HANS BUNGSLAGER.
I have spoken of the feeling, or rather conviction, that came over
Hans Bungslager that some one or some thing was following him. This
conviction became more settled, and when he dismounted on the edge of
the clearing not a particle of doubt remained.
He walked forward where Katrina and Crockett were standing, and
referred to the annoyance, and then something else coming into his
head, he forgot all about it.
Walking back where his horse was standing, he was about to elevate
himself to his seat, when he heard a pattering upon the leaves, and
looking down the path, saw what appeared to be a huge bear cavorting
about fifty rods distant.
"Doonder and blitzen! I dinks dat vos you!" he muttered, the instant he
saw the creature, "and I gets you now!"
Rifle in hand, he started on a heavy run, determined to give the
audacious brute his _quietus_ for his attempts to disturb him.
The bear seemed to take fright at his coming, and danced further away.
Several times the Hollander raised his gun, but ere he could make his
aim sure, the creature managed to get a tree between him and his foe,
who lowered his piece, and, with an exclamation of impatience, hurried
forward to get a better position.
This game at bo-peep continued for a long time, and Hans Bungslager
was drawn much further away from his friends than he supposed. He was
determined to shoot the intruder when he started, and the oftener he
was baffled the more determined did he become.
Once he had the aim exactly, and pulled the trigger with such vigor
that he came nigh breaking it, but found he had not raised the hammer,
and when he lowered his piece to rectify the error, and raised it
again, the aim was lost.
"Dat ish bad as never vas!" growled the angered Dutchman, as he panted
forward again, rapidly gaining on the creature.
By and by he was sure of a chance; he saw the bear sitting on his
haunches near the path, and resting his rifle on the crotch of a dead
limb, he took deliberate aim at the body of the brute.
His dumpy finger was pressing the trigger again, when he discovered
that he was aiming at a stump, and the bear was tumbling along a
hundred feet in advance.
"Doonderation!" gasped Hans Bungslager, almost dropping his gun in
amazement, "dat bear must have shpit dat stump up ag'in."
Nothing daunted, however, he resumed his pursuit, and was gaining quite
rapidly on the creature, when he saw something that alarmed him.
In hurrying along the path it was frequently only barely discernible,
and then when reaching a place where the moonlight streamed down upon
it, it could be distinguished with great distinctness.
On one of these occasions Hans saw the bear run on its hind feet in
a style such as no bear in the world could be trained to do, and in
just such a posture as a man would take who was tired of running in a
stooping position on his hands and knees.
The conclusion was inevitable; he was chasing an Indian disguised as a
black bear.
"Doonder and blitzen!" muttered Bungslager, as a cold chill of terror
ran through him at the discovery, "dat ish--dat ish--_fooney_!"
Obtuse and reckless as he was at times, the Hollander had brains enough
to perceive the deadly peril into which he had run. The Comanche
had adopted this artifice to draw him away from his friends, and to
encompass his destruction.
He was in a quandary as to what he should do.
If he kept on his pursuit, one result was inevitable, and if he turned
to retreat, following the path back again, the cunning red-skin would
know that his stratagem had been detected, and he in turn would become
pursuer and assailant.
Hans was never a good shot with a rifle, and he was pretty certain
that this bear was protected in some such a way that he could not be
injured by any rifle however well aimed, so he gave over all thought of
injuring the savage by means of his gun.
He could see only one thing that offered any hope, and that was to
give the Indian the slip. He was now quite a distance ahead, and still
seeking to allure him on. They were entering a part of the wood that
looked quite dense and dark, and here Hans resolved to make the effort
to get out of an exceedingly bad scrape.
So he followed along, trotting in his elephantine style, and to carry
out the illusion, he called out:
"Hold on, you pig coward bears; I got you now, and I shoots you sure,
in one minnit."
The bear, somewhat alarmed, trotted so rapidly ahead that it was nearly
lost to view in the darkness.
Now was his time.
Dropping as suddenly as if he was shot, he crawled on all fours, as
rapidly as his bulky form would admit, until he had gone something like
a hundred feet, when, panting and tired, he paused and listened.
The darkness around him was too great for him to see any thing of the
"bear," but the sound of a faint, muffled whoop told him that he had
been none too soon in his movement, and his foe was signaling to some
confederate, and they were both endeavoring to remedy the slip upon
their part.
"Yaw; lets 'em look!" chuckled Hans. "I dinks dey won't find me purty
soon as never vos."
Waiting until he was thoroughly rested and could hear no more, he arose
to his feet, and resumed his flight, taking good care to continue on in
the direction upon which he had started, and going further and further
away from the dangerous vicinity of his enemy, who had shown so much
ingenuity in endeavoring to draw him on to his own destruction.
So far as he could do so, Hans Bungslager advanced without making any
noise, for he knew how sharp the sense of hearing was upon the part of
the Indians. He plodded along in this manner, for the better part of an
hour, when his further progress was checked by his coming upon the bank
of the creek, to which I have made frequent reference.
Here he paused in a quandary.
"I dink I kin wades across dat," he mused, as he surveyed the calmly
flowing stream, "and den I gits on de oder side, and den I dinks I
ought to be on dis side, so I won't stay here nor goes to de oder side."
This perhaps was a sage conclusion, but rather difficult of
fulfillment. Very naturally he felt safer upon the other bank of the
creek, further away from the plotting Indians: but he was well aware
that the stream was quite deep in some places.
He stood undecided some minutes, and then the point was settled by
hearing the report of a gun at no great distance behind him.
"Doonder!" he exclaimed with a start, "mebbe dey shoots dat at me! I
dink I leaf!"
Anxious as he was to advance, and warm as was the summer night, he
preferred to reach the other shore in dry clothes; so he sat down upon
the bank and carefully removed his shoes and pants, and tying them into
a bundle, slung them over the barrel of his rifle, which rested over
his shoulder, and then ventured into the stream.
"Dish ish nice," he murmured, as the cool water crept up about his
bulky calves, "dish ain't deep."
Step by step he felt his way along, until he had reached the center of
the stream, where the water was not more than eighteen inches.
"Dish ish bettrish goot," he continued, "dish ish de way to cross de
brooks. I dinks dat I alway does--"
Despite his care, at this juncture he went into a hole, up to his neck.
As he sunk down, he gasped:
"Oo--oo!"
At the same time, he threw up both arms with such an involuntary
suddenness that the bundle dropped from his gun and began floating away
from him.
"Doonder and blitzen!" he exclaimed, as he plunged after it, still
grasping his gun, with a vice-like grip.
He managed to secure the bundle just as it was sinking, but it was only
a partial success. The indispensables remained in his hands, but the
shoes, with the carefully knit stockings wadded in them, vanished from
his view.
He groped around in the water some time for them, but they were not
to be found, and not a little disappointed, he made his way to land,
narrowly escaping a total submerge ere he succeeded.
He concluded that this way of crossing was not without its
disadvantages, and he was not clear in his mind that he could recommend
its adoption to his friends.
But, Hans was a sort of philosopher, and donning his pants, put himself
in the best condition possible.
At this juncture it occurred to him that perhaps Katrina would be
somewhat concerned at his absence, and he regretted that he had not
made known his intention before he started in pursuit of his bear.
He debated the matter awhile, but saw no practical way of remedying the
matter, and resolved to give it no further attention.
Child-like, he still felt the desire to keep moving, under the
impression that he was getting further and further away from his peril.
He had not accomplished any considerable distance, when he found that
he was unequal to the task of what would have been but sport in his
boyhood. He was not walking upon a carpet, nor anything like it. In the
darkness he could not pick his way, and the part of prudence was for
him to stop.
"I dinks I takes a nap, and shtarts when de morning comes to-morrow,"
he murmured, as he selected a suitable spot and stretched himself upon
the ground, where, for the present, I leave him sleeping the sleep of
innocence and health.