Майн Рид
The Cliff Climbers
Chapter Twenty Eight.
Going abroad for breakfast
The exertions which they had made in carrying and erecting the ladders had so wearied them, that, despite their empty stomachs, all three were able to sleep. Their slumber, however, was neither profound nor prolonged; and one and another of them awoke at intervals during the night and lay awake, reflecting upon the miserable fate that had befallen them, and the poor prospects now before them.
They were even without the ordinary consolation of knowing that they might find something to eat in the morning. Before they could have any breakfast, they knew they would first have to find it in the forest. They would have to search, find, and kill, before they could eat.
But they had reason now not only to be in doubt about procuring their breakfast, but their dinner and supper – in short, their whole future subsistence. Circumstances had become changed. The larder, hitherto amply provided by Caspar’s hunting skill, was now quite empty; and although he could soon have replenished it had their ammunition not been destroyed, it was now quite a different thing. Caspar’s power was gone along with his powder; and the deer and other quadrupeds, which were known to be yet numerous in the valley – to say nothing of the winged creatures that frequented it, could now smile at any attempt on the part of Caspar to trouble them any longer with his double-barrelled detonator. The gun would hereafter be as useless as a bar of iron.
Only one charge of powder for each barrel remained, and one more for Karl’s rifle. When these three should be fired off, not another shot might ever again be heard ringing through that silent valley, and waking the echoes of the surrounding cliffs.
But it had not yet entered their minds that they might be unable to kill any of the wild animals with which the place abounded. Had they thought so, they would have been unhappy indeed – perhaps so anxious as not to have slept another wink for that night. But they did not yet contemplate the future so despondingly. They hoped that, even without their guns, they would still be enabled to procure sufficient game for their support; and as they all lay awake, just before the breaking of the day, this became the subject of their conversation.
Ossaroo still felt full confidence in his bow and arrows; and should these fail, there was his fishing-net; and if that also were to draw blank, the experienced shikaree knew a score of other schemes for circumventing the beasts of the earth, the birds of the air, and the finny denizens of the water. Karl expressed his determination, as soon as spring should return, to commence cultivating certain edible roots and plants, which grew rather sparsely around, but, by the careful propagation of which, a crop might be procured of sufficient abundance. Moreover, they resolved that in the following year they should store up such wild fruits and berries as were fit for food; and thus insure themselves against any chance of famine for months to come. The failure of their late attempt with the ladders had reproduced within them the firm though fearful conviction, that for the rest of their lives they were destined to dwell within the mountain valley – never more to go beyond the bounds of that stupendous prison-like wall that encircled them.
With this impression now freshly stamped upon their minds, they returned to speculate on the means of present existence, as also on that of their more immediate future; and in this way did they pass the last hour of the night – that which was succeeded by the daybreak.
As the first streaks of dawning day appeared upon the snowy summits – several of which were visible from the door of the hut – all three might have been seen outside preparing themselves for the execution of some important design. Their purpose might easily be told from the character of their preparations. Caspar was charging his double-barrelled gun; and carefully too – for it was the “last shot in his locker.”
Karl was similarly employed with his rifle, while Ossaroo was arming himself in his peculiar fashion, looking to the string of his bow, and filling the little wicker bag, that constituted his quiver, with sharp-pointed arrows.
From this it was evident that the chase was the occupation immediately intended, and that all three were about to engage in it. In truth, they were going out in search of something for their breakfast; and if a keen appetite could ensure success, they could scarce fail in procuring it: for they were all three as hungry as wolves.
Fritz, too, was as hungry as any of them; and looked as if he meant to do his best in helping them to procure the material for a meal. Any creature, beast or bird, that should be so unfortunate as to come within clutching distance of his gaunt jaws, would have but little chance on that particular morning of escaping from them.
It had been resolved upon that they should go in different directions: as by that means there would be three chances of finding game instead of one; and as something was wanted for breakfast, the sooner it could be procured the better. If Ossaroo should succeed in killing anything with his arrows, he was to give a shrill whistle to call the others back to the hut; while if either of them should fire, of course the shot would be heard, and that would be the signal for all to return.
With this understanding, and after some little badinage about who would be the successful caterer, they all set forth, Caspar going to the right, Ossaroo to the left, and Karl, followed by Fritz, taking the centre.
Chapter Twenty Nine.
Caspar on a stalk
In a few minutes the three hunters had lost sight of one another, Karl and Caspar proceeding round the lake by opposite sides, but both keeping under cover of the bushes; while Ossaroo wended his way along the bottom of the cliff – thinking he might have a better chance in that direction.
The game which Caspar expected first might fall in his way was the “kakur,” or barking-deer. These little animals appeared to be more numerous in the valley than any other creatures. Caspar had scarcely ever been abroad upon a shooting excursion without seeing one; and on several occasions a kakur had constituted his whole “bag.” He had learnt an ingenious way of bringing them within range of his gun – simply by placing himself in ambush and imitating their call; which, as may be deduced from one of their common names, is a sort of bark. It is a sound very much resembling the bark of a fox, only that it is much louder. This the kakur sends forth, whenever it suspects the presence of an enemy in its neighbourhood; and keeps repeating it at short intervals, until it believes either that the danger has been withdrawn, or withdraws itself from the danger.
The simple little ruminant does not seem to be aware that this sound – perhaps intended as a note of warning to its companions – too often becomes its own death-signal, by betraying its whereabouts to the sportsman or other deadly enemy. Not only the hunter, man, but the tiger, the leopard, the cheetah, and other predatory creatures, take advantage of this foolish habit of the barking-deer; and stealing upon it unawares, make it their victim.
The bark is very easily imitated by the human voice; and after a single lesson, with Ossaroo as instructor, not only could Caspar do the decoy to a nicety, but even Karl, who only overheard the shikaree instructing his pupil, was able to produce a sound precisely similar.
Present hunger prompted Caspar to go in search of the kakur, as that would be the game most likely to turn up first. There were other quadrupeds, and some birds too, whose flesh would have served better, as being of superior delicacy: for the venison of the barking-deer is none of the sweetest. In the autumn it is not bad – nor up to a late period in the winter – though it is never very delicious at any season.
On that morning, however, Caspar was not at all fastidious; and he knew that neither were the others – hunger having robbed them of all delicacy of appetite. Even kakur venison would be palatable enough, could he procure it; and for this purpose was he going in a particular direction, and not wandering hither and thither, as sportsmen usually do when in search of game.
He knew of a spot where kakur were almost sure of being found. It was a pretty glade, surrounded by thick evergreen shrubbery – not far from the edge of the lake, and on the side opposite to that where the hut was built.
Caspar had never entered this glade – and he had gone through it several times – without seeing kakur browsing upon the grassy turf, or lying in the shade of the bushes that grew around its edge. It was but fair to presume, therefore, that on that morning, as upon others, the glade would furnish him with this species of game.
Without making stop anywhere else, he walked on till he had got within a few rods of the spot where he expected to procure the materials of the breakfast; and then, entering among the underwood, he advanced more slowly and with greater caution. To ensure success, he even dropped upon his knees, and crawled cat-like, using his arms as forelegs and his hands as paws! After this fashion he worked his way forward to the edge of the opening – all the while keeping a thick leafy bush before his body to screen himself from the eyes of any creature – kakur or other animal – that might be within the glade.
On getting close up behind the bush, he came to a halt; and then, cautiously raising his shoulders, he peeped through between the leafy branches.
It took him some seconds of time to survey the whole surface of the glade; but when he had finished his scrutiny, a shadow of disappointment might have been seen passing over his countenance. There was no game there – neither kakur nor animals of any other kind.
Not without a certain feeling of chagrin did the young hunter perceive that the opening was empty: for, to say nothing of the annoyance he felt on not being able to procure a joint of venison for breakfast, he had been flattering himself that, from his superior knowledge of the ground, he would be the first to find the material for their matutinal meal – about which he had some little feeling of hunter-pride and rivalry.
He did not permit this preliminary disappointment to rob him of all hope. If there were no kakur within the glade, there might be some in the bushes near its edge; and perhaps, by adopting the decoy he had several times already practised – that of imitating their call – he might entice one out into the open ground.
Acting upon this idea, he squatted close behind the bush, and commenced barking, as near as he could, à la kakur.
Chapter Thirty.
The double decoy
It was some considerable time before he heard any response to cheer him, or observed any sign that indicated the presence or proximity of an animal.
He repeated his bark many times, with intervals of silence between – and was about yielding to the conviction, that not only the open ground, but the bushes around it, were going to draw blank.
He had uttered his last bark, with all the alluring intonation that he could throw into the sound; and was about starting to his feet to proceed elsewhere, when just then the real cry of the kakur responded to his feigned one – apparently coming from out the thicket on the opposite side of the glade.
The sound was heard only faintly, as if the animal was at a great distance off; but Caspar knew that if it was a response to his call – which he believed it to be – it would soon draw nearer. He lost no time, therefore, in giving utterance to a fresh series of barks of the most seductive character; and then once more strained his ears to listen for the reply.
Again the barks of the kakur came back upon the breeze – repeated serially, and so resembling his own, that had Caspar not known that they proceeded from the throat of a deer, he might have fancied them to be echoes. He did not allow many seconds to elapse before barking again, and again, with an equal straining at allurement.
This time, to the surprise of the young hunter, there was no response. He listened, but not a sound came back – not even an echo.
He barked again, and again listened. As before, silence profound, unbroken.
No – it was not unbroken. Although it was not the call of the kakur, another sound interrupted the stillness – a sound equally welcome to the ear of the young hunter. It was a rustling among the leaves on the opposite side of the glade; just such as might indicate the passage of an animal through the bushes.
Directing his eye towards the spot where the sound appeared to proceed, Caspar saw, or fancied he saw, some twigs in motion. But it was no fancy: for the moment after he not only saw the twigs move, but behind the bush to which they belonged he could just make out a darkish-coloured object. It could be nothing else than the body of the kakur. Although it was very near – for the glade was scarce twenty yards across, and the deer was directly behind the line of low shrubs which formed a sort of selvedge around it – Caspar could not get a good view of the animal. It was well screened by the foliage, and better perhaps by the absence of a bright light: for it was yet only the grey twilight of morning. There was light enough, however, to take aim; and as the intervening branches were only tiny twigs, Caspar had no fear that they would interfere with the direction of his ballet. There was no reason, therefore, why he should delay longer. He might not get a better chance; and if he waited longer, or barked again, the kakur might discover the decoy, and run back into the bushes.
“Here goes, then!” muttered Caspar to himself; at the same time placing himself firmly on one knee, raising his gun and cocking it.
It was a splendid lock – that upon the right-hand barrel of Caspar’s gun – one in which the cock, on being drawn to the full, gives tongue to tell that the spring is in perfect order.
In the profound stillness of the morning-air the “click” sounded clear enough to have been heard across the glade, and much further. Caspar even feared that it might be loud enough to affright the deer; and kept his eye fixed upon the latter as he drew back the cock. The animal stirred not; but instead – almost simultaneous with the click of his gun, and as if it had been its echo – another click fell upon the hunter’s ear, apparently coming from the spot on which the kakur was standing!
Fortunate was it for Caspar that his own spring had clicked so clear – and fortunate also he had heard that apparent echo – else he might either have shot his brother, or his brother him, or each might have shot the other!
As it was, the second click caused Caspar to start to his feet. Karl at the same instant was seen hurriedly rising erect upon the opposite side of the glade, while both with cocked guns in their hands stood eyeing each other, like two individuals about to engage in a deadly duel of rifles!
Had any one seen them at that moment, and in that attitude, their wild looks would have given colour to the supposition that such was in reality their intent; and some time would have elapsed before any action on the part of either would have contradicted this fearful belief: for it was several seconds before either could find speech to express their mutual surprise.
It was something more than surprise – it was awe – a deep tragical emotion of indefinable terror, gradually giving way to a feeling of heartfelt thankfulness, at the fortunate chance that had made them aware of each other’s presence, and saved them from a mutual fratricide.
For some seconds I have said not a word was spoken; and then only short exclamations of similar import came trembling from the lips of both. Both, as if acting under a common impulse, flung their guns to the ground. Then, rushing across the glade, they threw their arms around each other; and remained for some moments locked in a brotherly embrace.
No explanation was needed by either. Karl, after passing round the lake by the other side, had strayed by chance in the direction of the glade. On nearing it, he had heard the barking of a kakur – not dreaming that it was Caspar acting as a decoy. He had answered the signal; and finding that the kakur still kept its place, he had advanced toward the opening with the intention of stalking it. On getting nearer he had ceased to utter the call, under the belief that he should find the deer out in the open ground. Just as he arrived by its edge, Caspar was mimicking the kakur in such an admirable manner, and so energetically, that Karl could neither fail to be deceived as to the character of the animal, nor remain ignorant of its position. The darkish disc visible behind the evergreen leaves could be no other than the body of the deer; and Karl was just about cocking his rifle, to bore it with a bullet, when the click of Caspar’s double-barrel sounding ominously in his ear, fortunately conducted to a far different dénouement than that fatal finale which was so near having occurred.
Chapter Thirty One
The signal of the Shikaree.
As if sent to cheer and distract their minds from the feeling of dread awe which still held possession of them, just then the shrill whistle of Ossaroo came pealing across the lake, reverberating in echoes from the cliff toward which he had gone. Shortly after the signal sounded again in a slightly different direction – showing that the shikaree had succeeded in bagging his game, and was returning towards the hut.
On hearing the signal, Karl and Caspar regarded each other with glances of peculiar significance.
“So, brother,” said Caspar, smiling oddly as he spoke, “you see Ossaroo with his despised bow and arrows has beaten us both. What, if either of us had beaten him?”
“Or,” replied Karl, “what if we had both beaten him? Ah! brother Caspar,” added he, shuddering as he spoke, “how near we were to making an end of each other! It’s fearful to think of it!”
“Let us think no more of it then,” rejoined Caspar; “but go home at once and see what sort of a breakfast Ossy has procured for us. I wonder whether it be flesh or fowl.”
“One or the other, no doubt,” he continued, after a short pause. “Fowl, I fancy: for as I came round the lake I heard some oddish screaming in the direction of the cliff yonder, which was that taken by Ossaroo. It appeared to proceed from the throat of some bird; yet such I think I have never heard before.”
“But I have,” replied Karl; “I heard it also. I fancy I know the bird that made those wild notes: and if it be one of them the shikaree has shot, we shall have a breakfast fit for a prince, and of a kind Lucullus delighted to indulge in. But let us obey the signal of our shikaree, and see whether we’re in such good luck.”
They had already regained possession of their guns. Shouldering them, they started forth from the glade – so near being the scene of a tragical event – and, turning the end of the lake, walked briskly back in the direction of the hut.
On coming within view of it, they descried the shikaree sitting upon a stone, just by the doorway; and lying across his knee, a most beautiful bird – by far the most beautiful that either flies in the air, swims in the water, or walks upon the earth – the peacock. Not the half turkey-shaped creature that struts around the farmyard – though he is even more beautiful than any other bird – but the wild peacock of the Ind – of shape slender and elegant – of plumage resplendent as the most priceless of gems – and, what was then of more consequence to our adventurers, of flesh delicate and savoury as the choicest of game. This last was evidently the quality of the peacock most admired by Ossaroo. The elegant shape he had already destroyed; the resplendent plumes he was plucking out and casting to the winds, as though they had been common feathers; and his whole action betokened that he had no more regard for those grand tail feathers and that gorgeous purple corselet, than if it had been a goose, or an old turkey-cock that lay stretched across his knee.
Without saying a word, when the others came up, there was that in Ossaroo’s look – as he glanced furtively towards the young sahibs, and saw that both were empty-handed – that betrayed a certain degree of pride – just enough to show that he was enjoying a triumph. To know that he was the only one who had made a coup, it was not necessary for him to look up. Had either succeeded in killing game, or even in finding it, he must have heard the report of a gun, and none such on that morning had awakened the echoes of the valley. Ossaroo, therefore, knew that a brace of empty game-bags were all that were brought back.
Unlike the young sahibs, he had no particular adventure to relate. His “stalk” had been a very quiet one – ending, as most quiet stalks do, in the death of the animal stalked. He had heard the old peacock screeching on the top of a tall tree; he had stolen up within bow range, sent an arrow through his glittering gorget, and brought him tumbling to the ground. He had then laid his vulgar hands upon the beautiful bird, grasping it by the legs, and carrying it with draggling wings – just as if it had been a common dunghill fowl he was taking to the market of Calcutta.
Karl and Caspar did not choose to waste time in telling the shikaree how near they had been to leaving him the sole and undisputed possessor of that detached dwelling and the grounds belonging to it. Hunger prompted them to defer the relation to a future time; and also to lend a hand in the culinary operations already initiated by Ossaroo. By their aid, therefore, a fire was set ablaze; and the peacock, not very cleanly plucked, was soon roasting in the flames – Fritz having already made short work with the giblets.
