the valley without finding the yaks; but there was nothing singular in
this. There was plenty of covert among the rocks and woods; and wild
animals, however large, have an instinct or a faculty of concealing
themselves that often surprises the hunter. Even the gigantic elephant
will get out of sight amidst thin jungle, where you might suppose his
huge body could hardly be hidden; and the great black buffalo often
springs unexpectedly out of a bushy covert not much bigger than his own
body. Just as partridges can squat unseen in the shortest stubble, or
squirrels lie hid along the slenderest branch, so have the larger wild
animals the faculty of concealing themselves in a covert proportionately
scanty.
The young hunter was aware of this fact; and therefore was not so much
surprised that he did not at once come in sight of the yaks. The former
attack upon them, resulting in the loss of two of their number, had
rendered them wary; and the noises made in building the hut had, no
doubt, driven them to the most secluded corner of the valley. Thither
Caspar was bending his steps.
He was calculating that they would be found in some cover, and was
beginning to regret that he had not brought Fritz, instead of trying to
stalk them, when all at once the herd came under his eyes. They were
quietly browsing out in a stretch of open ground--the young calves, as
on the former occasion, playing with each other, tearing about over the
ground, biting one another, and uttering their tiny grunts, like so many
young porkers. The cows and yearlings were feeding unconcernedly--
occasionally raising their heads and looking around, but not with any
signs of uneasiness or fear. The bull was not in sight!
"Where can he be?" inquired Caspar of himself. "Perhaps these may be a
different herd; `one, two, three;'" and Caspar went on to tell over the
individuals of the flock.
"Yes," he continued, muttering to himself, "they are the same, I fancy:
three cows--four yearlings--the calves--exactly the number--all except
the bull.--Where can the old rascal have concealed himself?"
And with his eyes Caspar swept the whole of the open space, and looked
narrowly along the selvedge of the timber which grew around it. No
bull, however, was to be seen.
"Now where can the old grunter have gone to?" again inquired Caspar of
himself. "Is he off by himself, or along with some other herd? Surely
there is but the one family in this valley. Yaks are gregarious
animals: Karl says so. If there were more of them, they would be all
together. The bull must be ranging abroad by himself, on some business
of his own. After all, I suspect he's not far off. I dare say he's in
yonder thicket. I'd wager a trifle the knowing old fellow has a trick
in his head. He's keeping sentry over the flock, while he himself
remains unseen. In that way he has the advantage of any enemy who may
assail them. A wolf, or bear, or any preying beast that should want to
attack the calves where they now are, would be certain to approach them
by that very thicket. Indeed, I should have done so myself, if I didn't
know that there _was_ a bull. I should have crouched round the timber
and got under cover of the bushes, which would have brought me nicely
within range. But now I shall do no such thing; for I suspect strongly
the old boy's in the bushes. He would be on me with a rush if I went
that way, and in the thicket there's not a tree big enough to shelter a
chased cat. It's all brush and thorn bushes. It won't do; I shan't
stalk them from that direction; but how else can I approach them?
There's no other cover. Ha! yonder rock will serve my purpose!"
Caspar was not half the time in going through this soliloquy that you
have been in reading it. It was a mental process entirely, and, of
course, carried on with the usual rapidity of thought. The interjection
which ended it, and the allusion to a rock, were caused by his
perceiving that a certain rock might afford him the necessary cover for
approaching the game.
This rock he had observed long before--in fact, the moment he had seen
the herd. He could not have failed to observe it, for it lay right in
the middle of the open ground, neither tree nor bush being near to hide
it. It was of enormous size, too--nearly as big as a hovel,
square-sided and apparently flat-topped. Of course, he had noticed it
at the first glance, but had not thought of making it a stalking-horse--
the thicket seeming to offer him a better advantage.
Now, however, when he dared not enter the thicket--lest he might there
encounter the bull--he turned his attention to the rock.
By keeping the boulder between him and the yaks, he could approach
behind it, and that would bring him within distance of the one or two of
the herd that were nearest. Indeed, the whole flock appeared to be
inclining towards the rock; and he calculated, that by the time he could
get there himself they would all be near enough, and he might make
choice of the biggest.
Up to this time he had remained under cover of the timber, at the point
where he first came in sight of the yaks. Still keeping in the bushes,
he made a circuit, until the rock was put between him and the herd. Big
as the boulder was, it hardly covered the whole flock; and much caution
would be required to get up to it without alarming them. He saw that if
he could once pass over the first one hundred yards, the rock, then
subtending a larger angle of vision, would shield him from their sight,
and he might walk fearlessly forward. But the first hundred yards would
be awkward stalking. Crawling flat upon his breast appeared to be his
only chance. But Caspar had often stalked chamois on his native hills;
and many a crawl had he made, over rocks and gravel, and ice and snow.
He thought nothing, therefore, of progression in this way, and a hundred
yards would be a mere bagatelle.
Without farther hesitation, therefore, he dropped to his marrow-bones,
and then flat upon his breast, and in this attitude commenced wriggling
and shuffling along like a gigantic salamander. Fortunately the grass
grew a foot or more in height, and that concealed him from the view of
the yaks. On he went, pushing his gun before him, and every now and
then raising his eyes cautiously above the sward to note the position of
the herd. When it changed, he also deflected slightly from his course--
so as always to keep the centre of the rock aligned upon the bodies of
the animals.
After about ten minutes of this horizontal travelling, the hunter found
himself within thirty paces of the great boulder. Its broad sides now
appeared sufficient to cover the whole flock; and as crawling along the
ground was by no means pleasant, Caspar was fain to give it up, and take
once more to his feet. He rose erect, therefore; and running nimbly
forward, in another moment he stood behind the rock.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.
CASPAR RETREATS TO THE ROCK.
Caspar now perceived that the rock was not all in one piece. In other
words, there were two rocks--both of them immense boulders, but of very
unequal size. The largest, as already observed, was of the size of a
small house, or it might be compared to a load of hay; while the smaller
was not much bigger than the wagon. They lay almost contiguous to each
other, with a narrow space, about a foot in width, forming a sort of
alley between them. This space resembled a cleft, as if the two blocks
had once been united, and some terrible force had cloven them asunder.
Caspar only glanced at these peculiarities as he came up--his eye
mechanically searching for the best point of the rock to shelter him
from the game, while it afforded him an opportunity of aiming at them.
It was altogether a very awkward cover--the rock was square-sided as a
wall, with no jutting point that he could crawl behind and rest his gun
over. In fact, at the corners it rather hung over, resting on a base
narrower than its diameter. There was no bush near to it--not even long
grass to accommodate him. The ground was quite bare, and had the
appearance of being much trampled, as if it was a favourite resort--in
fact, a "rubbing-stone" for the yaks. It was their tracks Caspar saw
around it--some of them quite fresh--and conspicuous among the rest were
some that by their size must have been made by the hoofs of the bull.
The sight of these large fresh tracks conducted Caspar, and very
suddenly too, into a train of reflections that were anything but
agreeable.
"The bull's tracks!" muttered he to himself. "Quite fresh, by thunder!
Why he must have been here but a minute ago! What if--"
Here Caspar's heart thumped so violently against his ribs, that he could
scarce finish the interrogation.
"_What if he be on the other side of the rock_?"
The hunter was in a dilemma. Up to that moment he had never thought of
the probability of the bull being behind the rock. He had taken it into
his fancy, that the thicket must be the place of his concealment, but
without any very good reason did he fancy this. It was assigning more
cunning to the animal than was natural; and now on second thoughts
Caspar perceived that it was far more probable the bull should be
sunning himself on the other side of the great boulder! There he would
be near to the herd,--and likely enough there he _was_.
"By thunder!" mentally exclaimed Caspar, "if he be there, the sooner I
get back to the timber the better for my health. I never thought of it.
He could run me down in half a minute. There's no place to escape to.
Ha!--what!--good!"
These ejaculations escaped from the hunter as he cast his eyes upward.
It was a peculiarity in the form of the rocks that had caused him to
utter them. He noticed that the lesser one had a sloping ridge that
could be easily ascended; and from its highest point the top of the
larger might also be reached by a little active climbing.
"Good!" repeated he to himself; "I'll be safe enough there, and I can
easily get up if I'm chased. The top of the rock's equal to any tree.
It'll do if I am put to the pinch; so here goes for a shot, bull or no
bull!"
Saying this, he once more looked to his gun; and kneeling down close in
to the great rock, he commenced shuffling round one of its impending
corners, in order to get within view of the herd.
He did not move one inch forward without looking well before him into
the plain where the yaks were feeding, but quite as anxiously did he
bend his eyes around the edge of the boulder, where he surmised the bull
might be. He even listened at intervals, expecting to hear the latter
breathing or giving a grunt, or some other sign, by which his presence
might be made _known_.
If behind the rock at all he must be very near, thought Caspar--near
enough for his breathing to be heard; and once Caspar fancied that he
actually heard a grunt, which did not proceed from any of the herd.
The hunter, however, had less fear now, as he believed he could retreat
to the rock before even the swiftest animal could overtake him. He
therefore moved on with sufficient confidence.
You are not to suppose that all these thoughts and movements occupied
much time. There were not five minutes consumed from the time Caspar
arrived at the rocks, until he had taken all his measures; and another
minute or two were occupied in creeping round within view of the herd--
where at length Caspar arrived.
As yet no bull was seen. He might still be there, but if so, he was
farther round the corner of the rock; and the sight of the others now
fair before the muzzle of Caspar's gun drove all thoughts of the bull
out of his mind. He resolved to fire at the nearest.
Quick as thought the gun was to his shoulder, his finger touched the
trigger, and the loud report echoed from the distant cliffs. The ball
told, and a cow was bowled over, and lay sprawling on the plain. Bang
went the second barrel, and a young bull with a broken leg went hobbling
off toward the thicket. The rest of the herd tore away at top speed,
and were soon lost sight of in the bushes.
A little calf alone remained by the cow that had fallen. It ran
frisking around, uttering its singular cries, and seemingly astonished
and unable to comprehend the catastrophe that had befallen its mother!
Under other circumstances Caspar would have pitied that calf--for though
a hunter, he was not hard-hearted. But just then he had something else
to do than give way to pity.
He had scarce aimed his second shot--even while his finger was still
resting on the trigger--when a sound reached his ears that made his
heart leap. It spoiled his aim in fact, or the yearling would have had
it between his ribs instead of in his hind-leg. That sound could be
nothing else than the grunt of the old bull himself; and so close to
Caspar did it appear that the hunter suddenly dropped the muzzle of his
gun, and looked around thinking the animal was right by him!
He did not see the bull on looking around; but he knew the latter could
not be many feet off, just behind the angle of the boulder. Under this
impression Caspar sprang to his feet, and ran with lightning speed to
ascend the rock.
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.
FACE TO FACE WITH A FIERCE BULL.
Caspar leaped on to the lower one, and scrambled up its sloping ridge.
His eyes were turned more behind than before him, for he expected every
moment to see the bull at his skirts. To his astonishment no bull had
yet appeared, although as he was running around the rock twice or thrice
had he heard his terrific grunting.
He now faced toward the summit, determined to climb up to the safest
place. From the top he would be able to see all around, and could there
watch the movements of the bull, as he fancied, in perfect security. He
laid his hand on the edge of the rock and drew himself over it. It was
as much as he could do. The parapet was chin high, and it required all
his strength to raise himself up.
His attention was so occupied in the endeavour, that he was fairly upon
the top ere he thought of looking before him; and when he did look, he
saw, to his amazement and terror, that he was not alone. _The bull was
there too_!
Yes! the bull was there, and had been there all the while. The top of
the boulder was a flat table, several yards in length and breadth, and
upon this the old bull had been quietly reclining, basking himself in
the sun, and watching his wives and children as they browsed on the
plain below. As he had been lying down, and close to that edge of the
table which was most distant from Caspar, the latter could not have
perceived him while approaching the rock. He did not even think of
turning his eyes in that direction, as he would as soon have thought of
looking for the old bull in the top of one of the trees. Caspar had
quite forgotten what Karl had told him,--that the summits of rocks and
isolated boulders are the favourite haunts of the yaks,--else he might
have kept out of the scrape he had now fairly got into.
On perceiving his dilemma, the young hunter was quite paralysed; and for
some moments stood aghast, not knowing how to act.
Fortunately for him the bull had been standing at the farthest extremity
of the table, looking out over the plain. The trouble he was in about
his family occupied all his attention, and he stood loudly grunting to
them as if calling them back. He was unable to comprehend what had
caused such a rout among them; although he had already experienced the
dire effect of those loud detonations. He was "craning" forward over
the edge, as if half determined to leap from the summit, instead of
turning to the easier descent by which he had got up.
As Caspar scrambled up to the ledge, the rattle of his accoutrements on
the rock reached the ears of the bull; and just as the former had got to
his feet the latter wheeled round, and the two were now face to face!
There was a moment's pause. Caspar stood in terror; his antagonist,
perhaps, also surprised at the unexpected rencontre. It was a very
short pause, indeed. Almost in the next instant the fierce yak,
uttering his terrific cry, charged forward.
There was no chance to evade the shock by springing to one side or the
other. The space was too circumscribed for such a manoeuvre, and the
most adroit matador could not have executed it where Caspar stood. He
was too near the edge of the rock to make the experiment. His only hope
lay in bounding back as he had come; which he did almost mechanically
upon the instant.
The impetus of the leap, and the slanting surface of the lower boulder,
carried him onward to the bottom; and, unable any longer to retain his
feet, he fell forward upon his face. He heard the rattle of the bull's
hoofs upon the rock behind him; and before he could recover his feet
again he felt the brute trampling over him.
Fortunately he was not hurt, and fortunately the same impetus that had
flung him upon his face also carried his antagonist far beyond him; and
before the latter could turn from his headlong charge, the young hunter
again stood erect.
But whither was he to run? The trees were too far off;--oh! he could
never reach them. The fierce beast would be on him ere he could half
cross the open ground, and would drive those terrible horns into his
back. Whither?--whither?
Confused and irresolute, he turned and rushed back up the rock.
This time he scaled the slope more nimbly; more lightly did he leap upon
the ledge, but without any feeling of hope. It was but the quick rush
of despair,--the mechanical effort of terror.
The manoeuvre did not yield him a minute's respite. His fierce
antagonist saw it all, and went charging after.
Lightly the huge brute bounded up the slope, and then leaped upon the
table, as if he had been a chamois or a goat. No pause made he, but
rushed straight on with foaming tongue and flaming eye-balls.
Now, indeed, did Caspar believe his last moment had come. He had rushed
across the table of granite, and stood upon its extremest end. There
was no chance to get back to the place where he had ascended. His
vengeful antagonist was in the track, and he could not pass him. He
must either spring down from where he stood, or be tossed from the spot
upon the horns of the fierce bull. Dizzy was the height,--over twenty
feet,--but there was no alternative but take the leap. He launched
himself into the air.
He came down feet foremost, but the terrible shock stunned him, and he
fell upon his side. The sky was darkened above him. It was the huge
body of the bull that had bounded after, and the next moment he heard
the heavy sound of the animal's hoofs as they came in contact with the
plain.
The hunter struggled to regain his feet. He rose and fell again. One
of his limbs refused to perform its functions. He felt there was
something wrong; he believed that his leg was broken!
Even this fearful thought did not cause the brave youth to yield. He
saw that the bull had recovered himself; and was once more approaching
him. He scrambled towards the rock, dragging the useless limb behind
him.
You will suppose that there was no longer a hope for him, and that the
wild ox rushing upon him must certainly gore him to death. And so he
would have done, had not Caspar been in the hands of Providence, who
gave him a stout heart, and enabled him to make still another effort for
his safety.
As he turned toward the boulder, an object came before his eyes that
filled him with fresh hopes. That object was the cleft between the
rocks. It was, as already described, about a foot in width, and
separated the two boulders at all points,--except along the top, where
they rested against each other.
Caspar's quick mind at once perceived the advantage. If he could only
reach this crevice, and crawl into it in time, he might still be saved.
It was big enough for his body; it would be too narrow to admit that of
his huge antagonist.
On hands and knees he glided along with desperate speed. He reached the
entrance of the crevice. He clutched the angle of rock, and drew
himself far inward. He had not a moment to spare. He heard the horns
of the bull crash against the cheeks of the chasm; but the charge was
followed by a grunt of disappointment uttered by the furious animal.
A cry of joy involuntarily escaped from the lips of the hunter,--who
felt that he was saved!
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.
CASPAR IN THE CLEFT.
Caspar breathed freely. He had need; for the peril he had passed, and
the rushing backward and forward, and springing over the rocks, had
quite taken away his breath. He could not have lasted another minute.
The bull, thus balked of his revenge, seemed to become more furious than
ever. He rushed to and fro, uttering savage grunts, and at intervals
dashing his horns against the rocks, as if he hoped to break them to
pieces, and open a passage to his intended victim. Once he charged with
such fury that his head entered the cleft till his steaming snout almost
touched Caspar where he lay. Fortunately, the thick hairy shoulders of
the bull hindered him from advancing farther; and in drawing back his
head, he found that he had wedged himself; and it was with some
difficulty that he succeeded in detaching his horns from the rock!
Caspar took advantage of his struggles; and seizing a stone that lay
near at hand, he mauled the bull so severely about the snout, that the
brute was fain to get his head clear again; and although he still stood
madly pawing by the outside of the cleft, he took care not to repeat his
rude assault.
Caspar now seeing that he was safe from any immediate danger, began to
feel uneasiness about his broken limb. He knew not how long he might be
detained there--for it was evident that the yak was implacable, and
would not leave him while he could keep his eyes upon him. It is the
nature of these animals to hold their resentment so long as the object
of their vengeance is in sight. Only when that is hidden from them, do
they seem to _forget_--for it is probable they never _forgive_.
The bull showed no signs of leaving the ground. On the contrary, he
paced backward and forward, grunting as fiercely as ever, and at
intervals making a rush towards the entrance as if he still had hopes of
reaching his victim.
Caspar now regarded these demonstrations with indifference, he was far
more concerned about his limb; and as soon as he could turn himself into
a proper position, he began to examine it.
He felt the bone carefully from the knee downward. He knew the thigh
was safe enough. It was his ankle-joint, he feared, was broken. The
ankle was already swollen and black--badly swollen, but Caspar could
detect no evidence of a fracture of the bones.
"After all," soliloquised he, "it may be only sprained. If so, it will
be all right yet."
He continued to examine it, until he at length arrived at the conviction
that it was "only a sprain."
This brought him into good spirits again, though the leg was very
painful; but Caspar was a boy who could bear pain very stoically.
He now began to ponder upon his situation. How was he to be rescued
from his fierce besieger? Would Karl and Ossaroo hear him if he were to
shout? That was doubtful enough. He could not be much less than a mile
from them; and there were woods and rough ground between him and them.
They might be chopping, too, and would not hear his calls. Still, they
would not always be chopping, and he could keep up a constant shouting
till they did hear him. He had already noticed that in the valley, shut
in on all sides as it was by cliffs, sounds were transmitted to a great
distance--in fact, the cliffs seem to act as conductors somewhat after
the manner of a whispering-gallery. No doubt, then, Karl and Ossaroo
would hear him--especially if he gave one of his shrill whistles; for
Caspar knew how to whistle very loudly, and he had often made the
Bavarian hills ring again.
He was about to make the Himalayas ring, and had already placed his
fingers to his lips, when the thought occurred to him that it would be
wrong to do so.
"No," said he, after reflecting a moment, "I shall not call them. My
whistle would bring Karl, I know. He would come running at the signal.
I might not be able to stop him till he had got quite up to the rocks
here, and then the bull! No--Karl's life might be sacrificed instead of
mine. I shall not whistle."
With these reflections, he removed his fingers from his lips, and
remained silent.
"If I only had my gun," thought he, after a pause,--"if I only had my
gun, I'd soon settle matters with you, you ugly brute! You may thank
your stars I have dropped it."
The gun had escaped from Caspar's hands as he fell upon his face on
first rushing down from the rock. It was no doubt lying near the spot
where he had fallen, but he was not sure where it had been flung to.
"If it was not for this ankle," he continued, "I'd chance a rush for it
yet. Oh! if I could only get the gun here; how I'd fix the old grunter
off, before he could whisk that tail of his twice--that I would."