Cowboy Short Stories, November 1939 — page 49: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

50 COWBOY SHORT STORIES alone were completely aware of the unfold- ing drama—the unapprised Swede, home- bound, ignorant of the swift silent plunging doom that was overtaking him; the wolves, with lolling tongues, dropping spittle of anticipation along the trail, loping speedily after their prey, meat, to appease the gnaw of hunger in gaunt bellies; and two Chipe- wayans, following up the wind on the tracks of the hunger-mad wolves. Unconsctously Okatotan increased his pace. And his mind, darting back and forth from pursued to pursuer, came to rest on the pursuers—the wolves. They were his natural enemies. From boyhood he had fought their depredations along his trap- line, and their slaughter of moose and deer and caribou, the meat animals of him and his people. And the picture in his mind’s eye of eight grey phantom shapes loping along that winter trail after prey dimmed the picture of the Sliding-One. In the new perspective of those tense moments, Oka- totan forgot the Swede as the incarnation of his troubles, and saw him only as the prey of his hereditary enemy, the wolves, Okatotan’s long mechanical strides in- creased as he flung himself along the trail. He must overtake and kill the wolves. That was his quest. It was now incidental that the wolves were chasing the detested Swede. Some vague deep-seated instinct demanded that he, Okatotan, thwart the wolves, the age-old enemies of the Indian. On this fantastic chase, Okatotan came to the brow of a hill, and saw over the treetops the white expanse of Pine Bay spread a quarter of a mile below him. There were no tell-tale dots on the ice to betray the Sliding-One and the wolves. They must be just ahead! Okatotan dashed down the slope with reckless haste. The snow flew from the ends of his snowshoes as he ran. He flipped back the hood of his parka with a jerk of his head, and his breath streamed behind him in frozen white clouds. He had cov- ered half the distance to the shore of the Bay when the crack of rifle shots in quick succession came to him. | Although he could not see because of the thick fringe of trees between him and the Bay, Okatotan knew what they meant! The Swede was on the ice and he had dis- covered the wolves on his trail! Okatotan fired a shot into the air without breaking his stride. : Then he suddenly burst through the last of the trees and was at the edge of the lake. And he was the sole witness of the tragedy. Several hundred yards out on the ice, the wolves had at last overtaken the Sliding-One. There he stood, the muzzle of his rifle in his hands, whirling it about him in a vain effort to beat off the pack. One wolf lay in the snow. And before Okato- tan, shaking with violent breathing and ex- citement, could adjust his sights, the Swede fell under the onrush of the beasts. Okatotan shouted to attract the wolves, kneeled, squinted along his rifle barrel, and threw shot after shot as close to the strug- gling melee as he dared. A wolf circling the edge of the fight howled and leapt high into the air. It drew the pack’s attention, and they left their prey and loped in an oblique line swiftly towards the shore. KATOTAN ran to the Swede lying on the ice. He turned him over. One glance at the bearded face was enough. The red patch of snow by his throat grew larger and redder. Okatotan suddenly felt weak, and sweat streamed down his face. He lifted his eyes from the huddled figure in the snow to the trail he had run down. Maskepeton and the dogs were emerging from the bush. They sped across the ice. “Yes,” nodded Okatotan, ‘‘he is dead.” “Kuh! grunted Maskepeton, throatily, and a His eyes took in the scene. The two dead wolves interested him most. He caught one by the tail and lifted it up. The forequarters lay limp upon the ice. “Truly they are big,” he commented. “I tried to kill the wolves,” muttered Okatotan. He was reliving that minute. “Kuh?” Maskepeton’s eyes widened. He looked at the Swede. ‘Why didn’t he shoot them? Look, he must have seen them soon enough. He got his sliding-things off.” Okatotan noticed for the first time that the Swede had slipped out of the skiis. “And look,’ added Maskepeton, ‘‘see where he kneeled to shoot.” _He pointed to the unmistakable impres- sion of a corduroy knee a few paces to- wards the shore from the scuffle. “But he missed all of them and he shot several times’; Okatotan picked up the Swede’s rifle. It still held two shells. “It is truly wonderful!’ Okatotan cried. “Look at the sights! They are set for 900 yards. He forgot to change them after shooting at us!” ‘Kuh!’ Maskepeton grunted deeply, in an abrupt explosive breath of finality. GOMIGIOO S (C@