SHASTA COMES VERY NEAR BEING EATEN BY A BEAR
The weeks and the months went by. Only Shasta did not know anything
about time, and if the months ticked themselves off into years, he
took no account of them. Each month he became more and more
wolf-like, and less and less like a human child. And because he wore
no clothes, hair began to grow over his naked body, so that soon
there was a soft brown silky covering all over him, and the hair of
his head fell upon his shoulders like a mane. And as he grew older
much knowledge came to him, which is hidden from human folk, or which
perhaps they have forgotten in their building of the world. He
learnt not only how to see things very far off, and clearly, as if
they were near, but he learnt also to bring them close by smelling,
to know what manner of meat they were. And if his nose or his eyes
brought him no message, then his ears gave him warning, and he caught
the footsteps that creep stealthily along the edges of the night.
And he learnt the difference between the three hunting calls of the
wolf: the howl that is long and deep, and which dies among the
spruces, or is echoed dismally among the lonely crags; the high and
ringing voice of the united pack, on a burning scent; and that last
terrible bark that is half a howl, when the killing is at hand.
Yet it was not only of the wolves that Shasta learnt the speech of
the Wild. He knew the things the bears rumbled to each other as they
went pad-padding on enormous feet. Of the black bears he had no
fear, but for the grizzlies he had a feeling that warned him it was
wiser to keep out of their way. The feeling was not there in the
beginning, but it grew after a thing that happened one
never-to-be-forgotten day.
He had been sleeping in the cave during the hot hours, and woke up as
the light began to yellow in the waning of the afternoon. He
stretched his little hairy arms and legs with a great feeling of rest
and of happiness. He felt so well and strong in every part of him
that the joyful life inside him seemed bubbling up and spilling over.
He was alone in the cave, for his wolf-brothers were now grown up and
were gone out into the world. Sometimes, at sundown or dawn, he
heard them sing the strange wolf-song--the song that is as old as the
world itself--or a familiar scent would drift to him, as he sat in
the entrance of the cave, and he would know it for the sweet good
smell of some wolf-brother as he passed across the world. And
sometimes Shasta would lift his child's voice into that wild,
unearthly wolf-song that is so very old.
This afternoon, something seemed to call Shasta to go out into the
sun. Nitka had made him understand that it was not safe for him to
go far from the cave when she was away. Now she was out hunting, and
Shoomoo was off on one of his mysterious journeys, nobody knew where,
so there was all the more need for Shasta to stay close at home.
Shasta did not see why he should remain in the dull den all the time
that his foster-parents were away. Besides, were not his
wolf-brothers all far out in the world? Perhaps he might fall in
with one of them, and sniff noses together for the sake of old times.
He determined to go out and try.
As he passed out, he heard the Blue Jays scolding in the trees.
Now there is a rule which all wise forest folk observe. It is this:
When the Blue Jay scolds, look out!
Sometimes, of course, the Blue Jays simply scold at each other,
because somebody has taken somebody else's grub, or just because they
have a falling-out for fun; but the wise wild folk pay no attention
to this, knowing it to be what it is. And when the Blue Jays scold
in a peculiar manner, then the wise ones now that there is danger
afoot, and that you must keep a sharp look out.
Now, although Shasta was so young, he was quite old enough to
understand the difference in the sounds. Unfortunately, this
afternoon he was in a mad mood, and he just didn't care! He saw the
autumn sun bright on the rocks at the den's mouth; he saw the glimmer
of the blue over the tall tops of the pines. High above the canyon,
a dark blob circled slowly against the sky. Far off though it was,
Shasta saw that it was Kennebec, the great eagle, who was lord of all
the eagles between the mountains and the sea. Shasta watched him for
a little while making wide circles on his mighty sweep of wing. Then
he ran up the mountainside, and, as he ran, the Blue Jays scolded
more and more.
If Shasta had not been in so mad a mood, he would have known by the
chatter of the Jays that the danger was coming up-hill. Also, if he
himself had not been running down-wind, he would have smelt what the
danger was creeping up behind. But the something that had seemed to
call him in the cave was calling to him now from the high rocks. So
on he climbed, careless of what might be going on below. He climbed
higher and higher. Close by one of the big rocks a birch-tree hung
itself out into the air. When he reached it he stopped to look back.
Down at the edge of the forest he saw a thing that made him shiver.
From between the shadowy trunks of the pine-trees, the shape of a
huge Grizzly swung out into the sun. It came on steadily up the
mountain, its nose well into the wind. Shasta knew that he himself
was doing the fatal thing; he was spilling himself into the wind, and
even now the Grizzly was eating him through his nose!
By this time Shasta was very frightened. He looked this way and
that, to see how to escape. He knew that he could not get back to
the cave in time, for it lay close to the Grizzly's upward path, and
already the bear was half-way there. The moving of his great limbs
sent all his fur robe into ripples that were silver in the sun. He
was coming at a steady pace. And, if he wanted to quicken it, Shasta
knew with what a terrible quickness those furry limbs could move. As
for himself, his wolf-training had taught him to run very swiftly,
but he ran in a stooping way, using his hands as well as his feet.
Only he doubted whether his swiftness could save him from the Grizzly
over the broken ground. And far away over the canyon Kennebec swept
his vast circles as calmly as though nothing was happening, because
all went so very well in the blue lagoons of the air. Nothing was
happening up there; but here upon the Bargloosh everything was
happening, and poor little Shasta felt that everything was happening
wrong.
In his terrible fear Shasta started to run up the mountain. As he
ran, he looked back. He saw to his horror that the Grizzly had seen
him and had also started to run. Up the rocky slopes came the
terrible pad-pad of those cruel paws. And Shasta knew well that the
paws had teeth in them; many cruel teeth to each paw. And still
Shasta went darting upward, running swiftly like a mountain-fox.
As he ran, a thought came into his head. If he could circle down the
mountain, he might hide behind the rocks till the Grizzly had passed,
and so reach the cave in time. For he had the sense to know that
although a Grizzly is more than a match for wolves in the open, it
thinks many times before it will attack them in their den.
Again Shasta looked back. He saw that the Grizzly was gaining upon
him. He turned swiftly among the boulders to the left, dodging as he
went so as to be out of sight of his enemy. The longer he could keep
up the flight the more chance there was that either Nitka or Shoomoo
might return. He ran on wildly, the terror in him, like the Grizzly
behind, gaining ground.
He saw the long mountainside stretching out far and far before him to
the northwest. He looked eagerly to see if any grey shadows should
be moving eastwards along it--the long, gliding shadows that would be
his wolf-parents coming home. But nothing broke the lines of grey
boulders that lay so still along the slopes. All the great mountains
seemed dead or asleep. Nothing living moved. Shasta ran on and on,
looking fearfully backwards now and then, and expecting every moment
to see the form of the great Grizzly come bounding over the rocks.
Far below him in the timber he heard the screaming of the Jays.
There was a fresh tone in the cry. Before, it had been a scolding of
the bear: now it was a cry to Shasta:
"Run, little brother, run!"
It did not need the crying of the Blue Jays to make Shasta run. He
was covering the ground almost with the speed of the wolves
themselves.
Now he began to slant down towards the timber, darting down the
mountain, leaping from boulder to boulder in the manner of the
mountain-sheep. Yet behind him, faster and faster, as the rush of
his great body gathered force, the Grizzly launched himself
downwards, an avalanche of fur!
Shasta knew only too well that, unless something happened, the chase
could not go on much longer. It might be a little sooner or a little
later, but the Grizzly must have him at the last unless he could
reach the trees in time. The trees were his only hope. If he could
reach them, he could escape. For among the many things he had learnt
of the ways of the forest folk, he had learnt this also: a Grizzly
does not climb. And it was in this one thing only that he could
outdo his wolf-brothers: he could climb into the trees!
He looked back. The thing was hurling itself nearer--the fearful
avalanche of fur! Now he began to fear that he could not reach the
timber in time. The Grizzly was gaining at a terrible pace. And
then a thing happened.
Down aslant the mountain-side there came leaping in tremendous bounds
the form of a big she-wolf. On it came at a furious speed, every
spring of the powerful haunches sending the long grey body forward
like an arrow loosed from a bow. And as she came, there rose from
deep in her throat a long-drawn howl--the mustering cry of the wolves
when the prey is too heavy for one to pull down alone.
The Grizzly saw her coming but could not stop. He was going too fast
to turn so as to avoid the first onslaught. With a snarl of fury
Nitka sprang.
Her long fangs snatched horribly. There was a gash behind the bear's
left ear. He snorted with rage, and tried to pull up. Before he
could do so, Nitka had snapped at his flank and leaped away. Then at
last, by a supreme effort, the Grizzly pulled himself up, and turned
upon his unexpected foe.
By this time Shasta was well within reach of the trees. But some
instinct made him suddenly alter his course and turn towards the
cave. The Grizzly, seeing this, started again in pursuit of his
prey. Once more Nitka leaped, and the long fangs did their deadly
work; but this time the bear, turning with remarkable quickness,
hurled her off, and did so with such force that Nitka almost lost her
balance. A wolf, however, is not easily thrown off its legs, and
again Nitka attacked. Each time she sprang, the bear stopped to meet
her. Nitka knew full well what she would have to expect if she came
within striking distance of those terrible paws and not once did she
allow the Grizzly to get his chance to strike. And every time the
bear turned, Shasta was making good his escape, farther and farther
up the slope. Yet still the bear continued the chase, as if
determined, in spite of all Nitka's fierce defence, to have his kill
at last.
But he did not reckon upon two enemies at once, and he did not know
that a second one, even more to be dreaded than Nitka, would have to
be faced before he could seize his prey.
Shasta had almost reached the cave now. He saw the shadowy mouth of
it just beyond the clump of bushes where the great cliff broke down.
Yet if the Grizzly should follow him into the cave! At close
quarters Nitka would be no match for the Grizzly. Those terrible
paws would have the wolf within striking distance, and then, no
matter how bravely Nitka fought, she must sooner or later be killed.
Yet, just at the moment, the instinct for home was the strongest
thing in Shasta's little mind, and so he made blindly for the cave.
As he darted into it, something shot past it in the opposite
direction--something that leaped in the air with a noise that would
have sounded more like the snarl of a mad dog--if Shasta had ever
heard a mad dog--than any voice of wolf!
Far away in the lonely places of the great barren, Shoomoo had caught
the long-drawn hunting cry of Nitka, and had answered it on feet that
swept the distance like the wind. With every hair on end, with eyes
that shone like green fires, with his chops wrinkled to show the
gleaming fangs, Shoomoo hurled himself downwards full in the path of
the advancing bear.
The Grizzly saw his coming just in time, and raised himself suddenly
to give the wolf the blow which would have been his certain death.
Swift as a streak of light, Shoomoo swerved as if he actually turned
himself in the air. The Grizzly missed his stroke by a hair's
breadth. Before he could strike again, both wolves were upon him.
They sprang as with one accord, slashing mercilessly; then, in the
wolf fashion, leaping away before the enemy could close.
The fight now became a sort of game. As far as mere strength went
the Grizzly was far more than a match for the wolves; but their
marvellous quickness put him at a disadvantage. Directly he turned
to meet the onset of one, the other sprang at him from the opposite
direction. They kept circling round him in a ring. It was a ring
that flew and snarled and gleamed and bristled; a ring of wild
wolf-bodies that seemed never to pause for a single second.
Sometimes it widened, sometimes it narrowed, hemming the great bear
in; but always it was a live, quivering, flying ring of shadowy
bodies and gleaming teeth.
More and more the bear felt that he was no match for his opponents.
Hitherto he had had no fear of wolves: he had held them almost in
contempt. But these things that leaped and snapped and leaped again
seemed scarcely wolves. They were wolfish Furies to which you could
not give a name.
Slowly, step by step, he retreated down the slope. He had given up
all thought of the strange wolf-cub now. His one idea was to defend
himself from these terrible foes, the like of which he had never
encountered before. Deep in his grizzly heart he knew that he was
being beaten. It was a new feeling, and he did not relish it. Till
now he had been monarch of his range, and other animals had respected
his undisputed right. Now the tables were being turned, and a couple
of wolves larger than he had even seen were driving him steadily
back. Yet he would not turn and run. Something in his little
pig-like eyes told the wolves that, whatever happened, he would never
take safety in flight. That is one of the ideas belonging to a king.
When his back is up against a wall, he must fight to the last. And
that is exactly what the bear was looking for--something against
which he could place his back. To the left, about fifty yards away,
a great spur of rock broke from the mountainside. If he could once
reach that, he knew that he could keep his foes at bay. He knew
also, that in order to reach it, he would have to fight every yard of
the way.
And up above on the slope, a little wild face peered out from the
shelter of the rocks, and watched and watched with shining eyes.