There is no animal in all the land so terrible and dangerous as the
grizzly bear. Not only is he the largest of the species in America, but
he is the fiercest, the strongest, and the most tenacious of life, facts
which are so well understood that few of the western hunters like to
meet him single-handed, unless they happen to be first-rate shots; and
the Indians deem the encounter so dangerous, that to wear a collar
composed of the claws of a grizzly bear of his own killing, is counted
one of the highest honours to which a young warrior can attain.
The grizzly bear resembles the brown bear of Europe, but it is larger,
and the hair is long, the points being of a paler shade. About the head
there is a considerable mixture of grey hair, giving it the "grizzly"
appearance, from which it derives its name. The claws are dirty white,
arched, and very long, and so strong that when the animal strikes with
its paw they cut like a chisel. These claws are not embedded in the
paw, as is the case with the cat, but always project far beyond the
hair, thus giving to the foot a very ungainly appearance; they are not
sufficiently curved to enable the grizzly bear to climb trees, like the
black and brown bears, and this inability on their part is often the
only hope of the pursued hunter, who, if he succeeds in ascending a
tree, is safe, for the time at least, from the bear's assaults; but
"Caleb" is a patient creature, and will often wait at the foot of the
tree for many hours for his victim.
The average length of his body is about nine feet, but he sometimes
attains to a still larger growth. Caleb is more carnivorous in his
habits than other bears; but, like them, he does not object to indulge
occasionally in vegetable diet, being partial to the bird-cherry, the
choke-berry, and various shrubs. He has a sweet tooth, too, and revels
in honey--when he can get it.
The instant the grizzly bear beheld Dick Varley standing in his path, he
rose on his hind-legs, and made a loud hissing noise, like a man
breathing quick, but much harsher. To this Crusoe replied by a deep
growl, and showing the utmost extent of his teeth, gums and all; and
Dick cocked both barrels of his rifle.
To say that Dick Varley felt no fear would be simply to make him out
that sort of hero which does not exist in nature, namely a _perfect_
hero. He _did_ feel a sensation as if his bowels had suddenly melted
into water! Let not our reader think the worse of Dick for this. There
is not a man living who, having met with a huge grizzly bear for the
first time in his life, in a wild, solitary place, all alone, has not
experienced some such sensation. There was no cowardice in this
feeling. Fear is not cowardice. Acting in a wrong and contemptible
manner because of our fear, is cowardice.
It is said that Wellington or Napoleon, we forget which, once stood
watching the muster of the men who were to form the forlorn hope in
storming a citadel. There were many brave, strong, stalwart men there,
in the prime of life, and flushed with the blood of high health and
courage. There were also there a few stern-browed men of riper years,
who stood perfectly silent, with lips compressed, and as pale as death.
"Yonder veterans," said the general, pointing to these soldiers, "are
men whose courage I can depend on; they _know_ what they are going to,
the others _don't_!" Yes, these young soldiers _very probably_ were
brave; the others _certainly_ were.
Dick Varley stood for a few seconds as if thunderstruck, while the bear
stood hissing at him. Then the liquefaction of his interior ceased, and
he felt a glow of fire gush through his veins. Now, Dick knew well
enough that to fly from a grizzly bear was the sure and certain way of
being torn to pieces, as when taken thus by surprise they almost
invariably follow a retreating enemy. He also knew that if he stood
where he was, perfectly still, the bear would, get uncomfortable under
his stare, and would retreat from him. But he neither intended to run
away himself nor to allow the bear to do so; he intended to kill it, so
he raised his rifle quickly, "drew a bead," as the hunters express it,
on the bear's heart, and fired.
It immediately dropped on its fore-legs and rushed at him.
"Back, Crusoe, out of the way, pup," shouted Dick, as his favourite was
about to spring forward.
The dog retired, and Dick leaped behind a tree. As the bear passed he
gave it the contents of the second barrel behind the shoulder, which
brought it down, but in another moment it rose and again rushed at him.
Dick had no time to load, neither had he time to spring up the thick
tree beside which he stood, and the rocky nature of the ground out of
which it grew rendered it impossible to dodge round it. His only
resource was flight; but where was he to fly to? If he ran along the
open track, the bear would overtake him in a few seconds; on the right
was a sheer precipice, a hundred feet high; on the left was an
impenetrable thicket. In despair he thought for an instant of clubbing
his rifle and meeting the monster in close conflict; but the utter
hopelessness of such an effort was too apparent to be entertained for a
moment. He glanced up at the overhanging cliffs. There were one or two
rents and projections close above him. In the twinkling of an eye he
sprang up and grasped a ledge of about an inch broad, ten or twelve feet
up, to which he clung while he glanced upward. Another projection was
within reach,--he gained it, and in a few seconds he stood upon a ledge
about twenty feet up the cliff, where he had just room to plant his feet
firmly.
Without waiting to look behind he seized his powder-horn and loaded one
barrel of his rifle; and well was it for him that his early training had
fitted him to do this with rapidity, for the bear dashed up the
precipice after him at once. The first time it missed its hold, and
fell back with a savage growl, but, on the second attempt, it sunk its
long claws into the fissures between the rocks, and ascended steadily
till within a foot of the place where Dick stood.
At this moment Crusoe's obedience gave way before a sense of Dick's
danger. Uttering one of his lion-like roars, he rushed up the precipice
with such violence that, although naturally unable to climb, he reached
and seized the bear's flank, despite his master's stern order to "keep
back," and in a moment the two rolled down the face of the rock
together, just as Dick completed loading.
Knowing that one stroke of the bear's paw would be certain death to his
poor dog, Dick leaped from his perch, and, with one bound reached the
ground at the same moment with the struggling animals, and close beside
them, and, before they had ceased rolling, he placed the muzzle of his
rifle into the bear's ear, and blew out its brains.
Crusoe, strange to say, escaped with only one scratch on the side. It
was a deep one, but not dangerous, and gave him but little pain at the
time, although it caused him many a smart for some weeks after.
Thus happily ended Dick's first encounter with a grizzly bear; and
although, in the course of his wild life he shot many specimens of
"Caleb," he used to say that "he an' pup were never so near goin' under
as on the day he dropped _that_ bar!"
Having refreshed himself with a long draught from a neighbouring
rivulet, and washed Crusoe's wound, Dick skinned the bear on the spot.
"We chawed him up that time, didn't we, pup?" said Dick, with a smile of
satisfaction, as he surveyed his prize.
Crusoe looked up and assented to this.
"Gave us a hard tussle, though; very nigh sent us both under, didn't he,
pup!"
Crusoe agreed entirely, and, as if the remark reminded him of honourable
scars, he licked his wound.
"Ah, pup!" cried Dick, sympathetically, "does it hurt ye, eh, poor dog?"
Hurt him! such a question! No, he should think not; better ask if that
leap from the precipice hurt yourself.
So Crusoe might have said, but he didn't; he took no notice of the
remark whatever.
"We'll cut him up now, pup," continued Dick. "The skin 'll make a
splendid bed for you an me o' nights, and a saddle for Charlie."
Dick cut out all the claws of the bear by the roots, and spent the
remainder of that night in cleaning them and stringing them on a strip
of leather to form a necklace. Independently of the value of these
enormous claws (the largest as long as a man's middle finger) as an
evidence of prowess, they formed a remarkably graceful collar, which
Dick wore round his neck ever after with as much pride as if he had been
a Pawnee warrior.
When it was finished he held it out at arm's length, and said, "Crusoe,
my pup, ain't ye proud of it? I'll tell ye what it is, pup, the next
time you an' I floor Caleb, I'll put the claws round _your_ neck, an'
make ye wear 'em ever arter, so I will."
The dog did not seem quite to appreciate this piece of prospective good
fortune. Vanity had no place in his honest breast, and, sooth to say,
it had not a large place in that of his master either, as we may well
grant when we consider that this first display of it was on the occasion
of his hunter's soul having at last realised its brightest day-dream.
Dick's dangers and triumphs seemed to accumulate on him rather thickly
at this place, for on the very next day he had a narrow escape of being
killed by a deer. The way of it was this.
Having run short of meat, and not being particularly fond of grizzly
bear steak, he shouldered his rifle and sallied forth in quest of game,
accompanied by Crusoe, whose frequent glances towards his wounded side
showed that, whatever may have been the case the day before, it "hurt"
him now.
They had not gone far when they came on the track of a deer in the snow,
and followed it up till they spied a magnificent buck about three
hundred yards off, standing in a level patch of ground which was
everywhere surrounded either by rocks or thicket. It was a long shot;
but as the nature of the ground rendered it impossible for Dick to get
nearer without being seen, he fired, and wounded the buck so badly that
he came up with it in a few minutes. The snow had drifted in the place
where it stood bolt upright, ready for a spring, so Dick went round a
little way, Crusoe following, till he was in a proper position to fire
again. Just as he pulled the trigger, Crusoe gave a howl behind him,
and disturbed his aim, so that he feared he had missed; but the deer
fell, and he hurried towards it. On coming up, however, the buck sprang
to its legs, rushed at him with its hair bristling, knocked him down in
the snow, and deliberately commenced stamping him to death.
Dick was stunned for a moment, and lay quite still, so the deer left off
pommelling him, and stood looking at him. But the instant he moved it
plunged at him again and gave him another pounding, until he was content
to lie still. This was done several times, and Dick felt his strength
going fast. He was surprised that Crusoe did not come to his rescue,
and once he cleared his mouth and whistled to him; but as the deer gave
him another pounding for this, he didn't attempt it again. He now for
the first time bethought him of his knife, and quietly drew it from his
belt; but the deer observed the motion, and was on him again in a
moment. Dick, however, sprang up on his left elbow, and, making several
desperate thrusts upward, succeeded in stabbing the animal to the heart.
Rising and shaking the snow from his garments, he whistled loudly to
Crusoe, and, on listening, heard him whining piteously. He hurried to
the place whence the sound came, and found that the poor dog had fallen
into a deep pit or crevice in the rocks, which had been concealed from
view by a crust of snow, and he was now making frantic but unavailing
efforts to leap out.
Dick soon freed him from his prison by means of his belt, which he let
down for the dog to grasp, and then returned to camp with as much
deer-meat as he could carry. Dear meat it certainly was to him, for it
had nearly cost him his life, and left him all black and blue for weeks
after. Happily no bones were broken, so the incident only confined him
a day to his encampment.
Soon after this the snow fell thicker than ever, and it became evident
that an unusually early winter was about to set in among the mountains.
This was a terrible calamity, for, if the regular snow of winter set in,
it would be impossible for him either to advance or retreat.
While he was sitting on his bear-skin by the campfire one day, thinking
anxiously what he should do, and feeling that he must either make the
attempt to escape, or perish miserably in that secluded spot, a strange,
unwonted sound struck upon his ear, and caused both him and Crusoe to
spring violently to their feet and listen. Could he be dreaming? it
seemed like the sound of human voices. For a moment he stood with his
eyes rivetted on the ground, his lips apart and his nostrils distended,
as he listened with the utmost intensity. Then he darted out and
bounded round the edge of a rock which concealed an extensive but narrow
valley from his view, and there, to his amazement, he beheld a band of
about a hundred human beings advancing on horseback slowly through the
snow!