At the time the fire burst out in the great forest and Buffalo Bill,
the Border King, and his partner, Texas Jack, were chased by the
flames, a young buck of Oak Heart’s tribe of Utah Sioux was likewise
in the path of the flames. He had been out after a bear, because his
father, an old brave now toothless and unable to follow in the chase,
had expressed a desire for bear paws, roasted.
The government of Indian society is strictly patriarchal. The father
of a family demands, and is accorded, the greatest respect. Besides, it
is a trait of Indian character to care for and respect the aged. The
aged men of the tribe usually mold its opinions in both peace and war.
Besides, Red Knife, as this young buck was named, was not a married
man. He was what the whites would have called “an old bach.” He had no
teepee of his own, but it was a notorious fact that he cast longing
glances toward White Antelope, the cherished daughter of Oak Heart
and the flower of the Sioux maidens. He had gone hunting for the bear
because his father was fond of bear paws, but with the claws, and
others in his possession, he hoped to make a cunning necklace that
would be acceptable to the chief’s daughter.
Red Knife had lately become of moment in the tribe. It had been his
hand that had finally felled the chief of the pony soldiers who were
killed in the coulée, and whom Death Killer had tried to scalp. Red
Knife hoped in time to become so important that the White Antelope
would really look at him with favor, instead of ignoring him altogether.
The buck had obtained a single shot at his bearship, wounding him with
a barbed arrow, and had driven him into a thicket toward the close of
the day. Suddenly the smoke that had been hanging over the hilltops for
hours swooped down upon the Indian and his quarry, and following the
smoke came the fire--a deluge of flame!
The bear suddenly lost his fear of the redskin, and the latter lost his
desire to take bear paws to his teepee.
The crackling of the flames as they leaped down the wooded side-hills
into the valley warned both hunter and hunted that there was no time
to lose. The bear burst out of the thicket, the arrow still sticking
in his rump, and waddled off for running water at a great pace. The
Indian had chased the beast into unfamiliar territory, and now he took
advantage of his prey’s instinct. He followed the bear.
Through brush and bramble, over rocky way and swampy land, the bear and
the man raced. At times they were almost side by side, and neither paid
the least attention to the other. Lighter and swifter creatures passed
the two like the wind; the bear and the redskin plugged along doggedly,
as though running for a wager.
They were not in the neighborhood of Bendigo Lake, so they did not
meet up with either the two scouts or with the Mad Hunter. It was a
stream which the bear, back in his little brain, knew would be running
full even at this dry season. They reached it barely in time to save
themselves from being withered by the flames. The bear’s fur was indeed
smoking.
He plunged over the bank into the deep, dark pool. Red Knife went after
bruin, landing squarely on the bear’s back, eliciting only the notice
of a grunt from the beast as he sank to the bottom of the pool and let
the flames roar overhead.
The redskin stayed below the surface as long as he could, too. He could
feel the bear beside him all the time. He might have flung himself upon
the beast with his knife and killed him. It were better had he done so.
But at the time Red Knife was too perturbed to think of killing his
companion in misery. When the redskin came up to breathe, the fiery
brands showered upon him so thickly that he was glad to sink again. It
was some time before it was safe for him to squat, with his head out of
water.
And there were the redskin and the bear, both on their haunches, with
their noses stuck out of the pool like two bullfrogs. As the heat grew
less intense and the brands stopped falling, the bear and the man began
eying each other with less favor. Each recovered from his panic and
began to remember that they were deadly enemies.
The bear growled and shifted his position to a distance from the red;
the latter got out his knife--the only weapon he had saved--and in
moments when he was not dodging flying fire planned what he would do
should bruin take it into his head to attack.
This deep pool in the brook was no proper arena for a
bear-fight--especially when the human antagonist had simply a knife.
Red Knife thought some of sinking to the bottom of the pool again
and making the attack himself by trying to drive his blade into some
vulnerable part of the beast.
But the difficulty of using his knife with any surety, or putting any
force behind the blow under water, detained him from trying this.
Besides, the bear, if killed or badly injured, would sink and might
pinion the redskin to the bottom of the brook.
Therefore, as soon as he could see at all through the rolling smoke,
and the worst of the flames had passed, leaving a thicket or dead tree
only blazing in its wake here and there, the redskin made up his mind
that he would better trust to the dry ground. His moccasins were
well-nigh torn from his feet by his furious race through the forest,
and his meager clothing in general had been seriously torn. There was
little to shield him from the fire if he came forth, but the water of
the brook was ice-cold, and hardy as the Red Knife was its chill had
now set his teeth to playing like castanets.
The bear whined with the cold, too, but the next moment he growled as
Red Knife made a movement toward him. If the beast once got a hold with
his front paws on the redskin he would disembowel him with the great
claws of his hind feet. Red Knife shrank farther away from the bear’s
vicinity.
At this bruin plucked up courage. He growled again, came down off his
haunches, and began to swim across the pool toward the Indian. The
latter saw that it was his move--and the only place for him to move
to was out of the water. So he backed into the shallower part of the
stream and toward a part of the bank that was comparatively clear of
fire.
The heat and smoke were still almost blistering. To leave the water was
a cross indeed. But the bear continued to advance, and Red Knife did
not consider that he wished to come immediately to close quarters with
the brute.
As he backed out of the stream the heat of a near-by blazing thicket
warmed him more than comfortably. The chill was driven out of his body,
and his teeth stopped chattering. Fearful as he was of the fire--all
wild beasts hate it--the bear found the increasing warmth grateful,
too. He scrambled out upon the bank, too, and actually squatted down in
the heat of the bonfire to dry himself.
Red Knife looked about him as well as he could for the drifting smoke,
and picked out the apparently safest path from the spot. Had he been
contented to decamp without stirring up the bear, he would have been
all right. But an Indian loves to tell of his prowess around the
camp-fire, and so far there had been very little in this adventure to
suggest a tale of self-glorification.
Therefore the buck determined to have those bear paws for his father
and the claws for the necklace, after all!
He hunted out a big stone, pried it out of the smoking ground with
his knife, and, picking it up, poised it carefully for a cast. With a
sudden grunt of anger, the bear rose up. He seemed to smell trouble in
the air. His movement rather spoiled Red Knife’s aim, or else the buck
was nervous. The stone, thrown with terrific force, just glanced from
bruin’s hard skull!
With a roar the bear sprang at the foolish red man. He came all glaring
eyes, froth-dripping fangs, and unsheathed claws--a sight to drive the
barb of terror into the bravest heart!
The redskin found himself walled in by fire behind. He leaped for the
pool again, but the bear reached him with one paw first. The stroke
ripped his hunting-shirt and leggings fairly from his body. Nothing but
shreds of the garments were left and hung upon him--along with shreds
of his torn flesh!
The redskin yelled and leaped into the water. The bear growled and
plunged after him. As he came up Red Knife saw the great body of the
beast going down, and he struck at it with his blade again and again.
The sharp steel was buried in the body of the brute at each stroke,
but all about the shoulders--a part not at all vital.
Again and again Red Knife struck before the bear came to the surface,
but, although the blood flowed until the agitated pool was dyed red,
the bear came up as strong and as ugly as ever.
Red Knife threw himself backward and escaped the first plunging blows
of the bear. He reached shallow water and leaped ashore, being more
agile in this than his bearship. But in doing so he chanced to slip and
turn his ankle. The pain was very great for a moment, and the Indian
fell to the ground, giving the bear a chance to almost overtake him.
Instantly, however, the red turned and struck at his bearship before
the latter could seize him with its great, slobbering jaws. An attack
always puts a bear on the defensive. He squatted back on his haunches,
ready to either hug his enemy or to strike at him with his great
forearms, which swung like flails!
Red Knife clambered to his feet, but he could not run. The bear would
overtake him now in a short race. He poised himself on one foot,
holding his dripping blade before him, and, believing himself come to
the end of his time, the stoical Indian began to chant the death-song.
The growling of the bear almost drowned this cry of the Indian. The
latter advanced to embrace death, yet determined to sell his last
breath dearly.
The flaillike arms of the bear swung to and fro; he champed his
teeth and roared. The Indian flung himself with the desperation of a
berserker upon the animal, striking again and again with his keen blade.
Two awful raking blows the bear got in himself. It stripped the last
rag from the Indian’s body, and broke the string of the amulet he wore
about his neck, as well. They clinched like two men wrestling, and so
rolled into the pool.
Splash! they went under the surface. Bubbles and gore rose to the
agitated top of the water.
Then one of the contestants floated up, struggled a bit, secured a
footing, and slowly walked ashore. It was the Indian. It was Red Knife,
as naked as when he was born. He sank upon the bank of the stream, the
conqueror in a good fight. But he had no joy in his heart. Instead, he
was filled with gloom. In the struggle and the last plunge in the pool
he had lost his medicine-bag!