A MEMORABLE ENCOUNTER.
THE sound was like that of a score of bison charging through the
undergrowth. The affrighted lads glanced around and saw the grizzly
crashing down upon them. Possibly he had awakened to the fancy that they
were enemies, and one of them had sought to do him harm. At any rate,
here he was!
George and Victor instinctively did what any two persons with loaded
guns in their hands will do when assailed by a furious wild beast. They
brought their weapons to a level and blazed away straight into his face,
but they might as well have sent their bullets against a solid rock for
all the good it accomplished in the way of checking the rush of the
monster, who emitted his hog-like grunts and swept down upon them like a
whirlwind.
Without any thought of the wisdom of what they were doing, the brothers
separated, their line of flight being almost at right angles from the
beginning. Since it was impossible for the beast to pursue both at the
same time, he had to select his victim. His choice fell upon Victor, but
it is not to be supposed that he recognized him as the original offender
in this business.
The gait of a grizzly bear, or for that matter of any of his species, is
awkward when he is running at full speed. He has a grotesque way of
doubling and humping his body, which seems fatal to high speed.
Nevertheless, he can get forward at an astonishing rate, faster than a
man can run at his best. If it should ever fall to your lot to meet a
grizzly in his western haunts, don’t fancy you can escape him simply by
running. Keep out of his way from the first.
George Shelton ran and tumbled and scrambled over the rough ground for a
considerable distance before he glanced behind him. Then he discovered
he was not pursued. Panting from his exertions, he halted and began
reloading his gun with a haste which made the work doubly as long as it
would have lasted on any other occasion. As soon as his weapon was ready
he hurried back to the help of his brother, who was having a perilous
time indeed. As he ran he called as loud as he could for Deerfoot and
Mul-tal-la, for the crisis could not have been more serious.
Less than fifty feet separated Victor Shelton from the grizzly when the
race for life opened. For a little way the ground was favorable, and the
lad ran fully as fast as when fleeing from the wounded antelope. A
glance over his shoulder showed the vast hulk doubling and lumbering
along and gaining rapidly. In a straightaway race the fugitive was sure
to be overtaken within a few minutes.
Something must be done without an instant’s delay. There was no time to
reload his old-fashioned gun, nor could he descry any refuge. A sapling
appeared a little to his right, but he dared not resort to that. He
believed the bear would jerk it up by the roots to get at him, and he
was probably right in his supposition. So he kept on.
The situation was so critical that Victor Shelton did a desperate thing.
Throwing away the rifle which impeded his flight, he turned to the left
and headed, still on a dead run, for the edge of a cliff. Of the depth
of the ravine beyond he had not the faintest idea. It might be a few
feet or it might be a hundred. He had no time to find out. Over he must
go, and without checking his flight in the least, he dashed to the edge
and made the leap.
Providentially the distance was barely a score of feet, and instead of
alighting upon a rock almost in his line of flight, he landed on the
comparatively soft earth. He was severely shaken, but in his fright he
heeded it not. He fell forward on his hands and knees, scrambled up
instantly, and was off again. He had dropped into a gorge only a few
yards in width, which wound indefinitely to the right and left. There
was no way of knowing the better line of flight, and he turned to the
right.
He had gone only a few paces when he looked back to see what had become
of the grizzly. He had stopped on the margin of the bluff and was
looking down at the terrified youngster, who was striving so frantically
to get beyond his reach. For a moment Victor believed the brute was
about to follow him; but instead of doing that he lumbered, growling and
grunting, along the side of the ravine, easily keeping pace with the
fugitive, despite the fact that the surface was more broken than in the
bottom of the gorge.
Still, so long as the relative positions of the grizzly and fugitive
remained the same, no harm could come to the latter. But a change
speedily took place.
Victor had not gone far when to his dismay he noticed that the ground
over which he was running began to slope upward. If this continued he
must soon rise to the level of the bear, who acted as if he saw how the
situation favored him. The plum which for the moment was out of his
reach must soon pass into his maws.
The fugitive slackened his speed, wondering what he could do. He glanced
at the opposite side of the ravine in search of a way of climbing out
and thus interposing the chasm between him and his enemy. But the wall
was perpendicular and comparatively smooth. If he kept on he would soon
be brought face to face with the beast. He must turn back, with no
certainty that the same hopeless condition would not confront him in
that direction.
Just then a shout fell upon his ear. George Shelton appeared on the edge
of the cliff within a hundred feet of the bear. A flash and report
followed. He had fired at their terrible enemy and the bullet could not
miss; but the grizzly seemed as unaware of it as of the former pin
pricks. Giving no heed to the shouts, the report and the slight sting,
he saw only the lad below him, upon whom he had centered his wrath.
Victor had halted, glanced up, and was in the act of turning back over
his own trail when the brute took advantage of the decreased depth of
the gorge, leaped the short distance necessary to land him on the
bottom, not more than eight or ten feet below, and tumbling, rolling,
grunting, scrambling and flinging the pebbles and dirt in every
direction, renewed his direct pursuit of the fugitive, with less
distance than before separating them.
All that Victor could do was to run, and if ever a youngster did that it
was he. Unquestionably he must have exceeded the pace he showed when
fleeing from the wounded antelope. And yet it did not equal that of the
grizzly, who lumbered forward like a locomotive running down a
panic-stricken dog between the rails.
Suddenly another form dropped lightly into the gorge, landing on his
feet a few paces behind the fugitive, who, as he sped past, recognized
Deerfoot the Shawanoe. Neither spoke, for it was not necessary. The lad
did not slacken his speed, which was at the highest tension, and the
lithe young Indian, standing motionless, raised his rifle and fired at
the grizzly when the space separating the two was barely a rod.
Deerfoot aimed at one of the eyes. He must have brought down the
terrific brute had not the latter at the very instant of the discharge
started to rise on his hind legs, as his species do when about to seize
their victim. Despite the brief distance separating the two there was
just enough deflection in the aim to save the eye. The bullet struck
below that organ and did no more harm than the missiles that had
preceded it.
But Deerfoot had interposed between his friend and the grizzly, and the
fight was now between him and the furious Goliath. Never was a more
thrilling sight witnessed than that upon which George Shelton gazed from
the top of the ravine, and which his brother viewed from a safe point
within the gorge.
The Shawanoe saw on the instant the cause of his failure to kill the
bear. His gun was of no further use for the time, and, like Victor
Shelton, he flung it aside. He did not doubt that he could outrun the
grizzly in a fair race, and he would have fled had he thought Victor was
beyond reach, but there was no saying whether the gorge was not in the
nature of a blind alley or cage, from which the lad could not escape. To
save him the Shawanoe held his ground.
At the instant of flinging aside his rifle Deerfoot drew his knife from
his girdle and gripped it in his good left hand. The grizzly, as I have
said, had risen on his haunches and reached out for his victim, but the
space was too great. He sagged down on all fours, plunged a few paces
forward, and reared again.
As he went up he must have caught the flash of flying black hair, of a
fringed hunting shirt and a gleaming face. And as he saw all this like a
phantom of his dull brain, he awoke to the fact that a dagger was driven
with merciless force into his chest and withdrawn again, both movements
being of lightning-like quickness.
He had seen that face almost against his nose, and the ponderous fore
legs circled outward and swept together in a clasp that seemingly would
have crushed a stone statue had it been caught by those mighty legs. But
Deerfoot ducked with inimitable agility and leaped back a dozen feet.
If the grizzly had not felt the bullets he now felt that knife thrust,
and all the tempestuous fury of his nature was roused. He dropped on all
fours, charged forward, rose again and grasped at the audacious
individual that had seriously wounded him and dared still to keep his
place an arm’s length away.
Precisely that which took place before occurred again. As the shaggy
monster reared, his head towering far above that of the Shawanoe, the
latter bounded forward past the guard, as it may be called, and drove
his dripping knife with fierce power into the massive hulk, dropping and
slipping beyond grasp before the brute could touch him.
Deerfoot knew where to thrust to reach the seat of life, but the
enormous size of the grizzly actually seemed to hold it beyond reach of
an ordinary weapon, for after several blows the bear showed no evidence
of harm beyond that caused by the crimson staining of his great hairy
coat. Apparently he was as strong as ever.
George and Victor Shelton held their breath at times when viewing this
remarkable combat. They knew that if the bear once seized the Shawanoe
he would not live a minute. Repeatedly it looked as if the youth had
been caught. Once when the huge fore leg showed outside the shoulder of
Deerfoot and seemingly against it, and his head almost touched the snout
of the bear, both lads uttered a wail of agony, and George, from his
place at the top of the gorge, called to his brother below:
“Poor Deerfoot! He is gone!”
“So he is!” chuckled Victor; “gone from the claws of the grizzly.”
Just then Mul-tal-la hurried forward to the side of George Shelton. The
youth suspected the truth. The Blackfoot, although ordinarily a brave
man, had no wish for a close acquaintance with so overwhelming a
specimen of “Old Ephraim,” as he is now often called. He knew too well
the tremendous prowess of the monarch of the western solitudes.
But Mul-tal-la could not stay in the back ground when his friend was in
danger. Standing beside George Shelton, it took but a glance for him to
understand the situation. Deerfoot was engaged in a hand-to-hand fight
with the most formidable grizzly bear upon which the Blackfoot had ever
looked or of which he had ever heard.
A minute told the Blackfoot further that the youth was certain to win,
for, while he was continually thrusting and wounding his antagonist, who
must soon succumb, the latter had not harmed a hair of the other’s head.
To such a struggle there could be but one issue, provided no accident
intervened. But a mishap is always possible in the case of the bravest
and most skilful combatant. Deerfoot might slip at a critical moment and
be caught. Amazing as was his prowess, he was not infallible, and death
was likely to seize him at any moment.
The action of the Blackfoot, therefore, was to be commended, when he
knelt on one knee and aimed with the utmost care at the brute. While he
and the youth were interlocked there was danger of injuring Deerfoot.
Mul-tal-la, therefore, waited until a brief space separated the two and
just before the Shawanoe made another bound forward.
Mul-tal-la held his aim for several minutes, for he was resolved not to
make any mistake. He aimed just behind the ear, and when he pressed the
trigger the little sphere of lead bored its way into a vital part, and
then it was all over.
Deerfoot had struck again and leaped back when he heard the report of
the rifle, saw the outreaching paws droop, the snout dip, and the
mountainous mass sag downwards and sideways, tumble over, and that was
the end.
“Mul-tal-la only hastened the death of the bear”, remarked the Blackfoot
when he and the boys clambered down into the ravine and stood beside the
victor; “my brother had done the work, and the bear could not have
lasted much longer.”
“Perhaps my brother is right,” replied the Shawanoe. Then he looked
sternly at the lads and added:
“If my brothers do not heed the words of Deerfoot he will not be their
friend.”
The boys succeeded after much talking in putting matters in such a light
that Deerfoot finally agreed to soften his rebuke, though they felt it
hardly the less keenly.
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