FACING A BIG BEAR
It was a clear, cold day in early January. The snow covered the ground
to an average depth of eight inches, but many spots had been swept
clear by the high winds, while other places were buried under huge
drifts.
Dave and his cousin Rodney had left the Morris homestead early in the
morning, to be gone all that day, and possibly the next also. The stock
of fresh meat at the cabin was running low, and as Joseph Morris was
away from home on business, it fell to the lot of Dave and Rodney to
replenish the larder. It was now well along toward the middle of the
afternoon, but previous to discovering the deer they had brought down
only two rabbits and a wild turkey.
"That is next to nothing," Dave had said. "Why, we can eat all of the
bag at one meal." The bringing down of the deer made him feel better,
and the prospect of laying low a bear filled him with enthusiasm. As
my old readers know, he was not such a hunter as his cousin Henry, who
often went out just for the sport of it, but he loved to bring in meat
that he knew was needed.
"I'd like to be as good a shot as Henry is," remarked Rodney, as he
trudged along by his cousin's side. "I can tell you, he's a wonder. Sam
Barringford says so, and he ought to know."
"Henry takes to it naturally," answered Dave. "But you needn't to
worry, Rodney,--you shoot better now than many of the settlers do. Look
at Brown, and Katley, and Jabbs. They can't hit a thing, although they
have tried often enough. Since you've got around again you have done
wonderfully well."
"I suppose Henry is doing some tall hunting out around the trading-post
these days."
"More than likely--if the Indians will allow it." Dave's face grew
sober for a moment. "I wish I was sure that everything was all right at
the post."
"Don't you imagine it is?" came quickly from the young man who had been
a cripple.
"I don't know what to think--we haven't heard from them in so long.
I don't like to talk of these things at home--they only worry Aunt
Lucy and the rest. But it's queer father didn't send us some sort of a
message around New Year's."
"I was talking to Sam Barringford a few days ago about Pontiac. Sam
feels almost certain that Pontiac won't rest until he has one grand
fight, and either wins or gets whipped."
"Pontiac is certainly a masterful man--his authority over the different
tribes is simply wonderful. When I met him, I could see at once that he
wasn't a fellow who would allow himself to be dictated to. Every one of
the other chiefs had to bow to him--they couldn't help themselves."
"They are afraid of his magic."
"Perhaps, but some of the other big chiefs must know his so-called
magic is simply humbug. No, he's a natural born leader, and they can't
help but follow him."
Rodney gave a long-drawn sigh. "Beats all how much fighting we have
been having of late year's," he said. "First it was with the French,
now it is with the redskins. It seems to me we never will be settled.
For two years the crops haven't amounted to anything, because we
couldn't attend to them and fight the redskins too. I wish we could
have peace."
"You don't wish it any more than I do, Rodney. Look at all Henry and
I had to go through with,--when we were in the army. They talk about
the glories of a soldier's life. I think there was more hard work than
glory."
"Really?" Rodney glanced at his cousin in an odd way, and smiled. "You
say that, but I'll wager a shilling that if war came again you'd be
one of the first to march against the enemy."
"Perhaps so. It would depend on what the war was about. I've got
no use for a fellow who stays at home when his duty is at the
front--especially if he's a young man, and hasn't a family depending
upon him."
"Well, I agree with you on that, and I should certainly have joined the
army myself if I hadn't been so crippled. As you say, if--What's the
matter?"
"Wait a minute, and stop talking," answered Dave in a whisper. "These
tracks look pretty fresh to me, and if that's so, that bear can't be
very far off."
They had covered a good half mile since bringing down the deer. The
trail led up to the top of a small hill, covered with a stunted growth
of ash and pines, with here and there a dense clump of bushes. On the
other side of the hill was a series of rocks, leading down into a small
ravine, where, in the summer time, flowed a tiny brook, but which was
now partly filled with ice and snow. A stiff wind was blowing, and it
pierced them through and through when they gained the summit of the
rise.
"Phew! this is cold!" murmured Rodney, who had spent many winters by
the fireside in his easy chair. "I suppose you don't mind it, but it
cuts me like a knife."
"Come, we'll get behind yonder rocks," answered Dave. "Don't make any
noise after this."
"Do you see the bear?"
"Not yet. But I feel certain he can't be far away. Such rocks as these
are just the place for a bear's den. We don't want to--Hark!"
Dave broke off, as a distant rifle shot reached their ears. Thus was
quickly followed by another, and then all became as quiet as before.
"What do you make of that?" questioned Rodney.
"Somebody else must be out hunting in this vicinity."
"You don't suppose there are Indians around?"
"No,--all the Indians have gone northward for the present, so
Lieutenant Plawood was telling me yesterday. They were ordered by the
commandant at Fort Cumberland to keep their distance, and they promised
to do so."
"An Indian won't hesitate to break his promise if he feels like it."
"That is true; but they are not on the war-path just now. It's too cold
for them."
Both of the young hunters now became silent, and after a survey of the
bear tracks before them, proceeded along a ridge of rocks overlooking
the ravine. Presently they came to a space where the wind had swept the
rocks clear of snow, and here the trail appeared to come to an end.
"This looks as if we were stumped," whispered Rodney.
"I'm pretty certain his bearship went off in that direction," answered
Dave, pointing with his hand. "Let us climb down----"
Dave got no further, for at that instant the bear burst upon their
gaze, leaping suddenly from behind a point of rock not five rods away.
He was a big, shaggy beast, with a pair of eyes which were just then
looking their wildest. One of his ears was gone, and the blood was
flowing from a wound in his neck.
"There he is!" shouted Rodney, and taking hasty aim, he pulled the
trigger of his rifle. The bullet hit the bear in the hindquarters,
inflicting a deep but by no means serious wound. The discharge of the
weapon was followed by a snarl of pain and rage, and then the wounded
beast leaped out on the rocks directly in front of the two young
hunters.
It was a chance not to be missed, and as the bear arose on his hind
legs, Dave took aim directly for his heart. Down came the hammer of the
flintlock, but, alas! the weapon failed to go off.
"Shoot! Why don't you shoot?" yelled Rodney, trying his best to reload.
"My flint is cracked," answered Dave. "Confound the luck!" He took aim
again and pulled the trigger as before, but now the bear was crouching
down on the rocks, and the bullet merely cut a furrow along his shaggy
side. Then came a perfect roar of rage, and the big beast leaped from
rock to rock and came directly for the hunters.
"Give him another, Rodney!" sang out Dave.
"I haven't got my priming ready!" gasped the young man.
"Then run for it! Run, or he'll have you down!"
On coming closer the bear had turned from Dave to Rodney, and was now
within a dozen feet of the former cripple. Rodney started to run, and
seeing a high rock some feet away, leaped for it, slipped, and rolled
down into the gully. The bear watched him in evident amazement, and as
he disappeared in the snow, turned once more toward Dave.
The young hunter was trying to reload with all speed. But his rifle was
of the old-fashioned English pattern of 1755, and to load and prime it
in a hurry was next to impossible. As the bear came on he backed away,
until, reaching a hollow which was covered over with drifted snow, he,
too, went down and out of sight exactly as his cousin had done.
Such sudden disappearances were evidently a new experience for the
bear, for he stood stock still, gazing first at the gully and then at
the hollow, as if wondering which of his human enemies would be the
first to reappear.
As fortune would have it, Rodney was the first to emerge from the snow,
puffing and spluttering. He had his rifle still in hand, but the weapon
was not ready for use, and the bear seemed to know it. With a snarl,
the beast hurled himself down in front of the former cripple. But his
leap was a trifle short, and Rodney, with quick presence of mind,
rolled out of the way. Then the young hunter uttered a loud shout for
assistance.
Dave, coming up out of the hollow, heard the shout. Close at hand was
a small rock, and catching it up he hurled it at the bear, taking the
beast in the back of the head. Again the bear snarled, and now turned
once more.
"Look out!" screamed Rodney. "He's coming for you. Run! run!"
[Illustration: "Look out!" screamed Rodney, "He's coming for you. Run!
Run!"]
Dave did run, over the rocks, and then toward a clump of low-branched
trees. Once in the trees he felt he would have time to reload and give
the bear a shot that might finish him. But there was ice on the slope,
and suddenly he slipped upon this, fell sprawling, and then rolled over
and over into another hollow. Strange as it may seem, the bear slipped
likewise, and came down almost within arm's length of the youth he was
after.
"Get away from here!" gasped Dave, as soon as he could speak, and
grasping his rifle by the barrel, he made a wild pass at the bear. This
caused the beast to tumble back for a moment. Then the young hunter
started to roll away, but the bear was on the alert, and in a twinkling
he made two leaps, and came down fairly and squarely on the youth.