THREE POLAR BEARS
Each of the party was of course dressed warmly, and each carried either
a shot-gun or a rifle, as well as a hunting knife, some matches, and
also a small stock of provisions, slung in a knapsack over his shoulder.
“You won’t remain out late, will you?” called Captain Gordon to them,
after they were over the side.
“Not over eight or ten hours at the most,” replied Barry. “If it gets
foggy, blow the horn, so that we can locate the Arrow.”
“I will.”
The spot where Bob said he had seen the bear was to the north of the
berg, around a bend from the ship. He led the way and the others came
close behind.
“Perhaps ve peen lucky and pring down two or dree pears,” observed
Stults, as they trudged along.
“We’ll be lucky if we get one, to my way of thinking,” answered Barry,
with a laugh. “Polar bears are not so plentiful, especially in this
region.”
“Any vild animals around here?”
“Polar bears are wild enough--if you get them cornered.”
“Yah, put I vos mean ellerfuns or taggers or like dot.”
“No elephants, Stults. An elephant would have to wear skates to get
around here, and a tiger wouldn’t be any better off.”
“Dot’s so? Mine cracious, vot a country ennahow! Noddings put ice, ice,
ice all ofer. I peen glad ven we get pack to der United States.”
“Well, I won’t be sorry myself. But we must locate the treasure ship
first.”
“And find out what became of my father,” put in Bob. Now that they were
so close to the Pole, Bob thought of his lost parent constantly.
On they tramped, around the bend and up a slight hill where the ice was
covered with a hard, fine snow resembling salt. On the other side of
the rise was another hollow, with tall peaks of ice still farther in
the distance.
“The iceberg is a good deal larger than I had imagined,” said Barry.
“It must be all of several miles long.”
“Perhaps the Arrow will never get clear of it,” returned Bob. “The berg
may prove the steam yacht’s tomb.”
“Ton’t say dot!” cried Stults. “I ton’t vos vont to peen buried alife,
not me!”
As they were passing around a ridge of ice Bob suddenly ran ahead, and
then put up one hand.
“Stop!” he cried, in a low voice.
“What’s up?” asked Barry, in an equally low tone.
“The polar bears!”
“Where?”
“Straight ahead. They are resting on the ice and eating something they
are holding in their forepaws.”
“How many vos dere of dem?” questioned Stults, as he brought around his
shot-gun.
“Three.”
“Ha! didn’t I vos tole you! Dot is chust von all aroundt. Let us schoot
dem kvick!”
“Hold on!” put in Barry, catching the German cook by the arm. “If you
are not careful you’ll scare them away and we won’t get even one of
them.”
“I vos a goot shot, I told you. I belong by dot Cherman sharpshooters
verein,” cried Stults. On a target excursion he had once hit the
bull’s-eye by accident, and he now thought he could bring down one of
the bears without trouble.
He was soon quieted, however, and then they crept forward with great
caution, until they were within a hundred yards of the game.
The three polar bears had been eating some fish dug out of the ice.
But the fish were not large and the repast soon came to an end. Then
the bears arose and started to walk off.
“Da vos goin’!” roared the German cook. “Shtop dem!” and rushing
forward, he discharged his shot-gun at the game.
His aim was wild, nevertheless some of the scattering shot took one of
the bears in the left hind leg. At once the beast set up a terrific
roar of mingled pain and alarm.
The noise of the shot, and the roar from their fellow, frightened the
other bears, and in a twinkle they were off, over the ice, running with
a speed which was surprising when their unusual bulk was considered.
“They are running off!” ejaculated Bob, and then he blazed away at the
bear struck by the shot. Barry also fired, and both bullets took effect.
The wounded beast was not fatally struck, but one of the bullets passed
through its left foreleg, so that running away became difficult.
It let out a howl louder than before, and now turned savagely toward
those who had made the attack.
“Look owit!” shrieked Stults. “He vos coming for us! He vill chew us
all up alretty!” And then, dropping his gun, he fled over the ice for
dear life, in the direction from which he had come.
Fortunately the weapon Barry carried was of the repeating pattern. As
the bear came closer, he let the beast have another bullet, this time
in the breast.
“Hurrah!” shouted Bob. “Give him another,” and he started to reload his
own weapon with all possible speed.
Barry did try to give the bear another bullet. But his aim was not so
good and the beast was not touched. Then the bear made a tremendous
leap, and in a trice it had Barry down on his back and was standing
over him.
It was a moment of extreme peril, and Bob’s heart almost stopped
beating, for he fully expected to see the bear catch Barry by the
throat and crush that part of his friend’s body.
But the beast paused for a second before continuing the attack. It
had never seen a human being before, and it probably knew not how to
proceed.
That second of time brought Bob to his senses, and aiming full at the
bear’s head he fired his rifle.
His aim was true, and the bullet, going into the bear’s ear, entered
the beast’s brain, killing it instantly.
The huge weight fell on Barry before the half stunned young man could
save himself, and he was pinned fast to the ice and the little
remaining breath almost crushed out of him.
“Barry! Barry! are you safe?” questioned Bob, when he saw that the
beast was indeed dead.
“I--I--take the--thing--off!” panted Barry.
“It’s--crushing--in--my--ribs!”
“I will,” answered Bob, and threw down his rifle.
But removing such a heavy weight was no small task, and he had to exert
all of his strength to lift even a corner of the game.
But at last the bear was turned over, and then Barry gave a sigh of
relief. But it was a good five minutes before he felt like getting on
his feet.
“What a whopper of a bear!” cried Bob, as he inspected the beast. “He
must weigh about a ton!”
“Load the rifles,” said Barry. “Those other bears may take it into
their heads to come back.”
“That’s so,” and Bob reloaded both of the weapons with all speed.
“Where is Stults?”
“He ran away as soon as the bear started for us.”
“Perhaps the other bears followed him.”
Barry had scarcely spoken when a yell reached their ears, coming from
behind an icy ridge.
“Hellup! Hellup, somepody!”
“That’s Stults, and he’s in trouble,” gasped Barry.
“I’ll see what I can do for him,” answered Bob, and ran off, armed with
the repeating rifle.