CHAPTER IX.
Finds the Red Moccasins Whole-souled Friends in Need.
"Are we not beautiful things for the feet, Sprigg? Oh, but we are! You can't deny it! On with us, then, and away to grandpap's house! Who said we couldn't take Sprigg to grandpap's house? Who said we couldn't take Sprigg to young Ben Logan's house? Who said we couldn't take Sprigg to pretty little Bertha's house? If Will-o'-the-Wisp said so, he lied! He lied, too, if he said our Sprigg was not a brave boy! He-he-he!"
The boy knew well enough, for he heard it distinctly enough this time, that the voice did not come from his own heart, nor yet from the moccasins, but from a point in the air, about as high up from the ground as his own mouth, as if he who spoke were standing in the moccasins, face to face with him, though not even so much as a shade of a shadow could he see.
"An elf! An elf is in the moccasins!" cried the boy, and tearing his feet from the ground, where he had stood as rooted, fled for his life, the moccasins following right at his heels and mockingly keeping step for step with him, till down in a swoon he sank at the foot of an old oak tree. How long he lay thus he never knew, but when he recovered his senses, there before him were the red moccasins, side by side, the toe of the left one turned slightly outward, as if he who stood in them were taking it quite at his ease. A self-assured air, well suiting the self-assured voice, which, in tones quite new and strange, pronounced these words, with an emphatic pause at the end of each brief sentence:
"You may run to the green earth's end, my boy! To the sea, where the bright sun soon shall set! To the sea, where the pale moon soon shall rise! But, step for step, come we at your heels, though borne you be on the wings of the wind!"
The poor boy cowered down at the foot of the old oak, and burying his face in his coonskin cap, remained for a long time mum and motionless. With the red moccasins, which, in a pet of disappointment and wounded self-love, he had flung from him, had departed the marvelous stoutness of heart and strength of limb he had felt while his feet were in them. And now, all weak and spiritless, was he left to shift for himself, with such resources only as a bare-footed boy, alone in the midst of a vast wilderness, might be supposed to have at his command. Sitting thus, he began gradually taking in some idea of the sad condition to which he had brought himself by his vanity and disobedience, though his remorse for the wrong of the thing, and for the sorrow it must occasion the dear ones at home, was by no means as lively and decided as his regret for the unpleasant consequences thereof to his own particular self. There he was—he knew not how far away from home, sweet home!—all alone in that wild and solitary spot, and the darksome, dismal, terrible night soon to come creeping, creeping over his houseless head. There he was, and no dear mam—so loving, so cheerful—to give him his bowl of bread and milk! No dear pap—so kind, so merry—to tell him wild stories of Indians and Will-o'-the-Wisp and Nick of the Woods! Yes, and no good, old Pow-wow, brave old Pow-wow, to come trotting up to him, in the dear old wag-tail way, to thrust his shaggy head into his little master's hand for a pat or a hug! It was too much for the poor, young runaway's heart, and out came a passionate burst of tender home-sick feeling, though he did it as well as he could, smothering it up in his coonskin cap. But soon again, bethinking him how he had been mocked and fooled by the imp in the moccasins, he summoned back the pride of his young heart and the strength of his young will, and checked his tears, lest his weakness of feeling, like his vanity, should be made the provocation of derision. In this condition he sat for many moments, quite motionless, saving when the sobs, which needs must follow his tears, came heaving up from his breast and shook his crouching little figure. Yet he did but sulk as one who, while glum with all the world besides, is far from being at peace with his own heart. His tear-wet face he still kept buried in his cap, not daring to remove it from his eyes, lest they should encounter those of the thing who stood in the moccasins, whom he felt to be watching him all this time from up there in the clear, unshadowed air. At the end of less than half an hour he was roused from his unquiet thoughts by the sound of a slow, heavy tramp, at no great distance off, followed immediately by a slight stir in the leaves and grass near-by, which caused him to start; and, before he was aware, he had dropped the cap from over his eyes. The moccasins had turned quite 'round, with their toes another way, as if the ear of him who stood in them had been caught by the same sound, and he would inform himself of the cause. Sprigg looked in the direction thus indicated, when an object met his gaze, which caused his eyes to grow big and round, then stand fixed in their sockets.
What the boy and the thing in the moccasins saw there was a bison bull—and a huge beast he was. That bull of the wilderness, and of as wild and savage an aspect, too, as you would care to behold, even within the secure enclosure of a menagerie. His hair was long and curled, and of dun or tawny color. A hump he had on his shoulders, which gave his neck a downward slope to the head, and his back a downward slope to the tail—his tail, but a short brush of a thing, scarcely reaching to his hocks. Horns, he had, too—black horns, long and strong, and tapering to a sharper point than is the case with horned cattle, generally speaking. But the feature to which the monster chiefly owed his singular wildness of appearance was his mane, which, in shaggy luxuriance, flowed from neck, shoulders and breast, covering the legs to the knees, and veiling the face almost to the very nose.
Now, had he seen all this in the yard at home, himself stationed on the porch, with pap on one side, Black Bess in hand, ready to shoot; Pow-wow on the other, ready to spring at the first intimation of hostile design on the part of his bullship, our hero would have clapped his hands and pronounced it a grander sight than any the old show bill could boast, always excepting, of course, the Indian boy and Shetland pony. But there, in that desolate spot, with not a living soul a-near, unless, indeed, the thing in moccasins might have a soul, a bison bull were hardly the object to awaken pleasant wonderment and lively admiration in the mind of a lost boy, who, against a pair of long, sharp horns, could oppose no weapon but a jack-knife, no shield but a coonskin cap.
When the boy first caught sight of him, the bull was already within easy viewing distance, and was soon so near that, in his turn, he could not fail to catch sight of the boy, where he still sat crouched at the foot of the tree. This was plainly to be seen, by the way the monster stopped short, turned square 'round, and lowered his huge, black front to stare at the little stranger. Bright eyes, wild eyes, Sprigg now saw a bison's eyes to be.
The fringe of mane, which veiled the face, obstructing his vision, caused the animal, when he stared at you, to roll his eyeballs downward till their colored circles were half hid by their lower lids, thus leaving the upper whites exposed to view in the form of a new moon, with the points downward. To be squinted at with the side whites of the eyes, to a naughty boy like Sprigg is anything else but pleasant; but to be stared at with the upper whites of the eyes, as the bison bull was now staring at Sprigg, were enough to make you feel as if you had a wide-awake nightmare in broad daylight.
Evidently his bullship was greatly surprised to find so small a boy, at so late an hour, in that out-of-the-way place, without even so much as a dog and gun to show for the business which had brought him thither. Then, as if feeling that he had a right to investigate the matter, the bison, with short, slow, soft steps, began shortening the distance between himself and the object of his curiosity. Closer and closer he came, still with his huge, black front lowered, and his crescent-like eyes gleaming wildly out from the depths of his overshadowing mane, with a look as if he were saying within himself: "And what wee thing is this, up here in my bluegrass pasture?"
Sprigg could not draw his eyes from those of the beast; nor had he the power to rise and flee from the spot, though it was well that he had not the power to run, as in that event the bull might have been tempted to give him chase, as things with horns are apt to do when we are trying our best to get out of their way. Overtaking him, the bull would have run his long, sharp horns directly under the young fugitive's arms, and, giving him a toss high up in the air, let him drop down a-straddle of his back, just behind the hump, for a pleasant evening ride. Understand me, now—I am not positive in saying that this is precisely what the bison would have done had our hero taken to his heels. Though the thing may have happened once or twice since time began, I have never heard of a runaway boy being chased by a bison bull; and, therefore, can only guess how such a beast would deport himself under the circumstances. But I am rather inclined to think he would hardly do anything more dreadful than play the savage antic just suggested; because, a moment's reflection would show him that to use his horns to a greater length, were to frighten the young runaway out of his wits, and thereby incapacitate him from being made to see and feel the error of his way. Though, I must confess that, for my own part, I should not be willing to trust the savage fellow a single horn's length until I had subjected him to a certain old-fashioned test—I would first take care to see how far I could fling the bull by the tail, and make the result the measure of my confidence in his good intentions.
Step by step, still came the monster slowly on, and now was come so near that the boy could feel his moist breath warming the air around him. Another step, and their noses had been all but within touching distance of each other. But just at that moment—just as the cry of pap! pap! rang affrightedly out on the still evening air—the red moccasins, which, up to this time, had remained perfectly quiet, seemed to be seized all on a sudden with an animated interest in what was passing. With a hop, step and jump, they were, in a twinkling, right at the bull's nose and pouring upon it a shower of kicks, so rapid and stunning that the beast, huge and powerful as he was, staggered backward several paces, with a look of utter bewilderment. Nor did the pertinacious little stunners let him off till they had forced him back to the very brink of the steep; when, with a roar of fright and pain which shook the lonely wilds, the monster wheeled about, and making a blind leap, vanished over the precipice. This done, the red moccasins quietly retraced their steps, and, with the same air of easy self-assurance, adjusted themselves before the boy, who, not so fearful now as sullen, buried his face once more in his coonskin cap; and never a word of thanks to them, nor to any one else, that Sprigg was in the land of the living.