To practised woodsmen like Whitewing and Big Tim it was as easy to
follow the track of Little Tim as if his steps had been taken through
newly-fallen snow, although very few and slight were the marks left on
the green moss and rugged ground over which the hunter had passed.
Six picked Indians accompanied the prairie chief, and these marched in
single file, each treading in the footsteps of the man in front with the
utmost care.
At first the party maintained absolute silence. Their way lay for some
distance along the margin of the brawling stream which drained the gorge
at the entrance of which Tim's Folly stood. The scenery around them was
wild and savage in the extreme, for the higher they ascended, the
narrower became the gorge, and the masses of rock which had fallen from
the frowning cliffs on either side had strewn the lower ground with
shapeless blocks, and so impeded the natural flow of the little stream
that it became, as it were, a tormented and foaming cataract.
At the head of the gorge the party came to a pass or height of land,
through which they went with caution, for, although no footsteps of man
had thus far been detected by their keen eyes save those of Little Tim,
it was not beyond the bounds of possibility that foes might be lurking
on the other side of the pass. No one, however, was discovered, and
when they emerged at the other end of the pass it was plain that, as Big
Tim remarked, the coast was clear, for from their commanding position
they could see an immeasurable distance in front of them, over an
unencumbered stretch of land.
The view from this point was indeed stupendous. The vision seemed to
range not only over an almost limitless world of forests, lakes, and
rivers--away to where the haze of the horizon seemed to melt with them
into space--but beyond that to where the great backbone of the New World
rose sharp, clear, and gigantic above the mists of earth, until they
reached and mingled with the fleecy clouds of heaven. To judge from
their glittering eyes, even the souls of the not very demonstrative
Indians were touched by the scene. As for the prairie chief, who had
risen to the perceptions of the new life in Christ he halted and stood
for some moments as if lost in contemplation. Then, turning to the
young hunter at his side, he said softly--
"The works of the Lord are great."
"Strange," returned Big Tim, "that you should use the very same words
that I've heard my daddy use sometimes when we've come upon a grand view
like that."
"Not so strange when I tell you," replied Whitewing, "that these are
words from the Book of Manitou, and that your father and I learned them
together long ago from the preacher who now lies wounded in your hut."
"Ay, ay! Daddy didn't tell me that. He's not half so given to serious
talk as you are, Whitewing, though I'm free to admit that he does take a
fit o' that sort now an' again, and seems raither fond of it. The fact
is, I don't quite understand daddy. He puzzles me."
"Perhaps Leetil Tim is too much given to fun when he talks with Big
Tim," suggested the red chief gravely, but with a slight twinkle in his
eyes, which told that he was not quite destitute of Little Tim's
weakness--or strength, as the reader chooses.
After a brief halt the party descended the slope which led to the
elevated valley they had now reached, and, having proceeded a few miles,
again came to a halt because the ground had become so rocky that the
trail of the hunter was lost.
Ordering the young men to spread themselves over the ground, Whitewing
went with Big Tim to search over the ridge of a neighbouring eminence.
"It is as I expected," he said, coming to a sudden stand, and pointing
to a faint mark on the turf. "Leetil Tim has taken the short cut to the
Lopstick Hill, but I cannot guess the reason why."
Big Tim was down on his knees examining the footprints attentively.
"Daddy's futt, an' no mistake," he said, rising slowly. "I'd know the
print of his heel among a thousand. He's got a sort o' swagger of his
own, an' puts it down with a crash, as if he wanted to leave his mark
wherever he goes. I've often tried to cure him o' that, but he's
incurable."
"I have observed," returned the chief, with, if possible, increased
gravity, "that many sons are fond of trying to cure their fathers; also,
that they never succeed."
Big Tim looked quickly at his companion, and laughed.
"Well, well," he said, "the daddies have a good go at us in youth. It's
but fair that we should have a turn at _them_ afterwards."
A sharp signal from one of the young Indians in the distance interrupted
further converse, and drew them away to see what he had discovered. It
was obvious enough--the trail of the Blackfoot Indians retiring into the
mountains.
At first Big Tim's heart sank, for this discovery, coupled with the
prolonged absence of his father, suggested the fear that he had been
waylaid and murdered. But a further examination led them to think--at
least to hope--that the savages had not observed the hunter's trail,
owing to his having diverged at a point of the track further down, where
the stony nature of the ground rendered trail-finding, as we have seen,
rather difficult. Still, there was enough to fill the breasts of both
son and friend with anxiety, and to induce them to push on thereafter
swiftly and in silence.
Let us once again take flight ahead of them, and see what the object of
their anxiety is doing.
True to his promise to try his best, the dauntless little hunter had
proceeded alone, as before, to a part of the mountain region where he
knew from past experience that grizzlies were to be easily found. There
he made his preparations for a new effort on a different plan.
The spot he selected for his enterprise was an open space on a bleak
hillside, where the trees were scattered and comparatively small. This
latter peculiarity--the smallness of the trees--was, indeed, the only
drawback to the place, for few of them were large enough to bear his
weight, and afford him a secure protection from his formidable game. At
last however, he found one,--not, indeed, quite to his mind, but
sufficiently large to enable him to get well out of a bear's reach, for
it must be remembered that although some bears climb trees easily, the
grizzly bear cannot climb at all. There was a branch on the lower part
of the tree which seemed quite beyond the reach of the tallest bear even
on tiptoe.
Having made his disposition very much as on the former occasion, Little
Tim settled himself on this branch, and awaited the result.
He did not, however, sit as comfortably as on the previous occasion, for
the branch was small and had no fork. Neither did he proceed to sup as
formerly, for it was yet too early in the day to indulge in that meal.
His plan this time was, not to net, but to lasso the bear; and for that
purpose he had provided four powerful ropes made of strips of raw,
undressed buffalo hide, plaited, with a running noose on each.
"Now," said Little Tim, with a self-satisfied smirk, as he seated
himself on the branch and surveyed the four ropes complacently, "it'll
puzzle the biggest b'ar in all the Rocky Mountains to break them ropes."
Any one acquainted with the strength of the material which Tim began to
uncoil would have at once perceived that the lines in question might
have held an elephant or a small steamer.
"I hope," murmured Tim, struggling with a knot in one of the cords that
bound the coils, "I hope I'll be in luck to-day, an' won't have to wait
long."
Little Tim's hope reached fruition sooner than he had expected--sooner
even than he desired--for as he spoke he heard a rustle in the bushes
behind him. Looking round quickly, he beheld "the biggest b'ar, out o'
sight, that he had iver seen in all his life." So great was his
surprise--we would not for a moment call it alarm--that he let slip the
four coils of rope, which fell to the ground.
Grizzly bears, it must be known, are gifted with insatiable curiosity,
and they are not troubled much with the fear of man, or, indeed, of
anything else. Hearing the thud of the coils on the ground, this
monster grizzly walked up to and smelt them. He was proceeding to taste
them, when, happening to cast his little eyes upwards, he beheld Little
Tim sitting within a few feet of his head. To rise on his hind legs,
and solicit a nearer interview, was the work of a moment. To the poor
hunter's alarm, when he stretched his tremendous paws and claws to their
utmost he reached to within a foot of the branch. Of course Little Tim
knew that he was safe, but he was obliged to draw up his legs and lay
out on the branch, which brought his head and eyes horribly near to the
nose and projecting tongue of the monster.
To make matters worse, Tim had left his gun leaning against the stem of
the tree. He had his knife and hatchet in his belt, but these he knew
too well were but feeble weapons against such a foe. Besides, his
object was not to slay, but to secure.
Seeing that there was no possibility of reaching the hunter by means of
mere length of limb, and not at that time having acquired the art of
building a stone pedestal for elevating purposes, the bear dropped on
its four legs and looked round. Perceiving the gun, it went leisurely
up and examined it. The examination was brief but effective. It gave
the gun only one touch with its paw, but that touch broke the lock and
stock and bent the barrel so as to render the weapon useless.
Then it returned to the coil of ropes, and, sitting down, began to chew
one of them, keeping a serious eye, however, on the branch above.
It was a perplexing situation even for a backwoodsman. The branch on
which Tim lay was comfortable enough, having many smaller branches and
twigs extending from it on either side, so that he did not require to
hold on very tightly to maintain his position. But he was fully aware
of the endurance and patience of grizzly bears, and knew that, having
nothing else to do, this particular Bruin could afford to bide his time.
And now the ruling characteristic of Little Tim beset him severely. His
head felt like a bombshell of fermenting ingenuity. Every device,
mechanical and otherwise, that had ever passed through his brain since
childhood, seemed to rush back upon him with irresistible violence in
his hopeless effort to conceive some plan by which to escape from his
present and pressing difficulty--he would not, even to himself, admit
that there was danger. The more hopeless the case appeared to him, the
less did reason and common-sense preside over the fermentation. When he
saw his gun broken, his first anxiety began. When he reflected on the
persistency of grizzlies in watching their foes, his naturally buoyant
spirits began to sink and his native recklessness to abate. When he saw
the bear begin steadily to devour one of the lines by which he had hoped
to capture it, his hopes declined still more; and when he considered the
distance he was from his hut, the fact that his provision wallet had
been left on the ground along with the gun, and that the branch on which
he rested was singularly unfit for a resting-place on which to pass many
hours, he became wildly ingenious, and planned to escape, not only by
pitching his cap to some distance off so as to distract the bear's
attention, and enable him to slip down and run away, but by devising
methods of effecting his object by clockwork, fireworks, wings,
balloons--in short, by everything that ever has, in the history of
design, enabled men to achieve their ends.
His first and simplest method, to fling his cap away, was indeed so far
successful that it did distract the bear's attention for a moment, but
it did not disturb his huge body, for he sat still, chewing his buffalo
quid leisurely, and, after a few seconds, looked up at his victim as
though to ask, "What d'you mean by that?"
When, after several hours, all his attempts had failed, poor Little Tim
groaned in spirit, and began to regret his having undertaken the job;
but a sense of the humorous, even in that extremity, caused him to give
vent to a short laugh as he observed that Bruin had managed to get
several feet of the indigestible rope down his throat, and fancied what
a surprise it would give him if he were to get hold of the other end of
the rope and pull it all out again.
At last night descended on the scene, making the situation much more
unpleasant, for the darkness tended to deceive the man as to the motions
of the brute, and once or twice he almost leaped off the branch under
the impression that his foe had somehow grown tall enough to reach him,
and was on the point of seizing him with his formidable claws. To add
to his troubles, hunger came upon Tim about his usual supper-time, and
what was far worse, because much less endurable, sleep put in a powerful
claim to attention. Indeed this latter difficulty became so great that
hunger, after a time, ceased to trouble him, and all his faculties--even
the inventive--were engaged in a tremendous battle with this good old
friend, who had so suddenly been converted into an implacable foe. More
than once that night did Little Tim, despite his utmost efforts, fall
into a momentary sleep, from which each time he awoke with a convulsive
start and sharp cry, to the obvious surprise of Bruin, who, being
awakened out of a comfortable nap, looked up with a growl inquiringly,
and then relapsed.
When morning broke, it found the wretched man still clutching his uneasy
couch, and blinking like an owl at the bear, which still lay comfortably
on the ground below him. Unable to stand it any longer, Tim resolved to
have a short nap, even if it should cost him his life. With this end in
view, he twined his arms and legs tightly round his branch. The very
act reminded him that his worsted waistbelt might be twined round both
body and branch, for it was full two yards long. Wondering that it had
not occurred to him before, he hastily undid it, lashed himself to the
branch as well as he could, and in a moment was sound asleep. This
device would have succeeded admirably had not one of his legs slowly
dropped so low down as to attract the notice of the bear when it awoke.
Rising to its full height on its hind legs, and protruding its tongue to
the utmost, it just managed to touch Tim's toe. The touch acted liked
an electric spark, awoke him at once, and the leg was drawn promptly up.
But Tim had had a nap, and it is wonderful how brief a slumber will
suffice to restore the energies of a man in robust health. He unlashed
himself.
"Good mornin' to 'ee," he said, looking down. "You're there yet, I
see."
He finished the salutation with a loud yawn, and stretched himself so
recklessly that he almost fell off the branch into the embrace of his
expectant foe. Then he looked round, and, reason having been restored,
hit upon a plan of escape which seemed to him hopeful.
We have said that the space he had selected was rather open, but there
were scattered over it several large masses of rock, about the size of
an ordinary cart, which had fallen from the neighbouring cliffs. Four
of these stood in a group at about fifty yards' distance from his tree.
"Now, old Caleb," he said, "I'll go in for it, neck or nothin'. You
tasted my toes this mornin'. Would you like to try 'em again?"
He lowered his foot as he spoke, as far down as he could reach. The
bear accepted the invitation at once, rose up, protruded his tongue as
before, and just managed to touch the toe. Now it is scarcely needful
to say that a strong man leading the life of a hunter in the Rocky
Mountains is an athlete. Tim thought no more of swinging himself up
into a tree by the muscular power of his arms than you would think of
stepping over a narrow ditch. When the bear was standing in its most
upright attitude, he suddenly swung down, held on to the branch with his
hands, and drove both his feet with such force against the bear's chin
that it lost its balance and fell over backwards with an angry growl.
At the same moment Tim dropped to the ground, and made for the fallen
rocks at a quicker rate than he had ever run before. Bruin scrambled to
his feet with amazing agility, looked round, saw the fugitive, and gave
chase. Darting past the first rock, it turned, but Little Tim, of
course, was not there. He had doubled round the second, and taken
refuge behind the third mass of rock.
Waiting a moment till the baffled bear went to look behind another rock,
he ran straight back again to his tree, hastily gathered up his ropes,
and reascended to his branch, where the bear found him again not many
minutes later.
"Ha! HA! you old rascal!" he shouted, as he fastened the end of a rope
firmly to the branch, and gathered in the slack so as to have the
running noose handy. "I've got you now. Come, come along; have another
taste of my toe!"
This invitation was given when the bear stood in his former position
under the tree and looked up. Once again it accepted the invitation,
and rose to the hunter's toe as a salmon rises to an irresistible fly.
"That's it! Now, hold on--just one moment. _There_!"
As Tim finished the sentence, he dropped the noose so deftly over the
bear's head and paws that it went right down to his waist. This was an
unlooked-for piece of good fortune. The utmost the hunter had hoped for
was to noose the creature round the neck. Moreover, it was done so
quickly that the monster did not seem to fully appreciate what had
occurred, but continued to strain and reach up at the toe in an imbecile
sort of way. Instead, therefore, of drawing the noose tight, Little Tim
dropped a second noose round the monster's neck, and drew that tight.
Becoming suddenly alive to its condition, the grizzly made a backward
plunge, which drew both ropes tight and nearly strangled it, while the
branch on which Tim was perched shook so violently that it was all he
could do to hold on.
For full half an hour that bear struggled fiercely to free itself, and
often did the shaken hunter fear that he had miscalculated the strength
of his ropes, but they stood the test well, and, being elastic, acted in
some degree like lines of indiarubber. At the end of that time the bear
fell prone from exhaustion, which, to do him justice, was more the
result of semi-strangulation than exertion.
This was what Little Tim had been waiting for and expecting. Quietly
but quickly he descended to the ground, but the bear saw him, partially
recovered, no doubt under an impulse of rage, and began to rear and
plunge again, compelling his foe to run to the fallen rocks for shelter.
When Bruin had exhausted himself a second time, Tim ran forward and
seized the old net with which he had failed to catch the previous bear,
and threw it over his captive. The act of course revived the lively
monster, but his struggles now wound him up into such a ravel with the
two lines and the net that he was soon unable to get up or jump about,
though still able to make the very earth around him tremble with his
convulsive heaves. It was at once a fine as well as an awful display of
the power of brute force and the strength of raw material!
Little Tim would have admired it with philosophic interest if he had not
been too busy dancing around the writhing creature in a vain effort to
fix his third rope on a hind leg. At last an opportunity offered. A
leg burst one of the meshes of the net. Tim deftly slipped the noose
over it, and made the line fast to the tree. "Now," said he, wiping the
perspiration from his brow, "you're safe, so I'll have a meal."
And Little Tim, sitting down on a stone at a respectful distance,
applied himself with zest to the cold breakfast of which he stood so
very much in need.
He was thus occupied when his son with the prairie chief and his party
found him.
It would take at least another chapter to describe adequately the joy,
surprise, laughter, gratulation, and comment which burst from the rescue
party on discovering the hunter. We therefore leave it to the reader's
imagination. One of the young braves was at once sent off to find the
agent and fetch him to the spot with his cage on wheels. The feat, with
much difficulty, was accomplished. Bruin was forcibly and very
unwillingly thrust into the prison. The balance of the stipulated sum
was honourably paid on the spot, and now that bear is--or, if it is not,
ought to be--in the Zoological Gardens of New York, London, or Paris,
with a printed account of his catching, and a portrait of Little Tim
attached to the front of his cage!