_Dick's first fight with a grizzly_--_Adventure with a deer_--_A
surprise_.
There is no animal in all the land so terrible and dangerous as the
grizzly bear. Not only is he the largest of the species in America,
but he is the fiercest, the strongest, and the most tenacious of
life--facts which are so well understood that few of the western
hunters like to meet him single-handed, unless they happen to be
first-rate shots; and the Indians deem the encounter so dangerous that
to wear a collar composed of the claws of a grizzly bear of his own
killing is counted one of the highest honours to which a young warrior
can attain.
The grizzly bear resembles the brown bear of Europe, but it is larger,
and the hair is long, the points being of a paler shade. About the
head there is a considerable mixture of gray hair, giving it the
"grizzly" appearance from which it derives its name. The claws are
dirty white, arched, and very long, and so strong that when the animal
strikes with its paw they cut like a chisel. These claws are not
embedded in the paw, as is the case with the cat, but always project
far beyond the hair, thus giving to the foot a very ungainly
appearance. They are not sufficiently curved to enable the grizzly
bear to climb trees, like the black and brown bears; and this
inability on their part is often the only hope of the pursued hunter,
who, if he succeeds in ascending a tree, is safe, for the time at
least, from the bear's assaults. But "Caleb" is a patient creature,
and will often wait at the foot of the tree for many hours for his
victim.
The average length of his body is about nine feet, but he sometimes
attains to a still larger growth. Caleb is more carnivorous in his
habits than other bears; but, like them, he does not object to indulge
occasionally in vegetable diet, being partial to the bird-cherry, the
choke-berry, and various shrubs. He has a sweet tooth, too, and revels
in honey--when he can get it.
The instant the grizzly bear beheld Dick Varley standing in his path,
he rose on his hind legs and made a loud hissing noise, like a man
breathing quick, but much harsher. To this Crusoe replied by a deep
growl, and showing the utmost extent of his teeth, gums and all; and
Dick cocked both barrels of his rifle.
To say that Dick Varley felt no fear would be simply to make him out
that sort of hero which does not exist in nature--namely, a _perfect_
hero. He _did_ feel a sensation as if his bowels had suddenly melted
into water! Let not our reader think the worse of Dick for this. There
is not a man living who, having met with a huge grizzly bear for the
first time in his life in a wild, solitary place, all alone, has
not experienced some such sensation. There was no cowardice in this
feeling.
Fear is not cowardice. Acting in a wrong and contemptible manner
because of our fear is cowardice.
It is said that Wellington or Napoleon, we forget which, once stood
watching the muster of the men who were to form the forlorn-hope in
storming a citadel. There were many brave, strong, stalwart men there,
in the prime of life, and flushed with the blood of high health and
courage. There were also there a few stern-browed men of riper years,
who stood perfectly silent, with lips compressed, and as pale as
death. "Yonder veterans," said the general, pointing to these
soldiers, "are men whose courage I can depend on; they _know_ what
they are going to, the others _don't!_" Yes, these young soldiers
_very probably_ were brave; the others _certainly_ were.
Dick Varley stood for a few seconds as if thunderstruck, while the
bear stood hissing at him. Then the liquefaction of his interior
ceased, and he felt a glow of fire gush through his veins. Now Dick
knew well enough that to fly from a grizzly bear was the sure and
certain way of being torn to pieces, as when taken thus by surprise
they almost invariably follow a retreating enemy. He also knew that
if he stood where he was, perfectly still, the bear would get
uncomfortable under his stare, and would retreat from him. But he
neither intended to run away himself nor to allow the bear to do so;
he intended to kill it, so he raised his rifle quickly, "drew a bead,"
as the hunters express it, on the bear's heart, and fired.
It immediately dropped on its fore legs and rushed at him. "Back,
Crusoe! out of the way, pup!" shouted Dick, as his favourite was about
to spring forward.
The dog retired, and Dick leaped behind a tree. As the bear passed he
gave it the contents of the second barrel behind the shoulder, which
brought it down; but in another moment it rose and again rushed at
him. Dick had no time to load, neither had he time to spring up the
thick tree beside which he stood, and the rocky nature of the ground
out of which it grew rendered it impossible to dodge round it. His
only resource was flight; but where was he to fly to? If he ran along
the open track, the bear would overtake him in a few seconds. On the
right was a sheer precipice one hundred feet high; on the left was an
impenetrable thicket. In despair he thought for an instant of clubbing
his rifle and meeting the monster in close conflict; but the utter
hopelessness of such an effort was too apparent to be entertained for
a moment. He glanced up at the overhanging cliffs. There were one or
two rents and projections close above him. In the twinkling of an eye
he sprang up and grasped a ledge of about an inch broad, ten or twelve
feet up, to which he clung while he glanced upward. Another projection
was within reach; he gained it, and in a few seconds he stood upon a
ledge about twenty feet up the cliff, where he had just room to plant
his feet firmly.
Without waiting to look behind, he seized his powder-horn and loaded
one barrel of his rifle; and well was it for him that his early
training had fitted him to do this with rapidity, for the bear dashed
up the precipice after him at once. The first time it missed its hold,
and fell back with a savage growl; but on the second attempt it sunk
its long claws into the fissures between the rocks, and ascended
steadily till within a foot of the place where Dick stood.
At this moment Crusoe's obedience gave way before a sense of Dick's
danger. Uttering one of his lion-like roars, he rushed up the
precipice with such violence that, although naturally unable to climb,
he reached and seized the bear's flank, despite his master's stern
order to "keep back," and in a moment the two rolled down the face of
the rock together, just as Dick completed loading.
Knowing that one stroke of the bear's paw would be certain death to
his poor dog, Dick leaped from his perch, and with one bound reached
the ground at the same moment with the struggling animals, and close
beside them, and, before they had ceased rolling, he placed the muzzle
of his rifle into the bear's ear, and blew out its brains.
Crusoe, strange to say, escaped with only one scratch on the side. It
was a deep one, but not dangerous, and gave him but little pain at the
time, although it caused him many a smart for some weeks after.
Thus happily ended Dick's first encounter with a grizzly bear; and
although, in the course of his wild life, he shot many specimens of
"Caleb," he used to say that "he an' pup were never so near goin'
under as on the day he dropped _that_ bar!"
Having refreshed himself with a long draught from a neighbouring
rivulet, and washed Crusoe's wound, Dick skinned the bear on the spot.
"We chawed him up that time, didn't we, pup?" said Dick, with a smile
of satisfaction, as he surveyed his prize.
Crusoe looked up and assented to this.
"Gave us a hard tussle, though; very nigh sent us both under, didn't
he, pup?"
Crusoe agreed entirely, and, as if the remark reminded him of
honourable scars, he licked his wound.
"Ah, pup!" cried Dick, sympathetically, "does't hurt ye, eh, poor
dog?"
Hurt him? such a question! No, he should think not; better ask if that
leap from the precipice hurt yourself.
So Crusoe might have said, but he didn't; he took no notice of the
remark whatever.
"We'll cut him up now, pup," continued Dick. "The skin'll make a
splendid bed for you an' me o' nights, and a saddle for Charlie."
Dick cut out all the claws of the bear by the roots, and spent the
remainder of that night in cleaning them and stringing them on a strip
of leather to form a necklace. Independently of the value of these
enormous claws (the largest as long as a man's middle finger) as an
evidence of prowess, they formed a remarkably graceful collar, which
Dick wore round his neck ever after with as much pride as if he had
been a Pawnee warrior.
When it was finished he held it out at arm's-length, and said,
"Crusoe, my pup, ain't ye proud of it? I'll tell ye what it is, pup,
the next time you an' I floor Caleb, I'll put the claws round _your_
neck, an' make ye wear em ever arter, so I will."
The dog did not seem quite to appreciate this piece of prospective
good fortune. Vanity had no place in his honest breast, and, sooth to
say, it had not a large place in that of his master either, as we may
well grant when we consider that this first display of it was on the
occasion of his hunter's soul having at last realized its brightest
day-dream.
Dick's dangers and triumphs seemed to accumulate on him rather thickly
at this place, for on the very next day he had a narrow escape of
being killed by a deer. The way of it was this.
Having run short of meat, and not being particularly fond of grizzly
bear steak, he shouldered his rifle and sallied forth in quest of
game, accompanied by Crusoe, whose frequent glances towards his
wounded side showed that, whatever may have been the case the day
before, it "hurt" him now.
They had not gone far when they came on the track of a deer in the
snow, and followed it up till they spied a magnificent buck about
three hundred yards off, standing in a level patch of ground which was
everywhere surrounded either by rocks or thicket. It was a long shot,
but as the nature of the ground rendered it impossible for Dick to get
nearer without being seen, he fired, and wounded the buck so badly
that he came up with it in a few minutes. The snow had drifted in the
place where it stood bolt upright, ready for a spring, so Dick went
round a little way, Crusoe following, till he was in a proper position
to fire again. Just as he pulled the trigger, Crusoe gave a howl
behind him and disturbed his aim, so that he feared he had missed; but
the deer fell, and he hurried towards it. On coming up, however,
the buck sprang to its legs, rushed at him with its hair bristling,
knocked him down in the snow, and deliberately commenced stamping him
to death.
Dick was stunned for a moment, and lay quite still, so the deer left
off pommelling him, and stood looking at him. But the instant he moved
it plunged at him again and gave him another pounding, until he was
content to lie still. This was done several times, and Dick felt his
strength going fast. He was surprised that Crusoe did not come to his
rescue, and once he cleared his mouth and whistled to him; but as the
deer gave him another pounding for this, he didn't attempt it again.
He now for the first time bethought him of his knife, and quietly drew
it from his belt; but the deer observed the motion, and was on him
again in a moment. Dick, however, sprang up on his left elbow, and
making several desperate thrusts upward, succeeded in stabbing the
animal to the heart.
Rising and shaking the snow from his garments, he whistled loudly to
Crusoe, and, on listening, heard him whining piteously. He hurried
to the place whence the sound came, and found that the poor dog
had fallen into a deep pit or crevice in the rocks, which had been
concealed from view by a crust of snow, and he was now making frantic
but unavailing efforts to leap out.
Dick soon freed him from his prison by means of his belt, which he
let down for the dog to grasp, and then returned to camp with as much
deer-meat as he could carry. Dear meat it certainly was to him, for
it had nearly cost him his life, and left him all black and blue
for weeks after. Happily no bones were broken, so the incident only
confined him a day to his encampment.
Soon after this the snow fell thicker than ever, and it became
evident that an unusually early winter was about to set in among the
mountains. This was a terrible calamity, for if the regular snow of
winter set in, it would be impossible for him either to advance or
retreat.
While he was sitting on his bearskin by the camp-fire one day,
thinking anxiously what he should do, and feeling that he must either
make the attempt to escape or perish miserably in that secluded spot,
a strange, unwonted sound struck upon his ear, and caused both him
and Crusoe to spring violently to their feet and listen. Could he be
dreaming?--it seemed like the sound of human voices. For a moment he
stood with his eyes rivetted on the ground, his lips apart, and his
nostrils distended, as he listened with the utmost intensity. Then he
darted out and bounded round the edge of a rock which concealed
an extensive but narrow valley from his view, and there, to his
amazement, he beheld a band of about a hundred human beings advancing
on horseback slowly through the snow.