Brave and True Part 3

CHAPTER FIVE.

MY ENCOUNTER WITH A GRIZZLY, BY ARTHUR J DANIELS.

The winter had set in early, and with unusual severity, when I reached Logville, the appropriate name given to the little mining camp which hid itself away in the vast wilderness of the Rocky Mountains. A roving disposition, combined with a love of sport, and a desire to put on canvas some record of the wonderful scenery of the locality, had guided my steps to this out-of-the-world spot.

One morning when the winter was beginning to break, and the snow to show signs of disappearing--sure evidence that the severe weather was pa.s.sing away--I slung my cloak and a bag of provisions across my shoulders, seized my rifle, and set forth on a solitary stroll. I had gone some considerable distance from the camp when a sudden darkening of the sky told me only too plainly of an approaching storm. Fearful of being caught in the downpour, I began to retrace my steps.

Scarcely had I commenced my homeward journey when a sudden cry caused me to come to an abrupt standstill. A few moments of intense stillness followed. I listened attentively, surveying the surrounding landscape on all sides with the close scrutiny of an experienced hunter, who had enjoyed many a lesson from the Indians. The piled-up rocks, scanty herbage, leafless and motionless trees gave no sign of life. No sound broke the intense solitude. Then, with startling suddenness, another cry, louder and more agonising than the former, echoed across the waste, and this was followed by a deep significant growl.

I knew at once that the voice was that of a human being, and I knew equally well that the growl proceeded from a bear. I had heard that a big "grizzly" had been seen in the neighbourhood, and that a party had been organised to track him to his lair, but had failed to come to close quarters with the wily old fellow.

As these thoughts shaped themselves in my mind there came a shrill and piercing shriek which set every nerve in my body tingling. It was the scream of a woman in mortal terror.

I shouldered, my rifle and turned in the direction from which the sounds proceeded.

Descending a steep cliff, I found myself in a narrow canon through which a mountain stream, swollen by the melting snow, rushed with considerable rapidity. The first object that caught my eye was a woman carrying a child and struggling through the foaming torrent. Then I observed, some little distance to the rear, but following with incredible rapidity, an enormous black bear. He measured at least nine feet from his nose to the tip of his tail, and was broad in proportion. Though of enormous size, he progressed at a speed which was surprising. Something had evidently irritated the brute considerably, for his whole appearance was characteristic of unrestrained ferocity.

I dragged the panting fugitive from the water and, without asking any questions, advanced to the bank of the stream and prepared to take aim.

Whether my gentleman had at some period of his life been so closely a.s.sociated with the barrel of a sporting-rifle that he understood the significance of my movement, I know not; but certain it is that as soon as I raised the weapon, the bear first of all reared himself on his hind quarters, displaying his long narrow muzzle adorned with an a.s.sortment of ugly fangs, and then uttering a loud noise, curiously resembling the heavy breathing of a human being, he fell down on all-fours and retreated behind a convenient boulder, over the top of which his little eyes gleamed fiercely every now and again.

The woman, who proved to be the wife of the innkeeper at whose "hotel" I was sojourning, was s.h.i.+vering with the cold, and her wet garments were rapidly congealing in the keen frosty air. Her little girl was crying pitifully with the cold and fright.

It was a question whether I should remain and finish off Bruin or hurry my companions homeward at a fast trot. I decided to adopt the latter course.

"The bear can wait," I said, as I turned away; "I'll settle him another day."

We turned our steps in the direction of the camp, and for some distance walked in silence. Then of a sudden a plaintive moan from the child reminded me that the wee mite and her mother, soaked with wet, were, in the cutting air, rapidly a.s.suming the condition of living icicles.

Fortunately I had a flask with me, and, telling the exhausted and s.h.i.+vering woman to sit down, I rested my rifle against a stump of a tree and proceeded to prepare a dose of brandy, at the same time cheering her with words of encouragement.

"We are not far from home now," I said, "and--"

I did not finish the sentence, for a movement behind caused me to turn round. To my utter astonishment and horror I found myself face to face with my old friend, or rather enemy. He had evidently followed with stealthy steps, the snow acting as a carpet to deaden his heavy footsteps.

My first idea was to give the intruder a dose of cold lead, but that I soon discovered was out of the question, for the bear had calmly appropriated my rifle, which lay beneath his paws.

It seemed to me indeed that his ugly face bore a look of triumph as he crouched over the weapon, and, judging from the blinking of his eyes, he seemed humanly conscious that, having become possessed of my trusty and deadly friend, he had me completely in his power. To obtain possession of the weapon was out of the question; it would have been fatal to attempt it.

Motioning the woman to seize the child and hurry forward without me, I prepared to rout the enemy by some means other than powder and shot.

What means I intended to adopt I frankly admit I had not the remotest idea. The incident, so unexpected, so strange, took me completely by surprise, and it was some moments before I recovered my senses and presence of mind. Then I remembered that grizzlies, despite their huge bulk and ferocious tempers, are curiously alarmed by noise.

I had even heard that they had been driven off, with their tails between their legs, by the mere beating of a tin can. With this idea in my mind I hastily produced the metal cup of my flask, and striking it furiously with the hilt of my hunting-knife, I continued to produce a din which ought to have taken effect upon my four-footed adversary. I am sorry to say it did not, however. Uttering the curious sound peculiar to grizzlies, the brute made as though it would approach still closer.

The bear was somewhat lean after his long winter's sleep in some hole scooped out of the earth, whither he had retired with a substantial coating of fat upon him, as a protection against the chills of winter.

The nap had gradually reduced the thickness of this protection and now the hungry animal, weary of search for berries and roots, contemplated me with a look which seemed to express that a morsel of something more substantial would not be out of place.

I commenced to retire cautiously, but I had not taken many steps when there came a flash, followed by a sudden report, and I staggered and fell on my knees--shot in the leg.

The bear had accidentally pulled the trigger of my gun, and the bullet intended for him had found instead a billet in poor me. I tried to staunch the wound with my handkerchief, but the blood flowed freely, and I soon began to feel exhausted.

I felt my knees quivering and giving way beneath me, and a deadly faintness crept over me. A mist came over my eyes, and I seemed to sink into a deep sleep, the landscape slowly vanis.h.i.+ng, and even the big bear standing up before me disappearing in the darkness which enveloped everything.

The rescuing party sent in search discovered me, still breathing, the thick snow into which I had fallen having congealed over my wound and stopped the flow of blood.

The bear had fled without touching me, the report of the rifle having apparently proved too much for his nerves. He did not live long, however, for the following day he was tracked to his underground home, and there despatched. His skin is among my most cherished trophies, and I never look at it without remembering my first and last encounter with a grizzly.

CHAPTER SIX.

UP THE MOUNTAIN, BY FRANCES E CROMPTON.

Little Kirl kept the goats on the mountain. Little Kirl was very little, his legs were very short, his body was very round and chubby, and he could certainly not have overtaken an active and badly-disposed goat, whatever had been the consequences. So it was a fortunate thing that they did not require much herding. He had only to drive them to the pastures on the mountain in the morning, and home again in the evening, and the young ones followed the old ones, round whose necks the tinkling bells were hung.

Little Kirl had only begun to keep the goats this summer, and he thought when one has become a real live goat-herd one is in a fair way to become a man. How all the other little boys in the village must envy him--poor things, not yet promoted to manhood! And he had a crooked stick also, and a little pipe on which he could really play several notes; and this was the way he went up the mountain.

First there were the goats to be driven out of the gate, and what a thing it was to walk after them, playing those three notes with variations, and trying not to look too proud of himself! It was not a very large village, to be sure, the little cl.u.s.ter of brown chalets and the tiny pink-washed church beside the pine-wood; but to Kirl it was a whole world looking on and admiring. He blew his three notes louder with a more and more cheerful trill all down the street. At the cross-roads below the church the greatest caution had to be exercised to keep the frisky kids from going the wrong way, but it was worth the trouble. Only think how well it looked to drive them close together, and to fence them off, first on one side and then on the other, with the crooked stick, and then, with an air as if he thought nothing of it, turn them all successfully into the narrow path, and strike up the three notes more gaily than ever! It was the pride of Kirl's heart to count the goats up in a business-like manner, and call them by name, and shout "thou" to them, as if he were quite hard-hearted, instead of loving them with all his might.

There was one goat in particular that was the pride of Kirl's heart; she was not more than a kid, and snowy white, with a beautiful little head and a bright eye, a credit to any man's herd. How little Kirl loved her! He called her Liesl, as if she had been his sister. The path led upwards first through the pine-woods, with moss a foot deep on either side, where the wood was damp with the dividing arms of the stream, and the moss on the trees hung in solemn grey cl.u.s.ters, like banners swinging from the branches. And then the path grew steeper and runnels of water dripped down the rocks, all covered with ferns and saxifrage.

Down below on one side lay the rus.h.i.+ng stream and the valley where the village was, and up above on the other side rose the great mountains, dark with pine-woods about their feet and glittering with snow upon their heads.

Little Kirl loved the mountains. He had been born under their shadow, and perhaps it was this that made him wander up them as far as he dared go, for they seemed to draw him to them. Some day--it was such a tremendous thought that little Kirl kept it quite to himself, deep down in his mind--but some day, when he had got beyond even herding the goats, he meant to become a guide.

The way up the mountain hitherto for little Kirl ended in the gra.s.sy pasture where the goats stayed. Here was a pleasant slope thick with globe-flowers and narcissus at the lower end, and fragrant with wild thyme at the upper ridge, where the precipice began.

And now this is the story of little Kirl and the goats. For it was at this place one hot day in July, when little Kirl sat clasping his knees and looking up at the mountain-tops, that he was suddenly wakened from his dream by seeing Liesl perched on the extreme edge of the precipice.

It was a spot to which the goats were not allowed to go, for, sure-footed though they were, it was crumbling and unsafe. And there stood Liesl, the flower of the flock, her pretty snowy figure against the dark-blue sky. Even as little Kirl leaped up and called her, she threw up her graceful head as if in pride.

And then there came the most dreadful thing that had ever happened in little Kirl's life. Exactly how it was he could not afterwards remember, but all in a moment Liesl, who could perch herself, as it seemed, on nothing at all, pretty, sure-footed Liesl was over the edge!

Little Kirl threw himself down on his face in an agony, and peered over the edge, calling and screaming wildly in his despair, for there was no hope of saving poor Liesl. But yes, there was! Down there she had got her fore-foot on a ledge below the brink, and was fighting and scrambling to regain her foothold. The loose stones were slipping away under the pretty tufts of "student roses" that grew amongst the shale, and poor Liesl was slipping away too, down and down.

She was staring up at him with imploring eyes, with a look that seemed to call aloud for help. But little Kirl had got her. It was not for nothing that little Kirl's eyes were so steady when they looked in your face and his face was so square about the chin, however much he smiled.

Those stout little arms were clinging to neck and leg as if the owner of them would be dragged over the ledge himself before he would leave poor Liesl to her fate. Let her go? No! _That_ was not the way little Kirl kept his charge; _that_ was not the way of men on the mountains.

But Liesl was not light, and Kirl was only little, and his breath came and went, and his eyes saw nothing, and the world was whirling round, and a great sob burst from him. And then a big, big voice said: "Thou little thing! Thou little, good thing!" And two big, big arms came downwards and caught little Kirl and Liesl up together into--oh, such blissful safety! And little Kirl stood clinging to somebody; and what happened next he did not know. Careless, ungrateful Liesl only shook herself and frisked off, with a little squeal of relief, to join the older and wiser goats.

But little Kirl, when he next knew what he was doing, found that he was crying and sobbing uncontrollably, and big Kirl, the tallest, handsomest man in the village, was patting his shoulders, and soothing and consoling and praising him. And yet more--big Kirl, one of the best guides in the canton, whose fame had gone far abroad, by whom it was an honour to be noticed at all, said, and little Kirl heard it with his own ears: "Na, if I had not seen it, I would not have believed it! But yes, I saw it, and I saw also in days to come the little man will make such a guide of mountains as Switzerland may be proud of!"

CHAPTER SEVEN.

A NEW SET.

An old Crocodile Once lived near the Nile, Whose teeth began useless to get, oh!

But he cried with delight: "I shall dine well to-night Now of teeth I have got a new set, oh!"