A WONDERFUL ANIMAL.
As Harry Northend crept out from beneath the matted undergrowth, that
surrounded the Blackfoot camp, and came in view of his rifle, where he
had left it lying upon the ground, he saw not Old Ruff Robsart, nor a
repulsive Indian, but a grizzly bear.
And not such a bear as naturalists and hunters tell us about, of a black
or tawny color, but something _sui generis_—something such as he was
sure no mortal had ever heard of before, or was ever to hear of again.
For, instead of being of the midnight hue that universally characterizes
his species, this one was striped with green and blue and red from head
to tail!
As soon as the lad had recovered in a degree his self-possession, he
rubbed his eyes and looked again, doubting whether he had seen aright.
Yes; there was no mistake about it. There was the creature, the
conformation of his head and body proving that he was a genuine grizzly
bear beyond all question, and the only remarkable thing about him was
his color, and that surely was remarkable enough.
“I have heard of men seeing such things as that,” he mused, as,
crouching on his hands and knees, he riveted his eyes upon it, “but it
was always when they were drunk, and I am sure I have never been in that
condition, and never shall be.”
The bear was of rather large size, but not unusually so, but the lad
judged from his appearance that he was very fierce and savage, and, in
his way, was probably as dangerous as a half-dozen red-skins.
His alarm would have been somewhat less had the position of the creature
been such as to afford him a hope of securing his gun; but, as matters
stood, that was clearly out of the question.
For the mottled grizzly was snuffing and clawing the weapon as if he had
some curiosity to find out its use.
“I wonder whether he thinks he knows how to use it,” muttered Harry, as
he slowly sunk down upon his face, in the hope of escaping his eye. “If
he did know how to handle a rifle, I couldn’t be more astonished than I
am at the color of his coat. He _does_ act as if he understood what it
is for.”
The bear poked the barrel and stock around with his nose, then rattled
his long claws over it, as though he was not exactly satisfied with its
appearance. When Harry saw that it lay so that the muzzle pointed
directly at him, he concluded that the danger was getting too serious
and complicated for him to remain idle.
Indians between him and the river, a grizzly bear before his face, and a
loaded rifle pointed straight at his head, with very strong chances of
its being discharged by the clumsy clawing and scratching of the brute.
“I think I’ll back a little nearer the camp,” he concluded, “for if I
can get down in that hollow again, the bullet will pass over my head,
and the monster may miss seeing me altogether, until I can get further
out the way, if that nose of his don’t scent me out, or if his brains
don’t tell him that when he comes upon a gun like that, in these parts,
the owner isn’t apt to be far off.”
But the movement made by Harry caught the ear of the bear, who raised
his head as quick as a flash, and, catching sight of him, he “went for
him.”
The boy was only fairly ensconced in the cavity alluded to, and had
turned to see whether he could maintain his invisibility, when he saw
the frightful monster almost upon him.
In the presence of this threatened immediate death, it was natural that
the boy should run into the other danger, and with a howl of terror, he
sprung up from the ground and struck straight for the Blackfoot camp,
preferring in the flurry of the moment to run into their embrace than to
remain and take a hug from the bear.
Only a few leaps, and he landed directly in the open space, where the
red-skins, a short time before, had partaken of their meal.
But, not one was to be seen. The fire was still burning, but all had
departed.
Harry paused a single instant, looking about with an inquiring stare,
and then, hearing the bear directly behind him, he made a dash forward,
and catching up one of the sticks that was still burning, he circled it
swiftly over his head, fanning it into a blaze, and with this potent
weapon he turned about to face his foe.
It was a fortunate thought in the young man, for the bravest wild animal
can never screw up his courage to the point of advancing straight upon
fire; but for all that such a precaution was unnecessary.
Harry had scarcely placed himself upon the defensive, when he heard
something very much like a laugh, immediately behind him; but he did not
dare turn his head in the presence of this horrible creature.
The bear instead of halting before the blazing brand, seemed to be on
the point of advancing straight upon the boy, when the latter, holding
the flaming brand before him, turned the tables, by moving directly
toward him.
This checked the bear, and at the same instant that familiar laugh
struck upon the ear of Harry, followed by the words:
“Throw down yer candle! He won’t hurt you! Ain’t he a booty?”
That was the voice of Old Ruff Robsart and no mistake. The boy hardly
dared to turn his head to see, but the trapper made it unnecessary, by
walking forward and placing himself directly beside him.
As he did so, he reached out, and taking the torch from his hand flung
it away, and then gave out a peculiar whistle.
Instantly the bear came forward, lumbering awkwardly, but with many
indications of pleasure at the sound of the hunter’s voice, who
continued addressing him by pet names until he was within reach, when he
patted him familiarly upon his head, and at another signal or command,
the mottled phenomenon rose upon its haunches, moving its fore-legs like
the flippers of a turtle, while its large hazel eyes were fixed upon Old
Ruff, with an expression almost human in its intelligence.
By this time Harry Northend had gotten the suspicion that the trapper
and this speckled wonder were old acquaintances. They surely met as
such, and their conduct continued to give color to the suspicion.
“Bless your old heart!” exclaimed the trapper, advancing and throwing
his arms about the hairy neck of the bear, “next to my little pet, I’d
rather meet you than any other critter that tramps the woods. You look
as though you’d got along purty well sence I gave you a leave of
absence, last fall.”
While the two old friends were engaged in their fraternal
demonstrations, Harry concluded to slip around and secure his gun. That
would be only prudent, while he had great fear that old Robsart would
discover his inexcusably defenseless condition.
He saw that strange and unnatural as the animal looked, there was
nothing to be feared from it, and he passed within arm’s length of it,
into the wood from which it had emerged but a few minutes before, and a
few steps brought him to his gun, lying unharmed upon the ground.
Hastily catching this up, he lost no time in rejoining the two
friends—human and brute—that were fraternizing upon the deserted
camp-ground.
“Where in the name of the Seven Wonders did that creature come from?” he
asked, as he saw the old hunter leaning on his rifle contemplating what
was evidently a great pet. The face of the trapper was expanded with a
fearful grin, while he occasionally shook in a way that showed he was
stirred by mirth.
“That ’ere critter is what I call Speckled Beauty! I cotched him five
years ago, when he war a little cub. He allers had a good temper, and I
fotched him up and made him one of the best-tamed critters I ever saw.
Old Griz’ Adams never had a neater critter, and Little Rifle—why she and
that b’ar war great cronies, I tell you.”
“But that color!” exclaimed Harry, “surely that is not natural! If it
is, he is worth a very fortune to you!”
“No, in course not; hair don’t grow green and blue even on a grizzly
bear. I had that critter so well-tamed that he was just like a dog. He
used to go off on a hunt for three or four days at a time, but was
always sure to come back ag’in. He wa’n’t of much use to me, and so I
let him go and come as he chose, and when I hadn’t nothin’ better to do,
I used to wrastle and tumble with him and teach him tricks.”
“But, I am anxious to hear how he gained such a coat as that?”
Old Ruff laughed as he replied:
“Last summer I was in at the fort, to take ’em some antelope-meat, that
I had promised, when one of these long-nosed, genuine Yankees come in.
He was on the look-out for something to make money of, no matter what it
was, and when he see’d my b’ar prancing around, he proposed that we
should go into partnership, and show him around through the States; but
I told him one b’ar wasn’t enough to travel on, and then he said that
he’d fix him. He had a lot of dyes and paints with him that he said he
had got up on a patent of his own, and was going to sell to the Injins,
and he painted up the b’ar in high style. The dye was the genuine stuff,
for though the b’ar was as black as jet it took hold, and made him a
purtier color than you see him now, ’cause you know he has shed a good
deal of his coat sence then.
“The idee of this chap was to take him round the country showing him off
as a phenomenon, but I see’d that he thought it was such a big spec’
that he wanted to have the whole job in his own hands—so I told him to
take him and go.
“He promised to send me half his profits, but I knowed that if he got
away with the b’ar I’d never see either of ’em ag’in.
“But, I reckon he didn’t get fur away, fur the next day the Speckled
Beauty come back lookin’ fur me and Little Rifle. He had the seat of the
Yankee’s trowsers in his mouth, and so I made up my mind that they’d had
a falling out. I left the fort that day, but I l’arned that the Yankee
come in the next day to get a new seat to his breeches, and left for
Fr’isco, swearin’ thar wa’n’t any chance for an honest man to make a
living in these parts. Since that time, Speckled Beauty has been
trampin’ the woods as he pleases, but he seems to have got weaned away.
I s’pose ’cause he’s come arter us so often, without findin’ me or
Little Pet at home.”