A broken, choking breath--a stifled sound that was scarcely a cry--was all
that came from Langdon's lips as he saw the monstrous grizzly looking at
him. In the ten seconds that followed he lived hours.
His first thought was that he was powerless--utterly powerless. He could
not even run, for the rock wall was behind him; he could not fling himself
valleyward, for there was a sheer fall of a hundred feet on that side. He
was face to face with death, a death as terrible as that which had
overtaken the dogs.
And yet in these last moments Langdon did not lose himself in terror. He
noted even the redness in the avenging grizzly's eyes. He saw the naked
scat along his back where one of his bullets had plowed; he saw the bare
spot where another of his bullets had torn its way through Thor's
fore-shoulder. And he believed, as he observed these things, that Thor had
deliberately trailed him, that the bear had followed him along the ledge
and had cornered him here that he might repay in full measure what had been
inflicted upon him.
Thor advanced--just one step; and then in that slow, graceful movement,
reared himself to full height. Langdon, even then, thought that he was
magnificent. On his part, the man did not move; he looked steadily up at
Thor, and he had made up his mind what to do when the great beast lunged
forward. He would fling himself over the edge. Down below there was one
chance in a thousand for life. There might be a ledge or a projecting spur
to catch him.
And Thor!
Suddenly--unexpectedly--he had come upon man! This was the creature that
had hunted him, this was the creature that had hurt him--and it was so near
that he could reach out with his paw and crush it! And how weak, and white,
and shrinking it looked now! Where was its strange thunder? Where was its
burning lightning? Why did it make no sound?
Even a dog would have done more than this creature, for the dog would have
shown its fangs; it would have snarled, it would have fought. But this
thing that was man did nothing. And a great, slow doubt swept through
Thor's massive head. Was it really this shrinking, harmless, terrified
thing that had hurt him? He smelled the man-smell. It was thick. And yet
this time there came with it no hurt.
And then, slowly again, Thor came down to all fours. Steadily he looked at
the man.
Had Langdon moved then he would have died. But Thor was not, like man, a
murderer. For another half-minute he waited for a hurt, for some sign of
menace. Neither came, and he was puzzled. His nose swept the ground, and
Langdon saw the dust rise where the grizzly's hot breath stirred it. And
after that, for another long and terrible thirty seconds, the bear and the
man looked at each other.
Then very slowly--and doubtfully--Thor half turned. He growled. His lips
drew partly back. Yet he saw no reason to fight, for that shrinking,
white-faced pigmy crouching on the rock made no movement to offer him
battle. He saw that he could not go on, for the ledge was blocked by the
mountain wall. Had there been a trail the story might have been different
for Langdon. As it was, Thor disappeared slowly in the direction from which
he had come, his great head hung low, his long claws click, click, clicking
like ivory castanets as he went.
Not until then did it seem to Langdon that he breathed again, and that his
heart resumed its beating. He gave a great sobbing gasp. He rose to his
feet, and his legs seemed weak. He waited--one minute, two, three; and then
he stole cautiously to the twist in the ledge around which Thor had gone.
The rocks were clear, and he began to retrace his own steps toward the
meadowy break, watching and listening, and still clutching the broken parts
of his rifle. When he came to the edge of the plain he dropped down behind
a huge boulder.
Three hundred yards away Thor was ambling slowly over the crest of the dip
toward the eastward valley. Not until the bear reappeared on the farther
ridge of the hollow, and then vanished again, did Langdon follow.
When he reached the slope on which he had hobbled his horse Thor was no
longer in sight. The horse was where he had left it. Not until he was in
the saddle did Langdon feel that he was completely safe. Then he laughed, a
nervous, broken, joyous sort of laugh, and as he scanned the valley he
filled his pipe with fresh tobacco.
"You great big god of a bear!" he whispered, and every fibre in him was
trembling in a wonderful excitement as he found voice for the first time.
"You--you monster with a heart bigger than man!" And then he added, under
his breath, as if not conscious that he was speaking: "If I'd cornered you
like that I'd have killed you! And you! You cornered me, and let me live!"
He rode toward camp, and as he went he knew that this day had given the
final touch to the big change that had been working in him. He had met the
King of the Mountains; he had stood face to face with death, and in the
last moment the four-footed thing he had hunted and maimed had been
merciful. He believed that Bruce would not understand; that Bruce could not
understand; but unto himself the day and the hour had brought its meaning
in a way that he would not forget so long as he lived, and he knew that
hereafter and for all time he would not again hunt the life of Thor, or the
lives of any of his kind.
Langdon reached the camp and prepared himself some dinner, and as he ate
this, with Muskwa for company, he made new plans for the days and weeks
that were to follow. He would send Bruce back to overtake Metoosin the next
day, and they would no longer hunt the big grizzly. They would go on to the
Skeena and possibly even up to the edge of the Yukon, and then swing
eastward into the caribou country some time early in September, hitting
back toward civilization on the prairie side of the Rockies. He would take
Muskwa with them. Back in the land of men and cities they would be great
friends. It did not occur to him just then what this would mean for Muskwa.
It was two o'clock, and he was still dreaming of new and unknown trails
into the North when a sound came to rouse and disturb him. For a few
minutes he paid no attention to it, for it seemed to be only a part of the
droning murmur of the valley. But slowly and steadily it rose above this,
and at last he got up from where he was lying with his back to a tree and
walked out from the timber, where he could hear more plainly.
Muskwa followed him, and when Langdon stopped the tan-faced cub also
stopped. His little ears shot out inquisitively. He turned his head to the
north. From that direction the sound was coming.
In another moment Langdon had recognized it, and yet even then he told
himself that his ears must be playing him false. It could not be the
barking of dogs! By this time Bruce and Metoosin were far to the south with
the pack; at least Metoosin should be, and Bruce was on his return to the
camp! Quickly the sound grew more distinct, and at last he knew that he
could not be mistaken. The dogs were coming up the valley. Something had
turned Bruce and Metoosin northward instead of into the south. And the pack
was giving tongue--that fierce, heated baying which told him they were
again on the fresh spoor of game. A sudden thrill shot through him. There
could be but one living thing in the length and breadth of the valley that
Bruce would set the dogs after, and that was the big grizzly!
For a few moments longer Langdon stood and listened. Then he hurried back
to camp, tied Muskwa to his tree, armed himself with another rifle, and
resaddled his horse. Five minutes later he was riding swiftly in the
direction of the range where a short time before Thor had given him his
life.