Deerfoot in the Mountains, Edward Sylvester Ellis [e book reader online .txt] 📗

are we going to do it? We're not likely to find it bridged."
"I'm sure we shall be able to leap across."
The two walked to the edge of the stream, which may be described as a furious torrent, rushing between the rocks, which were separated by a dozen feet, the upper margin being one or two feet above the surface of the stream. Standing on the edge of the small canyon and looking down, the boys saw that the water was of crystalline clearness and was beaten in many places into froth and foam, which sparkled with every color of the rainbow as it shot into the sunlight. The course of the torrent was so tortuous and the turns so abrupt that clouds of mist curled upward in places and caused the rocks to drip with moisture. The roar was so loud that the brothers had to shout to each other.
"We might make a running leap here," said George, "but it isn't worth while to take the risk."
"There must be narrower portions. Let's look."
Turning to the left, they had to go only a little way when they found a favorable place. The breadth was no more than seven or eight feet. While they could not shorten the distance to camp very much, the advantage was worth striving for.
"No risk in that," remarked Victor, looking at his brother, who nodded his head to signify he agreed with him.
"I'll jump first," added Victor, walking back several paces to gain the necessary start. He could have made the leap without this preparation, but was using only ordinary prudence. George stood to one side and close to the edge, so as to observe every phase of the performance. Despite the apparent safety of the attempt, a strange misgiving came over George, and he turned to his brother to protest, when he saw he had started on his brief run. He carried his rifle in his right hand, took a number of short steps, measuring the distance with his eye, so that the take-off should be exact, and covered the space in a second or two.
George was watching every movement of the supple limbs, when he uttered an exclamation of horror. At the very moment Victor was gathering his muscles for the leap, and when close to the edge, the dripping stone caused his foot to slip. He fell sideways, let go of his rifle, which shot over the edge, and desperately struggled to check himself. Had there been five seconds at command he would have been saved. George, who made the attempt, could have dashed forward and grasped a foot or leg. Victor could have stopped, but the rock on which he had fallen seemed to be covered with plumbago. While frantically clutching and vainly trying to grasp some obstruction that would overcome his momentum, he slid over the edge and dropped into the boiling cauldron below. The accident was begun and finished, as may be said, in the twinkling of an eye.
Wild with affright, George ran to the edge of the torrent and peered over. He caught a glimpse of his brother a dozen yards away, spinning down the torrent. He saw his head for a moment, and then his arms thrown upward, as he disappeared, blindly but vainly struggling to save himself. In an instant he was whirled round a bend in the canyon, his body flung aloft by the resistless force of the torrent, but hurled hither and thither, as helpless as a log of wood.
Frantic and hardly conscious of what he was doing, George dashed along the edge of the canyon, which sped faster than he could run. One moment he was on the point of leaping into the raging waters in the blind effort to save Victor, but the certainty that that would only add another victim held him in restraint, and he continued running, stumbling and praying in agony for Heaven to intercede while it was yet time.
Suddenly he saw a man standing on the other side of the canyon some rods below, and staring wonderingly at him. George raised his voice so that it pierced the uproar like the notes of a trumpet:
"Save him! Save him! He fell into the water!"


CHAPTER XXV.
JACK HALLOWAY AGAIN.
The man was quick-witted. The words and the frenzied gestures told a story which he understood. Standing close to the edge of the stream, he peered into it and caught sight of a white face, loosely flapping limbs and the helpless drift of a human being, borne toward him with the speed of a race horse. The top of the bank was so near the surface that the man dropped on his face, so as to be able to reach forward and downward to the foaming torrent.
He saw the body coming, and braced himself for the herculean effort that would be necessary in the next breath. Reaching so far that he was in danger of losing his own balance, he coolly awaited the critical moment. Then his big hand closed like the paw of a grizzly bear on the shoulder of Victor Shelton. A tremendous wrench and he was dragged out and dropped limp and senseless at the feet of his rescuer.
George Shelton saw this much, and, hardly knowing what he was doing, made a desperate effort to leap the chasm, that he might join the couple. But his foot slipped, too, and only by a superhuman effort did he save himself from tumbling into the swirling wrath of water. Scrambling to his feet, he sped downward to Victor and the stranger. The latter showed his coolness by getting to work without the least delay. Victor was senseless and had swallowed a good deal of water. He seemed to be drowned.
The man held him by the heels and was standing him on his head. Then he rolled him over and pressed his chest, with that oscillation which is helpful in restoring seemingly drowned persons, while the breathless George stood idly by watching everything with straining eyes. He could do nothing but pray and hope.
At the end of a minute or two he saw, with joy unspeakable, the signs of returning life. Victor was on his back, as if dead, when he partly opened his eyes; but there was no expression in them. His rescuer was scrutinizing the lad's face and noted the awakening of consciousness. Straightening up, he said with a sigh:
"He's all right now; but he couldn't have come nigher pegging out."
"You have saved him! You have saved him! Oh, how can I thank you?"
And yielding to the reaction, George sobbed like a child. The stranger looked at him without speaking, and gave his attention again to the prostrate form. Victor speedily regained his senses, and, with a little help from the man, sat up. He stared wonderingly at his new friend and then at his brother, striving manfully to master his emotions. With the waggery that cropped up at the most unexpected times, he turned to George with the question:
"Are you crying because he saved my life?"
"I'm crying for joy. I had given up all hope."
"So had I. I tell you I came pretty near being a goner. Please help me up."
George took his hand and almost lifted Victor to his feet. As he came up he made a grimace, because of the pain that wrenched him. He was so battered and bruised that the wonder was that several bones had not been broken.
"Where's my rifle?" suddenly asked Victor, looking about him.
"In the bottom of the canyon, I reckon."
"Mebbe you'd like to make a dive for it," suggested the man.
"No, I've had enough of that. How shall I thank you for what you have done?"
"By not saying anything about it. By a piece of good luck I happened to be on the spot in time to give you a lift."
The boys now looked more closely at the Good Samaritan. He was attired in the dress common among the trappers and hunters of the Northwest in those days, and was a magnificent specimen of physical manhood, being fully six feet in height, with a broad, massive frame and an immense grizzled beard, which flowed over his chest and covered his face almost to the eyes. He had laid down his long, formidable rifle when he hurried to the rescue of the boy, and he now stooped and picked up the weapon. Moving back a few paces, so as to get beyond the noise made by the rushing waters, he said, in his gruff but not unpleasant voice:
"Tell me how this thing happened."
George briefly gave the particulars of the mishap, to which the man silently listened.
"You ain't the only younker or man either who has lost all by a little slip. The next time you want to make a big jump be sure of your footing. What are you two chaps doing in this part of the world?"
"We have been across the continent, almost to the Pacific, and are now on the way to our home in Ohio."
"You ain't traveling alone, are you?"
"No; we have a companion, who is off somewhere in the mountains, but will soon join us in camp."
"'Pears to me you've been on a powerful long tramp."
"We have. We spent last winter among the Blackfeet, and are homesick."
"I reckon your camp ain't fur off, and we may as well go there."
"We shall be glad to have you with us, for you have proved the best of friends."
"Thar! Thar! Drop that; talk about something else."
When Victor tried to walk he had to lean on the shoulder of his brother, and the pain from his bruises compelled him at times to stop and rest. The burly trapper offered to help, but Victor thanked him and got on quite well with the assistance of George. The man walked a few paces behind the two, that he might not hurry them too much, and because it belonged to the boys to act as guide.
"Who is the man you've got with you?"
"He is a young Shawanoe Indian named Deerfoot," replied George Shelton.
"What!" exclaimed the trapper, stopping as if shot. "Do you mean that handsome young warrior who went through the country below us last summer with a Blackfoot redskin and two younkers?"
"The same. We are the boys that were with him."
"Wal, I'll be skulped!" added the other, as if he could not do justice to his feelings. "I never dreamed of anything like _that_."
"Like what?" asked George.
"Seeing that Shawanoe agin. Say, he's a great one, ain't he?"
"You know him, then?"
"Wal, I reckon. He done me the greatest favor of my life--greater than what I done that chap of yourn a little while ago."
"I don't see how that can be," remarked the limping Victor; "but Deerfoot is always doing good to others."
"Didn't he ever tell you anything about me?"
"You haven't told us your name."
"I'm Jack Halloway."
The boys agreed that they had never heard the Shawanoe mention him by name. Victor added:
"He is the last one to speak of his good deeds, and he doesn't like to hear anyone else speak of them."
"He'll hear some one talk when I see him," chuckled the trapper, with a shaking of his herculean shoulders.
Because of Victor's hurts the descent among the foothills to camp took a long time, and the afternoon was well gone when the three reached headquarters. While a little way off the three caught sight of the Shawanoe, who had started a fire and was broiling buffalo steak for supper. He looked with surprise at the sight of Victor leaning on the shoulder of his brother and walking with difficulty, and at the towering form behind