HARRY AND THE BEAR
Hunting knife in hand, Harry waited for the black bear to mount the
tree after him. He knew that if the beast came up he would have the
bear at a disadvantage, and he hoped that one good stroke of the long
blade would finish the fight.
But the bear did not come up. Instead he halted at the trunk, put his
forepaws on the bark, and gazed thoughtfully upward. Then he dropped on
his haunches, let out a growl of anger, and sat where he was.
“Don’t want to fight, eh?” mused Harry. “All right, but I hope you
won’t stay where you are too long.”
For a while the bear kept his eyes fixed on Harry, as though expecting
an attack. But as this did not come bruin lay down at the foot of the
tree, resting his head on his forepaws.
This was certainly provoking, for it now looked as if the beast meant
to keep the young pioneer a prisoner in the tree.
“Perhaps he thinks he can starve me out,” thought Harry. “Well, I
reckon he can, if he keeps me up here long enough. But I don’t mean to
stay--not if I can help myself.”
With the hunting knife Harry cut a small limb from the tree and dropped
it down on the bear. With a snarl bruin snapped at the limb and buried
his teeth into it. Then he leaped up and began to come up the tree in a
clumsy fashion.
Harry’s heart thumped madly, for he knew that a perilous moment was at
hand. Grasping the hunting knife firmly he leaned far down to meet the
oncoming animal.
Bruin was suspicious and evidently did not like the looks of that
gleaming blade. When still a yard out of reach he halted in a crotch
and snarled viciously. Then he came closer inch by inch.
Leaning still further down Harry made a lunge at the bear. Like a flash
up came a forepaw to ward off the blow. Paw and blade met and the bear
dropped back a little with the blood dripping from his toes.
But the animal was not yet beaten, and soon he came forward once more,
uttering a suppressed snarl and showing his gleaming teeth. He kept his
body low down as though meditating a spring.
It came and Harry met it with the point of the hunting knife, which
sank deeply into the bear’s right eye. This was a telling blow and the
beast let a loud cry of pain. Then the bear dropped back, limb by limb,
to the ground.
“That was a lucky stroke,” thought the youth, and he was right. He
listened intently and soon heard the bear crashing through the forest
and then climbing some rocks leading to his den. With the sight of one
eye gone all the fight had been knocked out of him.
Not to be taken unawares, Harry descended to the ground cautiously.
But the coast was now clear, and drops of blood on the grass and rocks
told plainly in what direction the beast had retreated. Not wishing for
another encounter without a gun, the young pioneer moved away in the
opposite direction.
“Harry!”
The cry came from the rocks close at hand and made the young pioneer
leap in amazement. Looking in the direction he saw Joe standing there,
backed up by Mr. Winship and Pep Frost.
“Joe!” he ejaculated, and ran toward his chum.
“Oh, how glad I am to know that you escaped!” exclaimed Joe when they
were together. “I thought you were drowned surely.”
“I had a narrow escape,” was the answer. “But where have you been, and
what brings your father and Pep Frost here?”
In the next few minutes each youth told his story, to which the other
listened with interest.
“You were lucky to escape from that cave,” said Mr. Winship to Harry.
“I have heard of such places before but have never seen one.”
From Joe, Harry learned that his chum and the others had been in hiding
among the rocks and trees all night and a part of the forenoon, not
being able to leave the vicinity because of Mr. Winship’s wounded leg.
The Indians had scouted around for them for hours, but without locating
them, and they had slipped away to the present location less than half
an hour before.
“I must say I am mighty hungry,” said Pep Frost. “An’ if ye don’t mind
I’ll follow up thet air b’ar Harry wounded an’ finish him an’ git the
meat.”
The others did not object, and the old pioneer was soon on the trail of
blood-spots.
“So my mother is in the hands of the Indians,” said Harry, when this
news was at last broken to him. “Oh, Mr. Winship, this is terrible! And
your daughter Harmony, too! What shall we do?”
“I am going on the trail of the redskins as soon as my wound will
permit, Harry.”
“And I am going along,” put in Joe.
“Then I shall go too. I wish we had two more guns.”
In less than an hour Pep Frost came back, bringing with him quite a
large chunk of bear meat.
“Had a putty good fight with thet b’ar,” he said. “But the knocked-out
eye bothered him a good bit. I knocked out tudder with the gun an’ then
the rest was easy.”
In a deep hollow among the rocks a fire was kindled and here they
broiled as much of the meat as they cared to eat. This meal was welcome
to all and after it was over even Mr. Winship declared that he felt
like a new person.
The want of weapons was a serious one, and Pep Frost declared that it
was no use going after the Indians unless the two boys were armed with
something. He cut for each a strong stick and fashioned it into a bow,
and then cut a dozen or more arrows.
“Now try them,” he declared, and when they did so, and found the arrows
went fairly straight and with good force, he was delighted.
“’Taint so good as a gun or a pistol,” he said, “but it’s a heap sight
better’n nuthin’.”
As some of the Indians had been wounded and killed in the fight, the
old pioneer declared that the red men would most likely remain in that
vicinity for a week or perhaps even for a month.
“They know well enough that there aint nobuddy to come to our aid,” he
said. “So they’ll hang around down by the river an’ give the wounded
warriors a chance to patch up thar hurts.”
“And what will they do with their prisoners?” questioned Harry.
“Keep ’em with ’em, more’n likely, lad.”
“Can’t we rescue them in the dark?” asked Joe.
“Jest what I calkerlated we might try to do. But we must be keerful, or
else we’ll be killed, an’ nobuddy saved nuther.”
It was late that evening when they started back for the river, Pep
Frost leading the way, slowly and cautiously, with Harry’s gun still in
hand, ready to be used on an instant’s notice.
The boys had been taught the value of silence, and the whole party
proceeded in Indian file, speaking only when it was necessary, and then
in nothing above a whisper.
It soon became evident that the clear night of the day before was not
to be duplicated. There was a strong breeze blowing, and heavy clouds
soon rolled up from the westward.
“A storm is coming,” whispered Joe to his father.
“I won’t mind that,” answered the parent. “It may make the work we have
cut out for ourselves easier.”
Soon came the patter of rain, at first scatteringly, and then in a
steady downpour. Under the trees of the forest it remained dry for a
time, but at last the downpour reached them and they were soon wet to
the skin.
“This isn’t pleasant, is it?” whispered Harry to Joe. “But if only it
helps us in our plan I shan’t care.”
Before the river was gained they had to cross an open space. As they
advanced Pep Frost called a sudden halt and dropped in the long grass,
and the others followed suit.
Hardly were our friends flat than several Indians came in that
direction, each carrying a bundle, the same that had been opened and
inspected the night before. They passed within fifty feet of the
whites, but without discovering their presence.
“That was a close shave,” whispered Joe when the last of the red men
had finally disappeared in the vicinity of some rocks to the northward.
“Reckon they are striking out for some sort o’ shelter,” said Pep
Frost. “I’m mighty glad on it, too,” he added thoughtfully.
“Why?” asked Harry.
“Thar was three o’ ’em, lad, an’ thet means three less down by the
river a-guardin’ the prisoners.”
“To be sure,” cried the young pioneer. “I wish some more would come
this way.”
The storm was now on them in all of its fury. There was no thunder or
lightning, but the rain came down in sheets, and they were glad enough
when the shelter of the forest was gained once more. They were now
close to the river, and in a few minutes reached the spot where Joe
had landed in the borrowed canoe. The craft still lay hidden where the
young pioneer had left it.
“The canoe may come in very useful, should we wish to escape in a
hurry,” said Ezra Winship.
While the others remained at the water’s edge, Pep Frost went forward
once again on the scout. Joe begged to be taken along, but the old
pioneer demurred.
“No use on it, lad, an’, besides, it’s risky. Sence you helped us to
git away them Injuns is sure to be on stricter guard nor ever.”
Left to themselves, the others decided to float the canoe and hold it
in readiness for use. This was an easy matter, and Joe remained in the
craft, paddle in hand, while Harry and Mr. Winship stood on the river
bank on guard.
Thus nearly half an hour went by. The rain came down as steadily as
ever, and the sky was now inky black.
“It’s time Pep Frost was back,” said Ezra Winship at last. “I hope
nothing has happened to him.”
A few minutes later they heard a murmur of voices in the Indian camp,
and then a scream which, however, was quickly suppressed.
“I cannot stand the suspense,” declared Mr. Winship. “Boys, watch out
until I get back,” and without further words he followed in the trail
Pep Frost had taken.
The scream had excited Joe as well as his father, for he felt that it
was his sister Harmony who had uttered the cry.
“I’m going to push the canoe out to the edge of the brushwood,” he
whispered to Harry. “I think I can see the Indian camp from that point,
if they have any torches lit.”
Noiselessly he shoved the light craft forward until the edge of the
bushes was reached. He peered forward cautiously, and then went out a
little further. Only the fierce rain greeted him, and the silent river
seemed deserted.
At last he caught sight of the flare of a torch, spluttering fitfully
in the rain and the wind. It was a good hundred yards away, and he made
out the forms of several Indians with difficulty. Then he discovered
another torch on the river and saw that it was fastened at the bow of a
canoe which had just been set in motion.
“Save me!” came suddenly to his ears. “Oh, save me, Mrs. Parsons. Do
not let this horrid Indian carry me away from you!”
“Harmony!” burst from Joe’s lips.
He was right, his sister was in the canoe, held there by the hand of a
tall and fierce-looking warrior. With the other hand the red man was
using his paddle to force the craft up the stream. As the canoe came
closer Joe recognized the warrior. It was Long Knife, the savage chief
who had led the attack on the pioneers’ camp.