"OLD THREE-LEGS"
Monday morning dawned bright and very warm. As we were about to sit down
to breakfast, Catherine Edwards called at the door and left a letter for
me, from my mother, which had arrived at the Corners post-office on
Saturday, but which Neighbor Edwards, who had brought the mail for us
late that evening, had overlooked; my letter had consequently lain over,
in his coat pocket, until that morning, when he had chanced to discover
it.
My mother had written me a very nice letter, as such letters go,
exhorting me to good behavior in general; and if she had stopped short
at that point, it would have been better. She went on, however, to tell
me of affairs at home, of what she was doing, of "Bush," our cat, of the
canary, of three or four boys and girls with whom I was acquainted, and
also of a grand parade of returned soldiers.
I had not half finished it, when I was seized with such a pang of
homesickness as I hope never to feel again; in fact, I do not believe
that I ever could feel another such pang. It penetrated my entire being;
I could not swallow a mouthful of breakfast. It seemed to me that I
should choke and die right there, if I did not get up and start for home
that very minute;--and I knew I could not go. Blue is no adequate word
with which to describe such sensations. In the course of an hour,
however, this first fit passed off for the most part, but left me very
pensive and melancholy. I was aware, too, that the Old Squire had
noticed my mood.
As we hoed corn that forenoon, a boy came driving a horse and "drag"
into the field; it was Edgar Wilbur, one of the lads whom I had seen the
day before while coming from church. The Wilburs lived at the farm next
beyond the Edwardses, about three-quarters of a mile distant from us.
Mr. Wilbur was not a wholly thrifty farmer, and often borrowed tools at
the Old Squire's. Edgar had now come for the "cultivator," for their
corn.
While we were loading it on the drag for him, Edgar told us boys that he
had to go to the back pasture to salt their sheep that afternoon, and
asked us to go with him. Addison replied that we were too busy with our
hoeing; but the Old Squire, who had overheard what was said, looked at
me with a compassionate smile, and said that I might go if I liked. I
suppose he hoped that the trip with Edgar would cheer me up.
Accordingly, after dinner, I was given my liberty, and set off for the
Wilburs, leaving Halstead grumbling over what he deemed my unmerited
good fortune.
The Wilburs lived in a one-story red house; and their barn was a
somewhat weather-beaten, infirm old structure, yet the place had a cozy
appearance; there were beds of flowers by the house door, and a great
bunch of pink hedge roses on one side of the way leading into the yard,
with a thick bush of lilacs on the other. Elsie and Georgie were at the
district school; but Mrs. Wilbur, a fresh-faced, pleasant woman, came to
the door and very kindly asked me in, offering me presently a glass of
spruce beer which had a queer flavor, I thought, and which I was not
quite able to finish.
Meantime Edgar--or Ned, as his mother called him--had filled a six-quart
pail with salt, and we set off immediately for the sheep pasture. The
distance was considerable, fully a mile; we first crossed their hay
fields, then a cow pasture and then a belt of woodland, through which
ran a cart road. Gradually ascending a considerable slope of the
woodland, we came out upon the cleared crest of a long ridge. This was
the "back pasture;" it was inclosed by a high hedge fence, made of
short, dry, spruce shrubs. This fence we climbed, and then Edgar began
calling the sheep,--"Ca-day, ca-day, ca-day, ca-day," stopping at
intervals to give me various items of information as to their flock and
the extent of the pasture. The Murches, who lived on the farm next
beyond the Wilburs, pastured their sheep with them, in this same back
pasture; they had a flock of thirty-eight, while the Wilburs had
thirty-three, but there were over a hundred lambs. Every spring the two
farmers and the boys repaired, or rebuilt, the high hedge fence in
company. The pasture was of seventy-five acres extent, Edgar said; but
it was much broken by crags and grown up to patches of dark, low spruce.
Altogether it was a very wild locality, wholly inclosed by somber
forests; and from the top of one of the ledges, which I climbed, I could
see no cleared land, far or near, save on the side next to their farms,
and that at quite a distance. This ledge, I recollect, had a vein of
white quartz running across it, displaying at one point a trace of
rose-color; and I remember thinking that some time I would come here and
break out specimens of this handsome stone.
At length in response to Ned's calls, we heard a faint _ba-a-a_, toward
the north end of the pasture, and going in that direction, past a number
of spruce copses and many other ledges, we came in sight of the flock of
sheep, feeding in a hollow near a spring. A great mob of lambs were
following their mothers and frisking about the rocks; and there was one
black sheep and one black lamb which, at first sight, I thought were
dogs or some other animals. "That black sheep is Murches'," Ned said.
"She's got two lambs; but that black lamb is in our flock. There's South
Down blood in a good many of them. You can tell the South Downs by their
black fore legs and smut faces. There's fifteen pairs of twins in our
flock and about as many in Murches'. Ca-day, ca-day, ca-day."
Catching sight of us and the salt pail, the flock now came crowding
eagerly about us. The ovine odor was very strong. Black flies troubled
the poor creatures grievously, and another larger, evil-looking fly was
buzzing about their noses.
"We are coming up in a day or two and tar all their noses," said Ned,
dealing out the salt in numerous handfuls, throwing it down on smooth
spots upon the grass, and running backwards to avoid the onward rush of
the sheep.
"Now let's count 'em," he continued. "We always count 'em when we salt
'em. Let's see, can you reckon good? Murches have got thirty-eight sheep
and fifty-three lambs, and we've got thirty-three sheep and forty-eight
lambs. How many does that make in all?"
After some cogitation, we agreed that there must be seventy-one sheep
and a hundred and one lambs, or a hundred and seventy-two all told. That
was what there should be; and we now set out to ascertain by counting if
all were there.
This was a greater feat than would appear at first thought, the flock
was so crowded together and so constantly running about. We made several
attempts, but as many times lost the count, or grew confused. At length,
we drove the sheep apart, and the salt being eaten by this time, we
contrived to enumerate eighty-two on one side and eighty-seven on the
other.
"Now how many's that?" said Ned. I could not make but a hundred and
sixty-nine from it; but Ned said that he guessed 'twas more. After
studying on it awhile, however, he agreed with me; and we then counted
the flock again, twice more, in fact, before we were both satisfied that
there were but a hundred and sixty-nine present.
"Now that's bad," said Ned.
"What suppose has become of them?" I asked.
"Dogs, maybe," replied Ned, "or else a 'lucivee,' or a bear."
"Perhaps 'twas men," I suggested.
"O no, I don't think that," said Ned. "If 'twas in the fall, I should
think it might be, for there are some folks down at the Corners that
have been laid in stealing sheep. But let's see whether it's sheep or
lambs that's gone, and whose 'tis, whether it's ours or Murches'. Now
all our sheep have got two slits in the right ear and a crop off the
left; but Murches' have a crop off both ears; and all our lambs have got
red paint across the fore shoulders, but Murches' have got red on the
rump." This necessitated a new count and a much more difficult one.
"I'll count the ones with slits and crops," said Ned; "and you count the
ones with two crops." But we were nearly half an hour establishing the
fact that one of the "two crops" was missing.
"It is one of Murches' sheep that's gone," said Ned; "I'm glad it isn't
ours." We then counted the lambs and found also that the missing ones
were two of the Murches'.
"It's an old sheep with twins," said Ned.
"Isn't she off by herself somewheres?" I asked.
"Not very likely to be unless she's got hung; they always keep
together," replied Ned. "But she may have got hung in the brush, or else
has tumbled in between big rocks and can't get out. I suppose we ought
to look her up if that's so.
"I'll tell you what we will do," continued Ned; "we will walk clean
round the pasture, in the first place, keeping where we can see the
fence, for she may be hung in it."
Thereupon we set off to walk around the pasture, going along the farther
side to the northwest and the southwest first. The fence skirted the
thick bushes and woods. Toward the southwest corner there was a long,
craggy ledge a little within the pasture fence. It fell off, rough,
rocky and almost perpendicular on that side, from a height of fifteen or
twenty feet, and about the foot of the crag were many of the low, black
spruces, but from the upper side one could walk out on the bare, smooth
rocks to the very brink of the ledge. We approached from this upper
side, and as we came out on it, to look down into the corner of the
pasture, a crow cawed suddenly and sharply, and we saw three crows rise,
flapping, off the ground, below the crag.
"Hoh!" Ned exclaimed. "What are those black chaps up to there?"
We stopped and looked down attentively into the partly open plat of
pasture, inclosed around on the lower side by the seared, reddish line
of the now dried hedge fence.
"Why, Ned, see the wool down there on the ground!" I cried, as a white
mass caught my eye.
"Something's killed the sheep there!" replied Ned, in a low tone. "See
the head there and the meat and bones strung along. Something's killed
her and eaten her half up; and there looks to be part of a lamb farther
along by that little fir."
A very strange sensation, partly fear, stole over me, as we stood there
looking down upon the torn remains of the sheep and lamb. The place was
far off in the woods and the surroundings were wild and somber. There
was something uncanny, too, in the way those crows rose up and went
flapping away. In less degree, I think Ned experienced similar
sensations, for he stood without speaking for a moment, then said, "O it
may have been done by a dog, or maybe she died.
"Let's climb down and see what we can see," he continued.
"We can see that the sheep is dead from up here," I replied, for I did
not like the idea of going down there very well.
"Come along," said Ned, laughing. "You needn't be afraid."
"I'm not afraid," said I. "But it is a kind of lonesome looking place."
"Yes, 'tis," replied Ned, stopping for a little to look again. "But
let's go down and see. They'll ask us all about it, and we've got to
find out what we can."
He walked along the top of the ledge, and, coming to a place where we
could descend between some large split rocks, began to climb down. I
followed after him, a little in the rear. Ned had got down among the
small spruces, at the foot of the crag, when he suddenly called back to
me that one of the lambs was there. "Poor little chap, he's hid here,
under the brush," he continued; and on getting down, I saw the lamb
standing far under the thick, dark boughs.
"I never saw a lamb hide in that way before," said Ned. "He's been awful
scared by something."
We crept around and tried to catch the lamb; it ran along the foot of
the rocks among the evergreens, but did not bleat, nor behave at all as
lambs generally do.
"He's got blood on his side there," remarked Ned. "But he may have got
that off the old sheep."
After looking at the lamb a moment, Ned started to go down where the
carcass of the sheep lay, but I felt a little timid and stood still,
near the foot of the rocks.
It was not far to go, not more than a hundred feet, I think, being about
half way down to the thick, reddish hedge of recently cut spruce. Ned
approached within a few yards and after looking at the fleece and bones
a minute, stopped to pick up a wisp of wool, when from right at hand
there burst forth the most frightful growl that I ever heard. It broke
on the utter stillness of that quiet nook like a thunder peal and it so
wrought on my already alert senses that I yelled outright from sudden
terror!
For the moment I could not have told from what quarter the terrible
sound came, for the high rocks behind me reverberated it. Following
instantly upon the growl, however, we heard a cracking of the brush in
the thicket below the hedge fence; and next moment there issued through
a hole in it a large black animal of terrific aspect, that to my
startled eyes looked as large as an ox!
Not that I stopped to estimate its size. I was on the move by the time
it had issued from the hole of the hedge fence;--but a boy's eye will
take in a good deal at one glance, under such circumstances. It was a
steep ascent betwixt the rocks to the top of the ledge; but if I had
possessed wings, I could not have got up much more quickly. As I gained
the top, I thought of striking off for the upper side of the pasture,
and thence running for my life toward the farms; but at the same instant
my eye fell on a low-growing oak, a few rods away, the lower limbs of
which I thought that I could jump up and seize. I had started for it,
but had taken only a bound or two, when I heard Ned say, "Hold on,"
behind me. I looked back. He had gained the top of the ledge almost as
quickly as I had, but had stopped there. "Hold on," he exclaimed in a
low voice. I stopped and stood, half breathless and panting, ready to
bound away again and half inclined to do so.
Ned was looking down from the ledge and motioned to me with his hand to
return. After some hesitation, I tiptoed back to him.
"See him?" he whispered to me. "He's right there behind that little
spruce, close beside the sheep. He's looking up here and harking!" The
black animal was half hidden by the spruce boughs, yet I could see him,
and experienced a curious nervous thrill as I made out its shaggy
outlines.
"Isn't it a bear?" I whispered.
"Cracky, yes," whispered Ned. "A big one, too!"
"But won't he chase us?"
"Guess not," replied Ned. "Ye see, 'tis the sheep he felt so mad about.
He'd killed the sheep and that lamb last night, I expect, and eaten them
part up. And he had only gone down there a little way into the firs
behind the fence and was kinder watching till he got hungry again. He
saw and heard us come along, but he kept still and didn't say a word
till he saw me stoop down to touch it. Then, sir, he just spoke right
out in meetin'! Told me to get out and let his meat alone. O, don't I
wish I had a good gun, loaded with a ball!"
"Would you dare to fire at him, Ned?" I said.
"Well," replied Ned, doubtfully, looking around and seeing the oak, and
then glancing down the rocks, "I dunno, but I believe I would get good
aim and let strip at him. If I hit him and hurt him, but didn't kill
him, he might come for us, lickety switch. But he couldn't get up here
very quick. We should have time to climb that tree."
"I wish we could shoot him!" I whispered, beginning to wax warlike.
"I've a great mind to let a stone go down there," said Ned, looking
about. "Let's both get stones and throw at once, and see what he will
do. If he starts up here, we'll put for that tree."
This was an extremely exciting proposition, but I was getting bolder. We
found each a stone as big as a coffee-cup.
"Now both together," whispered Ned, and we flung them with all our
power. We did not hit our mark, but they struck the ground near the
spruce and bounced past it, quite closely. The bear growled again,
savagely, and started stiffly out from his covert, past the remains of
the sheep. We both turned to run, but noticing that the creature had
stopped, we pulled up again. The bear saw us and growled repeatedly, yet
did not come far past his jealously guarded treasure. He shuffled about,
keeping his head drawn down in a peculiar manner, but we could see that
his eye was on us. After a few moments, he drew back behind the spruce
again. Thereupon we threw more stones; and again the beast rushed out,
growling and scratching up the grass in an odd manner; he did not appear
inclined to pursue us, however, and we now noticed that there was
something clumsy in its gait, like a limp.
"Gracious!" Ned suddenly exclaimed. "That's old 'Three-Legs!' He's come
round again!"
"What, the bear that lost his foot in a trap?" I asked, remembering what
Ellen and Theodora had told me a few days before.
"Yes, siree!" cried Ned. "He's an awful old sheep-killer! He comes round
once in a while. But he's mighty cunning! He's a savage one, too, but he
can't run very fast."
"Then let's pelt him!" I exclaimed.
"No, no," said Ned. "We must hurry back home and raise a crew. That bear
must be killed, you know. If we don't, he will come round every week and
take a sheep all summer."
We therefore set off in haste, to run to the Wilbur farm, where we
arrived very hot and out of breath just as the family was sitting down
to supper. "Old 'Three-Legs' is in the sheep pasture!" shouted Ned at
the door. "Get the gun, pa! I'm going to tell the Murches!"
Mr. Wilbur owned a gun, but it was not in shooting condition. We then
ran down the hill to the Murch farm, and there our story created
considerable excitement. Ben and Willis at once brought out a
double-barrelled gun, which their father proceeded to load, but they
lacked bullets and heavy shot. Willis and Ned and I therefore ran to the
Edwardses to notify Thomas and his father and procure ammunition. At the
Edwardses they had both shot and also a musket which carried balls. This
latter weapon was at once charged for bear.
Mr. Edwards, however, advised me to go home and notify the Old Squire
and Addison, in order that they, too, might join the hunt, if disposed.
I set off at a run again; but by this time I had become not a little
leg-weary; night, too, was at hand. The boys were milking, and I met the
Old Squire coming toward the house with two brimming pailfuls. "Old
'Three-Legs' has just killed one of Murches' sheep and a lamb, too!" I
shouted.
"Is that so?" said the old gentleman, but the intelligence did not
excite him so much as I had expected it would. He looked at me and said,
"You look badly heated. You have run too hard."
"But that old bear's killed a sheep!" I exclaimed. "They are all going
after him. They sent me to get you and the boys."
By this time Addison and Halstead had risen off their milking stools to
hear the tidings, and exhibited signs of interest.
"Did you see the bear, my son?" the Old Squire asked.
"Yes, siree!" I exclaimed, and thereupon I poured forth all the
particulars. "They want all of us to load our guns and go with them," I
cried expectantly.
"Well," remarked the Old Squire, with what seemed to me a very provoking
lack of enthusiasm. "If they are all going, I guess they will not need
us. You had better go to the well and wash your face and head in some
cold water, then rest a while and have your supper; it has been a very
hot day."
"But old Three-Legs!" I exclaimed. "He may get away!"
"Yes, he may," said Gramp, laughing. "I should not wonder if he did.
"I will tell you something about bears, my son," he went on,
good-naturedly. "A bear is quite a knowing animal, and sometimes very
cunning. This one they call old 'Three-Legs' is remarkably so. I'm very
sure that, if we all went over there as quick as we could, and stayed
around all night, we shouldn't find him. That bear knew just as well as
you did that you had gone to get help and would be back with it; and I
shouldn't wonder if by this time he was three miles away--and still
going. What that bear did after you and Ned left was to listen awhile,
till he made sure you were gone, then stuff himself with as much more of
that mutton as he could hold, and leave the place as fast as he could
go. He's gone, you may depend upon it;--and he will not come near that
place again for a week or two probably. That is bear nature and bear
wit. They seem to know some things almost as well as men. They know when
they kill sheep that men will make a fuss about it. That bear was lying
quiet there, with his ears open for trouble; he wasn't much afraid of
two boys, but he knows there are men and guns not far off."
I was really very tired and after hearing this view of the case was not
much sorry to rest and have my supper. We learned next day that Thomas
and his father, and Ned and the Murches went over to the pasture with
their guns, but they failed to find the bear. The Murches set a trap at
the place where the sheep had been killed, and kept it there for ten
days. A hound was caught in it, but no bear.
I remember that my sleep that night was somewhat disturbed by exciting
dreams of hunting. At the breakfast table next morning I told the story
of our adventure over again, and described the ugly demonstrations of
the bear at such length, that I presently saw grandfather smiling, and
detected Addison giving a sly wink to Theodora. This confused me so much
that I stopped in haste and was more cautious about my realistic
descriptions in future. Halstead began hectoring me that forenoon
concerning my adventure, and nicknamed me "the great bear hunter." Much
incensed, I retorted by asking him whether he had paid for that
seed-corn. Hearing that, Addison, who was near us, cast an inquiring
look at Halstead, and the latter hurriedly changed the subject; he was
unusually polite to me for several days afterwards.