Dusty Star

by Olaf Baker

With Goshmeele the case was different. She did not content herself with merely looking. She told him very plainly that he was a fool to go. Even if grubs were scarce, she said, there were fat frogs by the stream borders, and the berries were not yet over, if you were energetic enough to search for them, and knew where to look. Dusty Star explained that it was not a question of food, but of feeling. To which Goshmeelee replied that food was feeling, and that a stomach without plenty of berries in it was a feeling that could keep you from going to sleep. She either couldn't or wouldn't understand that there was such a thing as duty. But she did understand that what Dusty Star had in his mind meant a deal of exercise; and that a lot of walking walked the meat clean off your bones. "Stay here and get fat," was her unalterable opinion as to the best thing to do. And when she found that Dusty Star was obstinate, she growled at him in affectionate remonstrance, and let him dig his hands into the deep places of her fur. And the good healthy smell of her warm bearishness tickled his nose, and made him feel at home, and inclined to keep hidden in Carboona from all the worry and tongue-wagging of the stormy Indian world.

But then the memory of Lone Chief, and of the strong things he had said, came to him, and teased his brain even more than the smell of Goshmeelee tickled his nose.

So, without any more argument with her, he got up, and ran away quickly till he was hidden among the trees. And after he was gone, Goshmeelee watched the way he had disappeared, and then began solemnly to lick the places where he had disarranged her fur.

After leaving her, Dusty Star did not return to camp. Once he had started to say good-bye, meant with him that the departure had already begun. There was no need to go back for Kiopo. Before leaving he had made the wolf clearly understand that they were going upon a long journey; also, that although he expected him to remain near at hand, he did not wish him to be too close while he paid his good-bye visits to the foxes and the bear. And Kiopo did what was expected of him, and kept discreetly out of sight.

So now, Dusty Star went on swiftly through the forest, not in the least doubting that, although Kiopo was out of sight, he was within earshot in case of need, and that the great pads of his feet carried him softly along the trail.

When the last glimmer of twilight departed, Dusty Star camped for the night. The camping was very simple. It only meant finding a sheltered place among the tree-roots, eating some of the food he had brought with him, and settling himself for sleep. And as he settled down, he felt rather than saw the big wolf-shape that stole softly into camp and lay down within reach of his arm.

In spite of their journey having begun, the travellers lay still within the edges of Carboona—the strange and lonely land. Voices out of Carboona travelled to them darkly, at long intervals, like voices of departing and farewell. There was the far-off bark of a fox, signalling to its mate; or the dreary hooting of an owl. But Dusty Star slept soundly, and if the voices reached him, it was only in his dreams. Once only he woke, and that was not because of a sound, but of a touch. A cold nose touched his cheek. Instantly he was wide-awake, thinking it was Kiopo warning him of some danger. But the wolf was sleeping where he had lain down, and had not stirred. Dusty Star waited expectantly. But though he kept absolutely still, his mysterious visitor made no other sign. Once only a twig cracked faintly under the pressure of a stealthy foot; but the darkness was too dense for Dusty Star to detect the secret movement of the black robe with the silver tips, as it drifted softly away. But long, long afterwards, when countless moons had come and gone, Dusty Star, remembering, was sure that it was Baltook who had brought his cold nose to him as a token of farewell.

The morning song of little Kilooleet, the white-throated sparrow, was already trickling through the maple leaves, when the travellers started again upon their way. As on their first coming into the region, so now, at their departing, the small grey people in the underground doorways watched the great shapes furtively, and made disturbed noises at each other after they were gone. And in the little damp corridors, where the darkness was twisty because of many roots, the tiny feet pattered nervously, and the tiny whiskers twitched.

From the summit of a bare-topped hill, up which they had been mounting slowly from the lower forest levels, Dusty Star paused for the first time to look back. There, in the distance, with the morning mists lying in white streaks along its sides, rose the great heights of Carboona against the autumn sky. Would he ever see it again—or was he gazing at its shining peaks and precipices for the last time? A dim fear of the unknown crept into him—of the unseen things that lay in wait behind him in the world. And Carboona had become, in a strange manner, his home—his wolf-home, where, with Kiopo, he had learned those forgotten secrets which are the medicine of the wolves. And now they were looking at it together perhaps for the last time! As he turned away, to continue his journey, his eyes were troubled as if they were seeking an unfamiliar trail.

Between the forest and the prairies lay a tract of broken country full of ravines and rocky hills. It was a barren, treeless region, where the water-courses dried up in the summer, or shrank to muddy pools. With the exception of a few rabbits and prairie dogs, game was scarce. Now and then a wolf or coyote would wander across its barren buttes, scenting the hungry air; but usually retreating with stomachs as light as when they entered it. During the greater part of the year, the larger animals gave it a wide berth. Indians avoided it also. They called it the Bad Lands. But in spite of its reputation among the human kind, the beasts had their uses for it at certain times of the year. It had seen many a fierce battle when the wolves and coyotes followed the mating call. The Wild Kin made their marriages there, but mostly settled their breeding haunts far enough away. It was not a good place to be born in. But animals hunted to the death, or those whose limbs were stiffened with old age, knew in some mysterious way that they could crawl there to die.