Soft, wet and tender, with a faint green filming the sodden pasture
field, and a rose-pink veil covering the maples, and blue-grey catkins
tinting the dark alders, spring had come to the lonely little clearing
in the backwoods. From the swampy meadow along the brook's edge,
across the road from the cabin and the straw-littered barn-yard, came
toward evening that music which is the distinctive note of the
northern spring--the thrilling, mellow, inexpressibly wistful fluting
of the frogs.
The sun was just withdrawing his uppermost rim behind the far-off
black horizon line of fir-tops. The cabin door stood wide open to
admit the sweet air and the sweet sound. Just inside the door sat old
Mrs. Griffis, rocking heavily, while the woollen sock which she was
knitting lay forgotten in her lap. She was a strong-featured, muscular
woman, still full of vigour, whom rheumatism had met and halted in the
busy path of life. Her keen and restless eyes were following eagerly
every movement of a slender, light-haired girl in a blue cotton waist
and grey homespun skirt, who was busy at the other side of the yard,
getting her little flock of sheep penned up for the night for fear of
wild prowlers.
Presently the girl slammed the pen door, jammed the hardwood peg into
the staple, ran her fingers nervously through the pale fluff of her
hair, and came hurrying across the yard to the door with a smile on
her delicate young face.
"_There_, Granny!" she exclaimed, with the air of one who has just got
a number of troublesome little duties accomplished, "I guess no
lynxes, or nothing, 'll get the sheep to-night, anyways. Now, I must
go an' hunt up old 'Spotty' afore it gets too dark. I don't see what's
made her wander off to-day. She always sticks around the barn close as
a burr!"
The old woman smiled, knowing that the survival of a wild instinct in
the cow had led her to seek some hiding-place, near home but secluded,
wherein to secrete her new-born calf.
"I guess old 'Spotty' knows enough to come home when she gets ready,
Child!" she answered. "She's been kept that close all winter, the snow
bein' so deep, I don't wonder she wants to roam a bit now she can git
'round. Land sakes, I wish't _I_ could roam a bit, 'stead er sittin',
sittin', an' knittin', knittin', mornin', noon an' night, all along of
these 'ere useless old legs of mine!"
"Poor Granny!" murmured the girl, softly, tears coming into her eyes.
"I wish't we could get 'round, the two of us, in these sweet-smellin'
spring woods, an' get the first Mayflowers together! Couldn't you just
try now, Granny? I believe you are goin' to walk all right again some
day, just as well as any of us. Do try!"
Thus adjured, the old woman grasped the arms of her chair sturdily,
set her jaw, and lifted herself quite upright. But a groan forced
itself from her lips, and she sank back heavily, her face creased with
pain. Recovering herself with a resolute effort, however, she smiled
rather ruefully.
"Some day, mebbe, if the good Lord wills!" said she, shaking her head.
"But 'tain't this day, Melindy! You'll be the death o' me yet, Child,
you're so set on me gittin' 'round ag'in!"
"Why, Granny, you did splendid!" cried the girl. "That was the best
yet, the best you've ever done since I come to you. You stood just as
straight as anybody for a minute. Now, I'll go an' hunt old 'Spotty.'"
And she turned toward the tiny path that led across the pasture to the
burnt-woods.
But Mrs. Griffis's voice detained her.
"What's the good o' botherin' about old 'Spotty' to-night, Melindy?
Let her have her fling. Them frogs make me that lonesome to-night I
can't bear to let ye a minnit out o' my sight, Child! Ther' ain't no
other sound like it, to my way o' thinkin', for music nor for
lonesomeness. It 'most breaks my heart with the sweetness of it,
risin' an' fallin' on the wet twilight that way. But I just got to
have somebody 'round when I listen to it!"
"Yes, Granny, I love it, too!" assented Melindy in a preoccupied tone,
"when I ain't too bothered to listen. Just now, I'm thinkin' about old
'Spotty' out there alone in the woods, an' maybe some hungry lynxes
watchin' for her to lie down an' go to sleep. You know how hungry the
bears will be this spring, too, Granny, after the snow layin' deep so
late. I just couldn't sleep, if I thought old 'Spotty' was out there
in them queer, grey, empty woods all night. In summer it's different,
an' then the woods are like home."
"Well," said her grandmother, seeing that the girl was bent upon her
purpose, "if ye're skeered for old 'Spotty,' ye'd better be a little
mite skeered for yerself, Child! Take along the gun. Mebbe ye might
see a chipmunk a-bitin' the old cow jest awful!"
Heedless of her grandmother's gibe, Melindy, who had a very practical
brain under her fluffy light hair, picked up the handy little axe
which she used for chopping kindling.
"No guns for me, Granny, you know," she retorted. "This 'ere little
axe's good enough for me!" And swinging it over her shoulder she went
lightly up the path, her head to one side, her small mouth puckered in
a vain effort to learn to whistle.
What Melindy and her grandmother called the "Burnt Lands" was a strip
of country running back for miles from the clearing. The fire had gone
over it years before, cutting a sharply defined, gradually widening
path through the forest, and leaving behind it only a few scattered
rampikes, or tall, naked trunks bleached to whiteness by the storms of
many winters. Here and there amid these desolate spaces, dense
thickets of low growth had sprung up, making a secure hiding-place of
every hollow where the soil had not had all the life scorched out of
it.
Having crossed the pasture, Melindy presently detected those faint
indications of a trail which the uninitiated eye finds it so
impossible to see. Slight bendings and bruises of the blueberry and
laurel scrub caught her notice. Then she found, in a bare spot, the
unmistakable print of a cow's hoof. The trail was now quite clear to
her; and it was clearly that of old "Spotty." Intent upon her quest
she hurried on, heedless of the tender colours changing in the sky
above her head, of the first swallows flitting and twittering across
it, of the keen yet delicate fragrance escaping from every sap-swollen
bud, and of the sweetly persuasive piping of the frogs from the water
meadow. She had no thought at that moment but to find the truant cow
and get her safely stabled before dark.
The trail led directly to a rocky hollow about a hundred yards from
the edge of the pasture--perhaps a hundred and fifty yards from the
doorway wherein Mrs. Griffis sat intently watching Melindy's progress.
The hollow was thick with young spruce and white birch, clustered
about a single tall and massive rampike.
Into this shadowy tangle the girl pushed fearlessly, peering ahead
beneath the dark, balsam-scented branches. She could see, in a broken
fashion, to the very foot of the rampike, across which lay a huge
fallen trunk. But she could see nothing of old "Spotty," who, by
reason of her vivid colouring of red and white splotches, would have
been conspicuous against those dark surroundings.
There was something in the silence, combined with the absence of the
cow whom she confidently expected to find, which sent a little chill
to the girl's heart. She gripped her axe more tightly, and stood quite
motionless, accustoming her eyes to the confused gloom; and presently
she thought she could distinguish a small brownish shape lying on a
mound of moss near the foot of the rampike. A moment more and she
could see that it was looking at her, with big, soft eyes. Then a pair
of big ears moved. She realized that it was a calf she was looking at.
Old "Spotty's" truancy was accounted for.
But where was old "Spotty"? Melindy thought for a moment, and
concluded very properly that the mother, considering the calf
well-hidden, had slipped away to the spring for a drink. She was on
the point of stepping forward to admire the little new-comer and see
if it was yet strong enough to be led home to the barn, when a
stealthy rustling at the farther side of the thicket arrested her.
Certainly that could not be the cow, who was anything but stealthy in
her movements. But what could it be?
Melindy had a sudden prescience of peril. But her nerves stiffened to
it, and she had no thought of retreat. It might be one of those savage
lynxes, spying upon the calf in its mother's absence. At this idea
Melindy's small mouth itself set very grimly, and she rejoiced that
she had brought the axe along. The lynx, of all the wild creatures,
she regarded with special antagonism.
The stealthy movements came nearer, nearer, then suddenly died out. A
moment more and a dark bulk took shape noiselessly among the
fir-branches, some ten or twelve feet beyond the spot where the
helpless calf was lying.
For a second Melindy's heart stood still. What was her little axe
against a bear! Then she recalled the general backwoods faith that the
biggest black bear would run from a human being, if only he had plenty
of room to run. She looked at the helpless little one curled up on
its mossy bed. She looked at the savage black shape gliding slowly
forward to devour it. And her heart leaped with returning courage.
The bear, its fierce eyes glancing from side to side, was now within
five or six feet of its intended prey. With a shrill cry of warning
and defiance Melindy sprang forward, swinging her axe, and ordered the
beast to "Git out!" She was greatly in hopes that the animal would
yield to the authority of the human voice, and retire abashed.
At any other season, it is probable that the bear would have done just
as she hoped it would. But now, it had the courage of a rampant spring
appetite. Startled it was, and disturbed, at the girl's sudden
appearance and her shrill cry; and it half drew back, hesitating. But
Melindy also hesitated; and the bear was quick to perceive her
hesitation. For a few seconds he stood eyeing her, his head down and
swinging from side to side. Then, seeming to conclude that she was not
a formidable antagonist, he gave vent to a loud, grunting growl, and
lurched forward upon the calf.
With a wild scream, half of fury, half of fear, Melindy also darted
forward, trusting that the animal would not really face her onslaught.
And the calf, terrified at the sudden outcry, staggered to its feet
with a loud bleating.
The bear was just upon it, with great black paw uplifted for the
fatal stroke that would have broken its back, when he saw Melindy's
axe descending. With the speed of a skilled boxer he changed the
direction of his stroke, and fended off the blow so cleverly that the
axe almost flew from the girl's grasp. The fine edge, however, caught
a partial hold, and cleft the paw to the bone.
Furious with the pain, and his fighting blood now thoroughly aroused,
the bear forgot the calf and sprang at his daring assailant.
Light-footed as a cat, the girl leapt aside, just in time, darted over
the fallen trunk, and dodged around the base of the rampike. She
realized that she had undertaken too much, and her only hope now was
that either she would be able to outrun the bear, or that the latter
would turn his attentions again to the calf and forget about her.
The bear, however, had no intention of letting her escape his
vengeance. For all his bulk, he was amazingly nimble and was at her
heels again in a second. Though she might have outstripped him in the
open, he would probably have caught her in the hampering thicket; but
at this crucial moment there came a bellow and a crashing of branches
close behind him, and he whirled about just in time to receive the
raging charge of old "Spotty," who had heard her youngster's call.
The bear had no time to dodge or fend this onslaught, but only to
brace himself. The cow's horns, unfortunately, were short and
wide-spreading. She caught him full in the chest, with the force of a
battering-ram, and would have hurled him backwards but that his mighty
claws and forearms, at the same instant, secured a deadly clutch upon
her shoulders. She bore him backward against the trunk indeed, but
there he recovered himself; and when she strove to withdraw for
another battering charge, she could not tear herself free. Foiled in
these tactics, she lunged forward with all her strength, again and
again, bellowing madly, and endeavouring to crush out her enemy's
breath against the tree. And the bear, grunting, growling, and
whining, held her fast while he tore at her with his deadly claws.
Too much excited to think any longer of flight, Melindy stood upon the
fallen trunk and breathlessly watched the battle. In a few moments she
realized that old "Spotty" was getting the worst of it; and upon this
her courage once more returned. Running down the great log as close as
she dared, she swung up her axe, and paused for an opening. She was
just about to strike, when a well-known voice arrested her, and she
jumped back.
"Git out of the way, Child," it commanded, piercing the turmoil. "Git
out of the way an' let me shoot!"
The crippled old woman, too, had heard the cry of her young. When that
scream of Melindy's cleft the evening air, Mrs. Griffis had shot out
of her chair as if she had never heard of rheumatism. She did not know
anything hurt her. At the summons of this imperious need her old
vigour all came back. Snatching up the big duck-gun from the corner,
where it stood always loaded and ready, she went across the pasture
and through the laurel patches at a pace almost worthy of Melindy
herself. When she plunged through the bushes into the hollow, and saw
the situation, her iron will steadied her nerves to meet the crisis.
The instant Melindy had jumped out of the way Mrs. Griffis ran close
up to the combatants. The bear was being kept too busy to spare her
any attention whatever. Coolly setting the muzzle of the big gun
(which was loaded with buckshot) close to the beast's side, just
behind the fore-shoulder, she pulled the trigger. There was a roar
that filled the hollow like the firing of a cannon, and the bear
collapsed sprawling, with a great hole blown through his heart.
Old "Spotty" drew back astonished, snorted noisily, and rolled wild
eyes upon her mistress. Then, unable to believe that her late foe was
really no longer a menace to her precious calf, she fell once more
upon the lifeless form and tried to beat it out of all likeness to a
bear. The calf, who had been knocked over but not hurt in the bear's
charge upon Melindy, had struggled to its feet again; and Mrs.
Griffis pushed it forward to attract its mother's attention. This move
proved successful; and presently, in the task of licking the little
creature all over to make sure it was not hurt, "Spotty" forgot her
noble rage. Then, slowly and patiently, by pushing, pulling, and
coaxing, the two women got the calf up out of the hollow and along the
homeward path, while the mother, heedless of her streaming wounds,
crowded against them, mooing softly with satisfaction. She was craving
now, for her little one, the safe shelter of the barn-yard.
At the well the quaint procession stopped, and the calf fell to
nursing; while Melindy washed the cow's wounds, and Mrs. Griffis
hunted up some tar to use as a salve upon them. As she moved briskly
about the yard, Melindy broke into a peal of joyous but almost
hysterical laughter.
"I declare to goodness, Granny," she cried, in response to the old
woman's questioning look, "if you ain't just as spry as me. I've heard
tell that bear's grease was a great medicine for rheumatism. It's
plain to be seen, Granny, that you've used up a whole bear for
yours."
"It wasn't the bear, Child!" answered the old woman, gravely. "It was
that ter'ble scream o' yours cured my rheumatiz! Old 'Spotty,' she
come to her young one's call. Could I do less, Child, when I heerd my
little one cry out fer me?"