THE SILVER-TIP.
On leaving the wharf, Baranov had led the way directly up through
the settlement, past the Mission School, until he reached the very
outskirts of the village, where, in a half-cleared patch of ground, the
boys stopped to get breath and wave a last good-by to their father.
"Naow," said the guide, with some emphasis, "comes the tug of war.
You've both got good thick boots on, I s'pose?"
Tom was well-equipped in this respect, and Fred's shoes were heavy
enough for ordinarily rough walking and weather.
"I've got a blanket apiece _cached_ here," continued Baranov, looking
about him, and presently drawing out two bundles from beneath a big
stump, where he must have hidden them the night before. "They'll be
pretty heavy for ye to lug, but thar's no tent, and it'll be cold
enough before mornin' to make you glad you brought 'em."
He thereupon produced some twine and straps, and arranged a blanket on
the back of each of the two boys, so as to make the loads as easy as
possible.
"I've got my blanket and a rubber to put under us," he added, "in my
bag."
"Ho, this isn't any load!" shouted Tom. "It's light's a feather."
Solomon smiled grimly as he swung his fifty-pound pack over his
shoulder, picked up his ax, and started into the woods.
"It'll grow a leetle heavier before night," he remarked. "It's a way
them blankets have, in this country."
"Which way are you going?" asked Fred, adjusting his eyeglasses for the
tenth time, as he stumbled over a mossy log.
"Wall, I think we'll strike into the old trail that leads up to the
Silver Bow, and foller that fer a piece. Then--I'll see."
A rough tract of land lay between the clearing and the path. Baranov
went right ahead, striding along over fallen trees and bowlders, with
smoke-wreaths from his pipe floating back over his broad shoulders.
The forest was carpeted with deep, wet moss, into which the boys often
sank to their knees; and more than once they tripped and nearly fell.
The mountain-side was thickly wooded with spruce, yellow cedar and
hemlock, the tough branches of which, wet with dew, twisted around
their legs and swished into their faces.
"I say--Thomas," sung out Fred, after ten minutes of this sort of work,
"is that blanket--any lighter--than 'twas?"
"Not much! It's gained--five pounds."
"What do think--of the--scenery?"
The emphasis on the last word was caused by his setting foot on the
slippery surface of a rock concealed by moss, and sitting down with
great firmness.
"Well, it's a pretty good fall landscape," gasped Tom, leaning against
a stump, weak from laughter.
But lo! the stump, like many others of its kind thereabouts, was
decayed, and over it went, carrying Tom with it.
When the boys had struggled to their feet, they found that Baranov had
stopped just ahead of them, and was chuckling over their mishaps.
"Look here, old fellow," cried Tom, "is it going to be this way all
day?"
"No, no," said Baranov. "Mebbe I oughtn't to hev laughed at ye. But I
saw no harm was done. Ye've got good pluck, both of ye, not to ask me
to slow up before naow. P'r'aps I put on a leetle extra steam, to see
what ye was made of--with that ar light blanket"--
"O-oh!"
"But the wust on it's over, for quite a spell. Thar's the reg'lar Basin
trail jest ahead. We can follow that for a mile or two, before strikin'
off up the side of the maounting."
It was a relief to walk in a traveled path once more, although it was a
very rough one.
It was just five o'clock when Solomon called a halt, and announced that
they were something over three miles from the wharf at Juneau, having
been a little more than an hour and a half in reaching this point.
"Isn't this a glorious spot!" exclaimed Tom, throwing himself down
beside the path.
The ground was clear for a little way in front of them, and just beyond
lay the Silver Bow Basin, narrowing and winding far up among the
mountains. On every side the forest-clad slopes rose in grand sweeps
from the Basin, and curls of smoke here and there floated up from camps
hidden among the trees.
"What's that noise?" asked Fred, as a metallic clicking not far away
fell upon their ears.
"Oh! thar's always somebody prospectin' raound with his pick," remarked
the hunter. "You'll hear 'em all over the maountings, pretty much."
Close beside them a stream of crystal clear water rushed over its stony
bed, across the path toward the valley. The boys unfastened their
dippers and drank deeply.
"Have some salmon berries?" asked Solomon. And he threw down a branch
of the orange-colored fruit he had just broken off.
"Naow," he said, after a few moments' silence, "we must take to the
woods. I gave ye that leetle piece of rough travelin' to kinder harden
ye fer what was comin'. Are ye ready, boys?"
"All ready!" they cried, springing to their feet. "Lead the way,
Solomon!"
The hunter now left the beaten path and followed up the bed of the
stream, which crossed it at right angles. It was hard climbing, and the
boys had to stop for frequent rests. Their tramp proceeded, however,
without special incident for a couple of hours more, when Baranov threw
down his pack and called out "Breakfast."
I ought to have mentioned that a cold lunch had been prepared the
night before, and the three trampers had partaken sparingly of it
before starting. Now, however, they had a sharpened appetite, and ate
ravenously of the doughnuts, hard bread and sandwiches which Solomon
brought out of his stores.
This halt occupied about an hour, so that it was nearly nine when they
resumed their walk.
Their progress now became very slow. The picks of the miners were no
longer heard, and they realized that they were in the veritable Alaskan
wilderness. The rush of the little brook was the only sound that broke
the silence of the moss-draped and carpeted forest.
They had passed beyond the brow of the mountain immediately overlooking
Juneau, and, while the grade was not quite so steep, the evergreens
grew more densely, and the stream was so narrow as to barely afford
them a pathway. Of course their feet had been soaked during the very
first hour of their climb. There was now not a dry stitch on either of
the boys, below the waist.
For a few rods, Solomon had been peering here and there; Tom afterward
declared he fairly sniffed the air for game, like a hound.
"What is it, Solomon?" called out Tom, picking himself out of a crevice
between two wet rocks.
The hunter held up his hand for silence; then stooped and carefully
examined a log just in front of him. Calling the boys, he pointed to it
with one of his silent chuckles.
Fred adjusted his glasses and eyed the log critically. "It seems just a
common, every-day log, don't it, Tom?" he remarked in a guarded voice
to that young man.
It was a fallen hemlock, lying directly across their path. Baranov laid
his finger lightly on a small reddish spot, where the bark had been
scraped off.
"A b'ar did that," he whispered. "An not long ago, neither."
The boys instinctively clutched their empty guns.
"Give me my rifle," the hunter said, in the same tone. "I must load her
an' hev her ready in case we come on the critter sudd'nly. But I'll let
you do your own shootin' ef I can. Fred, you must take the ax naow, an'
be awful keerful of it. Carry it blade aout from ye, an' not over your
shoulder. Naow foller me as easy's you kin."
They crept along, Indian file, for half an hour or more.
Tom's foot sank into something that crunched under the moss.
"Snow!" he exclaimed; and indeed they all were standing on the edge of
a huge snow bank.
Something about this appeared to please Solomon very much, though the
boys could not tell why. But now he was stopping and pointing again.
Ah! that was why the old hunter was gratified by finding that the trail
crossed a snow bank. Master Bruin could pass through the thick scrub of
the forest so deftly that even the keen eye of the best guide in Juneau
could hardly distinguish the course of his journey. Not so when he
crossed the snow. There was his track, plain enough.
"My! don't it look like a boy's barefoot mark?" exclaimed Tom,
quivering with excitement. "Is he near here, do you think, Solomon?
What sort of a bear is it? Is he a big one?"
Baranov answered at once, as he shouldered his pack and rifle again:
"The trail's abaout an hour old. He's a purty good-sized black b'ar, I
should say. An' it's my opinion we can fetch him afore night."
On they went, faster than before. Indeed, the boys soon noticed that
they were now following a sort of beaten track--no other, Solomon
assured them, than one of the famous "bear-paths," thousands of which
thread the deepest and loneliest jungles of Alaska.
They halted for a hasty dinner and then pressed forward. Baranov could
not be positive that the same bear was before them on this hard track,
but it seemed highly improbable that _Ursus Americanus_ had left his
easy highway for the almost impenetrable growth of evergreens on either
side.
It was about three in the afternoon when Baranov halted so suddenly
that Fred, who was next behind him, fairly tumbled against him, nearly
upsetting the hunter. The latter, however, paid no attention to this.
He was too much occupied in examining half a dozen hairs, which he had
picked from a low spruce bough projecting across the path.
"What is it?" the boys whispered eagerly, their fatigue gone in a
moment.
"Look at them ha'rs!"
"Why, they're almost white! They are white at the tips."
"The animil that went through here ahead of us, left 'em behind," said
the guide. "An' it wa'n't no black b'ar, neither, as you can see for
yourselves."
"What was it--not grizzly?"
The idea was not wholly a pleasant one, and the young hunters looked
nervously around.
"No, no; it's no grizzly. It's my opinion that a big silver-tip, a
glacier b'ar, some calls 'em, is just beyond," rejoined Baranov.
"A glacier bear? I never heard of one before," whispered Fred.
"They're ugly fellers, an' mighty scarce raound these parts. The
trappers north of here call 'em Mount St. Elias b'ars, because there's
more of 'em there. The pelt's wuth double a black b'ar's. It'll be
great luck ef we find one."
This whole conversation was carried on in an undertone, and without
further noise or delay, the party pushed on.
At the end of half an hour's forced march they found themselves on a
sort of level tableland, at a great elevation above the sea. Here and
there were patches of snow, and small glaciers could be distinctly seen
on distant mountain slopes, toward the east and north.
The scene near at hand was utterly desolate and forbidding. The bear
path, too, had "ended in a squirrel track and run up a tree," Tom
declared. He was on the point of proposing a halt for a rest, if not
for the night, when he caught sight of a grayish patch in a clump of
low spruces about a hundred yards distant. He was sure it had moved
while he was looking. His heart beat violently as he gave a low whistle
to attract Baranov's attention.
The guide's eye no sooner rested on the object than he sank as if he
had been shot. The boys did the same, and cautiously crawled to his
side.
"Slip a cartridge into that rifle quick," he whispered to Fred. "That's
old Silver Tip, sure, an' ef we work it jest right, we can drop him.
Naow don't you move for five minutes. Before long, you'll see him start
this way. When he gets up to that rock over thar between them two
leetle spruces, Tom, you let drive. Don't you fire, Fred, till Tom gets
another cartridge in. An' ef you miss him, run fer your lives."
Before the boys could ask where he was going or what his plans were,
the old hunter had disappeared in the undergrowth, taking his ax with
him.
The wind was blowing freshly from Bruin toward them. In the course of a
few minutes, which seemed hours, they saw the animal push his snout out
from the boughs and sniff the air curiously. There was a strange scent,
he thought, lingering about this mountain-top. What could it be?
Whatever its nature, it evidently acted like the reverse end of the
magnet to the shaggy beast; for after a moment's uneasy moving about,
he started off in a line which would carry him very near the ambushed
hunters.
On he came, crashing through the boughs and clambering nimbly over
mossy bowlders.
Fred could feel that his companion was trembling from head to foot from
excitement.
"Rest over that twig, Tom," he whispered in his ear. "You can't get a
shot if you don't."
The two spruces were reached. Bang! slam! went two rifles; for
forgetting Solomon's injunction, Fred pulled the trigger almost at the
same instant with Tom.
"Hooray!" shouted a welcome voice in the direction from which the bear
had come. "You've done it, boys! Wait till I come before you go near
him!"
With arms and legs flying like a windmill, and ax ready, Solomon came
floundering along the bear's track.
"Dropped him, fust shot!" he called out again. "He's dead, sure
enough--look out!" For at that very moment the bear struggled to his
feet and made a mad rush toward his assailants.
Fred had thrown down his rifle at Solomon's last shout, but Tom had the
presence of mind to level his reloaded piece and fire. Then he turned
to run, but Bruin, making one last plunge, threw out his big paw.
Tom felt a sensation like a shovelful of red-hot coals dropped down
his right boot-leg, and with a howl of pain and fright, tumbled
headlong.
Had not Solomon reached the scene at that very moment with his ax, this
story might have had a sad ending. One mighty sweep of that terrible
weapon, and the battle was finished.
"Are ye hurt, boy?" cried the hunter. "Your last shot did the business,
but I had to kinder second the motion. Whar are ye?"
Tom sat up straight, shouted: "Here I am! Hurrah!" and with a very
queer feeling in his head, rolled over on the moss.
When he came to himself, the first thing he saw was Solomon bending
over him, chafing his hands and trying to force some kind of hot liquor
down his throat. There was the tinkling of a tiny stream somewhere
among the moss close by, and a big Douglas fir stretched its boughs
overhead.
"Where--where are we?" he stammered, trying to rise.
"Naow don't ye go to rushin' raound," counseled Baranov. "I've lugged
ye off a piece to a first-rate leetle campin' graound, an' all you've
got to do is to lay still whar ye be, while Fred an' I fix things a
leetle."
"Is the bear"--began Tom, trying to remember, and wondering what made
his head swim.
"He's right whar we left him, an' thar he'll stay I reckon, till we get
ready to borrer his coat. Got some kindling, Fred?"
"Here you are!" called that genteel young man, staggering up with
an armful of dry boughs. His hands were covered with pitch and his
eyeglasses dangled from the cord.
"Halloo, you scarred old veteran, you!" he cried, dropping on his knees
beside Tom. "Feeling better? What a clip he did give you!"
Tom, beginning to feel conscious of a score or two of bees stinging his
right leg, looked down at that member, and was surprised to find his
boot was removed and its place supplied by bandages.
"You won't be lame more'n a few days," said Baranov consolingly. "He
only jest raked you with his claws. But the bleeding made ye faint,
most likely. You're all right naow."
It was very pleasant lying there and watching the other two in their
preparations for the night. A roaring fire was kindled, and although
the sun was still high, the warmth of the red flames was by no means
unwelcome.
Slash, slash! went Solomon's keen ax, and tree after tree came swishing
down before its strokes. Some of them he trimmed with a dozen clips
to each, and bade Fred carry the boughs into camp. As if by magic
a framework of crotched sticks, props and rafters grew under the
sheltering fir, boughs were piled on and across them, and by six
o'clock there was a snug brush camp ready for occupancy, with a bed
of fragrant fir boughs two feet deep. Then came the firewood--larger
trees, felled and cut into six-foot lengths.
When a good pile of these had been provided, and not before, Solomon
drove his ax into the trunk of the fir, pulled on his coat, and sitting
down on a small log which, running across the front of the camp formed
a sort of seat and threshold to it, opened his bag and drew out a black
coffee-pot. This being placed on the fire, he started off for the scene
of the late battle.
"I 'low we'll have a good b'ar steak to-night," he said, as he went.
"I'll be back in a minute."
While he is preparing supper for the two tired and hungry boys, we will
return to the gentler portion of the family, and follow the _Queen_
northward on its voyage.