rest would fly at her
offspring, and bite it, and bewilder it with their
savage barks and growls; and would just be on the
point of succeeding in their fell purpose, when the
devoted mother would suddenly wheel upon them,
drive them back, and afford the horrified victim a
temporary relief.

“It is like a war of mankind—the many against
the few—the stronger against the weaker!” said I to
Adele; “but with this difference—that though the
stronger in both cases may conquer, and oppression
be triumphant, man may appeal to the higher tribunal
of eternity, and find justice meted out to him
and his persecutors; while the poor brute suffers
without hope, or after life, or future restoration. It
is my belief—if I may be permitted to mention the
matter in this connection, dear Adele—that each and
every individual will receive equity in the after life,
whatever may be his profession or faith in this; and
so he sin not against the light he has, and the monitor
within, all will be well with him.”

“I know not that we differ in this respect,” she
replied. “But see! is not the contest yonder about
to terminate in favor of the wolves?”

“It is in truth!” said I, joyfully, starting our horse
slowly forward, to be ready for the eventful moment
of victory to them and us. “The poor mother grows
weary—she must soon succumb.”

Scarcely had I uttered the words, when I saw
three or four of the fiercest of the wolves spring

between the poor cow and her calf—and the next
moment the helpless victim was throttled, and borne
to the earth.

“Now is our only chance,” I shouted; and in less
time than it takes me to record the fact, my fiery
steed was bearing down upon them with all his speed.

The distance was scarcely more than a good rifle
shot, and we fairly flew over the ground; but so
fierce and ravenous were these hungry beasts of prey,
that when we reached the slaughtered calf, and literally
rode amongst its slayers, causing them to scatter
with fear, the body was already torn open to the
entrails, and at least one half devoured. One minute
later and there would have been nothing left.

With a wild cry of ecstacy, I sprung from my
horse, seized the bleeding remains, and threw them
across the saddle; and then, as the joyful truth thrilled
us, that food was once more within our reach—
and that, for the present at least, we were saved from
the horrors of starvation—our very souls poured forth
a silent prayer of thanksgiving to the Great Unseen,
and tears of gratitude dimmed our eyes.