Having exhausted the last twig, I saw that I must do something to rid myself of my foes. Seizing a burning branch, the end of which remained unconsumed, I waved it round and round in the faces of the wolves, shouting at the same time at the top of my voice. It had the effect I wished; for, a panic seizing them, away they all scampered, leaving me once more alone. I lost no time in springing over the fire and collecting a sufficient quantity of wood to enable me to keep it blazing till the morning.
The wolves did not return; and at dawn, having cut some more slices from one of the wolves which I had drawn inside the circle, I set off, with my face to the northward, hoping almost against hope that I might fall in with some of my late companions, or that I might find the means of supporting existence till I could strike the trail of old Samson and my other friends,—or the emigrant-train, should they have got so far south. Happily I saw no more of the wolves, and by keeping along the bank of the river, which here ran north and south, I avoided the district ravaged by the fire. Through not falling in with any of the Spaniards, I began to fear that they must have perished.
The first day I fortunately shot a beaver; and having cooked it, I made a hearty meal—stowing away the rest in my wallet. That night I slept up among the branches of a tree, which were so placed that I had no fear of falling down; and next morning, greatly refreshed, I pushed forward on my solitary journey.
Chapter Twelve.
I find poor Pablo, and assist him—Roasted squirrel—Pablo’s reason for desiring to join the English—We stalk a buffalo—Pablo’s terror at the approach of Indians—My surprise at being welcomed by Manilick—Mike’s joy at seeing me alive—We again start in the direction of the waggon-train—Old Samson, Reuben, and Sandy nearly roasted alive by the Apaches—Quambo’s care of “de fiddle”—Lily’s relationship to Old Samson—Kepenau and Manilick—Conclusion.
I had been trudging on for some hours, directing my course by the sun, which shone brightly from an unclouded sky, when, feeling weary, I sat down to rest under the shade of a tree not far from the river’s brink. Scarcely had I stretched out my legs, when I heard a voice, in a tone of suffering, calling to me; and going in the direction from whence it proceeded, what was my surprise to see, among the branches of a tree, my late companion Pablo!
“Misericordia, Señor Roger!” he cried out. “I am starving, and too weak to get down of myself.”
I climbed up and gave him some of the beaver-flesh, which soon revived him. He told me how he had been frightened up the tree by the wolves, and that, having lost his gun and his flint, he had no means of defending himself, or of lighting a fire, and should certainly have perished had I not come to his aid. Having assisted him down, I led him towards the river, where he quenched his thirst.