THE RUSSIAN TIGER
When Rainey and Thompson, accompanied by the native, left the village to
hunt the strange creature that was working havoc with the village
reindeer herd, they walked directly away from the rows of deerskin houses
toward the tundra at the foot of the hills where, some five miles away,
the deer were herded.
The five miles were accomplished mostly in silence. Each man was busy
with his own thoughts. As for the little native, he seemed quite without
fear as long as he was with the powerful "spirits of dead whales."
When they approached the brown line of the herd that spread itself across
the horizon, the boy led them around it to a point beyond where the beast
attacked the young deer.
There, though the ground had been much trampled by the maddened herd,
they found many traces of the attack. Splotches of blood stained the snow
and made a well-defined trail where the creature had carried off its
prey. Soon they were beyond the patches of trampled snow and then the
native left them to follow the trail alone.
Faintly, from the distance, came the rattle and clatter of reindeer
antlers as the herd moved about. Above them, in all its silver glory,
shone the moon. Now and again the hunters gave a start, as a ptarmigan,
roused from its slumbers, went whirring away. To them every purple shadow
of rock or bush or snow-pile might be the beast crouching over his kill.
"The Doctor's right!" exclaimed Rainey, bending over the trail, which
still showed a bloodspot here and there. "It's no polar bear--here's the
scratch of his claws where he climbed this bank. Polar bears have no
claws, only a sort of hard lump on the end of each toe."
"No wolf, either," said Thompson, examining the tracks carefully. "The
scratches are too long and too far apart. But, for that matter, who
would even dream of a wolf large enough to carry off a two hundred
pound deer?"
The beast's soft paws on the snow, hard-packed by Arctic winds, left a
trail very difficult to follow. But, bit by bit, they traced it out.
At last the creature, having climbed a hill, had taken down a narrow
ravine where scrub willows grew thick. And here they found
unmistakable evidence that it had been some form of a great cat that
had passed this way.
"Just like a cat's track," said Rainey. "And look at the size of 'em;
must measure five inches across!"
They paused at the edge of the willows. They were brave men, but not
fools. Only fools would venture into that thicket, where every advantage
would be on the side of the lurking monster.
"There's a ridge up there running right along the side of this scrub,"
said Rainey. "We'll climb up there and walk along it. May get a glimpse
of him. Then, again, he may have come out on the other side and gone on."
They climbed the bank and started along the ridge. Every yellow bunch of
dead willow leaves at once became for the moment a crouching tiger, but
each, in turn, was passed up. So they walked the ridge and had passed the
willow clump, when Rainey gripped his companion's arm, whispering:
"What's that down there to the right? I think I saw it move."
Thompson gazed down the narrow pass for a moment, then whispered:
"C'mon. It's the very old chap. We can skirt the next bank of rocks and
be right above him. We're in luck. It will be an easy shot!"
Creeping on hands and knees, with bated breath and nerves a-tingle, the
boys came presently to a point above the half-hidden beast. As they
peered down at him they could barely suppress exclamations of surprise.
It was, indeed, a tiger. And such a tiger! Never, in any zoo or
menagerie, had they seen his equal. He was a monster, with massive head,
deep chest and powerful limbs; and his thick fur--nature's protection
against the Arctic cold--seemed to emphasize both his size and his
savageness.
"You're the best shot," whispered Rainey. "Try him!"
Thompson lifted his rifle and with steady nerve aimed at a point back of
the fore-leg.
The tiger, who up to this time had apparently neither heard nor scented
them, but had been crouching half asleep beside his mangled prey, seemed
suddenly to become aware of their presence. Just as the rifle cracked, he
sprang up the bank. His deafening roar told that the bullet had found a
mark, but it did not check his charge.
Then came a catastrophe. Rainey leaned too far forward, causing some
rocks and loose snow to slide from beneath him, and, in another second he
shot down a steep incline to what seemed certain death.
To his surprise, he found himself dropping straight down. A hidden cliff
here jutted out over the drifted snow. To his much greater surprise,
instead of being knocked senseless, he was immediately engulfed in what
seemed an avalanche of snow leaping up to meet him. His alert mind told
him what had happened. A blizzard of a few days previous had driven great
quantities of snow against the cliff. This snow was not hard-packed, and
he had been buried in it by the fall. The problem now was to avoid the
tiger, who was sure to spring upon him at the first glimpse and tear him
in pieces. Then, suddenly, there flashed through his mind a picture left
over from his boyhood days. It was that of a cat endeavoring to catch a
mole, which burrowed industriously beneath the snow, raising a ridge as
he burrowed. Could he play the part of the mole, as the tiger was sure to
play the part of the cat? It was his only chance. His companion would not
dare to shoot until he knew where Rainey was.
Putting himself in the position of a swimmer, the sailor began pawing at
the snow and kicking it with his feet. The snow was hard packed against
his face and he thought his lungs would burst. But he was making
progress. Now, he dared back off a trifle and take a long breath of air
from the burrow he had made. Then a sound stirred him to renewed effort.
It was the thud and jar of an impact. The tiger, having made his first
leap, had missed. How many more times would he do this? The boy once more
jamming his head against the snow renewed his swimming motions. Again he
was obliged to pause for breath. Again the tiger sprang; this time,
seemingly, he was more accurate. Again the race was renewed. The boy's
mind was in a whirl. Would his companion understand and risk a shot as
the tiger prepared for another spring? He hoped so. Surely, he could not
endure the strain much longer. One thing he was certain of, he could not
hear the report of the rifle if a shot were fired. He must struggle on in
ignorance of what was going on above him. The thought was maddening. The
air in the narrow channel was stifling; yet, he burrowed on, and heard
again the heavy impact.
He had burrowed his length and backed off again for breath, when he was
forced to the realization that he could endure the air of the channel no
longer. Apparently, the tiger's last leap had completely closed it.
Resolving to fight his way out, and then to trust all to flight, he
thrust his hands upward and again began to burrow. With dizzy brain
and wildly beating heart, he felt at length the fresh, frosty air upon
his cheek.
But what was this that reached his ears? Surely not the roar of the
tiger. Instead it was the joyous cry of his companion.
Dragging the snow from his eyes, Rainey stared about him. There, not five
paces from him, lay the tiger with a bullet in his brain, while beside
the body stood Thompson.
"Well," said the hunter with a grin, "you're sure some mouse!"
"And you're some shot!" said Rainey, floundering through the snow to his
companion's side. "I guess that's the finest tiger skin in the world."
"It's yours as much as mine," answered Thompson. "We'll go share and
share alike."