THE BEAST AND THE MAN
A sense of pain and annoyance penetrated the deep sleep of Black Bruin,
and with a growl and a start he awoke. When he had fallen asleep his
mountain cavern had been quite dark. It had always been dark when he
awoke and stretched himself, but now the full glory of daylight was
streaming in.
There before him, dark, sinister and forbidding as ever, stood Pedro,
and in his hand was the sharpened stick with which he had been prodding
him, causing him to awaken.
As Black Bruin arose in response to his blows, he shook himself, and
stretched first one cramped leg and then another, which were stiff
after his long sleep. Pedro could not help but notice how he had grown
and what a great brute he was getting to be.
"Holy saints," he ejaculated, "but he is one pig deevil-bear. I must
club heem and prod heem much, or he eat me. He em one deevil."
Black Bruin felt a sense of irritation at the coming of his master and
followed him sullenly as he led the way out of the winter quarters into
the full day. How sweet and fresh was the air and how bright and
beautiful the world. Then, for the first time, there came an almost
overpowering longing for freedom. He had often felt it slightly, but
now it nearly mastered him and he all but broke into open rebellion.
The deep woods were calling to him. The wild free life was his by
right. He was no dog to be led about upon a chain, and to go and come
at the beck of man. He was a wild beast whose home was the wilderness,
and this cruel creature, who tyrannized over him, and prodded him, for
whom he did tricks day after day, had stolen away his freedom.
Of course Black Bruin did not think these thoughts in just this way.
To him they were dim and inexpressible; he only felt a wild rage at
being restrained and made a captive and a hot desire to be off.
So it was with this ill-disguised humor that he followed his master
from town to town and did his tricks.
Pedro, on the other hand, felt that the bear was becoming morose and
that his spirit must be broken, so he prodded and beat him until his
life was almost unbearable.
One evening the two camped near the edge of a spruce woods. Along one
side of the road ran a turbulent stream, which was at the bottom of a
deep gorge. At several points one could look down from fifty to one
hundred feet to the water, foaming and lashing and rushing upon its
way. For a part of the distance the bank was almost perpendicular, and
here the passer-by was protected from falling into the abyss by a
railing that was spiked to posts or convenient trees.
To-night, Pedro was sleeping soundly, his head pillowed upon his great
coat, that he carried in the spring and fall against inclement weather.
He no longer pillowed his head upon Black Bruin, who was chained to a
near-by tree. The beast now also wore a muzzle and this was one more
grievance which he nourished in his heart against the time of vengeance.
Black Bruin was not asleep, but was watching first his master and then
the flickering light of their camp-fire. As he watched and pondered,
the tyranny of his chain and muzzle grew upon him. The muzzle galled
his nose and the chain was a continual reminder of his slavery. Pedro
had prodded and clubbed him this spring until his body was sore. He no
longer had the slightest spark of affection for the man, but instead a
fearful hate that burned in his breast like living coals.
The sound of Pedro's deep breathing also filled him with a terrible
rage. It seemed as if he could feel all the prods that he had received
from the stick at once, and each stung him with a new pain. His breath
came thick and hot and his eyes glowed with all the deep intensity of
hate;--hate, that had long smouldered, fed with continual fuel, but
always kept in check, only at last to break out in a conflagration,
sweeping all before it.
At length raging, yet fearful, Black Bruin backed away to the full
length of his chain and began straining upon it with all his might. It
choked him until he could no longer breathe. Then he stopped for a
moment to recover his breath, and went at the chain again.
For half an hour he tugged and strained, choking and gagging until at
last the ring in his collar pulled out and he was free from the chain.
But he was not free as long as that sleeping demon by the fire still
had strength to pursue and recapture him. He never would be free until
he had killed him.
Next he lay down and began tugging at his muzzle. That too choked him
as he pulled upon it, and he nearly strangled in the process of
wrenching it off, but finally the hated thing lay upon the ground, with
the strong wires bent and the strap broken.
Then Black Bruin crept forward to within three or four feet of where
Pedro lay heavily sleeping, and stood there, watching his master. He
felt sure that with one blow of his paw he could cripple him, but he
could not bring himself to strike that blow. The man might have some
new and terrible hidden power that he knew not of. He had seen him do
strange things and there might be still others that he had not yet
tried. Could he not make fire out of sticks that really had no warmth
in them? There was something fearful about a creature who could do
such things.
But one thing was certain;--Pedro would not strike him again. The
growing rage in his brute breast made that impossible.
If he would only move and get up and reach for his stick, then the poor
enthralled brute might act. This would be a match to the powder.
At last Pedro stirred uneasily in his sleep and groaned, and with all
the stealth of a wild beast Black Bruin drew nearer to him. He could
see drops of sweat upon the man's brow and a tremor shook his body.
Was this terrible demon really afraid? If so, Black Bruin himself
would no longer be afraid, so he drew still nearer and stood over his
master.
Then with a yell of terror that echoed through the cavernous woods,
Pedro sprang to his feet, while his hand reached for the stiletto that
he always carried. But quick as he was, he was not as quick as the
bear, for, with a motion like lightning and a grip like steel, Black
Bruin pinioned his arms to his sides and held him as though in the grip
of Vulcan.
"Heii, yii-here, you brute deevil. You let me go I keel you," shrieked
Pedro. But the words, that would have made the bear cringe and skulk a
few hours before, held no terror for him. He was master now, and this
man who had clubbed and prodded, sworn at, and outraged him, was a
pigmy in his arms. His powerful jaw too was close to the man's neck.
One crunch would make him lifeless.
Then Pedro, with more ferocity than judgment, began kicking, hoping to
frighten the bear, who had always skulked at his slightest word. But
the growl of rage with which Black Bruin greeted this move fairly froze
the blood in Pedro's veins, especially when he felt the great brute
half open his jaws as though to bite through his neck.
Then Pedro became wise and sought by kind words to persuade the bear
into releasing him.
"Gude Freetzie, gude beastie. Don't, Freetzie, don't."
But those platitudes were received as uncompromisingly by Black Bruin
as were the kicks. He evidently would have no parleying of any sort.
The man had been weighed in the balance and found entirely wanting.
There was still one very slight hope left, however. If Pedro could
only reach his stiletto, even with his hands pinioned to his sides, he
might be able to plunge it into the brute's side down low and inflict a
wound that would cause the bear to loose his hold for a second, when he
might wrench himself free and deliver a second fatal thrust.
The stiletto was in a sheath and Pedro could just reach the point. His
only hope was to work it loose, then with a quick motion jump it out,
and catch it as it fell. It was a desperate chance, but all that was
left to him.
His slightest movement brought blood-curdling growls from Black Bruin,
who evidently did not intend to take any chances with him.
At the same instant that Pedro began reaching for his stiletto, Black
Bruin started marching him up the road into the woods. Where he was
taking him and what new horror awaited him the Italian could not
imagine.
Inch by inch he carefully worked the stiletto higher and higher in the
sheath. Then with a quick upward motion of his hand, he jumped it
clear of the leather and clutched for the handle as it fell. But his
fingers barely glazed the steel, the weapon fell to the earth, and his
last hope was gone.
About fifty feet down the road, Black Bruin wheeled his captive sharply
to the right and taking a few steps in that direction, they stood upon
the brink of the precipice, at the bottom of which was the foaming,
dashing, turbulent stream.
As though to make the horror of the situation even more intense, the
moon which had been under a cloud, came out and shone peacefully into
the yawning depths. In the silver moonlight the white foam on the
water looked as soft as wool; but Pedro knew that beneath the froth and
foam were the jagged and hungry rocks that made it.
There they remained for the space of ten seconds, the dark, cruel,
sinister little man, held in the inexorable grip of the great shaggy
beast. Each second the crushing arms of the bear tightened and the
man's breath came in gasps and sobs. His tongue protruded from his
mouth, and his eyes bulged out of their sockets with fear and pain.
Blood dripped from his nose and his ribs creaked as the infuriated
beast slowly crushed him.
When the figure of his tormentor no longer struggled in his arms, Black
Bruin opened his powerful jaws and with a single bite crushed the
vertebras of the neck. Then, with a grunt of deep satisfaction, he
lifted the limp figure in his arms as high as he could, and flung it
into the yawning chasm below.
He peered over the railing and saw it strike upon the rocks beneath,
hang for a moment uncertain and disappear in the dark eddy.
Then he dropped on all fours and hurried back to camp, where he
demolished everything of Pedro's meagre outfit, not forgetting to tear
his coat to shreds. This done to his evident satisfaction, he obeyed
the call from the deep woods, that had been so insistent in his ear all
that spring and summer, and shuffled away into the gloom.
The dark plumes of fir and pines sighed, "Come," and the night wind
whispered, "Come," and the rustling fronds and grasses said, "Come."
All nature welcomed the exile to this, his native wilderness.