THE TALE OF A MULE.
"Jee-hos-o-phat, a grizzly!" yelled Pete, as he gazed at the quarter of
a ton of angry bruin, "and we've not got even a bean shooter."
"That's what Maud was scared at," was the ridiculous thought,
considering the circumstances, that came into Jack's mind. That Pete
had thought the same thing was evidenced the next instant.
"Say, if we'd only paid attention to Maud," he began, "we'd----"
But a sudden interruption cut him short. The big log they had been
trying to dislodge was, as has been said, very delicately balanced.
Already by placing their hands on it and rocking it testingly they had
disturbed its equilibrium. Now Pete, in his agitation, had placed a
foot on it. Both feet, in fact, as he jumped backward at the sight of
the huge bear.
This was too much for the trunk. With a crash and a roar, and
accompanied by a mighty cascade of dust and rocks, it rolled down the
steep, shaly bank.
A few moments before both Pete and Jack had longed above everything
else to see the trunk spanning the break in the trail. Now, however,
when it landed fair and square in the position desired, with its two
ends resting on solid ground, the natural bridge it formed was the last
thing in the world they wanted to see.
With the trail still open--that is, with the break still in
existence--they might have saved themselves from the bear, for it was
extremely unlikely that the creature could have found a foot-hold on
the loose shaly bank. Now that the bridge was in existence, however,
things were altered, the bear could cross to them at will, even if they
took refuge on their own side of the gap.
"Make for those trees," shouted Pete, pointing to a small clump of
scrubby firs that grew out of a pile of rock just above where Maud had
been tethered.
Without a word Jack turned and made the best of his speed along the
steep, slippery incline to the spot indicated by the cow-puncher. Pete
was close behind him.
"Now climb," ordered Pete; "it's our only chance."
As he spoke the grizzly, which had hesitated for a moment when the
bridge came tumbling down, had perceived the easy means it afforded him
of reaching his prey, and was cautiously testing it with his foot.
"Wish the thing would give way and roll him down to kingdom come,"
gritted out Pete, savagely.
Both Pete and Jack in their haste had found refuge in the same tree,
a small sapling fir, which bent perilously under their weight. From
this insecure perch they watched bruin testing the bridge cautiously.
Finally having made up his mind it was safe the immense brute started
to lumber across it.
"B-b-but," stammered Jack, "he'll get us in this tree, Pete. Grizzlies
can climb."
The boy was horribly frightened, and small blame can attach to him
therefor. Jack, as we have seen, was far from being a coward, but even
the bravest of men might be pardoned for feeling alarm when caught
weaponless by a grizzly bear--one of the most savage, merciless foes of
man in the Western Hemisphere.
"He can climb, all right," rejoined Pete, "but a grizzly is the most
cautious brute there is. He's quite smart enough to see that this tree
overhangs a steep slope that ends in a precipice, and he knows, too,
that if too much weight is put on it we'll all go down together. Maybe
he won't try to dislodge us. That's our only hope."
"But even if he doesn't climb it he's liable to sit below till we come
down from hunger or drop from fatigue."
"Well, that's a chance we've got to take," grunted Pete grimly.
The grizzly seemed in no particular hurry to proceed. Having crossed
the bridge he leisurely sniffed about, only from time to time glancing
up out of his little red eyes at the two figures in the flimsy fir tree.
All this time Maud had been plunging about like a wild thing, but her
rope held tight and she could not escape.
"Poor critter," said Pete, as he watched her. "If we'd only taken her
warning we might have been out of here by now."
"If we ever get out of this, I'll believe anything a mule tells me,"
chimed in Jack miserably.
The grizzly apparently made up his mind suddenly that it was time that
all delays were over. With the peculiar lumbering gait of these huge,
but active, creatures, he rapidly made his way to the foot of the
little fir and placed his fore paws on it. As Jack gazed downward at
the huge paws, armed with enormous claws, each as big and sharp as a
chilled steel chisel, he could not restrain a cry.
"Steady, kid, steady," groaned Pete. "Oh, if only I had a rifle for
you, me haughty beauty, wouldn't I drill a nice hole in you."
He shook his fist at the bear, which growled savagely back. But having
tested the tree, the bear, as Pete had expected, declined to risk
his weight on it. Instead he shook it a little in a vain attempt to
dislodge the two clinging occupants. Both man and boy hung on with
grim desperation, while a dreadful fear that the roots might give way
gnawed at the heart of each.
"How long will he stay there, do you think?" asked Jack, as the
grizzly, grumbling angrily to himself, sat down at the foot of the
tree, for all the world like a huge cat patiently watching a mouse hole.
"Dunno," grumbled Pete; "longer than we'll stay here, I guess."
Suddenly the bear seemed to tire of inactivity. With a savage roar he
sprang at the tree, which bent like a sapling under his tremendous
weight. To Pete's horror he distinctly felt the trunk crack.
"It's all off," he groaned aloud; "one more jump like that will finish
us."
"When the tree hits the ground you run," whispered Pete to Jack. The
boy nodded his head. He little dreamed what was in Pete's mind.
The acute mind of the grizzly soon perceived that his attack on the
tree had been effectual. Roaring with dreadful note that sent a chill
to Jack's heart, he charged once more.
There came a dreadful crashing, crackling, rending sound, and the small
sapling gave way.
Like a stone from a catapult Jack felt himself strike the ground
violently.
"Run, Jack, run!"
It was the voice of Pete, but it came to Jack like a voice in a dream.
Mingling with it came the triumphant roar of the grizzly.
Bruised and shaken by his fall, the boy managed somehow to get to his
feet and began running stumblingly forward. Suddenly he stopped. What
had become of Pete?
In the same instant his friend's unselfish bravery flashed across him.
Pete meant to stay behind and deliberately sacrifice himself while Jack
got a chance to escape.
Jack turned and began to run back.
"Pete, Pete, you shan't do it!" he cried desperately.
But even as he yelled he gave a shrill cry of mortal terror. The huge
black form was upon the cow-puncher, and all Jack could see was its
huge, hairy arms as they shot out to envelope Pete in their grip.
Over and over rolled the two, as the bear missed its footing on the
treacherous hillside and began toppling down toward the trail. In this
predicament it still gripped tight to its prey, however.
Suddenly Jack gave another yell--a cry of exultation. An extraordinary
thing had happened.
In its rolling plunge down the slope the bear had come within the
radius of Maud's iron-shod hind hoofs. With a scream of mingled fear
and mulelike defiance, those formidable weapons drove out as if
impelled by steel springs.
Ker-flo-p-p-p!
Both of those terrible heels struck the grizzly fair and square in the
top of his ferocious head. With a howl of agony he dropped the man from
his deadly grip, and with the blood streaming from the deadly wound
went tumbling and clawing in his death agony down the slope.
Faster and faster he crashed downward, tearing out small bushes and
trees as he went under his huge weight. At last everything grew silent,
and Jack looked over the edge of the gulch.
At the bottom, half hidden among the avalanche of brush he had brought
with him, lay the carcass of the huge grizzly--quite dead, it seemed,
for when Jack hurled down a stone he never moved.
At the same instant Pete sat up, a puzzled expression on his face.
"Am I dead?" he inquired.
"No, thanks to old Maud!" shouted Jack, joyously flinging his arms
about Pete and doing a war dance of exultation. "She's the best
one-eared mule in the world!"
"That's right," agreed Pete solemnly, after he had been made acquainted
with the happenings of the last few moments, for he had lost
consciousness in the bear's mighty hug.
"And say, Pete," said Jack in a choky voice, "I understand what you
did, old man, and----"
His voice broke, and tears came into his eyes as he thought of Pete's
act of self-sacrifice.
"Aw blazes," said Pete, with a bit of a quaver in his own tones,
"that's all right. But look at Maud, will you?"
That intelligent animal, with her one ear cocked erect as if in
triumph, had thrown back her head and opened her mouth.
"Is she going to have a fit?" asked Jack.
"Naw, she's going ter sing. Mules don't speak often, but when they do,
they do it about something worth while. Hark!"
He-haw-he-haw-he-haw-he-haw!
Maud's song of triumph, as Pete had described it, went echoing up and
down the cañon in the most discordant series of sounds known to the ear
of man. But if there had been a hundred Mexicans in earshot, neither of
the two fugitives would have grudged Maud her vocal exercise, nor have
attempted to cut it short.
As it was, however, the mule's pean of victory had evidently reached
other ears than those of Jack Merrill and Coyote Pete. They were still
petting her and wishing for lumps of sugar and gold head stalls and all
sorts of equine delicacies when both were startled by a gruff voice
addressing them.
"Hullo, strangers!"
"Hullo yourself!" rejoined Pete, considerably surprised, and peering
about him keenly.