"It will make assurance doubly sure," Dan Portway thought, and, quick as
lightning, he recalled the discovery of a murdered family of settlers he
had seen on the plains, where, after death had been dealt with arrow and
tomahawk, each poor creature had been scalped.
Dan Portway had exchanged friendly grips of the hand with his victim
scores of times, had shared luxuries with him in hours of plenty, and
the last scrap in those of famine. More than that, upon one occasion,
during their hunting-trip, when he had slipped, fallen, and hung in
deadly peril over a terrible chasm, George Harrington had risked his own
life to save that of his companion by descending and grasping his wrists
just as his strength was failing and he was about to drop. But there
was wealth in the way--a chance of gaining possession of position in
another land, and at that time the sphere of the scoundrel's actions was
growing limited, for in several districts a vigilance committee had
hunted him with dire intentions connected with a lariat and the nearest
tree.
And now his opportunity had come, and he seized it with the coolness of
the hardened villain, free from all remorse.
"Dead or not quite dead, he can't feel," he muttered, as the point of
his knife pierced George Harrington's scalp, and then the poor fellow's
head dropped with a heavy thud upon the rocks, while, bending down, the
ruffian seemed as if turned to stone, and gazed before him at the animal
which had silently approached to within half-a-dozen yards, and then
uttered a low sound like a heavy sigh.
They had seen sign of bear up above: here was the bear himself--a huge
brute of the variety known to hunters as the cinnamon, at home here in
his native wilds, glaring red-eyed and savage at the intruder upon his
domains, and ready to make him pay dearly for his audacity.
Portway held his keen knife in his hand, but he could not stir; his
rifle, ready charged, was almost within reach of his hand, but he did
not try to seize it, and for fully a minute the huge beast and the
hunter remained perfectly motionless.
Then the paralysis of mind and muscle passed away, and Portway stretched
out his hand slowly towards where he had placed his rifle but without
moving his eyes from the bear. On his right was the steep rocky wall
that he had descended, on his left the terrible precipice, behind him a
narrow shelf, and, in front the bear, with George Harrington between.
"If I can get the rifle?" thought Portway; and his hand searched for it,
but in his heart he felt that it would be better to try and retreat
slowly, while the bear would stop and wreak his anger upon the fallen
man. Dan Portway knew better as regards the nature of the beast, but he
could not think coolly and clearly then--he could not recall in the
least that the grizzly and his relatives preferred to attack an active
enemy when brought face to face with him, and that, at such a time, the
recumbent body was no more to it than the rocks around--till he saw it
rear up on its hind legs, a monster fully seven feet in height, its
little eyes red with rage, its fangs bared, and its huge paws raised
with the great claws spread.
There was a tremendous roar, full-throated, from the creature's jaws, a
rush as it leaped over George Harrington; the rifle was falling down the
gulch, crashing from stone to stone; and, knife in hand, and uttering a
hoarse shriek of horror, Dan Portway was bounding from rock to rock,
striving to mount the steep side of the rugged place, and with the bear
in full pursuit.
They were moments of agony, such as add years to a man's life, and,
listening to the panting breath of his pursuer, and his low snuffling
snarl, Portway climbed on, expecting, moment by moment, to feel the
monster's huge claws upon his shoulder, and his half-inanimate body
snatched back into the creature's grasp. There was no chance of escape,
for there, in its natural haunts, the bear could shuffle along at double
the rate of a man, but still, for what seemed like an eternity of
horror--really, but a fraction of a minute--Portway climbed on, till in
struggling round a projecting rock, he slipped, and fell some twenty
feet, to be caught up by a gnarled and distorted pine-trunk, which, with
its roots in a crevice of the mountain side, projected almost at right
angles over the gulch.
Half maddened by fear, the wretched man instinctively clung to the
boughs, and saved himself from falling farther, and then, with his eyes
fixed and staring up at his enemy steadily descending in pursuit, he
crept along the bending stem, seating himself astride the tree, and
getting farther and farther from the side of the gulch, till a warning
crack told him of danger, while the swaying motion of the little trunk
showed that he had reached the farthest point which the tree would bear.
"Grizzlies can't climb trees," he thought, and he watched his enemy as
it came on, deliberately and cautiously, until it reached the spot from
whence the fir-tree sprang. Here it paused, snuffed the ground, and
stretched out its neck toward the trembling man, who shifted his
position a little, so as to be ready to use his knife with effect.
The bear's movements were as cautious and deliberate as it is possible
to conceive; it placed one paw on the trunk, and then, reaching out the
other with its terrible array of hooked talons, made as if to claw
Portway from where he sat, and to draw him to the rocks.
As the bear strained to reach him, Portway backed slowly towards the
branches, shuddering as he glanced downward into the gulf, and realised
that the thin elastic trunk was all that he had to depend upon to save
him from the two terrible forms of death so close at hand. At any
moment he felt that the weight upon the tree might act as a lever of
sufficient power to tear the roots out of the crevice in which they
grew, and this kept him from moving another inch, though the bear was
cautiously trying the tree, and while keeping its hind-quarters well
upon the substantial rocks, stretching out farther and farther with its
huge length of reach, till the terrible claws came within a foot or two
of his breast.
And now a curious feeling, akin to nightmare, came over the man, and he
sat astride that frail trunk, gazing wildly at the red glaring eyes of
the animal, but closing his own each time the huge paw swept toward him,
and he saw himself, in imagination, swept from his hold.
But the bear uttered a strange gasping growl, full of disappointment,
and with an action that seemed eminently human, it altered its position,
creeping more over the precipice, and clasping the tree with its hind
paws, so that the next time it stretched itself out, Portway saw that he
would be within its reach.
Still he could not move; only sit there, watching every deliberate act
of the determined creature till it had finished its preparations, and
was about to make its final stroke; the paw was even in motion, when,
with a yell of horror, Portway threw himself back among the boughs.
The effect was immediate. The weight placed upon the trunk was the full
extent of that which it would bear; the extra leverage produced by
Portway's action did the rest. There was a sharp, snapping, cracking
noise, the tree was torn out by the roots, and in company with an
avalanche of stones and earth, man, tree, and bear plunged crashing down
into the great chasm yawning beneath.
The effect was varied.
The bear, whose hind paws clung to the root and rock, went down head
first, and its fore paws touched the bushes beneath, clung to them, and
held on, while, following the tree, its hind-quarters went right over,
making the animal turn an involuntary somersault. Then its fore paws
were snatched from their hold by its weight, and it fell some twenty
feet, from tree to tree, where they bristled from the side before it
could check its downward course, after which the huge beast coolly began
to climb diagonally upward, till it reached the shelf from which it had
fallen, and, after shaking itself, began slowly to retrace its steps
upward, when it came upon the rifle Portway had dropped, stopped to
snuffle round it for a few moments, and then proceeded toward where the
encounter had first taken place, and where lay ready for him a feast
such as did not often come in his generally vegetarian way.
Meanwhile, with a terrible rush, the tree, with its occupant, had gone
down into the gulf, plunging from rock to bush and clump of pine,
Portway clinging to it desperately, till it fell athwart a couple more
trunks, and there lodged, but with such a jerk that the man was thrown
from where he clung, to continue his descent alone crashing through tree
and bush, till he was brought up suddenly and lay stunned and insensible
to what had been going on.
At the end of a few minutes Portway unclosed his eyes and lay staring up
at the sky, through the thick, ragged growth which sprang everywhere
from the sides of the chasm. Then by degrees he realised that he had
escaped, so far, from a terrible death, but it was some time longer
before he dared to move.
When he did venture he uttered a cry of agony, and lay perfectly still
again, for an acute pain had shot through his side, telling him plainly
that he had not escaped free. At last though the cold sweat seemed to
dry upon his brow, and he began to look round and upward so as
thoroughly to grasp his position.
The side of the gulch projected where he lay, and quite a clump of pines
had found sustenance, sufficient to grow into a bushy patch, among whose
boughs Portway had fallen, the tops proving sufficiently elastic and
dense to break his descent, though he had torn off enough to form quite
a bed, upon which he rested.
He listened and looked about him, but he could neither see nor hear
anything of his enemy, and at last, with his confidence returning, he
drew himself into a sitting posture in spite of the pain, took a flask
from his breast, drank a dram of whiskey, and began once more to look
around.
His first shuddering gaze was upward, and something like a feeling of
satisfaction gave him encouragement to proceed, as he grasped the fact
that to climb back was impossible, for if the bear had escaped falling
with him, the beast was probably waiting his return.
"No, it must be downward," he muttered; and in spite of his agony, he
set about the task of descent, at once finding it less difficult than he
had anticipated; for the tough roots and bushes, which projected
everywhere, gave him foot and hand hold, as he let himself down, lower
and lower.
But there was a fresh difficulty awaiting him, for the lower he went the
darker it seemed to grow. The sun had sunk behind the mountains, and in
half an hour it would be perfectly black where he hung, and any attempt
to continue the descent so much madness.
It was, then, with a sense of relief that he reached a sharp slope
where, among the bushes and creepers that tangled the side of the gulch,
he was able to find a resting-place where there was no danger of
falling, and as he lay down here, hot, exhausted, and in pain, he saw
the twilight fade into darkness, and thought of the body of his
companion lying somewhere above.
A shudder ran through him at the thought--a shudder of dread--but it was
only compounded of fear lest he should not have effectually completed
his deadly work, and with the full determination of revisiting the spot,
so as to secure Harrington's rifle and make perfectly sure of his death,
providing he could avoid the bear, he dropped off into a heavy sleep
which lasted till the soft grey light was beginning to fill the valley
once again.
He was so stiff, and suffered such agony from the injury to his side,
that for some time he did not care to stir; but at last, bringing all
his energies to bear, he rose carefully, looked round, and began to
descend, reaching the bottom with no very great difficulty, and then
pausing to consider as to what course he should pursue.
His desire was to make for the camp at once, but he felt that he must
see the spot where he had left George Harrington; and to do this he
doggedly set forth, making his way to the mouth of the gulch, and then
spending half the day in getting round and back to the ledge, along
which he and his companion had passed the day before.
It was nearly midday when he passed the spot where they had lain down
and slept, and he would have given anything to have rested, but he
contented himself with slaking his thirst at a trickling spring and
doggedly went on.
"I must see him, and get his rifle," he muttered, as he trudged on, till
at last, peering cautiously about the while, he reached the place where
Harrington had stood gazing down, and he had delivered that cowardly
blow.
For a moment or two he hesitated and stood panting, with his hand to his
side. Then, taking a step forward, he peered down to gaze upon his
ghastly work, and stood there, as if fascinated, before he made a
terrible effort, and turned and fled.
For there below him, and interposed between him and that he wished to
see, was his huge enemy of the previous day, bending down, and evidently
licking the rock; till, divining danger, it looked up suddenly, uttered
a low fierce growl, and began to climb.
But by the time it reached the rocky path, Dan Portway was out of sight,
and he did not pause till he reached the little camp, from which he took
the few things he sought, refreshed himself, made ready a pack of
necessaries, set fire to the rest, and mounting the horse left hobbled
in a grassy hollow, rode slowly away.
"To seek my fortune," he said with a curious laugh; and then, with bent
head and thoughtful brow, he let the reins drop on the horse's neck,
took a pin from out of his knife, and began to make experiments by
pricking the skin of his wrist till it bled, and rubbing in gunpowder.
"Easy enough," he said, with a laugh. "Now we shall see what change of
scene will do. Nothing like a removal when a place grows too hot."