A FIERCE FIGHT WITH EAGLES.
But although Step Hen spoke so flippantly, he was far from being as
confident as he pretended. In fact, as he proceeded downward, he found
his task getting more and more difficult.
One thing that bothered him was the getting up again. He just felt sure
that he would not be able to accomplish it; but then, if it came to the
worst, doubtless the balance of the descent was no harder to manage than
this; and after first sending his big-horn down, he might pick his own
way after it, and the others could follow as best they saw fit.
Step Hen was a self-reliant boy, at any rate; sometimes the scoutmaster
feared too much so. And since he had said he was going to get that game,
and was already part way down the face of the rocky wall, there was
nothing to be done but keep right along, which he proceeded to do.
He could not get the slightest glimpse of his comrades. They were
somewhere up above him; but just as the guide had declared, the face
of the wall fell away in places, and this kept taking him further
beyond their range of vision constantly.
Whenever he could do so without imperiling his support, Step Hen would
crook his neck, and look downward, in the hope of seeing where the
sheep lay. He could not help thinking how much easier this effort
would come for him, if a kindly Nature had given him the extensive
neck that Giraffe possessed.
"There it is!" he exclaimed, joyfully, as his anxious eyes fell upon
an object just a short distance below, and which he knew must be the
crumpled body of his big-horn. "And I ought to get there now without
breaking my neck. Wow! that was a near tumble, all right! Careful,
boy, careful now! Them horns of yours ain't growed big enough to drop
on, like the sheep do."
He halted for a full minute, not that he was so tired in the arms, but
to recover from the shock received when he came so near falling. Then
once more resuming his labor, he presently had the satisfaction of
dropping beside the motionless body of his victim.
"Bigger horns than Smithy's had!" was his first exclamation, as he
bent over, the better to see; and at the same moment he became
conscious of the fact that some buzzards, or some other big birds,
were swooping around close by, making him think they had looked on his
dead sheep as their next dinner.
"Guess p'raps I'd better be tossing it over here, and letting it roll
down to the bottom; then I c'n foller the best way there is, and----"
Something gave him a sudden fierce blow that knocked Step Hen down on
his hands and knees; and he might have rolled over the edge of the
narrow shelf, only for his good luck in catching hold of the sheep's
rounded horns.
"Quit that, you silly! you nearly knocked me over that time!" he
shouted angrily; his very first thought being that one of the other
boys, presumably Davy Jones, because he was so smart about climbing
everywhere, had followed after him, and was thus rudely announcing his
arrival close on the heels of the first explorer.
But as Step Hen raised his head to look, to his surprise he failed to
see any one near him. A dreadful suspicion that Davy might have
pitched over the edge of the narrow shelf, after striking him,
assailed the scout; and he was almost on the point of looking, when
suddenly there was a rush of great wings, and he dropped flat on his
face just in time to avoid being struck a second time.
"Whew! eagles, and mad as hops at me for comin' here!" gasped Step
Hen, as, raising his head cautiously, like a turtle peeping out of its
shell, he caught sight of two wheeling birds that came and went with
tremendous speed.
He noted the spread of their immense wings, and it seemed to Step Hen
as if in all his experience he had never before gazed upon more
powerful birds than those two Rocky Mountain eagles.
Perhaps they had a nest near by, with young eaglets in it, and fancied
that he was bent on robbing them. Then again, the big birds may have
decided that they could make good use of the fine quarry that had
lodged in the rocks so conveniently near their nest; and resented the
coming of another claimant.
But no matter what the contributing cause might be, they were
undoubtedly as "mad as a wet hen," as Step Hen afterwards declared, in
telling of his adventure there on that shelf of rock, fully a hundred
feet from the top and the bottom, on the steep face of the mountain.
His first thought was how he could fight back, for he saw that he was
to be at the mercy of the great birds that swooped down again and
again, striking viciously at him with claws, beaks and powerful
wings, until the boy was bleeding in half a dozen different places.
In casting his eyes about, even as he fought with his bare hands, and
shouted for assistance at the top of his voice, Step Hen made a little
discovery. A tree must have grown up above at one time or other, for
there, stuck fast in a crevice of the rock he saw a pretty good-sized
remnant of a branch that he believed would make a fair cudgel, better
than his bare hands at any rate, with which to strike at the attacking
eagles.
When he had clutched this in his eager hand the boy felt more
confidence; and watching his opportunity he did manage to meet the
swoop of the next bird with a whack that sent it whirling back. But
they quickly learned to adopt other tactics, now that he was armed,
both of them coming together from opposite directions; so that unable
to dodge, or hit back properly Step Hen again found himself getting
the worst of the fight.
Would his companions be able to do anything for him; or was he to be
left there on that shelf of rock, to either conquer his savage
enemies, alone and unaided, or succumb to their ferocious assaults?
All the while he was beating at them with might and main Step Hen kept
up a constant shouting. He had a double purpose in this,--hoping to
tempt one of his companions to descend to his rescue, carrying a gun,
since they seemed unable to hit the birds from above, though several
shots had been fired; and then again it was possible that the sound of
a human voice would by degrees cause the eagles to haul off.
"Take that, will you!" the boy cried, whenever he succeeded in
reaching either of his feathered assailants with his club. "Come at me
again, will you? Just wait, and see what happens to you yet! Ouch!
that hurt some, now! Oh! if I could only swing this club around
better, without bein' afraid of tumbling over, wouldn't I knock their
heads off,--wow! once more you'll have it, will you? See the feathers
fly! I b'lieve they're weakenin' some, sure I do; but what about me?
I'll bleed to death yet, if they keep on tapping me like that."
So Step Hen went on, shouting and whacking away, doing the best he was
able under the circumstances. Nobody could ever say at any rate, but
what he put up a strapping good fight of it, he kept thinking; but all
the same he cast an anxious eye upward whenever he could find a
chance, hoping to see a pair of human legs heave in sight, and
discover the welcome face of either Davy Jones or the guide.
"Bring a gun! Bring a gun!"
That was about the burden of his shouts. He hoped those above
understood what he was saying. The eagles seldom went far outside a
given circle, so that they could only be glimpsed from above
occasionally; and it was like shooting at a disappearing target in the
gallery, to try and hit them under such circumstances.
Step Hen had knocked one of the great birds down for the sixth time,
and was dismayed to see that he had not even then disabled it, since
it immediately started to fly again, no wing having been broken by his
club; when he thought he caught the sound of a human voice close by.
Then some loose stones rattled down beside him, giving him a thrill of
joy; for he knew now reinforcements were on the way, and it nerved him
to fight on.
Another minute, and some one dropped down beside the crouching Step
Hen, who was breathing hard from his exertions, but still full of
pluck, as a true scout should always be.
"Toby!" he called out, in a quavering voice, and looking very grim,
with his face so scratched, and streaked with blood; "I'm sure glad to
see you; but gladder to notice that you've got your gun! Look out!
there they come again! Dodge, Toby, dodge; they're on to you!"
But the guide had snatched his gun from about his back, where it had
been securely fastened with a stout cord. He had no time to aim or
fire just then, only to swing the barrel around, and strike viciously
at the swooping bird, that threw its claws forward as it pounced upon
him, just as a fish-hawk might do on striking the water.
The attack was quickly parried, and now Toby also had a streak of
blood on his cheek, where one of those furious wings had struck him.
Now he turned the gun quickly around in his hands.
"Leave one for me, Toby!" pleaded the boy, eagerly. "I ought to have
the pleasure of knocking over one of 'em, after what they have done to
me. Oh! you put it to that gay old robber of honest fish-hawks, sure
you did! And he's gone down below-decks for good. Give me your gun,
Toby; I _must_ have it, I tell you!"
And the guide, understanding, as well as sympathizing with, the spirit
that caused the other to cry out in this fashion, did thrust his
repeating rifle into the hands of Step Hen, after throwing the
discharged shell out, and sending a fresh one into the firing chamber.
With a satisfaction that words could never paint, Step Hen followed
the swinging form of the remaining eagle as it flew around so as to
get in line for another swoop. And just as the great bird started to
come down at them, the boy pulled the trigger.
His aim was true, and the second eagle pitched forward, whirling over
and over as it went tumbling down the face of the descent, just as
its mate had done.
"Hurrah!" shouted Step Hen, tremendously pleased with the final
outcome of the fight with the pair of fierce pirates of the upper air
currents; "that's what they get for tackling me, ain't it, Toby? We
gave 'em what they needed, didn't we? But say, I'm just thinkin' that
it's going to be a tough old job for me to get back up where the boys
are; and that p'raps we'll have to keep on climbin' down, after
shoving the big-horn off the shelf."
And the guide, after recovering his breath, which had been used up in
his recent hasty movements in coming to the rescue, looking over the
edge, admitted that he believed such a course was the only one left to
them.