“What do you think of this for a place to rout out a bear, eh,
boys?” and as Mr. Witherspoon asked this question he drew in his
sweating pony, and jumped to the ground.
The Bird Boys glanced around them. It was a wild prospect that
greeted their gaze. They had left the level plains and entered among
the rocky foothills that stretched out from the spur of the great
Rockies reaching far down into Arizona.
In all probability this State has a greater range of extremes in the
way of geographic features than any other in the Union. It possesses
arid deserts, fertile plains; and the whole upper part is a mass of
rugged mountain ranges, some of them as yet really never fully
explored, and in which many valuable minerals have been found that
yield fortunes to the capitalists whose money has made the mines
possible.
These contrasts are often sharply defined, the desert touching the
very border of a fertile tract, or running to the edge of the
uplifts where, among the rocks, some rippling little stream dashes
down, to mysteriously disappear under the burning sands as though
swallowed up.
After a rather long and exhausting gallop that covered many miles
the little hunting party of four had now arrived among the rocky
spurs, and entered what was to all appearances a pass, though
Buckskin called it a coulie, which might stand for a deep ravine, or
a gulch, differing from the dry bed of a former stream which is
known as a barranca.
“Do we leave the ponies here, Uncle?” asked Frank, who had come to
call Mr. Witherspoon thus familiarly, though of course the gentleman
was no relation, being connected on the side of Andy’s mother.
“Yes, staking them out where they can get a bite to eat from that
grass yonder, while we’re gone. We gave them all the water they
could drink a short time back; and that’ll have to do until we start
home. Going to snap us off again while we stand here beside our
mounts, are you, Andy?” and the rancher, who by this, had found
himself taken in a dozen different attitudes, and was getting used
to it, laughed good-naturedly as he struck a natural pose, with one
hand stroking the neck of his cayuse.
“Oh! it’s all over with,” replied Andy, coolly, “I saw my chance,
and just pressed the bulb when nobody was looking. And I bet you I
got a good one, too. That’s always the best way to do. When people
think they’re getting in a picture they make all sorts of queer
faces trying to look nice, and it spoils things. But the next one I
hope will be of Mr. Grizzly, and say, Uncle, we won’t have to tell
him to look pleasant, will we?”
“Oh! I’ve no doubt but that when he knows what you’re after he’ll
just rear up on his hind legs, and grin like a booby,” chuckled
Frank. “I guess these grizzlies don’t often get a chance to have
their pictures taken, and he’ll be obliged to you for the opening. I
hope you get a good one, that’s all, Andy.”
They threw themselves down to rest.
“No hurry about getting to work,” said Mr. Witherspoon, as he
lighted his pipe, from which he seemed capable of sucking
considerable enjoyment. “We might as well take it easy for a little,
while Buckskin is skirmishing around, to see if he can locate signs
of our four-footed friend up yonder among the rocks. An hour at this
time of day won’t matter much anyhow, because chances are the old
rascal is sleeping off the effects of the big dinner he made last
night off another of my heifers, so the foreman reported.” The boys
were not unwilling, because the ride had been hot and dusty; and
just there the air seemed stirring a little, which made the shade
very agreeable, after the open glare of the bright sun.
“But suppose the bear should happen along here after we’ve gone, and
take a notion to tackle one of your ponies, Uncle, wouldn’t that be
a pretty tough joke on us, if we had to go back double?” remarked
Andy, as he pottered with his camera, to make sure that it was in
the very best of condition for the work he expected to put it to
presently, if they were lucky enough to come across Bruin.
“Well, you are the greatest hand to think up trouble I ever saw, my
lad,” declared the free and easy-going rancher, “that never occurred
to me at all, and I don’t believe there’s one chance in ten of it
coming to pass, because all respectable bears should be asleep in
their dens at this hot time of day. I reckon then we’ll have to risk
it, unless one of you boys choose to sit here and stand guard.”
Of course this was said in the light of a joke, because he knew full
well neither of them could be induced to lose this glorious chance
to see a real grizzly of the Rockies at home.
Frank wanted to do a little of the shooting, if possible; and as for
Andy, he had become so thoroughly infatuated with the business of
picture taking that if he were compelled to choose between snapping
off the bear’s likeness, or putting a chunk of lead between his
ribs, Frank believed he would take the former, and lose all
opportunity for securing the trophy of the chase for a rug.
They were still lounging there some time later when a rattling of
small stones announced that somebody or some thing was approaching
from up the side of the coulie. Mr. Witherspoon just allowed his
hand to creep out to where his repeating Marlin lay. Not that he
suspected any danger might be hanging over their heads; but then one
wants to be on the foothills of the Rockies, where grizzlies have
their dens and sometimes cattle rustlers hide out waiting for a
chance to descend on the unprotected herds, which may be driven away
to a secret cache, where their marks can be altered, and then the
animals sold, or shipped on the railroad to a distant point.
But it turned out to be Buckskin, and with a wide grin decorating
his bronzed face, which Frank rightly interpreted to signify that he
had found the den he was so positive must be near by. “Hit her the
first thing, boys,” he chirped cheerfully, as he threw himself down
alongside the others, to cool off a little. “And believe me, things
look good for findin’ our chap at home. He dragged that heifer all
the way up here, consarn his old hide. I could see marks of blood on
his doorsill. Reckons as how we ketched him next door to in the act,
Mr. Witherspoon; got him with the goods on, we have. And here’s
hopin’ that’ll be the last young beef he’ll steal from the Double X
Ranch.”
After a short time the rancher got up, and threw his rifle in the
hollow of his arm. While lying there he had told the boys about all
that he could remember concerning the habits and peculiarities of
grizzlies, and also warned them not to be sparing of their lead when
once they commenced to throw it; because there is not another living
wild beast, hunters declare, that can stand up under and carry off
more bullets than one of these monsters.
The four of them commenced to climb the rocky slope. It was no easy
task, but they took their time about it, Mr. Witherspoon pointing
out how Buckskin had undoubtedly followed the occasional traces left
by the bear in his many pilgrimages along the same route—scratches
from his terribly long claws; or it might be occasional tiny stains
of blood from the carcass of the heifer he had dragged all the way
from the grass country, and along these ragged rocks, just as though
it was the easiest proposition that had ever been put up to him.
“Thar she is!” said Buckskin, suddenly, pointing with his rifle.
Following the direction of his outstretched weapon, the boys saw
what seemed to be a seam in the face of the rocky wall a little
distance away. As they advanced still further they realized that it
widened near the base, and afforded quite an opening, through which
even the bulky figure of a grizzly could pass with ease.
And upon looking, they found innumerable evidences of the fact that
some animal had long been in the habit of passing in and out of this
fissure.
“Why, here’s a bunch of brown hairs sticking to this sharp point of
rock, rubbed off when he scraped past!” declared the keen-eyed Frank
immediately after taking a look around.
“Good for you, my boy!” exclaimed the rancher, evidently well
pleased at this evidence of alertness on the part of his charge.
“Yes, that came from the hide of a Mountain Charlie, as they call
them out in California. You can see how coarse it is. Keep it as a
memento; but I certain sure hope you’ll get the real thing before we
gallop back for our supper late tonight.”
“How about him rushing out and surprising us, Uncle?” asked Andy.
“Perhaps the old fellow mightn’t like to have company dropping in on
him without an invite. And then, you see, I wouldn’t have any focus
at all, which would spoil my picture.”
“No need of worrying about that, my lad,” said the rancher. “He’s
lying in there as snug as you please, with his stomach full of that
juicy heifer; and it’ll be a hard proposition for us to coax him to
consent to an interview at all. Chances are, Buckskin’ll have to
smoke the old villain out. That sometimes happens. But we might as
well begin to make all our arrangements, looking to getting that
picture at the right focus; and also placing that little defile
between us and the bear when he does come out, mad as hops at being
treated to a smoke.”
He had apparently already figured it all out in his own mind and
made the necessary arrangements; for he led them across a deep
little defile that happened to lie between the bear’s den and a flat
stretch of rock, just fifty paces away.
From this spot a splendid view could be had of the yawning crevice
at the base of the cliff. And Andy was delighted to see that for the
next hour the sun would be favorable to his work of securing a good
exposure, given the subject.
“Got your focus all right, have you?” asked the rancher, when he
heard Andy give a grunt as of satisfaction.
“Yes,” Andy went on to say, smilingly, “everything stands out as
clear as a bell; and I think I ought to make a boss picture of this;
that is, if I don’t go and foozle, because of stage fright, when the
old rascal comes roaring out to ask what we want. You won’t shoot in
too big a hurry, I hope; give me time to snap off a couple, for fear
one might be spoiled. These sort of chances come only once in a life
time you know; and ought to be doubled up, to make sure.”
“Well, if we’re all ready here, perhaps you’d better get busy,
Buckskin, and see if you can bring him out with a few cowboy yells.
If that fails, then there’s some wood over yonder you can use; and I
notice that you grabbed up some stink-weed as you came along, which
will fetch him dead sure, when it gets to smouldering. Sometimes I
even think it would bring a dead man to life, it’s that powerful.
We’ll leave this little log across the gully, just as we used it to
cross on; when you jump over for keeps give the same a kick; and
that’ll put a gap between, the old man can’t cross in a hurry, if so
be he fails to drop under our fire.”
Accordingly Buckskin trailing his gun along after him, crossed on
the aforesaid log that served as a bridge over the gully, and went
about his business of trying to coax the occupant of the rocky
bear’s den to come out, with just as much indifference as though he
were obeying the call of the range to dinner, when the cook pounded
on a big frying pan with a basting spoon.
And standing there, the boys and Mr. Witherspoon awaited
developments with varied emotions.