I LOSE A SISTER
We soon found that the country which we were now in was simply full of
animals. Of course it had had its share of inhabitants before the fire,
and, in addition, all those that fled before the flames had crowded
into it; besides which the beasts of prey from all directions were
drawn towards the same place by the abundance of food which was easy
to get. We heard terrible stories of sufferings and narrow escapes,
and the poor deer especially, when they had at last won to a place of
safety from the flames, were generally so tired and so bewildered that
they fell an easy prey to the pumas and wolves. All night long the
forest was full of the yelping of the coyotes revelling over the bodies
of animals that the larger beasts had killed and only partly eaten,
and every creature seemed to be quarrelling with those of its kind,
the former inhabitants of the neighbourhood resenting the intrusion of
the newcomers. For ourselves, nobody attacked us. We found two other
families of bears quite close to us, but though we did not make friends
at first, they did not quarrel with us. We were glad enough to live in
peace, and to be able to devote ourselves to learning something about
the new country.
In general it was very much like the place that we had left--the same
succession of mountain after mountain, all densely covered with trees,
and with the streams winding down through gulch and valley. The stream
that we had followed was now a river, broader all along its course
than the beavers' pool which had saved our lives, and at one place,
about two miles beyond the end of the burned region, it passed through
a valley, wider than any that I had seen, with an expanse of level
land on either side. Here it was, on this level bottom-land, that I
first tasted what are, I think, next to honey, of all wild things
the greatest treat that a bear knows--ripe blueberries. But this
'berry-patch,' as we called it, was to play a very important part in my
life, and I must explain.
We had soon learned that we were now almost in the middle of men. There
was the party which had passed us going up the stream into the burned
country. There were two more log-houses about a mile from the edge of
the burned country, and therefore also behind us. There were others
further down the stream, and almost every day men passed either up or
down the river, going from one set of houses to another. Finally we
heard, and, before we had been there a week, saw with our own eyes,
that only some ten miles further on, where our stream joined another
and made a mighty river, there was a town, which had all sprung up
since last winter, in which hundreds of men lived together. This was
the great drawback of our new home. But if we went further on, the
chances were that we should only come to more and more men; and for the
present, by lying up most of the day, and only going out at night in
the direction of their houses, there was no difficulty in keeping away
from them.
Familiarity with them indeed had lessened our terror. We certainly had
no desire to hurt them, and they, as they passed up and down or went
about their work digging in the ground along the side of the river or
chopping down trees, appeared to give no thought to us; and with that
fear removed, even though we kept constantly on the alert, lest they
should unexpectedly come too near us, our life was happy and free from
care. Father and mother grew to be like their old selves again, less
gruff and nervous than they had been since the memorable day when we
saw Cinnamon with his broken leg; and as for Kahwa and me, though we
romped less than we used to do--for we were seven months old now, and
at seven months a bear is getting to be a big and serious animal--we
were as happy as two young bears could be. After a long hot day,
during which we had been sleeping in the shade, what could be more
delightful than to go and lie in the cool stream, where it flowed only
a foot or so deep, and as clear as the air itself, over a firm sandy
bottom? There were frogs, and snails, and beetles of all sorts, along
the water's edge, and the juicy stems of the reeds and water-plants.
Then, in the night we wandered abroad finding lily roots, and the sweet
ferns, and camas, and mushrooms, with another visit to the river in the
early morning, and perhaps a trout to wind up with before the sun drove
us under cover again.
And above all there was the berry-patch.
The mere smell of a berry-patch at the end of summer, when the sun has
been beating down all day, so that the air is heavy with the scent
of the cooking fruit, is delicious enough, but it is nothing to the
sweetness of the berries themselves.
It was in the evening, after our dip in the river, when twilight was
shading into night, that we used to visit the patch. It was a great
open space in a bend of the river, half a mile long and nearly as
wide, without a tree on it, and nothing but just the blue-berry bushes
growing close together all over it, reaching about up to one's chest as
one walked through, and every bush loaded with berries. Not only we,
but every bear in the neighbourhood, used to go there each evening--the
two other families of whom I have spoken, and also two other single
he-bears who had no families. One of these was the only animal in the
neighbourhood--except the porcupines, which every bear hates--whom I
disliked and feared. He was a bad-tempered beast, bigger than father,
with whom at our first meeting he wanted to pick a quarrel, while
making friends with mother. She, however, would not have anything to
say to him. When he was getting ready to fight my father--walking
sideways at him and snarling, while my father, I am bound to confess,
backed away--mother did not say a word, but went straight at him as she
had rushed at the puma that day when she saved my life. Then father
jumped at him also, and between them they bundled him along till
he fairly took to his heels and ran. But whenever we met him after
that--and we saw him every evening at the patch--he snarled viciously
at us, and I, at least, was careful to keep father and mother between
him and me. If he had caught any one of us alone, I believe he would
have killed us; so we took care that he never should.
I can see the berry-patch now, lying white and shining in the
moonlight, with here and there round the edges, and even sometimes
pretty well out into the middle, if the night was not too light, the
black spots showing where the bears were feeding. We enjoyed our feasts
in silence, and beyond an occasional snapping of a twig, or the cry of
some animal from the forest, or the screech of a passing owl, there was
not a sound but that of our own eating. One night, however, there came
an interruption.
It was bright moonlight, and we were revelling in our enjoyment of the
fruit, but father was curiously restless. The air was very still, but
in a little gust of wind early in the evening father declared that
he had smelled man. As an hour passed and there was no further sign
of him, however, we forgot him in the delight of the ripe berries.
Suddenly from the other side of the patch, nearly half a mile away from
us, rang out the awful voice of the thunder-stick. We did not wait to
see what was happening, but made at all speed for the shelter of the
trees, and tore on up the mountain slope. There was no further sound,
but we did not dare to go back to the patch that night, nor did we see
any of the other bears; so that it was not until some days afterwards
that we heard that the thunder-stick had very nearly killed the mother
of one of the other families. It had cut a deep wound in her neck,
and she had saved herself only by plunging into the woods. If we had
known all this at the time, I doubt if we should have gone back to the
berry-patch as we did on the very next night.
On our way to the patch we met the bad-tempered bear coming away
from it. That was curious, and if it had been anybody else we should
undoubtedly have asked him why he was leaving the feast at that time
in the evening. Had we done so, it might have saved a lot of trouble.
As it was, we only snarled back at him as he passed snarling by us,
and went on our way. We were very careful, however, and took a long
time to make our way out of the trees down to the edge of the bushes;
but there was no sound to make us uneasy, nor any smell of man in such
wind as blew. Of course we took care to approach the patch at the
furthest point from where we had heard the thunder-stick on the night
before. It was a cloudy night, and the moon shone only at intervals.
Taking advantage of a passing cloud, we slipped out from the cover of
the trees into the berry-bushes. We could see no other bears, but they
might be hidden by the clouds. In a minute, however, the moon shone
out, and had there been any others there--at least, as far out from
the edge as ourselves--we must have been able to see them. Certainly,
alas! we were seen, for even as I was looking round the patch in the
first ray of the moonlight to see if any of our friends were there, the
thunder-stick rang out again, and once more we plunged for the trees.
But this time the sound was much nearer, and there was a second report
before we were well into the shadow, and then a third. So terrified
were we that there was no thought of stopping, but after we got into
the woods we kept straight on as fast as we could go, father and mother
in front, I next, and Kahwa behind; and none of us looked back, for we
heard the shouts of men and the crashing of branches as they ran, and
again and again the thunder-stick spoke.
Suddenly I became aware that Kahwa was not behind me. I stopped and
looked round, but she was nowhere to be seen. I remembered having heard
her give a sudden squeal, as if she had trodden on something sharp, but
I had paid no attention to it at the time. Now I became frightened, and
called to father and mother to stop. They were a long way ahead, and it
was some time before I could get near enough to attract their attention
and tell them that Kahwa was missing.
Mother wished to charge straight down the hill again at the men,
thunder-sticks or no thunder-sticks; but father dissuaded her, and at
last we began to retrace our steps cautiously, keeping our ears and
noses open for any sign either of Kahwa or of man. As we came near
the edge of the wood, noises reached us--shouts and stamping; and
then, mixed with the other sounds, I clearly heard Kahwa's voice. She
was crying in anger and pain, as if she was fighting, and fighting
desperately. A minute later we were near enough to see, and a miserable
sight it was that we saw.
Out in the middle of the berry-patch, in the brilliant moonlight, was
poor Kahwa with four men. They had fastened ropes around her, and two
of them at the end of one rope on one side, and two at the end of one
on the other, were dragging her across the middle of the patch. She was
fighting every inch of the way, but her struggles against four men were
useless, and slowly, yard by yard, she was being dragged away from us.
[Illustration: SLOWLY, YARD BY YARD, SHE WAS BEING DRAGGED AWAY FROM
US.]
But if she could not fight four men, could not we? There were four of
us, and I said so to my father. But he only grunted, and reminded me of
the thunder-sticks. It was only too true. Without the thunder-sticks
we should have had no difficulty in meeting them, but with those
weapons in their hands it would only be sacrificing our lives in vain
to attempt a rescue. So there we had to stand and watch, my mother all
the time whimpering, and my father growling, and sitting up on his
haunches and rubbing his nose in his chest. We dared not show ourselves
in the open, so we followed the edge of the patch, keeping alongside of
the men, but in the shadow of the trees. They pulled Kahwa across the
middle of the patch into the woods on the other side, and down to the
river-bank, where, we knew, there began an open path which the men had
beaten in going to and from their houses half a mile further on. Here
there were several houses in a bunch together. Inside one of these they
shut her, and then all went in to another house themselves. We stayed
around, and two or three times later on we saw one or more of the men
come out and stand for awhile at Kahwa's door listening; but at last
they came out no more, and we saw the lights go out in their house, and
we knew that the men had gone to sleep.
Then we crept down cautiously till we could hear Kahwa whimpering and
growling through the walls. My mother spoke to her, and there was
silence for a moment, and then, when mother spoke again, the poor
little thing recognised her voice and squealed with delight. But what
could we do? We talked to her for awhile, and tried to scratch away the
earth from round the wall, in the hope of getting at her; but it was
all useless, and as the day began to dawn nothing remained but to make
off before the men arose, and to crawl away to hide ourselves in the
woods again.
What a wretched night that was! Hitherto I do not think that I had
thought much of Kahwa. I had taken her as a matter of course, played
with her and quarrelled with her by turns, without stopping to think
what life might be without her. But now I thought of it, and as I lay
awake through the morning I realized how much she had been to me, and
wondered what the men would do with her. Most of all I wondered why
they should have wanted to catch her at all. We had no wish to do them
any harm. We were nobody's enemy; least of all was little Kahwa. Why
could not men live in peace with us as we were willing to live in peace
with them?
Long before it was dusk next evening we were in the woods as near to
the men's houses as we dared to go, but we could hear no sound of my
sister's voice. There appeared to be only one man about the place, and
he was at work chopping wood, until just at sunset, when the other
three men came back from down the stream, and we noticed that they
carried long ropes slung over their arms. Were those the ropes with
which they had dragged Kahwa the night before? If so, had they again,
while we slept, dragged her off somewhere else? We feared it must be so.
Impatiently we waited until it was dark enough to trust ourselves
in the open near the houses, and then we soon knew that our fears
were justified. The door of the house in which Kahwa had been shut
was open; the men went in and out of it, and evidently Kahwa was not
there. Nor was there any trace of her about the buildings. So under my
father's guidance we started on the path down the stream by which the
three men had returned, and it was not long before we found the marks
of where she had struggled against her captors, and in places the scent
of her trail was still perceptible, in spite of the strong man-smell
which pervaded the beaten path.
So we followed the trail down until we came to more houses; then made
a circuit and followed on again, still finding evidence that she had
passed. Soon we came to more houses, at ever shortening intervals,
until the bank of the stream on both sides was either continuously
occupied by houses or showed traces of men being constantly at work
there. And beyond was the town itself. It was of no use for us to
go further. In the town we could see lights streaming from many of
the buildings, and the shouting of men's voices came to our ears. We
wandered round the outskirts of the town till it was daylight, and then
drew back into the hills and lay down again, very sad and hungry--for
we had hardly thought of food--and very lonesome.
Kahwa, we felt sure, was somewhere among those houses in the town. But
that was little comfort to us. And all the time we wondered what man
wanted with her, and why he could not have left us to be happy, as we
had been before he came.