THE FAMOUS BEAR-HUNT.
When Tim went home with Bobby he saw Mr. and Mrs. Tucker, and from them
received such a kindly greeting that he thought he must be remarkably
good in order to repay them for their kindness.
He was a happy boy when he went to bed that night, and made more so by
seeing Tip stretched out on a rug by the side of the bed whenever he
took the trouble to look that way.
On the first morning after Tim’s arrival Mr. Tucker, without saying
what his intentions were regarding the future of the homeless boy, told
him and Bobby they could enjoy themselves after their own fashion for
two weeks, at the end of which time school began. Therefore there was
nothing to prevent the bear-hunt from taking place, unless it should be
the failure of the bears to show themselves.
Tip was fed on the choicest morsels which could be procured; and so
anxious were the boys that he should be in the best possible fighting
trim, that it was proposed to rub him thoroughly with lard, to make his
joints more supple, that he might be able to run swiftly when chasing
the game.
This idea was discarded, however, very shortly after they attempted to
carry it into execution, owing to a decided difference of opinion on
Tip’s part, who made such serious objections to it that Bobby concluded
perhaps he could run just as well if his joints were not quite so
limber.
Bill Thompson was the first of the party to arrive at the rendezvous
back of the shed, and, almost before he spoke to the boys, he made
another and a more critical examination of Tip. Bill was not only
eager for the fray, but he was thoroughly well armed. He had a
murderous-looking carving-knife stuck in a belt that had been hastily
made of a strip of black cloth, and in his hands he carried a small
shot-gun, which he might have some difficulty in discharging, owing to
the fact that he was obliged to carry the lock in his pocket.
When Bill’s attention was called to this fact he explained that he did
not depend so much upon the gun to shoot with as he did for use as a
club, with which the bear’s brains could be easily dashed out. The
knife was the weapon in which he put more dependence, and he proved
that it was a good one by making shavings of fully half a shingle in
less than five minutes.
This display of weapons and air of ferocity on Bill’s face so pleased
Tim and Bobby that they blamed themselves severely for not having made
their own preparations for a fight. That oversight was quickly remedied
when Bobby produced an old army musket, the weight of which made him
stagger, and a small pistol that had been loaded nearly a year, the
charge having obstinately refused to come out.
“You’ll want the pistol, Tim,” he said, as he handed that weapon to his
friend, “’cause it’ll be a good deal handier to fire when you’re close
up to the bear, an’ you know you’ll have to go pretty snug to him, so’s
to keep Tip from eating the skin.”
Tim took the pistol carefully, looked down into the muzzle, as if
wondering at which end it would be safest to stand when the weapon was
finally discharged, and then secured it by sticking it between the
waist-band of his trousers and shirt.
Bobby, with all possible precaution against accidents, loaded the
army musket with the powder taken from six fire-crackers, and
rammed home five or six small stones in place of bullets. He had no
percussion-caps; but he felt certain he could discharge it as well by
holding a lighted match at the nipple as if he had all the caps ever
made. Owing to Bobby’s mother’s decided refusal to loan two of her
carving-knives, they were obliged to get along without anything of that
sort, and depend on the one carried by Bill to skin their game when it
was killed.
The other hunters arrived in parties of twos and threes, and each
new arrival thought it necessary to make another and more minute
examination of Tip, in order to be certain that he was in the best
possible condition for the hunt. Each of the new-comers was armed, but
none could boast of having more destructive weapons than those carried
by the three leaders.
Bill was anxious to start at once, in order, as he said, to get the
skin nailed up on the barn before night; and as they were about to set
out Bobby cried, in tones of horror:
“Here! how do you s’pose we can get any bears if we let Tip go on
ahead? Why, he’ll rush off jest as soon as he sees one, an’ we can’t
catch him before he eats ’em all up.”
It was almost a shudder that ran through the party as they realized how
near they had been to losing their game before it had been caught, and
the greatest excitement reigned.
“What shall we do?” asked Bill, completely at a loss to arrange
matters; and then, as a happy thought came to him, he cried: “I know
now: we can take turns carryin’ him.”
A look of scorn came upon Bobby’s face as this brilliant idea was given
words, and he said, almost with a sneer:
“Now, what a way that would be, wouldn’t it? How do yer s’pose he could
smell out the tracks if we didn’t let him run on the ground?”
That one question made Bill Thompson feel very cheap indeed, for it
showed plainly that he was not posted in bear-hunting, and he was
anxious to be looked upon as one who knew all about it.
“What shall we do, then?” he asked, mournfully.
“We must tie a rope round his neck, so’s we can hold him back.”
Bill actually looked ashamed when this very simple plan was proposed,
and he was angry with himself for not having been the first to think of
it. But he saw a way to save his reputation.
“That’s a good plan,” he said, gravely, as if he had thought of
it before, but had not suggested it, hoping a better one would be
proposed; “but you’ll want more’n one rope. Why, if Tip should see a
bear suddenly he’d break the biggest rope we could get, an’ go after
him before we’d know anything.”
Every boy there agreed with Bill, and again he stood high as an
experienced bear-hunter.
Bobby got two pieces of an old clothes-line, each about five yards
long, and these were fastened securely around Tip’s neck; while Tim
and Bobby each held an end, with the understanding that, if the dog
struggled very hard to get away, the others of the party were to rush
in and help hold him.
Poor Tip appeared very sorrowful at this lack of confidence, as shown
by the ropes, and his short tail, which had stuck straight up, owing to
the excitement around him, now hung down in a sad way.
“He don’t like it,” said Tim, as he tried to cheer Tip by patting him
on the head. “He wants to rush right in an’ chew ’em all up, that’s
what’s the matter with him.”
No one doubted that statement, and admiring glances were bestowed upon
the very small but very ferocious dog.
The party was ready for the start, and the precautions they took even
before they were clear of the shadow of the wood-shed told that they
did not intend to lose any game by carelessness. Tim and Bobby went in
advance, leading Tip, who did not make the slightest effort to get
away, and followed by Bill Thompson, carrying his gun in one hand and
his knife in the other. Then came the remainder of the party, near or
at a distance, as their fear of bears was much or little.
Although it could hardly be expected that any bear had been so
venturesome as to cross a field almost in the centre of the town, Tip
was encouraged to smell of the ground, and each of the boys was ready
for an immediate attack before they were beyond the sound of Mrs.
Tucker’s voice.
The march to the edge of the grove was necessarily a slow one, for Tip,
finding that he was encouraged to run from one side of the path to the
other, did so to his heart’s content, while the boys expected each
moment to see him start off like a race-horse, and were ready to spring
at once to the aid of Tim and Bobby.
If their caution was great before they left the field, it would be
almost impossible to find a word to express their movements when they
entered the woods. Every weapon was handled as though it was to be used
at once, and the greater portion of the time every eye was fixed on
Tip. But not once had the noble animal drawn taut the ropes that held
him, not once had he shown any desire to start away at any furious rate
of speed. But after half an hour he suddenly smelled of the ground, and
then started away at a run, which made the excitement most intense.
“He’s after the bear now, sure!” cried Bill Thompson, as he brandished
his knife savagely, and swung his gun around, so that it would be ready
for use as a club.
At this startling announcement one or two of the boys who had been
careful to keep well in the rear ran considerably slower, as if they
were perfectly willing their companions should have all the glory
and fight, while one of the party actually turned his back on the
prospective scene of carnage and went home.
On sped Tip, now really pulling on the ropes, and Bobby’s face grew
pale as he thought how rapidly he was being forced toward the dangerous
and anxiously expected fight.
Tip, not understanding that two boys were obliged to follow directly
behind him, and, still hot on the scent of some animal, suddenly darted
between a couple of trees standing very near each other.
It was impossible for both Tim and Bobby to pass through this narrow
space together; but in their excitement they did not stop to think of
that, and the consequence was that they both fell sprawling to the
ground, while Tip was brought to a very sudden stop.
The dog seemed rather discouraged by the sudden check to his speed,
and it was some time before he could be persuaded to start again. This
second race had just begun, and the boys were growing eager again,
when Bill Thompson shouted:
“There he is! there he is! Hold on to your dog now, an’ let’s get all
ready before we rush in.”
“Where is he? where is he?” asked each one, as he halted and tried to
distinguish the form of the animal in the direction pointed out by
Bill; but none of them feeling quite as brave as they did a moment
before.
“Look right there!” and Bill pointed to a certain spot in the woods
where the trees grew thickest. “Now watch, an’ you’ll see him move.”
It was possible to see some dark-colored body moving among the thick
foliage, and there was no longer any doubt but that one of the animals
they were in search of was very near to them.
A shade of fear came over the faces of quite a number of that hunting
party then, and the most frightened-looking one was Bobby Tucker. He,
who had been so proud a few moments before because he had been given
the post of honor, now appeared to be perfectly willing that some one
else should hold Tip when the expected rush was made, and he appeared
to have suddenly lost all desire for a bear-hunt.
Bill Thompson now assumed the command of the party, and no one
questioned his right to do so. The orders he gave were obeyed as
promptly as could have been expected under the circumstances, and he
began the delicate task of posting his men in those positions best
calculated to bring out their fighting qualities.
Tim and Bobby, being nearer the dangerous animal than the others, were
ordered to keep strict watch of the spot where the bear was last seen,
and on no account to let him get away without their knowledge.
“Keep your eyes right on him,” shouted Bill to the two who were
preventing Tip from eating the bear. “The first minute he starts to run
let Tip go, an’ yell as loud as you can.”
Then he ordered this boy behind a tree, and another into the branches,
making such a warlike hubbub as probably was never before heard in
those woods. Meanwhile Tip had concluded the best thing he could do was
to take a rest, and he lay at full length under the tree, as if such an
idea as chewing a bear had never entered his head.
Finally Bill made all his arrangements, and cautiously stepped a yard
or two in advance, with both knife and gun ready for instant use.
“What do you think, Tim, had we better rush right in, or shall we
throw a stone, an’ let Tip catch him when he runs out?” he asked, in a
whisper, as if he was afraid of scaring the beast after all the noise
that had been made.
“Heave a stone in; that’s the best way,” said Bobby, quickly, not
liking the idea of being one of the party who were to make the rush.
Nearly all the boys showed that they preferred the most peaceable way
of commencing the fight, and Bill prepared to start the savage beast
from his lair.
At first he was at a loss to know what to do with his weapons while he
cast the stone that might do so much mischief; but finally he arranged
it to his satisfaction by holding the knife under his left arm, so that
it could be drawn readily, and by keeping the gun in his left hand.
“Now look out!” he shouted, “an’ be ready to let Tip go when the bear
comes out. All yell as loud as you can when I fire, so’s to scare him.”
Then Bill raised his arm, took deliberate aim at the centre of the
clump of bushes, and threw the stone.
The instant he did so he grasped his knife, and the others set up such
a cry as ought to have startled a dozen bears.
It was some seconds before any sign was made that the animal in hiding
even knew the stone had been thrown, and then there was a movement in
the bushes as if it had simply changed its position――nothing more.
Bill stood silent with astonishment; he had expected to see that
bear come out of the bushes with a regular flying leap, and he was
thoroughly disappointed.
“Better let Tip go in an’ snake him right out,” suggested Bobby, who
was afraid Bill would again propose a charge by the party.
Bill looked at Tim to see what he thought of such a plan, and the dog’s
owner nodded his head in approval.
“Then all get ready, an’ take the rope off his neck,” shouted Bill, as
he set his teeth hard because of the struggle that it was evident would
come soon.
Having the most perfect faith in the ability of his dog to kill any
animal not larger than an elephant, Tim cautiously untied the ropes.
But Tip did not appear to be excited by the prospect; he did not even
get up from the ground, but lay there wagging his stub tail as if he
was playing at “thumbs up.”
“Set him on!” cried Bill, tired of the inactivity; and Tim, now afraid
his pet might be accused of cowardice, set him on with the most
encouraging cries of “S’t-aboy!” But Tip, instead of running toward the
bear, seemed to be bewildered by the noise, for all hands were shouting
at him; he jumped to his feet, and ran round and round his master, as
if asking what was wanted of him.
Tim grew nervous, more especially as he saw some of the boys who had
appeared the most frightened when the stone was first thrown now smile,
as if they were saying to themselves that Tip couldn’t be so very much
of a bear dog after all, if he was afraid to kill one that had been
found for him.
Tim walked as near the bushes as he dared to go, pointed with his
finger, and urged Tip to “go an’ bring him out,” but all to no
purpose. The dog seemed willing enough, but it was evident he did
not understand what was wanted of him. Then Tim picked up a piece of
wood, and, after showing Tip that he was to follow it, threw it in the
direction of the supposed bear.
This time Tip understood, and he bounded into the thicket, while each
one of the party held his breath in suspense, and grasped his weapons,
ready for immediate use.
The moment Tip was hidden by the bushes he began to bark furiously,
and there was no doubt but that the battle had commenced. Even Bill
Thompson appeared to be a little timid, and he no longer advised a
rush, even though there was a chance that the skin was being destroyed.
However, he did suggest that Tim and Bobby should go in and put a rope
around Tip’s neck, so that he could be pulled away as soon as the bear
was dead; but his advice was not taken, nor did there seem any chance
that it would be.
Once Bobby took deliberate aim in the direction of the noise made by
Tip, and was just lighting a match to discharge the weapon when Tim
stayed his murderous hand.
“You might kill Tip, an’ then we’d have to fight the bear all by
ourselves, ’cause Tip must have bit him some by this time an’ made him
mad.”
No suggestion could have been made which would have stopped Bobby
quicker, and he turned very pale at the thought of being deprived of
Tip’s protection, dropping his gun very quickly.
Just at this time, when all were growing nervous and excited, the
sounds in the bushes told that the beast was at last being driven
from its lair. Quite a number of the party lost all interest in the
matter when they found they were to have a full view, and immediately
retreated to a safe distance.
But Bill, Tim, and Bobby held a portion of their ground manfully,
knowing they would be in deepest disgrace if they, the leaders of the
party, should make any undignified flight. However, they thought their
dignity would not suffer to any great extent if they should hide behind
a tree, and they did so at once.
The crackling and crashing of the bushes told that some large animal
was being driven out by Tip; and as they watched in breathless――perhaps
frightened――anxiety one of the causes of the commotion stalked out into
view, while at the same time an exclamation of disgust and relief burst
from Bill Thompson’s lips:
“Gracious! it’s only Bobby Tucker’s cow!”
And so it was. The bear had turned into a peaceful, rather
sleepy-looking old cow, who had sought the shade of the bushes, only to
be driven from her cool retreat by Tip Babbige and a lot of noisy boys.
How brave they all were then, and how they laughed at each other’s
cowardice, declaring that they had only feared it might not be a bear
after all! But they patted Tip’s head, and spoke to him kindly, as
if he had relieved them from some terrible peril, instead of only
disturbing a cow.
After the first excitement attending the finding of the cow had
subsided, the question arose as to the proper course to pursue, and it
was decided that the bear-hunt must be continued, as it would not be
at all the right thing to delay another day in nailing a skin to Bobby
Tucker’s father’s barn.
This time the march was not made with so much caution, and Tip was
allowed to roam about loose, in the hope that he might find the bear’s
trail more quickly. Bobby even proposed to shoot a squirrel; but this
plan was quickly frowned down by Bill Thompson, who reminded him that
he had no more powder, and that the bear might come upon them at the
very moment when the gun was empty.
Tip ran on, joyous at having recovered his freedom, and in a short time
was out of sight. Then the boys ceased even to keep a lookout for
large animals, growing so careless as to watch the squirrels, hunt for
birds’ nests, and act in every way unbecoming bear hunters.
But suddenly they were roused into activity and excitement by furious,
angry barking some distance away.
“He’s caught one this time!” shouted Bill, as he drew his knife from
his belt and started forward rapidly, followed closely or afar off by
the remainder of the party, according to their degree of courage.
When the scene of the conflict was reached, and it was positive that
a fight was in progress, because Tip’s barking had changed to short,
angry yelps, the greater portion of the party found that they were too
tired to run any farther, and fell into such a slow pace that they
could not arrive until the battle was over.
“I can see them!” shouted Bill, exultantly; “an’ it ain’t a very big
bear――only a small one. Come on quick!”
As the leaders of the party dashed into a small cleared space they
saw Tip actually fighting, and this time it was no cow, but a small,
dark-colored animal, which, if it really was a bear, must have been a
very young one.
Bill was not afraid of so small an animal, and he jumped forward with
his knife; but Tim cried:
“It’s only a young one. Let’s get him away from Tip, an’ take him home
alive.”
He spoke too late to save the animal’s life, for just then Tip gave the
small bundle of fur a toss in the air, and when it came down it was
dead.
Tim caught Tip by the neck, to prevent any further attack on his
part, and the boys gathered around the victim. It was no bear, but a
woodchuck, Tip had killed, as they all knew after a short examination,
and the disappointment they felt at not having slain a bear was
greatly lessened by the fact that they had really killed something.
How they praised and petted Tip then! Not a boy among them, from that
moment, but believed he could have killed a bear as easily as he had
killed the woodchuck, and Tim was happy.
That night there was a skin nailed on Bobby Tucker’s father’s barn,
but it was not a bearskin, and it was wofully cut and hacked, owing to
Tip’s teeth and Bill Thompson’s very unscientific skinning.