A TRAPPED BOY
When the light awoke Two Arrows, he found One-eye standing guard as if
he did not like the look of things, but no danger showed itself. It was
a new country--too much so, perhaps--and a dog with a high sense of duty
could not be too careful. Two Arrows also had duties, and he felt that
one of them was to go back at once and tell his band what he had
discovered. He had no idea that they were already on the march, or he
might have been less troubled in mind about them. His other duty, not
quite so plain, was to explore the valley a little and see how many
buffaloes and deer and all that sort of thing were in it. He wondered at
the greenness of the grass, not knowing that the mountain range east of
it took care of that, taking the water out of the winds from the west so
that they were often sponge-dry when they passed over upon the parching
plains beyond. He had never heard of Eden and he could not make any
comparisons, but he roundly declared that he had never been in a place
that promised better hunting. He did not even ask himself how a herd of
bisons should remember what their fathers had told them about that
valley and come hundreds of miles to find grass there. He had not seen
one yet, but he had caught a glimpse of a gang of deer in rapid motion.
That fact set him to thinking and made him cautious, for it was an hour
when deer are feeding unless they have been disturbed. He cooked and ate
his breakfast, providing liberally for One-eye, but could hardly make up
his mind in which direction to go. There was the mouth of the canon,
telling him one thing, and in all other directions were the possible
secrets of that valley.
His feet took him along, at last, and he wandered for nearly a mile
before he came to any sort of adventure. Then he suddenly discovered why
the deer were in motion, and why it was time for him and One-eye to
wander back again. It was almost as bad as a war-party of another tribe
or even a band of wicked pale-faces, for at the edge of a little grove
of wild plum-trees One-eye broke out into something between a howl and a
bark, and turned, running towards his master. Then Two Arrows himself
turned and ran, for his quick eyes caught the meaning of it. The head of
a grisly bear came out between two bushes, and no idea of heroism called
for any waiting. The canon, or the ruins, or almost any other place,
would have been better, at that moment, than the spot where he was when
Bruin saw him.
The grisly may have had bad-luck that morning. At all events, he was out
after game, and was in a bad temper. He hated all dogs, naturally, and
he had seen One-eye. He hated men, as well, but his first rush was after
the scared quadruped. That was an excellent thing for Two Arrows. He was
the best runner of his age in his band, and never before had he done
quite so well, but he stuck to his weapons. His bag of provisions had
been hidden among the old houses, and he was glad of it as he bounded
away across the grass. Every jump counted, for One-eye was doing the
right thing. He was not following his master too closely, he was only
thinking of getting away from that bear. He, too, had been the best
runner of his tribe, when there had been other dogs to run with him, and
he certainly was now. He ran well, but so did the bear, for a good horse
does not too easily overtake a grisly, and a man on foot can never do it
if the bear does his best.
It was an exciting race, but Two Arrows knew it must have an end some
time. He longed for a tree, and to be away up in the top of it, but
there were none near enough to be of any use. He kept an eye on the
other racers, and it was not many minutes before he saw that One-eye was
doing almost too well. He was getting away so fast that the grisly gave
him up and turned to his other chance for a breakfast. It was as if he
had said to himself,
"Dogs are no good. They run too well. A nice, tender, well-fed Indian
boy, now, and I'll get him in a moment."
Two Arrows had gained a pretty good start, and it led him towards the
canon. He tried to calculate the distance, and how long it would take
him to get there, but his next thought was that he had never heard of a
grisly that could gallop and rush like this one.
"It'll all be over with me. I'd fight him, but he's too much for me. Got
to die now."
It was an awful moment, and all the courage in him did not make it any
less so. The claws and jaws and hug of a mountain grisly are a terrible
prospect to set before anybody's ambition.
Just then another prospect and a ray of hope dawned upon him. Away to
the right he saw a solitary bowlder of gray granite, with a round top,
nearly thirty feet above the grass.
"If it isn't too smooth to climb," flashed through the mind of Two
Arrows, as he turned and ran for it. He was running now for his life,
and the bear was rapidly gaining on him, but it told well for his valor
that he did not drop lance or bow.
Nearer, now, and he could see that the rock was one of those
bald-headed, smooth-cheeked affairs that look as if they had been ground
and polished in a mill.
"Ugh! Other side, maybe," groaned Two Arrows, as he dodged around the
hopeless side he came to. Away around, and the same mocking smoothness
made his heart sink, while the fierce growl of the huge wild beast
behind him thrilled him through and through.
"Ugh! rough place! Climb."
It was a mere crack at the surface of the ground, but at a few feet
above it the granite surface was somewhat broken. A good spring, aided
by the tough shaft of his lance, and Two Arrows managed to brace himself
upon a tolerable holding. If he should slip there would be an end of it,
for the grisly was close up now. He clung like a fly, and found place
after place for his hands and feet. In a moment more he was sitting upon
the round top of the rock safe, but a prisoner, with a guard set to keep
him secure. He had come out after adventures and he had found one of the
very largest kind. He had never heard such tremendous roaring growls as
the disappointed grisly was now uttering. Between these he could also
hear, at no great distance, the mournful howls of One-eye. The sagacious
animal had not self-conceit enough to match his weight and size against
a brute that could have whipped a lion in five minutes, but he could
express his feelings concerning the state of affairs.
"He can't get up here," said Two Arrows, but he said it doubtfully, for
the grisly is a rock bear, and is made for climbing. He was now
studying the face of that rock at the cleft, and it was not long before
he made up his mind that he could do something.
"I won't waste any arrows on him," said the boy on the top of the
bowlder. "Besides, if I don't get him too angry he may go off."
Not without trying a climb for his human game; and it was wonderful with
what care and consideration, as well as skill and strength, Bruin made
his effort.
Two-Arrows lay down, bow in hand, and watched him, as he raised his huge
bulk against the side of the rock. The long, strong, cruel-looking claws
took hold of crevices and roughnesses much more powerfully than a human
hand or foot could have grasped them. A grunt, a growl, a great lift,
and the grisly was off the ground.
"He is coming. Let him come one length nearer."
Two Arrows did not know that he was testing his quality as a warrior and
chief to be. It was a marvellous trial of cool courage to lie there,
with an arrow on the string, and bide his time.
"Now! Ugh!"
The arrow went truly to its mark, but the hide of a grisly is a tough
shield, and the shaft did not go as deeply as it might have gone into a
deer or bison. Arrow after arrow sped in swift, unerring succession, and
the bear received them with roars of fury, struggling upward as his
wrath and pain aroused him to greater efforts.
"My last two arrows. One for that leg, just above the claw."
Cool and correct again, and the last brace of shafts did their work to
admiration. They did not kill the grisly nor even loosen the gripe of
that great forearm and claw upon the rock, but the next struggle of the
bear brought him upon smooth stone, gently rounding. He reached out over
it with his wounded limb, and the black hooks at the end of it did not
work well. His game was within a length of him, but it was game that
held a long Mexican lance in its ready hand. Under other circumstances
Bruin could have parried that thrust and closed with its giver, but not
now. It went through his other forearm, and his gripe with that loosened
for a second or so--only for an instant, but that was enough. Slip,
slide, growl, tear, roar, and the immense monster rolled heavily to the
ground below, full of rage and arrow-wounds, and altogether unfitted for
another steep climb.
Two Arrows drew a great breath of relief, but he well knew that he had
not yet escaped. There were oceans of hate and fight in the wounded
grisly, and there was no use whatever in going down for a fair match
with him upon the grass. He was in his most dangerous state, and the top
of the rock would have to answer all purposes for a season. There was no
telling how long that would be, for even when the bear arose and limped
all the way around the bowlder, his ferocious growls plainly declared
his purpose. He had not the least idea of letting the matter stop there.
He meant to stay and watch it out. Perhaps more grislies would come to
help him and keep guard while he should doctor himself. It was a most
remarkable trap for a young explorer to get caught in, and he well knew
that a grisly will take more killing and die longer and harder than any
other known animal. Besides, he had no idea how much or how seriously
his shafts had touched the vitals of his enemy.
He must stay where he was, and now he felt something like a sensation of
mortification. One-eye had deserted him. All the howling had died away
while the bear was climbing the rock. The last dog of that band of Nez
Perces had turned tail and left his master on the top of a bowlder to be
starved out by a bear.