THE BATTLE OF THE BEASTS
“Oh, Hamilton!” said Emma, as she placed a trembling hand on the arm
of the guide.
“Be quiet,” he admonished.
The howls were coming nearer with the seconds, it seemed. There were
suggestive rustlings, and the faint sound of padded feet on the soft
ground somewhere to the right of the party.
The sensations of the Overland Riders were not wholly delightful,
and their nerves were tense and on edge.
The howls of the coyotes were mingled with snarls, and between
themselves and the faint light of the campfire the Overlanders now
made out slinking shadows.
“Mother of Mercy! What does it all mean?” murmured Nora Wingate.
“The coyotes are here,” Grace informed her. “Don’t be alarmed. They
cannot harm us if we keep together and don’t get panic-stricken.”
“Silence, please!” ordered White. “We will proceed. Pick your way.”
They had reached a point further on when the guide halted them.
“Look!” he said in a low tone of voice.
The Overlanders gazed on a scene such as they had never gazed upon
before.
A pack of coyotes were milling and snarling at the carcass of the
suspended bear. They were leaping and rending the bear’s flesh,
springing upon each other in their frenzy, biting and tearing their
fellows.
A long-drawn howl from the forest was followed by a chorus of yelps.
The air seemed full of hoarse wails.
“Wolves!” announced the guide briefly. “You can talk now. Your
voices can’t be heard by those beasts with all this uproar. How do
you like it?”
“It is terrible!” murmured Elfreda.
“Perhaps, but that is the way, not only of the beasts, but of man,
though man is more cruel. Life is a survival of the fittest. Look at
the trees and you have the answer. The tall ones are the vigorous
ones; the runts—”
The guide was interrupted by a scream that was almost human in its
quality.
“Ah! Now we shall see something worth while. Watch!” he warned.
What seemed to be a big ball of fur came hurtling from a tree,
landing right among the coyotes. Then followed the maddest battle
and the noisiest one that any member of the Overland party, with the
possible exception of Ham White, had ever seen.
“See the big cat give it to them!” cried the guide.
“The—the cat!” stammered Emma.
“Yes. That’s a mountain lion, which, as a matter of fact, is not a
lion at all.”
The girls were too thrilled with the scene before them to give heed
to his words.
The battle was brief, but when the lion finally leaped away with a
large chunk of meat in his jaws, three coyotes lay stretched out on
the ground. Whether the lion had killed them, or whether their own
fellows had done the deed, the eyes of the Overlanders had not been
quick enough to perceive. Now that they were rid of their enemy, the
coyotes returned to their savage feast.
“Say! You aren’t going to let those beasts eat up all our meat, are
you?” demanded Stacy. “I want some of that meat myself.”
“Is there any danger to us, Mr. White?” questioned a voice in the
guide’s ear.
He turned quickly, to find Miss Briggs standing at his side.
“No. We have our rifles, and so long as the bear meat holds out
those cowardly brutes can think of nothing else. We will give them
something to think about shortly, however. I think we have seen
about enough of this, and I am a little anxious about the ponies,
too.”
“Why?”
“You heard the wolves howling a little while ago. Well, you don’t
hear them now, do you?”
“Meaning?” interjected Grace.
“That they may be attacking the ponies or they may be stalking
us—may at this moment be within a few yards of us. I don’t worry
about our safety. They would have to be very hungry to attack us, in
force as we are, but let them overwhelm a pony and get him down, and
he is lost.”
The guide paused, and peered through the leaves of a bunch of
saplings behind which the party was standing. He gazed steadily for
a full minute.
“Mrs. Gray, fix your gaze on that tree with the umbrella top. Do you
get it?” asked White eagerly.
“Yes.”
“Let me know if you see anything.”
“I see something dark on one of the projecting limbs,” answered
Grace, after a long look. “What is it?”
“An animal, probably a lion.”
“Ours?” questioned Hippy.
The guide shook his head.
“‘Ours’ as you call him is too full of bear meat at this moment to
climb a tree. He is probably still munching under a thick growth of
creeping juniper somewhere, and may remain there all night. That
animal in the umbrella tree must be another lion. Want to try your
marksmanship on him, Mrs. Gray? Take a shot at him,” urged Hamilton
White. “This isn’t a fair test, I know, for you can’t even see your
rifle sights.”
“Why, yes, I’ll try it.” The members of the party, at the guide’s
direction, had brought along their rifles, as Ham knew that the
weapons might be needed. Grace stepped forward a little, moved to
the right, then to the left, each time peering over the barrel of
her automatic rifle. “I am not certain, but I think I can line up
one sight. Shall I fire?”
“Sure!” answered White.
The Overland girl knelt down and rested the rifle against the side
of a tree, but the position did not suit her, so she lay flat on her
back on the ground, with the weapon held between her elevated knees.
It was for only a few seconds that she waited, then there came a
flash and a sharp report, followed by a _spat_!
A snarl, and a faint squeal, came down to them.
“You hit the tree, and I shouldn’t be surprised if you barked the
beast, too!” cried Ham enthusiastically. “Try it again.”
“No. Give the others a chance. The one who brings down the beast
shall be free from all camp duties until Monday night,” suggested
Grace.
“Here! Let me take a shot!” exclaimed Stacy. He raised his rifle,
without changing his position at all, and before the girls could ask
an opportunity to shoot, Stacy fired three quick shots.
A scream from the cat followed the shots. There was a lively
scrambling in the umbrella tree, and the dark object that Hamilton
White had pointed out disappeared for a few seconds. The party was
too eager to see the result of the shots to take their eyes from the
tree for even a second.
“There he comes!” cried Ham. “It’s a hit. Look at him tumble!”
The lion had plunged from the tree and was hurtling down. He struck
the ground with a loud whack, landing a few yards from the campfire,
where he lay kicking, then straightened out dead.
From the shots and the fall of the lion the coyotes got a fright
that sent them scurrying to the shadows.
“Now’s our chance to clear them out! Everybody shoot and shoot fast.
No danger of doing any damage, for our ponies are behind us!”
ordered White.
“Put down a barrage, you shooters, and give them a kick that will
keep them going. I want to go to bed,” cried Stacy. “I never shoot
at anything I can’t see. It isn’t sportsmanlike.”
Some lively shooting followed, and the camp and its immediate
vicinity was cleared of the vicious visitors in a few moments.
“We must get the ponies up in a hurry now, Lieutenant,” reminded
Ham. “You ladies stay out in the open, but keep together with rifles
at ready. Brown, you stay here and look after them. Shoot if
anything develops.”
The two men started back into the forest at a run, and they were
just in time, for slinking forms were already stalking the plunging,
snorting ponies.
It took but a few moments to free the ponies and lash them together
with lead ropes, whereupon the men started back to camp. They
hesitated to fire at the beasts, either coyotes or wolves, which
were now stalking the ponies, fearing to alarm the girls. Only a
slight rustling indicated the presence of the slinking beasts, and
that sound continued until the men with the ponies were more than
half the way to the camp.
“Hark!” exclaimed the guide suddenly.
“Did you hear that, Lieutenant?”
“No. What was it?”
“Three shots. They weren’t from our camp, either—they were farther
away—and I should say from a revolver. Let us hurry on.”
A rifle crashed.
“That one was from our party. I’m going to cut loose. You bring the
horses in as best you can.” White cast off the lead rope, and dashed
ahead towards the camp, keeping his mount from burying its nose in
the ground by sheer muscular effort, as the little animal frequently
stumbled, and staggered over obstructions that could not be seen in
the darkness. The guide rode into camp at a swift gallop.
“What is it?” he demanded, sweeping the camp with a quick
comprehensive glance.
“There isn’t anything the matter,” answered Stacy Brown, who stood
leaning on his rifle.
“Then why did you shoot? I told you to shoot if anything developed,”
rebuked the guide.
“I didn’t say that I did shoot. However, for your own private ear,
not for general publication, I’ll say I did fire a shot. What about
it?” demanded the fat boy belligerently.
“Why?”
“Because some fellow was signalling us with small arms. Maybe some
poor fellow is lost. I have a big heart, sir—I am full to
overflowing with human sympathy, so I answered his shot.”
Hamilton White sighed. There was no answer that he could think of.
Grace laughed at him, and the guide grinned appreciatively.
Hippy arrived safely at camp with the horses a few moments later,
and was quickly informed of the cause of the shooting. Neither Hippy
nor White liked the thought of revealing their presence, for they
knew that peril might lurk in the big woods for the Overland Riders,
and for that reason they regretted Stacy’s shot.
“Well, I reckon you ladies had better turn in. We three men must
clean up the camp after the mussing it has had. How’s the cat?”
asked the guide.
“He is a nice fat fellow, Hamilton,” bubbled Emma.
“And Stacy made a wonderful shot, didn’t he, Mr. White?” spoke up
Elfreda enthusiastically.
“I always make wonderful shots,” boasted the fat boy. “Why, I could
tell you of shots that I have made that you wouldn’t believe
possible were anyone else to tell you the same story about himself.”
The Overlanders laughed heartily.
“Chance shot!” declared Hippy.
“I think so, too,” chirped Emma.
“I think I know a chance shot when I see one,” added Lieutenant
Wingate.
“I don’t doubt it. You’ve made enough of them,” growled Stacy, and
the laugh was on Hippy. “I’m going to turn in. If the coyotes return
don’t bother to awaken me. I am perfectly able to take care of
myself if they get close enough.”
“You will help us clear up this camp, Stacy Brown!” ordered Hippy.
Stacy demurred, but obeyed. When Hippy assumed that tone, Stacy knew
that it was best to obey orders.
The three had been at work for only a few moments when a fusillade
of shots was heard. The shots were from small arms, and were much
nearer the camp than before. All work ceased instantly, and the
guide looked his displeasure at the interruption. He beckoned to the
girls to go to the far side of the camp, which they did without
protest, but he observed that they had picked up their rifles and
laid them across their laps, as they sat down in the shadows.
“Oh, Hamilton, do be careful,” called Emma.
Nora snickered, and Emma Dean elevated her chin disdainfully.
“Sh-h-h-h!” warned Grace. “I hear someone coming.”
“Help!” The cry was hard by the camp.
Ham White and Hippy, standing back from the light of the campfire,
did not move. Their rifles were held in the crooks of their left
arms ready for instant use.
“It may be a trick. Stand by!” warned White in a low voice.
“Aye, aye, sir,” answered Hippy.
A man, dishevelled, his clothing torn, his face bloody, staggered
into the camp.
“I’m done for!” he gasped, and collapsed in a heap.