 | CHAPTER XXVIII.
ON THE MOUNTAINS. The border rover |  |
28. CHAPTER XXVIII.
ON THE MOUNTAINS.
Looking out from our little cave on the following
morning, I was delighted to perceive that the wind
had again changed, and that the clouds, less humid,
were broken, and drifting back toward the east, showing
streaks of a soft, blue sky between their picturesque
fragments.
“How often hope comes with the dawn!” said I,
reflectively.
“It has been a night of peace, thank God! and I
feel well and strong,” replied Adele, cheerfully.
We now thought it best to resume our journey at
once; and throwing down the barrier at the entrance
of our temporary but happy little home we issued
forth, determined to make the most of our strength
and time. We ascended the hill, and, standing on its
highest point, took a survey of the surrounding scene.
All was quiet, save a few birds, of bright plumage,
which were fluttering among the green leaves, or
flying from one wooded point to another, and singing
their happy songs. As we were about to descend
this elevation, I stopped, with my eyes fixed upon an
object in the hollow; and pointing toward it, I exclaimed:
“Can I credit my senses! Look yonder, dear
Adele, and tell me what you see?”
“Most wonderful!” she replied, clasping her hands.
“Heaven is merciful beyond our deserts! It is our
gallant beast.”
“It is our lost friend indeed!” rejoined I, with a
thrill of delight that words cannot express.
I hastened down the hill; and then, for fear he
would run away, approached him cautiously. He
looked up, and, seeing me, gave a familiar whinny,
and even advanced two or three steps to meet me.
On reaching him, I threw my arms around his neck,
and fairly hugged him with delight. He had broken
the straps with which I had hampered him on the
night of his escape, and some of the pieces were still
joining them to some others which we had brought
with us, I was thus enabled to so far restore the missing
portions of the bridle as to put it in a condition
for use; and fastening this upon his head, I led him
to a rock, and we mounted his bare back. As I
seated Adele before me once more, and clasped her
around the waist, I said:
“It now seems as if our dangers were past.”
“It is not so, dear Roland,” she replied; “but our
situation, compared with what it was on that awful
night, is such that I must even weep for joy.”
“Well, dearest, shall we push on? or ride back for
the saddle, which we left upon the tree?”
“Oh! ride on—ride on toward the mountains, dear
Roland!” she replied, eagerly. “I would not go back
to that awful place for any consideration.”
“Be it so, then,” rejoined I; and turning our horse's
head westward, I touched him lightly on the flank,
and we set off at an easy gallop.
The day wore away without any incidents of special
importance. Before noon the sun shone out bright
and clear; but its heat was tempered with the cool
breeze from the mountains, which we now beheld
looming up before us, and which we hailed with as
much delight as the shipwrecked and drifting mariner
might experience on approaching an unknown
coast. It was not necessarily a haven of security, or
a spot free from peril—but it was a destination we
hope with a substantial reality.
We stopped at noon, and devoured the remainder
of our little stock, and then pushed on again, with
comparatively buoyant spirits, over the now rugged
and hilly country, till at last, just as the declining sun
was passing from our view, we came to a halt at the
foot of a steep and lofty ridge.
Satisfied with our day's ride, we dismounted; and
like Columbus, on discovering a new continent, we
embraced the earth for joy. I now took the bridle
from our noble beast, and turned him loose, to feed
upon the rich, nutritious grass, which spread, carpet-like,
over a fertile valley, that was watered by a
mountain stream; and this done, we made an effort to
ascend the hill which towered above us, in order to
find a safe place for our night's encampment.
We had toiled up about half-way to the summit,
when the deepening shadows, settling upon the
mighty plain which stretched away eastward for
hundreds of miles beyond the reach of sight, warned
us that we had no time to lose, if we would place
ourselves in security before darkness should fairly
close around us. We accordingly scrutinized every
object which we fancied might be made available to
our purpose; and at length we discovered a large,
gnarled oak—growing up beside a high, projecting
rock — in whose twisted and matted branches we
thought we could make ourselves secure. Ascending
the mountain to the level of the rock, we easily got
tree; where, by means of the straps of the bridle, I
soon managed to bind together some of the limbs in
such a manner as not only to secure us against falling,
but also give us a comfortable place to rest and even
sleep.
We spent two or three hours in exchanging
thoughts in whispers; and then, lulled by the gently
rustling leaves, and the sweet notes of a neighboring
night-singer, and being undisturbed by any discordant
sounds calculated to create alarm, we gradually
fell asleep, and heard no more till the morning minstrels
aroused us with their songs to see a new day
dawning with a golden glow.
Our elevation was now such that we could overlook
the rough, hilly landscape immediately below,
and let our eyes rest upon the level plain beyond;
and never did I gaze upon a more grand and beautiful
scene. In the distance we beheld, here and there,
some tiny streams like threads of silver, with occasionally
moving specks upon the banks, which we
believed to be small bands of the harmless deer, or
antelope, quietly seeking their morning fill; while
nearer we once or twice caught a view of the larger
elk, keeping a wary look-out for danger; and trotting
or loping off in different directions, to seek
what they might devour, were visible the craven-hearted
coyotes, or small prairie wolves. As the
sun rose in splendor upon the scene, Adele gave
voice to her emotions:
“Oh! how grand and beautiful are the works of
God!” she exclaimed; “and when, as now, I view
them from a point which permits the vision to take
in more than I usually perceive, my soul expands
with an admiration that is akin to rapture. Oh! if
the view were always like this, and it were perfectly
safe, and we had the necessaries of life around us, dear
Roland, would not this seclusion be enchanting?”
“For a time, perhaps,” I replied; “but I think you
would eventually tire of only one such companion as
myself.”
“Never!” said Adele, emphatically; and then, bethinking
how much that one word expressed of the
true state of her heart, the warm blood mounted to
her temples, and her sweet face became one radiant
glow.
“I thank you for the assurance that my companionship
is so dear to you,” I tenderly rejoined; “and it
shall be my aim, through the life before us, be it long
or short, to be worthy of the love and esteem of one
I so dearly prize; but your conditional observation
reminds me of the one great want to be supplied, ere
this place, or any other, can long be endurable, much
less become a Paradise. If we had plenty of food,
with weapons for defence, I think, for the rest, we
could pass many days here in contentment and
happiness; but it is not pleasant to remember that
our last morsel was eaten yesterday; or to ponder the
possibility, if not probability, of a long and painful
fast before we get any more.”
“Ah! God save us!” ejaculated Adele. “Alas!
what will become of us! We looked forward to
reaching these mountains as our salvation—but being
here, we seem to have gained nothing save the intervening
hours of reprieve from actual starvation.”
“We must still hope on, and struggle on, as best we
may, till we reach some wilderness fort, or fall in with
some of the emigrant trains on their way to or from
the still Far West,” said I, despondingly. “It is not
wise to let our thoughts dwell too much on the future
—to speculate on that of which we have not, never
have had, nor can have any knowledge, till it becomes
the present. We must console ourselves with the idea,
that we are, even here, as directly under the protection
of the Great Guardian, as if surrounded by all the comforts
of civilization; that if it be His will that we perish,
either here or elsewhere, the limit of His design cannot
be passed; and that if it be not His will to take us from
earthly scenes, we shall remain, and be provided for,
even as we have been. Therefore, my dear Adele,
let us for the present think only of the present; and
say for the future, `sufficient unto the day is the evil
thereof.”'
“You say well, dear friend,” replied Adele, “that
we may fulfil, but not change, the design of our
Creator and Guardian; and as that design is known
only to Him, it becomes us to put our trust in His
Providence, and make use of the present to the best
of our judgment and abilities. And now, dear Roland,
as the day has fairly begun, what do you propose?”
“I scarcely know what to propose,” replied I, in
great perplexity. “Our first immediate want is food;
but unless we watch the birds, and eat of such berries
as we may see them pluck, I know of no means of
procuring any sustenance whatever — and even this
course will be rather calculated to prolong than sustain
life; and for fear of the derangement of our
systems, I think it best not to resort to it till compelled
by hunger. If I only knew our exact locality,
I could soon decide which course to take to reach
either St. Vrain's or Fort Laramie. St. Vrain's Fort,
I remember, is marked on the map near the great
bend of the South Fork of the Platte, and directly
east of Long's Peak; while Fort Laramie is nealy due
north from the former, on the North Fork of the Platte,
at a distance of more than a hundred miles. Now
whether we are north or south of St. Vrain's, I cannot
say, and therefore know not which course to take.”
“Nor do I know what to advise,” returned Adele.
“I have sometimes fancied that the first snowy peak
we saw from the prairies might be Long's,” pursued
I; “and that was further south than we are now.”
“Yes,” she returned, quickly; “and now I feel a
strong impression that we ought to go south.”
“Then, right or wrong, we will set off in that direction,”
I rejoined. “Yes, my plan is settled,” I continued,
after a momentary consideration. “If we can
once more find our horse—and I think he has not
wandered far from the little valley in which we left
along the base of this range of mountains, till—”
The sentence was here cut short by Adele, who
clutched me nervously, and pointed downward through
the leaves and branches, saying, in a startled whisper:
“Hist, dear Roland, for the love of Heaven, or we
are lost! See! see! yonder goes a mounted band of
savages.”
I looked in the direction indicated, and, to my great
alarm and dismay, beheld a mounted body of Indians,
some fifteen or twenty in number, slowly filing
over a small elevation in a southerly direction; and
the last one was leading a horse, which, even though
the distance was considerable, I instantly recognized
as the beast which had borne us hither. They did
not look toward us—nor seem to be in search of any
one—but rode quietly onward, and soon passed behind
an intervening hill, which shut them from our
view.
“God help us!” ejaculated I. “There goes our
horse; and we have looked our last upon him this
time, unless we meet him under the painful circumstances
of being captives to those who have captured
him.”
“Which God forefend!” returned Adele, with a
shudder, “Oh! Roland, I would prefer death to captivity.
And yet, had we gone a half hour since to
search for our noble beast, we might have been seen
and taken prisoners by this very party.”
“And what is to be done now?” pursued I, with a
plan which I had just mentally matured, is already
frustrated; we no longer have a horse to ride; and
even if we had, it would be as much as our freedom
is worth to take the course pursued by these savages.”
“We must set off on foot,” replied Adele; “and
far from being discouraged, I look upon the capture
of our horse as a Providential event; for had we resumed
our journey in the manner you intended,
doubtless we should have met with some serious disaster.”
“We will, at all events, endeavor to console ourselves
with the reflection, that what has happened has
happened for the best,” said I. “Come, dear Adele,
if you are ready, we will resume our labors—for I can
perceive no advantage we shall gain by delay.”
Adele bowed her head, as if in prayer—was silent
for a minute—and then lifting her soft, dark eyes to
mine, and extending her hand, which I eagerly seized,
she said, with calm resignation:
“Whenever you think it safe to quit our concealment,
dear Roland, I am ready to share with you the
toils, privations, and perils which it may still be our
lot to encounter.”
“Heaven grant, for your sweet sake, they be not
many, nor long continued!” I rejoined, as I drew her
delicate form to me in a fond embrace.
| CHAPTER XXVIII.
ON THE MOUNTAINS. The border rover | |