http://dp.rastko.net) denslow's three bears g.w.dillingham co. publishers new york. copyright 1903 by w.w.denslow. published, august 1903 to mazie la shelle [illustration: the three bears.] a long time ago in a cottage on the edge of a great forest there dwelt a little girl by the name of golden hair; she was an orphan and lived with her grandmother who loved her dearly. the grandmother was very old and so most of the house work was done by golden hair; but she was so young and strong she did not mind that a bit, for she had plenty of time to play and was merry the whole day long. although little golden hair lived far from other children she was never lonesome, for she had many friends and playmates in the wild creatures of the wood. the gentle, soft eyed deer would feed from her hand, and the wild birds would come at her musical call; for she knew their language and loved them well. golden hair had never wandered far into the forest. but one day in the early autumn time, as she was gathering bright leaves and golden rod, she strayed farther than she knew and came upon a lonely, gray cabin under the mighty trees. a slab of wood beside the half open door told who lived within. it read: "papa bear, mamma bear, and the tiny bear." [illustration] "so this is where the jolly bears live!" said golden hair, as she knocked upon the door. "i want to meet them." no answer came to her knocking, so she pushed the door wide open and walked in. it was a most disorderly house, but a bright fire burned on the hearth, over which hung a big, black kettle of bubbling soup, while on the table, near by, were three yellow bowls of different sizes. "a big bowl for papa bear, a medium sized bowl for mamma bear, and a little bowl for the tiny bear," said golden hair. "that soup smells good," she went on to say, "but my! what an untidy house! i'll put the place to rights while i am waiting for the bears to come home." [illustration] [illustration] so she went to work to sweep and dust and soon had the room in order. then she went into the bed room and made up the three beds: the big one for papa bear, the medium sized one for mamma bear, and the little one for the tiny bear; she bustled and had everything as neat as a pin when in bounced the three jolly bears. for a moment the bears stood speechless, with wide open eyes, staring at golden hair, who stood, like a ray of sunshine in the dusky room; then they burst into loud laughter and made her welcome to their home. when they saw how nice and clean it was they thanked her heartily and invited her to share their dinner, for the soup was now ready and they were all hungry. golden hair spent the rest of the day with the three jolly bears playing "hi spy" and many new games which the bears taught her. [illustration] [illustration] when the afternoon sun was sinking in the west the little girl said she must be getting home, for her grandma would be anxious about her. the three bears would not let her go alone, so they all set off together through the twilight woods,--a merry company. golden hair rode upon the broad back of papa bear, while mamma bear and tiny walked gaily on either side. in this way, before night had fallen, they came clear of the wood and up to the home of golden hair. [illustration] to be sure the grandmother was much surprised to see this shaggy company with her little golden hair; but when she saw how jolly they all were and how handy they were in helping golden hair get the supper, she was delighted to have them stay, and gave them welcome. papa bear split the wood, brought it in, and built the fire; mamma bear got the tea kettle and filled it with water that was carried from the well by the tiny bear, and soon they were able to sit down to a good supper of hot biscuit, wild honey and pumpkin pie, with tea for the elders and nice sweet milk for golden hair and the tiny bear. [illustration] [illustration] the grandmother liked the three bears so well and the bears were so delighted with the comforts of home that they all decided to live together for the general good. papa bear would do the chores and stand guard over the house at night; mamma bear would do the housework under the direction of golden hair, while the tiny bear would wait upon grandmother and run errands for the household. [illustration] and so it came about that the three bears moved their three bowls and their three beds to the home of golden hair and her grandmother, the very next day; and from all accounts they were happy ever after. at any rate the fame of golden hair and the three bears spread far and wide through all the countryside, so that on holidays troops of children came to play with the four jolly friends. the good natured bears were always anxious to please the children; they would get up games under the greenwood trees in the summer, and merry sports upon the icy lake or snowy hills in winter. they did their best to make life for all, one glad round of joy. just how long they lived thus, no one seems to know; for it was a long, long time ago and nothing is left but a joyous memory of a happy golden time. [illustration] [illustration] denslow's picture books for children for these books w.w. denslow has revised and adapted several of the best classical fairy tales. he has improved these stories by elimination of all coarseness, cruelty, and everything that might frighten children. they are new; more beautiful and striking in both text and picture than any children's books heretofore published. each book is filled with pictures of action and fun in brilliant colors. the twelve books are uniform in size. [illustration] copyright, 1903, by w.w. denslow price 25 cents each; indestructible, mounted on linen, 50 cents each g.w. dillingham company, publishers, new york [illustration: cover] _the story of_ the three bears. there were once three bears, who lived in a wood, their porridge was thick, and their chairs and beds good. the biggest bear, bruin, was surly and rough; his wife, mrs. bruin, was called mammy muff. their son, tiny-cub, was like dame goose's lad; he was not very good, nor yet very bad. now bruin, the biggest--the surly old bear- had a great granite bowl, and a cast-iron chair. mammy muffs bowl and chair you would no doubt prefer- they were both made of brick-bats, but both suited her. young tiny-cub's bowl, chair, and bed were the best,- this, big bears and baby bears freely confessed. mr. b----, with his wife and his son, went one day to take a short stroll, and a visit to pay. he left the door open, "for," said he, "no doubt if our friend should call in, he will find us all out." it was only two miles from dark hazel-nut wood, in which the great house of the three bruins stood, that there lived a young miss, daring, funny, and fair, and from having bright curls, she was called goldenhair. she had roamed through the wood to see what she could see, and she saw going walking the bruins all three. said she to herself, "to rob bears is no sin; the three bears have gone out, so i think i'll go in." she entered their parlor, and she saw a great bowl, and in it a spoon like a hair-cutter's pole. "that porridge," said she "may stay long enough there, it tastes like the food of the surly old bear," she tried mammy muff's, and she said, "mrs. b----, i think your taste and my taste will never agree." then she tried tiny-cub's bowl, and said, "this is nice; i will put in some salt, and of bread a thick slice." the porridge she eat soon made her so great, the chair that she sat on broke down with her weight; the bottom fell out, and she cried in dismay, "this is tiny-cub's chair, and oh, what will he say? his papa is, i know, the most savage of bears,- his mamma is a fury; but for her who cares? i'm sure i do not; and then, as for her son, that young bear, tiny-cub--from him shall i run? no, not i, indeed; but i will not sit here- i shall next break the floor through--that's what i most fear;" so up-stairs she ran, and there three beds she found she looked under each one, and she looked all around; but no one she saw, so she got into bed- it was surly old bruin's, and well stuffed with lead. mammy muffs next she tried; it was stuffed with round stones, so she got into tiny-cub's and rested her bones. goldenhair was asleep when the three bears came in. said big bruin, "i'm hungry--to eat, let's begin- who has been to my porridge?" he roared with such might; his voice was like wind down the chimney at night. "who has been to my porridge?" growled out mrs. b----; her voice was like cats fighting up in a tree. "who has been to my porridge and eaten it all?" young tiny-cub said, in a voice very small, "who has been sitting in my great arm chair?" in voice like a thunder-storm, roared the big bear. "who has been sitting in my good arm chair?" growled out mammy muff, like a sow in despair. "who has sat in my nice chair, and broken it down?" young tiny-cub said, and so fierce was his frown, that his mother with pride to his father said, "there! see our pet tiny-cub can look just like a bear," so roaring, and growling, and frowning, the bears, one after the other, came running up-stairs. "who has been upon my bed?" old bruin roared out, in a voice just like rain down a large water-spout. "who has been upon my bed?" growled out mammy muff, in a voice like her husband's, but not quite so rough. "who is lying on my bed?" said young tiny-cub, in a voice like hot water poured into a tub. and tiny-cub's breath was so hot as he spoke, that goldenhair dreamt of hot water, and woke. she opened her eyes, and she saw the three bears, and said, "let me go, please, i'll soon run down stairs." but big bruin was angry, and shouted out, "no! you had no right to come hither, and now you shan't go. what we mean to do with you, ere long you shall find; you can lie there and cry till i make up my mind." to mammy and tiny then did big bruin roar, "go and block up the chimney and nail up the door; this goldenhair now has got into a scrape, and if i can help it, she shall not escape." but goldenhair saw that a window was there, (it was always kept open to let in fresh air), so she jumped out of bed--to the window she ran, saying "three bears, good-bye! catch me now if you can!" to the window the bears ran as fast as they could, but goldenhair flew like the wind through the wood. she said the bears' breath had filled her with steam, but when she grew older she said 'twas a dream, and no doubt she was right to take such a view; still, some part of the story is certainly true, for unto this day there is no one who dares, to say that there never existed three bears. [illustration: the bear, with his wife and son, takes a walk.] [illustration: goldenhair eats up tiny-cub's porridge.] [illustration: goldenhair breaks the bottom out of tiny-cub's chair.] [illustration: the bears come home and find their porridge all gone.] [illustration: the bears find goldenhair asleep in tiny-cub's bed.] [illustration: goldenhair jumps out of the window.] * * * * * new picture books for little children. ancient illuminated rhymes. ten cents each. gorgeously illuminated after the mediæval manner, in colors and gold, with music complete. the little market woman. sing a song of sixpence. little bo-peep. simple simon. _the above four books, handsomely bound in one volume, cloth. price, 75 cts._ four nursery rhymes. {jack and jill. {the little man and his little gun. the carrion crow. mother hubbard and her dog. _the above four books, handsomely bound in one volume, cloth. price, 75 cts._ * * * * * familiar stories ten cents each. small quarto. six full-page pictures, with black back-grounds, in the best style of color printing. three bears. tom thumb. tit, tiny, and tittens. three good friends. cock robin. mother hubbard's dog. three little kittens. four-footed friends. * * * * * little folks' series. ten cents each. imperial 16mo. six full-page pictures, in the best style of color printing with the determination of having them better than any yet published. the five little pigs. old mother goose. old woman who lived in a shoe. the three bears. dame trot and her cat. jack and the bean-stalk. sing a song of sixpence. story of three little pigs. babes in the wood. diamonds and toads. my first alphabet. little bo-peep. * * * * * _mcloughlin bros., publishers, new york._ [illustration: rural scene] printed in the united states of america by western printing & lithographing co. racine, wis. bedtime stories father bear and bobby bear by howard b. famous fully illustrated [illustration: father bear and bobby bear were on their way] contents page the bears' cave 9 bobby grows up 11 bobby bear has to help in the house 15 they visit the farmer's cornfield 19 off for the honey 26 the bees chase bobby 40 bobby catches a fish as big as himself 47 the fight with the wolves 55 illustrations father bear and bobby bear were on their way (_frontispiece_) page "bobby, bobby, get up at once" 14 they drank cider and played checkers 23 his foot caught in a root 35 into the water he fell 51 bobby bear the bears' cave over where the sun sank to rest every night like a great ball of fire, there lived three brown bears. there was father bear, with a great, gruff voice. and mother bear, whose voice, while not so loud nor so gruff as father's, yet was not nice for little boys and girls to hear. and there was little bobby bear. his voice was sweet, for he was very young. all of the bears had lovely, brown skins. when the sun shone on them they looked like rich, brown velvet. and when they were curled up, asleep, they looked like great balls of brown fur. the bears' eyes were big, and round, and black as coals. they had great, strong claws on all their paws. with bears, you know, hands and feet are very much alike, and are called forefeet and hindfeet--or front feet and back feet. so instead of finger nails and toe nails they have claws. but you are anxious to know something about bobby bear's home. it was in a great, gloomy cave. only the front part had the sunshine. away in the back part it was dark, pitch dark, like night. the bears didn't mind this, of course, for when night came, instead of reading books like children and grown-ups, they just went right off to sleep. bobby grows up bobby bear was growing to be a big bear, fast. soon he would be a big-boy bear. most of the time he stayed at home with mother bear, helping her in the house when he wasn't playing. it wasn't much fun for bobby bear to play. he had no other little bears for company. so he had to play and pretend bears were with him. he would say, "you sit there, little gray bear," or "now, little black bear, you be quiet." one day bobby bear wandered down by the river, lonesome and sad. the rippling waters seemed to say to him that some day he would have a little playmate, just like little human children had. and when he was in the forest he would stop and listen to the whispering of the trees. they, too, seemed to tell of the time when a little girl would bring a great joy to him--poor, lonely, little bobby bear. so, in his own way--the way that all bears have of thinking--he felt sure that some day he would not be lonely any more, nor quiet, nor sad. it may have been that very day, while bobby bear wandered in the forest, that jane bird was thinking of him, too. such things do sometimes happen. you see, jane bird lived with her father and mother, near the great forest where the bear family made their home. jane bird played with the other little children who lived near. such fun as they had--running, jumping, skipping. and they played "school," and "keeping house," and pretended they were grown-up people. the days were full of laughter and of joy. neither jane bird's father, nor jane bird's mother nor, of course, jane bird herself, knew of what was soon going to happen. they should have feared something, though, for one evening, just at dusk, when the sun was going down, away over by the dark woods, could have been seen three great forms. these were the bears going home to their cave. bobby bear has to help in the house early one morning, bobby was wakened by his mother who called sharply: "come, it is time to get up. you know you must help me with the dishes today. if you want to go with your father to get some corn you must look sharp." my, but bobby was sleepy, for he had walked so far in the woods the day before that he was quite tired out. so when his mother called him, instead of jumping right out of bed as he usually did, he turned over and went to sleep again. ten minutes later, his mother went into his bedroom to see if he was nearly dressed. imagine how annoyed she was to find him still asleep. "bobby, bobby, get up at once. i will not call you again. your father is all ready to go, and you cannot go with him until you have helped me around the house." [illustration: "bobby, bobby, get up at once"] at this bobby bear jumped right up, for he had been looking forward to the trip to the place where the corn grew. besides he always liked to go walking with his father because he loved him so much. it was a beautiful morning and bobby soon forgot how tired he was when he saw the fine breakfast his mother set before him. but when, breakfast over, he saw the pile of dishes and knew he had to wash all those before he could go on his trip, he could not help crying. bobby bear didn't like washing dishes. the tears would come somehow and there was a big lump in his throat which seemed to be there all the time although he swallowed it over and over again. "now, my boy," cried his father, "how much longer are you going to be? i have almost finished my pipe. just as soon as i am through smoking i am going to start." bravely forcing back his tears, bobby bear hurried with the drying of the dishes which by this time were all washed. a few minutes later, he cried joyfully: "all through! now we're ready to go," and he began to jump up and down, so pleased was he. "wait, my boy, till i fill my pipe, for we have a long way to go." father bear took the little tobacco bag from his trouser pocket, filled his pipe, pushed the tobacco down with his thumb and, striking a match, was soon puffing away contentedly. bobby, meanwhile, was so glad to be going for a walk with his father, that he was skipping merrily about, just like a little dog. "you seem glad this morning," said father bear. then, with a glance at mother bear, who was standing by smiling he added: "perhaps it is because you're all through with your house work, eh?" at this, bobby bear grew red in the face, for after all just washing dishes wasn't much help to his mother with the housework. he asked timidly, "mother, perhaps before i go, i should help you some more." at this, both father bear and mother bear smiled. "oh no, my boy," said his mother kindly. "you have helped me quite a lot as it is and i am very willing to have my little bobby bear run off now and enjoy himself." they visit the farmer's cornfield "where are you going to get the corn?" asked bobby bear, as he trotted along beside his father that bright, sunny morning. "why," father bear replied, "we have been invited by farmer jenkins to go and take as much as we like." "he must be a kind man," answered bobby. "he is. not all farmers are as kind as he. yet it is fine for him, too, as nobody steals from him. in that way he is better off than the farmers who never help raccoons or bears, or badgers." "how much corn can we have?" asked bobby. "we may bring away with us all we can carry, so i hope you are feeling strong, my boy," replied father bear. at this bobby proudly bent his right arm, to show how big his muscle was, just as lots of little boys do. his father smiled. "you'll need all the strength you have, bobby, for we want to get enough corn today to last your mother all season." on they went, mile after mile. soon it became hot. father bear, being big and strong, didn't get tired. bobby, because he was so young, soon became weary. do you think he showed it, though? not he. he had been brought up to bear pain, and hard work, and cold, and heat, without complaining. my, how glad he was, though, to see the yellow mass some distance ahead which told him they were near their journey's end. "how do you like the looks of it, boy?" his father asked. "fine! and what a lot there is. there must be acres and acres and acres of it." bobby had heard his father talking to a bear neighbor one day, and they had used the word "acre" when describing things. so he, just like lots of little boys, wanted to be "big" and he had used it now. when father bear heard bobby use the word "acres" he pretended not to notice it. so he simply answered, "yes, there's surely a lot of corn here." they had brought something to eat with them. now they chose a big, shady tree, and, sitting beneath it, munched away at the food. bobby felt very grateful for the rest, and when they again got on their feet he was ready for anything. picking out that part of the field where the corn was richest, bobby bear's father had him hold both arms out. then father bear loaded his arms and off they started for home. each had his arms full of corn. "how hot the sun--and how hard the road--and, oh, how far away home is." these were some of the thoughts in the young bear's mind. but did he think for a minute of giving up? never-father bear, however, saw how weary his little boy was and said, kindly, "we'll rest awhile under the next shade tree we come to." each of them piled his load of corn beside him, then, stretching out, they both slept. it was bobby who woke with a start. old man snake was making off with some of the corn. "father! father!" cried the boy-bear. "quick, old man snake is stealing my corn." awaking in an instant, father bear jumped up and with one blow stretched the snake out--dead. "just in time, my boy. a few seconds later and the snake would have eaten our corn. then we would have been short many ears of corn." once more they started on the road home. this time they went quicker, for the rest had done them good. when mother bear saw what a lot of fine, rich, golden corn they had brought, she said, "i'm glad you got a lot, for uncle, aunt and the little cousins are all coming for a corn feast. "even then there will be lots over for us," she added. "i guess i'll can it." imagine that night. by the light of a great, white moon they feasted and danced and sang songs, in bear language, of course. and they drank cider and played checkers. [illustration: they drank cider and played checkers] being good bears, however, they didn't stay up very late, so no one was all tired out when morning came. bobby and his father felt as fresh as the morning dew. this was the day they were to go and get the honey from the bees. off for the honey "father, what is honey? have i ever eaten any?" asked bobby bear, as they started on their journey. "why, certainly you have," answered his father. "don't you remember that sweet, sticky stuff you had on your bread last year, when your uncle grumpy came to visit us?" "oh," said bobby, astonished, "was that honey?" "yes, and what we are going to get today will be just as nice, perhaps nicer." "father, where do we get honey? do we dig it out of the ground? or does it grow on trees?" "just wait and see. in a little while you will know," answered father bear. by now they had left their cave far behind them. bobby bear did not feel so tired today as he did the morning before. perhaps he was getting used to walking. the sun was not so hot, for there were some clouds in the sky and a gentle breeze blew. soon they reached a great clover field at the end of which were a number of large trees. they made their way toward the tallest of these, a very big tree, one that it would have taken bobby quite a little while to go around. "father, what is that buzzing sound?" asked bobby. his father had a twinkle in his eye as he replied: "why, my boy, that's the honey growing." this puzzled bobby. "honey growing, how do you mean?" "wait," said father bear, "you'll see." "oh, my, father," called out bobby. "look at all the flies! i can count fifty hundred. look, there's another. and here come some more. where are they all going?" his father had been standing watching with a smile upon his face. "you had better give up counting. there are far too many for me to try to count. no little bobby bear could possibly do it. now, my boy, if you will look up in that tree you will see a great hole. do you see it?" "where?" asked bobby, bending his neck, so that he was looking at the very tip-top of the tree, where the branches seemed to hit the clouds. father bear smiled as he called out: "no, no, not there. you're looking away too high. see, much lower," and he pointed to the place where the hole was. "oh, now i see it. i didn't look there. i thought you meant way up high," said bobby bear. "what makes the hole so black, father? and look, it's moving. why, it's all flies." "now, my boy, i'll tell you all about the honey. those little black things up there, of which there are so many, are not flies. they are bees. there are thousands of those bees swarming in and around that hole." "why, where do they all come from?" asked the little bear, "and what are they doing up there? and where's the honey? i don't see any honey." "wait a moment and i'll tell you," answered father bear. "that hole is the bees' home, just as the big cave is our house. and every night the bees come to the hole to sleep. but they have been at home many times in the day also. "haven't you ever seen the bees flying around the flowers? perhaps you thought they were flies. do you know what they were doing? they were getting honey from the flowers." bobby bear was puzzled. "honey from the flowers?" he repeated. "if the flowers have honey, why do we have to come all this way to get the honey? why can't we go to the flowers the way the bee does and get all the honey we want?" "if we did that, my boy," his father answered, "it would take us many years to fill even a small cup with honey. no, there are thousands and thousands of bees that come and go all day long and as they do nothing else, very soon they have a lot of honey all in one place. that is what we have come for today." leaving that great tree, they went and looked at many others. some of the trees had big holes where bees buzzed around; most of them had no bees at all. bobby was getting impatient. "why don't we get the honey, father? why do we walk around all day?" father bear replied: "all in good time, my boy. first of all, we must find where the honey is, then we can come back and get it. besides the reason i have been going from tree to tree is because i wish to find which one has most honey. you know i will have to climb the tree and dig all the honey out, so i want to get as much honey as i can at one time." "look, father," cried bobby bear. "see all those bees over there. it seems to me there are more at that tree than at any tree we have seen yet." "i guess you are right," father bear replied. "we'll go a little closer and see." sure enough, when they got beneath the tree which bobby had pointed out, there were the bees swarming in hundreds. the buzzing noise they made would have given the bears a headache, only bears don't get such things. father bear certainly was pleased. "why, my boy, from that tree alone, if i am any judge, we can get enough honey to last us for months. in fact, you can have bread and honey for breakfast every morning, if you wish." bobby replied: "i can't exactly remember what the honey was like that uncle grumpy brought, for it is so long ago. but i don't think i would like to have bread and honey every morning. some mornings i would like preserves, or eggs, or fish." his father laughed. "well, you won't have to eat honey every morning unless you wish. i only meant that there would be lots of it. now let us get started." father bear now looked carefully at all his claws to see that they were quite sharp. in order to climb the tree he would have to dig his claws deeply into the bark. bobby bear, noticing this, said: "why do you look to see if your claws are sharp, father? you filed them this morning before we came away." "i know i did," his father answered, "and i am not worrying about the claws on my hands. however, we have done such a lot of walking, i thought perhaps the claws on my feet might have worn some on the rough ground." bobby looked up at the tree where all the bees were flying around and around, keeping up a most noisy buzzing. then he thought of his father going all alone up the tree to take the honey from all those bees, which surely would not want to part with it. father bear did not seem to be afraid. he had already dug his claws into the thick bark at the foot of the tree and was about to climb. "now, my boy," he said to bobby, "when i get a little way up the tree, you hand me the big brown jar. i can easily climb the rest of the way with one hand, because the claws in my feet are very big and strong." bobby picked the jar up. my, but it was heavy. it was just about as much as he could do to lift it. however, he managed to get it well above his head and walked toward the tree. he was so anxious to reach his father, that he did not look where he was going and his foot caught in a root, and down went bobby, jar, and all. [illustration: his foot caught in a root] the terrible crash made father bear turn around and when he saw what had happened he grew quite angry. "dear me, what a careless boy you are. that was the biggest jar your mother had. now, not only shall we have to give up getting the honey today, but when we come tomorrow we will have to bring two small jars. this will mean you will have to carry one of the jars, as a punishment." bobby felt tears coming to his eyes, but being a brave little bear, he struggled against crying. "i am very sorry, father, and i will be more careful next time." "being sorry won't bring the jar back," but you could see from his face, he was not as angry as he had been at first when the jar smashed. all the way home, bobby was very quiet. every once in a while his father would look at him and think that bobby was still worrying about the broken jar. this was not a fact, however, for something had happened which bobby felt he could not tell his father. it had taken place while the two bears were walking from tree to tree looking for the one that had the most honey. a small tree with very bright green leaves had bent over and touched bobby on the shoulder and had whispered in his ear: "what about jane bird? don't forget, you must see her and must not give up until you find her." perhaps this, as well as the root of the big tree had been one of the causes of bobby's stumbling when he went to give his father the big brown jar. when father bear and bobby bear reached their cave, mother bear was standing waiting for them. the first thing she said was: "where's the honey? didn't you bring any?" bobby said nothing. he was too ashamed of his carelessness. by this time, father bear's anger had all gone and he felt sorry for bobby. so he said to mother bear: "the jar fell to the ground and broke. we're going again tomorrow. it doesn't matter, we can take two small jars." this did not satisfy mother bear, however. "what am i going to do for a big jar?" she asked. "i've had that one so long i can never get along without it." "don't worry, mother," father bear answered. "the next time i go to the store, i'll get you one twice as big as the one that broke, if you wish." after dinner, bobby came timidly to his mother and asked: "can i help you wash the dishes?" "oh, my, what's the matter with the boy? did you hear that?" she asked father bear. "oh, that's nothing, mother. aren't you always glad to have bobby help you?" father bear was having his after dinner smoke and never liked to be bothered when he was enjoying himself that way. besides he felt he had scolded bobby bear enough and he didn't want mother bear to know how the jar had really been broken. soon after, both mother bear and father bear went for their afternoon naps and bobby ran out to play with another little boy-bear who had come to visit him that afternoon. bobby was not a very good playmate that afternoon, for he could not help thinking from time to time of what the little tree with the bright green leaves had said to him. the bees chase bobby a few mornings later, before the sun was up, father bear and bobby were at the bee tree. they had brought with them the large brown jar which father bear had bought for mother bear, as he had promised her he would do. in order to get the jar he had had to make a special trip to the store. there was really no need for father bear to have gone into town, as the bear family had sufficient groceries to last another week, but bobby had urged his father so strongly to go and get the honey, that he had made a special trip to town just to buy the jar. it surely was a big, brown jar, much bigger than the one that was broken. bobby tried to carry it, but it was too heavy for his little arms. "how will you manage today, father? i can't reach the jar up to you, it's too heavy. you will have to get the honey all alone." "that's all right, my boy. i could have done that yesterday just as well as not. but i wanted to see what kind of a little helper my bobby was." father bear started up the tree. bobby watched him climb. he was very proud of his great, strong father. bobby wondered when he would be big enough and strong enough to go after honey alone. it was quite a distance from the ground to where the bees were, and for some time the bees did not see father bear. when his great, shaggy head appeared in front of their house the bees were very angry, and buzzed around making a very loud noise. "father, father," cried bobby, "be careful, they'll sting you. remember what you told me about what bees do to little bears." "don't fear for me, bobby. my skin is tough and no bee can possibly hurt me. just watch so that you will know how to get the honey when you grow into a big, strong bear." father bear thrust the sharp claws of his two powerful feet into the tree. he pressed the jar against the trunk, holding himself firmly by his left hand. then with a great blow of his other arm he scattered the bees right and left. they roared louder than ever and thousands of them flew around. such a great, black cloud was in front of father bear's face that bobby bear could hardly see him. this time, however, he did not call out, for he had faith in his father and knew that he would get the honey and reach the ground unharmed. a strong east wind was blowing which helped father bear somewhat, as it was hard for the bees to keep on the wing against such a wind. when it blew stronger than ever bobby saw his father thrust a great paw into the black hole in the tree. great masses of golden, yellow honey were put quickly into the jar. again and again father put in his hand just as though no bees were around at all. in fact father bear was actually laughing at the bees, so little was he bothered by their angry attack. "are you there, my boy?" he called, looking down. "yes, father, i'm here," cheerily answered little bobby. "all right then, i'm coming down and i have such a feast of honey in this jar that it will make your mouth water." in a moment or two he reached the ground and bobby saw such a sight as he looked into the jar that his eyes opened wide as saucers. "my goodness, what a lot of honey! i don't know how you managed to carry it. why, even the empty jar was too much for me." "yes, my boy," his father answered, "but you must remember you are only a little fellow. nobody expects little bobby bears to do the things that big bears can do." "may i eat a little of the honey, or must i wait till i get home?" asked bobby. "no, go ahead and dip your hand in the jar. there's plenty of it." bobby did so and began to eat. "yum, yum, this is ever so much better honey than what uncle brought. this is fine and sweet." just at this moment his father uttered a cry of warning. "run, my boy, as fast as you can. here come the bees! i'll look after the honey." father bear knew he could not keep the bees from stinging bobby whose skin was soft and tender. they couldn't hurt an old bear like himself, as his skin was tough. that's why he told bobby to run on ahead. he thought he would fool the bees. they would all stop and buzz around him and forget to follow bobby. little bobby ran as fast as he could. most of the bees stopped near father bear, but a few caught up with bobby and gave him a sting or two. soon, however, father bear drove the bees away with a great branch of a tree. then he hurried and caught up with bobby and together they ran as fast as the wind. soon they reached home safely with their great jar of delicious honey. when father bear told of their adventure, mother bear was anxious. "didn't my little boy get stung by the bees?" she asked bobby. "oh," he replied, "one or two did bite me in the face. but it doesn't hurt much." bobby was brave, you see, and had been taught not to complain about trifles. "still, you had better let me put something on the stings," said his mother, "or else they might grow worse." so she brought some bear-liniment and rubbed it on the bites. bobby catches a fish as big as himself a few mornings later, father bear said: "let's go fishing. we haven't tasted nice, fresh fish for a long time." "that's a good idea," said mother bear. "the fish you get in cans aren't anything like the fish you catch yourself." bobby bear didn't say anything at first. he was wondering whether the fish would sting, as the bees did. "how about it, my boy?" his father asked. "shall we go fishing?" "surely, father. let us go now. what do we have to take along?" "well," replied father bear, "first, we must have lines and floats, and hooks. we can cut a pole when we get to the river. but we must have worms." "i saw worms in the garden, father, when mother was sowing seed last spring," said bobby. "you did, eh? that's fine. let us go and dig some up. ask your mother for an old tin can to put them in." it was a lovely day when, about an hour later, they started out fishing. father bear had the lines, all fixed, in his trouser pocket. he had been careful to push all the hooks into the cork floats so no harm could be done. bobby bear was very proud to be carrying the worms. after they had gotten almost a hundred they had put some soft, moist earth on top, so you could see no worms. if you hadn't known they were there, you'd have thought the can had nothing but dirt. it wasn't nearly as far to the river as it had been to the cornfield. bobby was glad of this. they found a nice, mossy bank to sit on. bobby bear rested while his father got two poles. taking the lines from his pocket, he tied one to each of the fish poles and there they were, all ready to fish. "what do you do, father?" asked the boy-bear. "how do you know when you have a fish on the line?" his father answered, "first, we bait the hooks; that is, we put a worm on each of our hooks, so when it hangs dangling in the water the fish jump at it. "they, of course, don't know there's a hook inside. they think it's a regular worm. when they pull at the worm you must jerk your rod ever so little. this is so you will catch the hook in the fish's mouth. he struggles to get away, and you pull him in. "there's one thing i want to be sure of, that is, that you don't let the pole fly out of your hand. so, i'll tie it to your wrist." they started fishing. father bear got a bite. he pulled his pole up quickly. no fish--but a clean hook. so he put another worm on, threw the line in, and waited. this time when the fish bit father bear was too quick for it, and in a moment he had it up on the bank. bobby was all eagerness now. he wanted to catch a fish too. "oh, father," he cried. "i've got a bite. look at me--" but he didn't finish his sentence, for something heavy on his line gave a jerk. he lost his balance and fell off the rock on which he had been sitting. into the water he fell--splash--but he hung tightly to his rod. the current was swift and the big weight on his line kept dragging him away from shore. [illustration: into the water he fell] sure enough, bobby bear had a bite. bobby bear was struggling in the water, trying to swim to shore. it was pretty hard work, for the fish on the end of his line was nearly as big as he. at first father bear thought it was just an ordinary little fish on bobby's line. besides he knew his boy could swim so he thought he would let him get back to shore by himself. he wanted to teach bobby bear to depend on himself on all occasions. suddenly he saw a great fish flop up out of the water and then he realized what a monster bobby had on his line. he immediately threw down his fish line and plunged in to his son's rescue. with a few strokes of his powerful arms he reached bobby bear. grasping the boy-bear around the waist, he drew him to land. the fish, caught as it was on the hook, couldn't help coming too. my, but it was a wonderful fish. bobby was indeed very proud to think he had caught such a big fish. "no wonder i fell into the water, father, with such a big fellow on my line," he said. "yes," answered his father, "that's the biggest fish i have seen in these parts for many a year. your mother will certainly fix up a feast for us with that fish. she can stuff it and add a few slices of nice, sweet bacon." "yum, yum," said bobby, "it makes my mouth water to think about it. can't we go right home now?" "oh, no," said his father. "the fish are biting so well today, we had better stay a while longer. besides it will give us a chance to dry our clothes, sitting here in this hot sun. i don't want you to catch cold, you know. it's shady all the way home through the woods." "but what will we do with the big fish? he's liable to get away. just look at him flopping about on the bank." "don't you worry about that fish. i'll fix him." so saying, father bear took a stout cord from his pocket. one end he passed through the fish's mouth--the other he tied around a young tree. then he threw the fish back into the river to keep it fresh until it was time to go home. being a bright, sunny day, bobby and his father soon were dry. bobby rolled in the long grass, then sat on a stump in the sun. father bear who laughed at cold and heat, and trouble, and danger, simply shrugged his shoulders and lit his pipe. then he went on fishing. many more fish were caught before the sun going down warned them it was time to go home. they rolled up their lines, threw the poles in the river, then tossed the worms after them and started back through the thick woods to their cave. father bear had a big string of fish. bobby proudly carried the one which had pulled him into the water. it was so heavy it made a load in itself. he wanted his mother to see him with his first fish--and a monster at that. the fight with the wolves perhaps it was the smell of the fish. maybe it was because of the noise that bobby and his father made, singing and whistling as they walked along. whatever the cause, five gray wolves, gaunt and lean, met them at the turn of a road. "ho! ho! here's supper for us. and we won't have to work to get it," cried the biggest wolf, in a loud, gruff voice. "fine, fresh fish," said the next largest wolf. "and all ready for us to take." "well, we surely are lucky," the third wolf cried. "i'll make short work of my portion." "let us see, let us see. five gray wolves, to two bears. this will be an easy job for us." so spoke wolf number four. "i'm so hungry, oh, so hungry. when are we going to start eating the fish?" wailed the smallest wolf of the lot. all the time the wolves were talking they were slinking around father bear and bobby. now they rushed forward, thinking it would be very easy to overcome the bears and take the fish for themselves. but they reckoned wrong. they didn't know that father bear had won many prizes as the greatest fighting bear for miles around. why, he even had been known to conquer a lion--so strong were his great arms and legs, and so powerful his jaws. so, when four gray wolves rushed at him at once he was ready for them. wolf number one went down with a blow which killed him at once. the next two were cruelly wounded by father bear's powerful claws. and the fourth, seeing how badly the rest were getting on, ran away, as fast as he could. what about little bobby bear all this time? remember, he had a fish to guard, and this fish was almost as big as himself. the fifth wolf had attacked bobby, who never had seen such awful white teeth and angry eyes. he hardly knew what to do. one thing he was determined on, though, and that was that this boy-wolf would never get the fish from him. what, the fish he had caught himself? the idea. so he quickly struck with all his might at the wolf, grabbing him as he stumbled. then the wolf found out how strong bobby was. "please, mr. bear, let me go, and i'll never again try to harm you," he called out. "will you run right away and never come near me again?" bobby panted, for he was using all his strength. "yes, yes, anything, only let me go," said the little wolf. with this bobby let go. the wolf fell to the ground--he was so tired. he lay there a few moments, then with much grunting got on his feet and ran off. for some time father bear had been watching his boy. very proud indeed was he of what was going on. now that all danger was past he rushed over and embraced bobby. "my boy, how well you fought. you're a credit to bearland." gathering up their fish, they once more started for home. the battle with the wolves had not taken more than a few minutes, although, as bobby now told his father, it had seemed a long, long while to him. "i was so afraid the little wolf would steal my fish," said bobby. "it is well to be able to take care of yourself, isn't it?" asked father bear. "yes," said bobby. "if you keep on taking me out with you every day, i shall grow up to be a very strong bear. i can see that." his father said nothing, but smiled to hear his little boy talk so wisely. it was almost dark when they got home, but there still was light enough for the two tired bears to see mother bear. she, growing anxious, had thrown a red shawl over her shoulders and was sitting in a rocking chair, outside the cave, watching for the return of the fishermen. how proud she was to see her boy with such a great fish which was nearly as big as bobby himself. she threw her arms around him and kissed him. such a fine boy-bear, he was! "mother," grunted father bear, "let's have fish for supper. and let it be the fish that bobby caught. the others we can eat for breakfast." so mother bear busied herself cleaning bobby's big fish, and in a very little while it was stuffed and baked and supper was ready. they all enjoyed it--especially the one who had caught it. how much nicer a thing tastes when one has had some trouble in getting it. bobby dreamed much that night. if you think he dreamed about the fish you are mistaken, for it was to little jane bird and her sweet face, that his fancies wandered. * * * * * get briggs' cartoons in book form mr. and mrs. ain't it a grand and glorious feeling? the king-pin of cartoonists. his wonderful cartoons are put out in handy and popular sizes but at about half the price of other cartoon books. _briggs at his best a laugh on every page_ [illustration: girl sat by pond, surrounded by animals] * * * * * transcriber's note: minor punctuation errors have been corrected without notification. for consistency with the rest of the book, 'boy bear' was replaced with 'boy-bear' in bobby catches a fish: "grasping the _boy-bear_ around". illustration caption was changed from "bobby, get up at once" to "bobby, bobby, get up at once" to match the list of illustrations. [illustration: _little bear walked up and shook hands with grandpa tortoise_ ] little bear at work and at play by frances margaret fox author of "doings of little bear," "adventures of sonny bear" and "the kinderkins" illustrated by warner carr lovingly dedicated to the first girls who lived in the martha cook dormitory, ann arbor, michigan, because they loved little bear contents when little bear bragged when mother skunk helped little bear when little bear would not work how little bear learned to swim little bear and the lost otter baby when little bear visited school little bear gets his wish three bears come to breakfast little bear's promise little bear's surprise party acknowledgments thanks are extended to the _youth's companion_ for permission to reprint the following stories: "when little bear bragged," "when mother skunk helped little bear," "when little bear would not work," "how little bear learned to swim," "little bear and the lost otter baby," "when little bear visited school," "little bear gets his wish," and "little bear's surprise party"; and to the _christian observer_ for permission to reprint the following stories: "three bears come to breakfast" and "little bear's promise." [illustration: _between times little bear asked questions_ ] little bear at work and at play when little bear bragged one rainy day the three bears were sitting by the fire in their comfortable house in the woods, telling stories. first father bear would tell a story, and then mother bear would tell a story, and then father bear would have a turn again. between times little bear asked questions. the three were happy and merry until mother bear told the old story about the race between the hare and the tortoise, and how the slow-going tortoise was the first to reach the goal because the hare took a nap and did not wake up until after the tortoise had passed him and had won the race. "you see," mother bear explained, "the hare was so sure he could win that he did not even try to reach the goal quickly. he was so swift-footed that he thought he could go to sleep if he chose and still come out ahead of the patient tortoise." "wasn't he silly!" exclaimed little bear. "if i were going to run a race with grandpa tortoise, i should go this way until i reached the goal!" and little bear pranced up and down the room until he made even the porridge bowls rattle in the cupboard. "i guess i should know enough to know that grandpa tortoise would keep stepping ahead and stepping ahead and get to the goal in time! you would not catch me taking any naps if i started out to run a race with anyone! no, sir-ree!" mother bear laughed heartily, but father bear looked very solemn. he did not like to hear little bear brag at all. "so you think, son bear," said he, "that, if you should run a race with grandpa tortoise, you would be wiser than our old friend, peter hare? is that what you mean?" "i know i should," bragged little bear. "i'd say, 'good-by, grandpa tortoise!' and off i'd start, and i should beat him before he had time to think. then, afterward, if i were sleepy and wanted to, i should take a nap." "very well," said father bear, "i shall see grandpa tortoise, and if he is willing to run a race with a silly little fellow like you, you shall have your chance, and peter hare shall be the judge." so it came about that, when the rain was over, the friends of the three bears and of the hare and the tortoise met in the woods to see the fun. little bear noticed that, before the race began, the hare and the tortoise were laughing about something, but he did not even wonder what it was. he had nothing to worry about. at last the word was given: "one, two, three, go!" [illustration: he was out of breath before he had passed the first oak tree] away went the tortoise, slow and easy. off started little bear, running so fast that he was out of breath before he had passed the first oak tree, and was glad to stop a second and have a drink of dew from an acorn cup that friend treetoad offered him. "thank you," remarked little bear, as he returned the cup, "but that was not enough. i shall have to step over to the spring." "remember how the hare lost the race," friend treetoad warned him. "oh, i shall not go to sleep," answered little bear, "and, really, grandpa tortoise walks slower than i thought he did." beside the spring were a number of little bear's old friends dressed in green satin coats, who were playing leapfrog. they asked little bear to play with them, and soon he was showing the frogs what long leaps he could make. and then, in a little while, many baby rabbits came and joined in the fun. the next that little bear knew, he was chasing baby rabbits over the rocks and catching nuts that the squirrels threw to him from the tree tops and having a joyful playtime. an hour passed quickly, and then little bear suddenly remembered that he had started out to run a race. back he ran to the path and away he flew toward the goal, while the baby rabbits laughed and danced and danced and laughed. father bear had sent them to play with little bear, but they did not know why he had sent them until that minute. [illustration: grandpa tortoise had reached his goal] stepping along, stepping along, slowly but surely, grandpa tortoise had reached the goal, just as he had in the long-ago day when he ran the race with the hare. little bear, as he came near the goal, heard the neighbors shouting, "hurrah for the champion! hurrah for the champion! hurrah for grandpa tortoise!" even father bear was shouting. little bear remembered his manners and, as his father had told him what to do if he lost the race, straightway walked up and shook hands with grandpa tortoise. and the hare, although he must have been laughing in his sleeve, remembered his manners, too, and did not let anyone see him laugh. after that the old friends and neighbors went home with the three bears to eat blackberries and honey and to tell stories round the fire. grandpa tortoise went too. he had traveled so slowly that he was not even tired. little bear asked a few questions, as usual, that afternoon when the stories were told, but he did not brag. and when peter hare winked at him once or twice he laughed. when mother skunk helped little bear once upon a time little bear went for a long walk along the river path. he was alone, and so did not know that he had gone far from home until father kingfisher saw him and called: "it is time for you to turn round and go back, little bear! you must remember that it will soon be dark in the woods, and you might get lost, for you have no wings with which to fly home quickly." little bear looked for the sun. sure enough, it was sinking behind the trees and leaving a long, shining trail on the river. it was time to go home. "thank you, father kingfisher," answered little bear. "i was having such a good time that i forgot i was far from our little house, but i shall run back fast now. so good night!" and away he ran. but before he had passed more than three bends of the river he saw a man fishing, and in the woods near by was a tent, with a bright camp fire burning, and beside the camp fire, a man cleaning a gun. little bear was so frightened that he sat down and [illustration: father kingfisher saw him] cried. mother skunk heard him, for she and her six children were out hunting beetles for supper. "what is the trouble?" she asked. "what is the matter, little bear?" little bear told her about the two men, one on either side of his path. "and i am afraid to go by them!" he wailed. "come, come, child, dry your eyes," said mother skunk. "you have always been kind to my children, and now i will take care of you. stop crying and follow me." "but won't the men catch you?" asked little bear. "oh, no," answered mother skunk, "they will not touch us. you follow me. come, children." on walked mother skunk, slowly and comfortably, with little bear and her six pretty children following one behind another, as she had told them to do. when the man who was fishing saw mother skunk walking by with her children and little bear, he sat still as a mouse. all he did was wink. the man by the fire stopped cleaning his gun when he saw mother skunk walking by with her children and little bear, and he, too, sat still as a mouse. all he did was wink. "now, little bear," said mother skunk, when they had gone a few steps more, "the children and i will [illustration: on walked mother skunk] stay here a while and catch beetles, but you must run along home. the men will not trouble you while we are in their path, never fear!" "i thank you, mother skunk!" little bear called over his shoulder, as he pitpatted for home as fast as he could travel. and when he reached home, he told what had happened to him and walked up and down in front of the fireplace to show father bear and mother bear how mother skunk had walked past the two big men, as if she were not afraid of anyone in the woods. and how the three bears laughed! but when mother bear tucked little bear into bed that night, she kissed him and said: "let us always be thankful for good, kind friends!" one morning when little bear wanted to play, his mother sent him out to pull weeds in the blackberry patch. when his mother went out to see how he was getting on, she found him lying on the ground and looking at the sky. "little bear," said his mother, "have you finished your weeding?" "no, mother bear," was the answer, "it is too hard work. i shall pull no more weeds." never before had mother bear heard little bear speak like that. so she took him by the hand and led him into the house, where father bear sat in his big chair. "father bear," she said, "little bear will not work." then behind little bear's back she made motions that meant, "but please do not spank him!" "ah-hum! ah-hum!" began father bear, gazing hard at little bear. "do i understand that you will not pull weeds, son bear?" "it is too hard work," explained little bear. "i am not big enough to pull weeds in the blackberry patch." [illustration: she found him lying on the ground ] "ah-hum! ah-hum!" repeated father bear, who was really too surprised at first for words. then he said, "son bear, i ought to spank you and send you out to work, and that is what i will do if your mother is willing. but--" father bear said "but" in such a loud, loud voice that little bear jumped at the tone. "but little bears who will not pull weeds in the blackberry patch shall not eat blackberries." so upstairs went little bear, followed by his mother, who carried a plate of bread and a brown pitcher full of water from the spring. mother bear said nothing when she left little bear upstairs with the bread and the water, but he did not mind that, because at first he thought it was all a joke. at dinner time, when he smelled fish frying he felt hungry. but his mother did not bring him any fish, and his father said nothing. so little bear ate bread and drank water. the afternoon lasted a long, long time. little bear was asleep when his mother brought him more bread and water. when he awoke, he again smelled fish frying. he felt hungry, but still his mother did not bring him any fish, and his father said nothing. then he called his mother and his father. "what is the trouble with son bear?" inquired father bear, when mother bear led the little fellow downstairs. "i am hungry!" wailed little bear. "have you no bread?" asked father bear. "i cannot eat just bread," answered little bear, "not when i smell fish. besides, i am lonesome. i will weed the blackberry patch and the whole garden, and i'll hoe the corn, and i'll work like sally beaver, if you'll just let me have fish for my supper, and blackberries, and honey, and milk." "very well, son bear," agreed father bear. "you shall sit down to supper, and weed the blackberry patch before dark." little bear passed his plate, and father bear filled it with trout, and mashed potatoes, and currant jelly. mother bear passed him the johnnycake, and gave him a big dish of blackberries and a brown mug full of milk. little bear was so hungry that he ate two whole speckled trout, and five pieces of johnnycake, and three heaping dishes of blackberries, and drank two mugfuls [illustration:"i am hungry!" wailed little bear] of milk before he went out and weeded the blackberry patch. he was tired when he went to bed that night, and on many other nights afterward, but he said nothing about it, nor did he ever stop his work in the garden until he had done it all as well as he could. for he soon found out that when he had worked hard, even bread and water tasted good, but that when he had not worked, there was no taste in fish, or honey, or milk, or in a heaping dish of blackberries. last summer little bear went on a long journey with his father and mother. the three bears had a beautiful time traveling through the big forest until they reached the banks of a deep, swift river. then there was trouble, for little bear could not swim, nor did he wish to learn how to swim. he said he was afraid of the water. "father bear can easily carry me over the river," he suggested. "nonsense!" replied big father bear in gruff tones. "nonsense, my son! you are old enough and strong enough to learn to swim. i will not carry you across the stream. neither shall your mother." just then there came father otter, swimming like a seal, and twisting and turning in the water like a fish. "perhaps the good otter will teach little bear to swim," mother bear said, and then called to him. "it is the easiest thing in the world to teach a little bear how to swim," answered father otter. "just throw him in!" and away he went, laughing over his shoulder. [illustration: "just throw him in!" said father otter. ] "he must be joking," observed mother bear quickly, because she was afraid that father bear would toss little bear into the river, and she did not like the idea. at that moment mother otter came swimming down the river with her children. one of them climbed upon her shoulders and stared solemnly at little bear on the river bank. "good morning!" said mother bear. "good morning!" answered mother otter. "your children are fine swimmers," added mother bear. "certainly," answered mother otter. "every one of them knows that our people have all been famous swimmers for centuries." "i suppose, then," ventured mother bear, "that your children were born swimmers. you probably had trouble in keeping them out of the water when they were babies." mother otter laughed. "the trouble was to get them into the water," she said, "because the silly little things were afraid. all young otters are afraid of the water and have to be put into it by force." "you do not mean it!" exclaimed mother bear, with great amazement in her tones. "indeed i do," replied mother otter. "we had to push every one of our children into the water. does little bear know how to swim?" "no," answered mother bear, shaking her head, "he is afraid to try." "duck him," advised mother otter, "duck him. there is no other way to teach a little bear to swim." and away she went, down the stream, intending to overtake father otter. the little otters kept looking back, hoping to see father bear toss little bear into the river. but mother bear begged him not to teach little bear to swim that day, and so the little otters missed the fun. that night the three bears camped beside the deep, swift river. after little bear was cuddled down in his bed of leaves and springy boughs, mother bear made father bear promise not to toss little bear into the river unless little bear said he wanted him to. the next morning father bear was sorry that he had made the promise, because an honest-looking polecat who came across the stream and went into the woods told father bear and mother bear that the largest, sweetest blackberries in the forest were ripe on the other shore. "and now," whispered mother bear to father bear, "aren't you sorry that you told him that we wouldn't carry him over?" "sure enough, i am," agreed father bear. and then he laughed at the joke on himself. "well," suggested mother bear at last, "i shall coax little bear to let you toss him gently into the river, and i shall catch him if he finds he cannot swim." "nonsense!" grumbled father bear, and stopped laughing. "while you coax," he said, "i shall go for a walk." coaxing did not do any good. when little bear saw his father wander away, he told his mother that he did not feel like going into the water that morning. he hoped she would please excuse him. and so she excused him. soon father bear came back, smiling and happy. "i have found a bridge," said he. "an old log has fallen across the river a little way upstream, where, on the other side, blackberries are almost as big as ducks' eggs. little bear can walk across on the log." "all right, i'll do it," promised little bear, and gladly followed his father until the three bears reached the bridge. [illustration: in a little while he bobbed up] but while little bear was skipping joyfully over the log, trying to reach the opposite bank before his father and mother could swim across, the log turned over and sent little bear head first into the river. fortunately, he knew enough to keep his mouth shut, and in a little while he bobbed up, shaking his head to get the water out of his eyes and his ears and paddling like a duck. that was all there was to it, because, ever after, little bear could swim. mother bear believes to this day that father bear knew that the log would roll over. she believes it because, whenever anyone asks him, he says nothing, but just laughs. one morning, while little bear was out camping with his father and mother, he went into the woods to pick daisies and bluebells with which to decorate the entrance to their cave. his hands were full of flowers, and he was ready to go back with them to his mother, when he heard a baby crying. little bear stood still and listened. then he knew that the child who was crying was an otter baby. he had heard otter babies cry before. "what is the matter, baby one?" called little bear. "what are you crying about and where are you? did you bump your nose?" "i am lost! come and find me!" answered baby otter. "you are hiding behind the oak stump!" exclaimed little bear, as he scrambled through the thicket and fairly pounced upon baby otter. "i spy!" he shouted. "it isn't a game!" wailed the otter baby. "i tell you i am lost! i don't know where my mother went and i can't find my father! i want to go home. oh, boo-hoo-hoo!" "there, there, don't cry!" said little bear. "tell me where your camp is, and i will take you home just as fast as we can go." "but we do not live here!" complained the lost baby. "our home is brookside, a long way off across country, and we are only camping out, and i do not know where our camp is! boo-hoo-hoo-hoo!" "come, come, cheer up!" said little bear, using the very words his father often used when speaking to him. "i tell you i will take you home, and if it is too far away i'll ask my father to go. we are camping out, ourselves, down the river a little way. now tell me how you happened to get lost." so the otter baby told him that the otter family had gone out together after breakfast that morning, and that while they were laughing and chatting baby otter had strayed away from the path to pick flowers. the next thing that he knew he had been alone, and, not knowing what else to do, he had sat down and cried. "well, wipe your eyes now, and give me your paw!" said little bear in big, grown-up tones. "my father showed me your camp only yesterday, and, if you are one of the campers, you live only a little way from here and i can take you home." of course baby otter wiped his eyes and walked happily behind little bear. he wished to travel in single file, otter fashion. [illustration: baby otter walked happily behind little bear] it happened that father bear had been teaching little bear how to follow the woods trails, and little bear knew the otters' path, because they always went round stumps and under logs; besides, their legs were short and their bodies so heavy they left well-worn trails behind them. at last little bear reached the end of the crooked path, and baby otter, without so much as saying "thank you!" to little bear, ran to the cave by the river bank where his family was camping out. "some people always forget their manners," said little bear to himself, as he ran home to tell his father and mother what he had done. "i am glad you were good to the baby," said little bear's mother, as she took the bluebells and daisies that he had brought and put them into a hollow stump beside the cave door. she had filled the stump with water from the spring while little bear was gone. "the flowers are lovely!" said mother bear. "now please run into the woods for some green leaves and vines to put with them, little bear." before he could do as she told him, uncle john kingfisher came flying to invite the three bears to a party. "the otters," said he, "request your presence at a fish dinner. come now." "we thank you, uncle john kingfisher," said father bear. "we will start at once. come, little bear, wash your hands and face and get ready." that is how it came about that the three bears dined with the otters that day, on trout, salmon, and eels, and were served with only one bite from each fish, and that bite taken from the meat just behind the head. mother bear thought that the otters chose only one dainty morsel from each fish just because they had invited company for dinner. but father bear told her afterward that she was mistaken; otters always serve fish in that way when fish are plentiful. after dinner the otters and their guests rested for a while, and then father otter urged the children to come out and play with him and with mother otter. much surprised, the three bears followed the otters to their playground. and the next father bear and mother bear knew, little bear was sliding down the otters' toboggan slide and shouting with glee. all the otters went down that slide, one behind the other, and landed splashety-splash! in the river below. it was a wonderful sight to see the otters swimming about in the stream, because they are beautiful swimmers. but what father and mother bear liked best was the picture of little bear running up the roundabout path to the top of the bank and going down the slide three times as fast as the otter children and their parents. the otters were more at home in the water than little bear was, but they could not run on land as he could. their next game they played with sticks. one otter took the end of a stick in his mouth and another otter took the other end, and then they pulled and pulled to [illustration: little bear was sliding down the otter' toboggan slide.] see which was the stronger. little bear did not like that game so well as he did the toboggan slide. "we have had a delightful time at your party," said mother bear to mother otter, at last, "and we thank you for inviting us over. if you ever wander into our home woods, come to our little house and have porridge with us." "we shall be glad to do so," said mother otter, "and we shall always think kindly of little bear because he brought our baby home when he was lost. if we do go to visit you, you must let us make little bear a toboggan slide." "ask them to come as soon as we get home!" urged little bear in a whisper to his mother so loud that the otter children heard it, and laughed. and that night little bear dreamed of taking home a baby otter and of being invited to slide down that baby otter's toboggan slide all the afternoon. once in midsummer when wild roses were blooming along the river bank behind the three bears' house in the forest and wild birds were singing from every thicket, father bear built a raft and took his family floating downstream. the raft was made of logs firmly fastened together. it was big and strong, and had three rustic chairs on it--a big, big chair for the big father bear, a middle-sized chair for middle-sized mother bear, and a wee, wee chair for wee little bear. there were also poles to keep the raft from bumping against the river bank: a rather heavy pole made just for huge father bear, a middle-sized pole for middle-sized mother bear, and a long, light pole for little bear. soon they were far from home, but it was afternoon before anything special happened. there was a bend in the river, and when the raft came swishing and tumbling round that bend the three bears saw a little log house on a hillside and many children playing outside the door. at that very moment, bump! went the raft into the bank, and there it stuck among the willows! "oh, please do not push the raft into the stream [illustration: father bear took his family floating downstream.] for a few minutes!" whispered little bear. "let us watch the children!" "yes, let us watch the children," added mother bear. so father bear, being willing to please his family, seated himself in his huge chair, and mother bear seated herself in her middle-sized chair. but little bear stood on his tippytoes in his little chair, so that he could see better. "oh, i wish those children would let me play with them!" cried little bear, as the youngsters joined hands and danced round and round in a circle. plainly, the log building was a schoolhouse, for a moment later out stepped the schoolmaster and began to ring a bell. the children straightway formed in line, boys first, girls behind. then they all marched into the schoolroom, saying, "left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot," and their feet made a merry stamping. after the children were all in the schoolhouse and the door was closed, a song came floating through the open windows. when the singing was over, and the only sounds that the bears heard were the song of birds, the lapping of the water, and the humming of bees, little bear said to his father and mother, "i see a little path leading from the river to the schoolhouse, and i see bushes beside one of the windows. if i will go softly, softly, and climb softly, softly into the bushes, may i go and peep into the schoolhouse and see the children?" "oh, i do not know about that!" began mother bear. but father bear said, "oh, let him go! only, son bear," he added, "if one of the children should happen to see you, and should say 'bear,' you run straight down to the raft, and we shall be ready to push into the stream and get away!" [illustration: little bear crept softly up the path] so little bear crept softly up the path on the hillside, climbed softly into the bushes, and peeped into the schoolroom. all the children were in their seats with their heads bent over books and slates. then the teacher said sternly, "primer class! come forward!" two little girls and one little boy, with blue-covered books in their hands, went to a spot in front of the teacher's desk and stood with their toes on a crack in the floor. the little girls edged away from the boy as far as they could while the master looked at them. little bear was so much interested that he climbed closer to the window. "open your books," said the schoolmaster. the three opened their blue-covered books. "joan, you may read the lesson first, if you please." so joan read, "i--see--a-cat." "good!" said the master. "mary, you may read." "i-see-a-cat," read mary. she knew every word of that lesson. "now, simon," spoke the master to the boy, "let us hear you read." little bear was sure that simon did not know his lesson. he was sure of it because simon acted so foolish and looked so unhappy. he stood on one foot [illustration: little bear leaned forward until his paws rested on the window sill] and then on the other and twisted and squirmed until the girls giggled. "come, simon," urged the master, "we are waiting." it happened that little bear felt so sorry for simon that he forgot all about himself, and leaned forward until his paws rested on the window sill. no one noticed him then, because bushes clustered close round that window and he had made no sound. "simon," the master commanded at last, "read the lesson!" "i-see," began simon, "i-see-a-" then he looked up, but instead of saying "cat," as the primer said, simon, with eyes as large and round as saucers, dropped his book and cried, "bear! i see a bear!" sure enough, he did. so did all the children. so did the master, because little bear was right up in the window, trying to tell simon the word "cat"! down the hill ran little bear as fast as he could go, and scrambled on board the raft. father bear and mother bear used their poles and quickly pushed the raft into the middle of the stream, and away went all three of them, laughing. but little bear did not wish to visit school again that day-or that summer. one morning, when the three bears were floating downstream on their raft, they saw a farmhouse in the distance. "perhaps we shall never be so near a farmhouse again," said mother bear to father bear, "so i think we should buy some eggs of the farmer's wife." "do be sensible!" exclaimed father bear. "remember that we have no money and that farmers do not love bears." "that does not matter," said mother bear gently. "to-night, when we build our camp fire for the evening, we must have hens' eggs to roast for supper, and how can we have hens' eggs unless we buy them at the farmhouse?" father bear made no answer, but pushed the raft against the bank and tied it to the willows with a rope of wild grapevine. he knew that mother bear would have her way, so he wasted no time trying to argue about the matter. "now, then!" was all father bear said after that, as he sat in his huge chair and folded his arms to watch the fun. '"now, then,' is what i say, too," added mother bear, laughing. "honey cub," she said to little bear, who was wondering what would happen next, "jump off the raft and bring me many long, slim leaves of the cat-tails growing over there, and i will weave two baskets, one for the money, one for the eggs." little bear hastened to obey. but when he returned with his arms full of cat-tail leaves, he said, "mother bear, i have made a wish. please let us have the eggs for dinner, and let us have them scrambled. father bear and i like scrambled eggs better," and little bear winked at father bear and father bear winked back. "we shall not make camp at noon so near a farmhouse," answered mother bear, "and the eggs shall be roasted. now run along after some long grasses, honey cub, for me to weave into the baskets with the cat-tails." little bear obeyed his mother, but he neither danced nor sang as he gathered the grasses. "noon is the time for dinner," he told a big green frog, "and i wish for scrambled eggs at noon." "ker-plunk!" said the frog. quickly mother bear made two pretty green baskets. "one is for wild strawberries," she explained. "we will fill it to the brim and leave it for the farmer's wife, [illustration: "mother bear, i have made a wisk"] instead of money. she will find it in a nest when she goes to gather the eggs." "i'll gladly pick the berries," said little bear, "and i 'll go with you to find a hen's nest that has eggs in it to scramble." "you will stay with your father while i go for the eggs," answered his mother. so after little bear had filled one green basket with delicious wild strawberries, he stayed with his father while mother bear went for the eggs. "noon is the time for dinner," little bear said in grumbling tones, "and roasted eggs are not so good as scrambled." "son bear," answered father bear sternly, "mother bear is always right!" soon back came mother bear, walking fast. and when little bear saw the eggs in her green basket, he was so much pleased that he forgot to be cross, although he did not forget his wish. while father bear untied the grapevine rope, little bear helped mother bear to cover the eggs with big green leaves, to keep them cool. he danced and sang as he worked. "and now we are off for a morning's good fishing!" exclaimed father bear, as he pushed the raft into the middle of the stream and passed a wee fish pole to little bear, a middle-sized fish pole to mother bear, and straightway began fishing himself with his own huge pole and line. the three bears fished all the morning and caught nothing. at noon, without warning, there was a great splashing in the river, and father bear exclaimed, "i have a bite!" well, he pulled, and pulled, and pulled, and could not land his fish. there was great excitement on [illustration: father bear answered sternly, "mother bear is always right"] [illustration: back fell father bear] the raft, until suddenly father bear almost caught the fish. up came the line, up bobbed the fish-a huge fish, almost the biggest fish father bear had ever caught. but back fell father bear, and bumped into mother bear, and she bumped into little bear, and he sat down in the basket of eggs, because the three were standing one behind another. then the fish flopped back, splash! into the water--and the three bears were hungry! "something has happened to the eggs!" exclaimed little bear. "i am afraid they are all squashed." sure enough! when mother bear took the leaves off the basket of eggs, what a sight she beheld! every shell was broken. then said father bear, laughing: "roasted eggs are not so good as scrambled, and noon is the time for dinner! mother bear, let us go ashore and make camp. we have come a long way from the farmhouse." "father bear is always right," said mother bear, as she emptied the broken eggs into the frying pan and began picking out pieces of the shells and tossing them into the water. that is how it came about that the three bears built a camp fire at noon and dined on scrambled eggs. they had a jolly time eating dinner in the woods and talking about what a huge fish it was that father bear had almost pulled out of the stream in the morning. but after dinner little bear laughed and sang: "i had my wish! because daddy lost his fish! ta-de-dum, ta-de-dum, ta-de-dum-dum-dum!" until at last the three bears joined hands and danced round the camp fire singing together: "little bear had his wish when father bear lost his fish! ta-de-dum, ta-de-dum, ta-de-dum-dum-dum!" three bears come to breakfast from the day when the three bears discovered the enchanted land where bears may walk without fear of harm, and may safely poke their noses into any man's tent if they choose, from that day, little bear teased to go back. "then let us be off," exclaimed father bear at last. "let us be off on a holiday journey, mother bear. come, son, close the door of our little house and away we go!" and away they went. little bear was so happy when the three jolly companions finally reached the enchanted land that he went to bed at sunset so that he might be up early in the morning to explore a country where rocks were painted in all colors of the rainbow, where springs of hot water bubbled through the earth, and where crystal-clear waterfalls filled his little heart with wonder. sure enough, little bear awoke in the early dawn, gave his father a friendly poke in the side, gave his mother's nose a friendly tweak, and thus merrily the day began. "let us take a walk before breakfast," suggested little bear. [illustration: he lifted the cover and peeped in] "very well," agreed father bear, "and let us catch fish for breakfast in a mountain stream!" "and we shall cook the fish in the first hot spring along the way," added mother bear. on through the glorious dawn went the three bears, crooning an old song and joyfully sniffing the air, when suddenly they came upon a sleeping camp, where the tents of the campers formed a big circle. in the center of the circle were the ashes of a campfire, and not far away was a cookstove standing near a covered wagon. on that stove was a kettle. over to that kettle pranced little bear. he lifted the cover and peeped in. the kettle was full of something little bear had never seen before. over walked father bear, over walked mother bear. they peeped in the kettle and shook their heads. "it is something the cook forgot to put away!" remarked father bear in pompous tones. "you may taste of it if you wish, son bear," said his mother. into the kettle went little bear's paw, and out it came filled with soft, brown, juicy fruit. he ate it, and it was good-so good he ate more and more. father bear ate the fruit, mother bear ate the fruit. "what is it?" they said one to another. but although they could not answer the question, they liked that fruit so well they ate and ate until they ate it all up. they even forgot their manners and smacked their lips. suddenly there was a noise in one of the tents, and out popped the cook's wife, calling, "oh, the bears are eating our prunes! oh, the bears are eating our prunes! shoo! shoo! shoo! they were eating our prunes!" "so we were eating prunes!" exclaimed mother bear, as away went the three bears, laughing. "and prunes are good!" piped up little bear, in his shrill, shrill voice. but daddy bear pranced through the forest singing: "oh, let us sing some new, new tunes! all about her prunes, prunes, prunes!" and "prunes, prunes, prunes," the three bears sang all that merry day. "prunes, prunes, prunes, prunes we had for breakfast!" little bear had never heard of the pied piper of hamelin who rid the town of rats, and then, when he went back for his promised pay, was only laughed at, so that he piped away all the children of hamelin town and never piped them back again. mother bear had never told little bear that story. however, she had taught her child to keep his promises, which was very fortunate, because one day the pied piper appeared when little bear was alone in the sunbright clearing which was his favorite playground. it happened that day that little bear found his playground full of caterpillars, and he did not like caterpillars. they were everywhere--on the ground, on the grass, on flowers, on the trees, humping along and humping along, eating green leaves. "oh, you old humpty-humps," exclaimed little bear, "i wish you would go away!" but the caterpillars would not go away. they even began crawling over little bear. he shook them off and was about to run away when along came that man, tall and thin, with a sharp chin and a mouth where the smiles went out and in, and two blue eyes each like a pin. and he was dressed half in red and half in yellow, and as we have often been told, he really was the strangest fellow. around his neck he wore a red and yellow ribbon, and on it was hung something like a flute, and his fingers went straying up and down it as if he wished to be playing. "i understand that you do not like caterpillars," said this queer fellow to little bear. "men call me the pied piper," he went on when he saw that little bear was too surprised to speak. "and i know a way to draw after me everything that walks or flies or swims! what will you give me if i rid your playground of caterpillars?" "i shall give you my porridge bowl," answered little bear, "if you can take away these caterpillars." little bear afterward told his father and mother that he did not believe that the pied piper could do it. straightway the pied piper put the long pipe to his lips and began to play a tune--a strange, high little tune. and before the pipe had uttered three shrill notes the caterpillars humped after the piper--thin ones, plump ones, skinny ones, woolly ones, striped ones, plain ones, great caterpillars, small caterpillars, lean ones, brawny ones, brown caterpillars, black caterpillars, gray ones, tawny ones, they all followed the piper for their lives until they came to the edge of the river. then the piper suddenly stepped aside and down they tumbled and--were--drowned! only one too-plump caterpillar came humping slowly back to the playground, making great lamentation. "what is the matter with you?" asked little bear, who had laughed until he was obliged to wipe away tears with the back of his paw at the sight of so many caterpillars following the pied piper. "oh me, oh my!" wailed the mournful caterpillar. "he said we should sleep in cradles of silk and wake up with wings of purple! it has been the dream of my life to be a butterfly with wings of gold and purple!" "cheer up," comforted little bear, "you just spin yourself a cocoon caterpillar fashion and go to sleep, and you will surely find yourself turned into a butterfly when you wake up! mother said so! now there! why didn't i remember that caterpillars turn into butterflies, before i promised to give away my porridge bowl! i should like to have my playground full of butterflies! i wish i had thought of that! now those poor old caterpillars are gone and i promised to give away my bowl! maybe the pied piper will not come back!" but he did. "i should like my bowl!" said he. [illustration: "oh, you old humpty-humps"] "i know that a promise is a promise," agreed little bear promptly and sorrowfully. "you wait here until i run home after it and i shall give you my little bowl!" and he did. as the piper took the bowl and turned away, father and mother bear came into the clearing. "what are you doing with little bear's bowl?" they demanded, and would have followed the pied piper, but he put the pipe to his lips and began to play a little tune -a soft little tune, sweet and strange. and the music made father bear and mother bear stand still as if their feet had been tied to the ground. "oh, little bear!" they cried in terror. "it is the pied piper! oh, little bear, do not follow him!" "indeed i could not if i wished to do so," answered little bear, "because my feet will not go! the music has made me stand still too, and i hear voices singing, 'stay home with your father! stay home with your mother! stay home, little bear!'" as the music grew faint in the distance, the three bears were once more able to walk about, and then little bear explained that he had promised to give his bowl to the pied piper if he would take away the caterpillars, and that he had kept the promise, sad as he felt about losing his treasure. "come," said mother bear, "i believe we better go home now before we meet any more strangers!" when the three bears reached home, there was little bear's bowl on the doorstep, and the pied piper's pipe was heard playing softly far away. after father bear told little bear the story of hamelin town he was more glad than ever that he had kept his promise. so was his mother. so was his father. [illustration: there was little bear's bowl on the doorstep] little bear did not like to hear any talk about sleepy cave, which was the name of the three bears' winter home, the year jack frost came late. there were three beds in sleepy cave, ready and waiting for the three bears-a big, big bed of boughs and moss for huge father bear, a middle-sized bed of fir boughs and moss for middle-sized mother bear, and a deep, deep bed of feathery moss for little bear. there were also feathery moss blankets taken from fallen logs in the forest--one for huge father bear, one for mother bear, and the softest, warmest moss blanket of all for little bear. sleepy cave was big and warm and dry. there was no chance for snow to drift in the doorway because it was sheltered by a broad overhanging rock, and its back was toward the wind. there was blackberry jam put away in that cave, and combs of honey and other good things to eat in case the family should wake up and feel hungry before spring. but little bear did not like to hear a word about sleepy cave. it was the same old story with him, beginning, "i don't want to sleep all winter! mrs. maria wildcat, she said, "young cub, you won't be anything but a baby bear, eating porridge out of a little bowl, and sitting in a wee, wee chair, and sleeping in a wee, wee bed, for another hundred years if you lie around and sleep all winter! you'll never grow up!' she always says that! and mr. bob wildcat, he said--" "there, there," mother bear interrupted, "don't let me hear another word about maria wildcat or any of the wildcat family! i think i said this to you once before!" "but i don't want to sleep all winter," wailed little bear. "i want to stay in our own little house in the woods and see the snow in the evergreens. i'd love to play in the snow and go sliding on the ice. i want to stay here and eat porridge out of my little bowl and sit in my little chair and sleep in my little bed! father deer's children do not sleep all winter. they make tracks in the snow, and they lie down to rest in the evergreens and watch for their enemies in the middle of the day! father deer told me about it all over again! i want to stay here and play all winter like other folks! sally beaver's mother, she said--" "hush," advised mother bear, "you have said enough!" mother bear spoke severely, but a moment later when the little fellow went out and sat on the doorstep to think, she said to father bear, "suppose we have a surprise party for little bear?" [illustration: "i don't want to sleep all winter"] "a good idea!" agreed father bear. "but there is snow in the air, and if there is to be a party it had better be this afternoon. whom do you wish to invite?" mother bear smiled as she answered, "let us invite the children of our hibernating friends. i think that will be pleasanter. we'll invite auntie cinnamon's children, and uncle brown bear's family, and the porcupine twins, and the field mice children, and the young musk-rats. if you will do the inviting, i will make blackberry jam and honey cakes and get the house in order!" little bear didn't even ask a question as father bear started out, looking rather proud of his new fur overcoat. in the afternoon, as father bear and mother bear were happily waiting for little bear's company, there came a knock at the door, followed by the entrance of auntie cinnamon. "i came to say," said she, "that my children cannot come to the party because they have gone to sleep for the winter. no, i cannot stay, i thank you, but i am glad to stop in a minute to say good night until spring." "sleepy heads!" exclaimed little bear when auntie cinnamon had gone on her way. next came uncle brown bear. he was so plump he was out of breath from walking fast and had to rest a minute before he could say, "our children are all asleep and cannot come to the party, but auntie brown sent me over to say we thank you, and good night until spring!" and away he went. [illustration: "i came to say that my children cannot come to the party," said aunty cinnamon] "the sleepy heads!" exclaimed little bear again, and how he laughed. "but where is the party, mother bear, and am i invited?" just then came another knock at the door, and mother porcupine walked in to say that the twins were tucked away in bed for the winter and so could not come to little bear's surprise party. little bear was so delighted when he learned he was to have a surprise party that he wasn't disappointed when the laughing blue jay came with a message from the field mouse mother saying that the field mice children just couldn't keep their eyes open, they were so sleepy, and so of course they could not come to the party. "i'll sit by the window and see who does come," said little bear, happy as he could be thinking of the party. now it happened that no one else had been invited to the party, so mother bear took little bear to the cupboard to show him the blackberry sandwiches and honey cakes, while father bear stepped out to ask the blue jay to please fly quickly away and invite the wildcat children and the young squirrels and chipmunks and foxes to come immediately to the party. [illustration: they found little bear sound asleep] the blue jay flew to do this joyful errand, and soon came dozens of chattering, noisy wildwood children to the party. but when they reached the house they found little bear sound asleep with a contented smile on his face, dreaming of the party! the merry children could not awaken him, although they tried their best because they wished to share with him the blackberry jam and honey cakes. late that afternoon when the party was over and the frolicking children had gone, father bear took little bear in his arms, and mother bear closed the house. then away went the three bears to sleepy cave. when little bear was snugly tucked in his feathery moss bed, mother bear kissed him and said, "i am so glad the little fellow was happy when he went to sleep!" and that very night it snowed, and snowed--and snowed! burgess trade quaddies mark the bedtime story-books the adventures of buster bear by thornton w. burgess author of "the adventures of reddy fox," "old mother west wind," "mother west wind 'why' stories," etc. _with illustrations by harrison cady_ boston little, brown, and company 1920 _copyright, 1916_, by little, brown, and company. _all rights reserved_ [illustration: buster blinked his greedy little eyes and looked again. _frontispiece_.] contents chapter page i. buster bear goes fishing 1 ii. little joe otter gets even with buster bear 7 iii. buster bear is greatly puzzled 12 iv. little joe otter supplies buster bear with a breakfast 17 v. grandfather frog's common-sense 22 vi. little joe otter takes grandfather frog's advice 27 vii. farmer brown's boy has no luck at all 33 viii. farmer brown's boy feels his hair rise 38 ix. little joe otter has great news to tell 43 x. buster bear becomes a hero 48 xi. blacky the crow tells his plan 53 xii. farmer brown's boy and buster bear grow curious 58 xiii. farmer brown's boy and buster bear meet 63 xiv. a surprising thing happens 68 xv. buster bear is a fallen hero 73 xvi. chatterer the red squirrel jumps for his life 78 xvii. buster bear goes berrying 83 xviii. somebody else goes berrying 88 xix. buster bear has a fine time 93 xx. buster bear carries off the pail of farmer brown's boy 99 xxi. sammy jay makes things worse for buster bear 104 xxii. buster bear has a fit of temper 110 xxiii. farmer brown's boy lunches on berries 115 list of illustrations buster blinked his greedy little eyes rapidly and looked again _frontispiece_ "here's your trout, mr. otter," said he page 5 "you take my advice, little joe otter," continued grandfather frog 26 reddy glared across the smiling pool at peter 45 buster bear was running away too 71 those who could fly, flew. those who could climb, climbed 112 the adventures of buster bear i buster bear goes fishing buster bear yawned as he lay on his comfortable bed of leaves and watched the first early morning sunbeams creeping through the green forest to chase out the black shadows. once more he yawned, and slowly got to his feet and shook himself. then he walked over to a big pine-tree, stood up on his hind legs, reached as high up on the trunk of the tree as he could, and scratched the bark with his great claws. after that he yawned until it seemed as if his jaws would crack, and then sat down to think what he wanted for breakfast. while he sat there, trying to make up his mind what would taste best, he was listening to the sounds that told of the waking of all the little people who live in the green forest. he heard sammy jay way off in the distance screaming, "thief! thief!" and grinned. "i wonder," thought buster, "if some one has stolen sammy's breakfast, or if he has stolen the breakfast of some one else. probably he is the thief himself." he heard chatterer the red squirrel scolding as fast as he could make his tongue go and working himself into a terrible rage. "must be that chatterer got out of bed the wrong way this morning," thought he. he heard blacky the crow cawing at the top of his lungs, and he knew by the sound that blacky was getting into mischief of some kind. he heard the sweet voices of happy little singers, and they were good to hear. but most of all he listened to a merry, low, silvery laugh that never stopped but went on and on, until he just felt as if he must laugh too. it was the voice of the laughing brook. and as buster listened it suddenly came to him just what he wanted for breakfast. "i'm going fishing," said he in his deep grumbly-rumbly voice to no one in particular. "yes, sir, i'm going fishing. i want some fat trout for my breakfast." he shuffled along over to the laughing brook, and straight to a little pool of which he knew, and as he drew near he took the greatest care not to make the teeniest, weeniest bit of noise. now it just happened that early as he was, some one was before buster bear. when he came in sight of the little pool, who should he see but another fisherman there, who had already caught a fine fat trout. who was it? why, little joe otter to be sure. he was just climbing up the bank with the fat trout in his mouth. buster bear's own mouth watered as he saw it. little joe sat down on the bank and prepared to enjoy his breakfast. he hadn't seen buster bear, and he didn't know that he or any one else was anywhere near. buster bear tiptoed up very softly until he was right behind little joe otter. "woof, woof!" said he in his deepest, most grumbly-rumbly voice. "that's a very fine looking trout. i wouldn't mind if i had it myself." little joe otter gave a frightened squeal and without even turning to see who was speaking dropped his fish and dived headfirst into the laughing brook. buster bear sprang forward and with one of his big paws caught the fat trout just as it was slipping back into the water. "here's your trout, mr. otter," said he, as little joe put his head out of water to see who had frightened him so. "come and get it." [illustration: "here's your trout, mr. otter," said he. _page 5._] but little joe wouldn't. the fact is, he was afraid to. he snarled at buster bear and called him a thief and everything bad he could think of. buster didn't seem to mind. he chuckled as if he thought it all a great joke and repeated his invitation to little joe to come and get his fish. but little joe just turned his back and went off down the laughing brook in a great rage. "it's too bad to waste such a fine fish," said buster thoughtfully. "i wonder what i'd better do with it." and while he was wondering, he ate it all up. then he started down the laughing brook to try to catch some for himself. ii little joe otter gets even with buster bear little joe otter was in a terrible rage. it was a bad beginning for a beautiful day and little joe knew it. but who wouldn't be in a rage if his breakfast was taken from him just as he was about to eat it? anyway, that is what little joe told billy mink. perhaps he didn't tell it quite exactly as it was, but you know he was very badly frightened at the time. "i was sitting on the bank of the laughing brook beside one of the little pools," he told billy mink, "and was just going to eat a fat trout i had caught, when who should come along but that great big bully, buster bear. he took that fat trout away from me and ate it just as if it belonged to him! i hate him! if i live long enough i'm going to get even with him!" of course that wasn't nice talk and anything but a nice spirit, but little joe otter's temper is sometimes pretty short, especially when he is hungry, and this time he had had no breakfast, you know. buster bear hadn't actually taken the fish away from little joe. but looking at the matter as little joe did, it amounted to the same thing. you see, buster knew perfectly well when he invited little joe to come back and get it that little joe wouldn't dare do anything of the kind. "where is he now?" asked billy mink. "he's somewhere up the laughing brook. i wish he'd fall in and get drowned!" snapped little joe. billy mink just had to laugh. the idea of great big buster bear getting drowned in the laughing brook was too funny. there wasn't water enough in it anywhere except down in the smiling pool, and that was on the green meadows, where buster had never been known to go. "let's go see what he is doing," said billy mink. at first little joe didn't want to, but at last his curiosity got the better of his fear, and he agreed. so the two little brown-coated scamps turned down the laughing brook, taking the greatest care to keep out of sight themselves. they had gone only a little way when billy mink whispered: "sh-h! there he is." sure enough, there was buster bear sitting close beside a little pool and looking into it very intently. "what's he doing?" asked little joe otter, as buster bear sat for the longest time without moving. just then one of buster's big paws went into the water as quick as a flash and scooped out a trout that had ventured too near. "he's fishing!" exclaimed billy mink. and that is just what buster bear was doing, and it was very plain to see that he was having great fun. when he had eaten the trout he had caught, he moved along to the next little pool. "they are _our_ fish!" said little joe fiercely. "he has no business catching _our_ fish!" "i don't see how we are going to stop him," said billy mink. "i do!" cried little joe, into whose head an idea had just popped. "i'm going to drive all the fish out of the little pools and muddy the water all up. then we'll see how many fish he will get! just you watch me get even with buster bear." little joe slipped swiftly into the water and swam straight to the little pool that buster bear would try next. he frightened the fish so that they fled in every direction. then he stirred up the mud until the water was so dirty that buster couldn't have seen a fish right under his nose. he did the same thing in the next pool and the next. buster bear's fishing was spoiled for that day. iii buster bear is greatly puzzled buster bear hadn't enjoyed himself so much since he came to the green forest to live. his fun began when he surprised little joe otter on the bank of a little pool in the laughing brook and little joe was so frightened that he dropped a fat trout he had just caught. it had seemed like a great joke to buster bear, and he had chuckled over it all the time he was eating the fat trout. when he had finished it, he started on to do some fishing himself. presently he came to another little pool. he stole up to it very, very softly, so as not to frighten the fish. then he sat down close to the edge of it and didn't move. buster learned a long time ago that a fisherman must be patient unless, like little joe otter, he is just as much at home in the water as the fish themselves, and can swim fast enough to catch them by chasing them. so he didn't move so much as an eye lash. he was so still that he looked almost like the stump of an old tree. perhaps that is what the fish thought he was, for pretty soon, two or three swam right in close to where he was sitting. now buster bear may be big and clumsy looking, but there isn't anything that can move much quicker than one of those big paws of his when he wants it to. one of them moved now, and quicker than a wink had scooped one of those foolish fish out on to the bank. buster's little eyes twinkled, and he smacked his lips as he moved on to the next little pool, for he knew that it was of no use to stay longer at the first one. the fish were so frightened that they wouldn't come back for a long, long time. at the next little pool the same thing happened. by this time buster bear was in fine spirits. it was fun to catch the fish, and it was still more fun to eat them. what finer breakfast could any one have than fresh-caught trout? no wonder he felt good! but it takes more than three trout to fill buster bear's stomach, so he kept on to the next little pool. but this little pool, instead of being beautiful and clear so that buster could see right to the bottom of it and so tell if there were any fish there, was so muddy that he couldn't see into it at all. it looked as if some one had just stirred up all the mud at the bottom. "huh!" said buster bear. "it's of no use to try to fish here. i would just waste my time. i'll try the next pool." so he went on to the next little pool. he found this just as muddy as the other. then he went on to another, and this was no better. buster sat down and scratched his head. it was puzzling. yes, sir, it was puzzling. he looked this way and he looked that way suspiciously, but there was no one to be seen. everything was still save for the laughter of the laughing brook. somehow, it seemed to buster as if the brook were laughing at him. "it's very curious," muttered buster, "very curious indeed. it looks as if my fishing is spoiled for to-day. i don't understand it at all. it's lucky i caught what i did. it looks as if somebody is trying to--ha!" a sudden thought had popped into his head. then he began to chuckle and finally to laugh. "i do believe that scamp joe otter is trying to get even with me for eating that fat trout!" and then, because buster bear always enjoys a good joke even when it is on himself, he laughed until he had to hold his sides, which is a whole lot better than going off in a rage as little joe otter had done. "you're pretty smart, mr. otter! you're pretty smart, but there are other people who are smart too," said buster bear, and still chuckling, he went off to think up a plan to get the best of little joe otter. iv little joe otter supplies buster bear with a breakfast getting even just for spite doesn't always pay. fact is, it is very apt to work the other way. that is just how it came about that little joe otter furnished buster bear with the best breakfast he had had for a long time. he didn't mean to do it. oh, my, no! the truth is, he thought all the time that he was preventing buster bear from getting a breakfast. you see he wasn't well enough acquainted with buster to know that buster is quite as smart as he is, and perhaps a little bit smarter. spite and selfishness were at the bottom of it. you see little joe and billy mink had had all the fishing in the laughing brook to themselves so long that they thought no one else had any right to fish there. to be sure bobby coon caught a few little fish there, but they didn't mind bobby. farmer brown's boy fished there too, sometimes, and this always made little joe and billy mink very angry, but they were so afraid of him that they didn't dare do anything about it. but when they discovered that buster bear was a fisherman, they made up their minds that something had got to be done. at least, little joe did. "he'll try it again to-morrow morning," said little joe. "i'll keep watch, and as soon as i see him coming, i'll drive out all the fish, just as i did to-day. i guess that'll teach him to let our fish alone." so the next morning little joe hid before daylight close by the little pool where buster bear had given him such a fright. sure enough, just as the jolly sunbeams began to creep through the green forest, he saw buster bear coming straight over to the little pool. little joe slipped into the water and chased all the fish out of the little pool, and stirred up the mud on the bottom so that the water was so muddy that the bottom couldn't be seen at all. then he hurried down to the next little pool and did the same thing. now buster bear is very smart. you know he had guessed the day before who had spoiled his fishing. so this morning he only went far enough to make sure that if little joe were watching for him, as he was sure he would be, he would see him coming. then, instead of keeping on to the little pool, he hurried to a place way down the laughing brook, where the water was very shallow, hardly over his feet, and there he sat chuckling to himself. things happened just as he had expected. the frightened fish little joe chased out of the little pools up above swam down the laughing brook, because, you know, little joe was behind them, and there was nowhere else for them to go. when they came to the place where buster was waiting, all he had to do was to scoop them out on to the bank. it was great fun. it didn't take buster long to catch all the fish he could eat. then he saved a nice fat trout and waited. by and by along came little joe otter, chuckling to think how he had spoiled buster bear's fishing. he was so intent on looking behind him to see if buster was coming that he didn't see buster waiting there until he spoke. "i'm much obliged for the fine breakfast you have given me," said buster in his deepest, most grumbly-rumbly voice. "i've saved a fat trout for you to make up for the one i ate yesterday. i hope we'll go fishing together often." then he went off laughing fit to kill himself. little joe couldn't find a word to say. he was so surprised and angry that he went off by himself and sulked. and billy mink, who had been watching, ate the fat trout. v grandfather frog's common-sense there is nothing quite like common sense to smooth out troubles. people who have plenty of just plain common sense are often thought to be very wise. their neighbors look up to them and are forever running to them for advice, and they are very much respected. that is the way with grandfather frog. he is very old and very wise. anyway, that is what his neighbors think. the truth is, he simply has a lot of common sense, which after all is the very best kind of wisdom. now when little joe otter found that buster bear had been too smart for him and that instead of spoiling buster's fishing in the laughing brook he had really made it easier for buster to catch all the fish he wanted, little joe went off down to the smiling pool in a great rage. billy mink stopped long enough to eat the fat fish buster had left on the bank and then he too went down to the smiling pool. when little joe otter and billy mink reached the smiling pool, they climbed up on the big rock, and there little joe sulked and sulked, until finally grandfather frog asked what the matter was. little joe wouldn't tell, but billy mink told the whole story. when he told how buster had been too smart for little joe, it tickled him so that billy had to laugh in spite of himself. so did grandfather frog. so did jerry muskrat, who had been listening. of course this made little joe angrier than ever. he said a lot of unkind things about buster bear and about billy mink and grandfather frog and jerry muskrat, because they had laughed at the smartness of buster. "he's nothing but a great big bully and thief!" declared little joe. "chug-a-rum! he may be a bully, because great big people are very apt to be bullies, and though i haven't seen him, i guess buster bear is big enough from all i have heard, but i don't see how he is a thief," said grandfather frog. "didn't he catch my fish and eat them?" snapped little joe. "doesn't that make him a thief?" "they were no more your fish than mine," protested billy mink. "well, _our_ fish, then! he stole _our_ fish, if you like that any better. that makes him just as much a thief, doesn't it?" growled little joe. grandfather frog looked up at jolly, round, bright mr. sun and slowly winked one of his great, goggly eyes. "there comes a foolish green fly," said he. "who does he belong to?" "nobody!" snapped little joe. "what have foolish green flies got to do with my--i mean _our_ fish?" "nothing, nothing at all," replied grandfather frog mildly. "i was just hoping that he would come near enough for me to snap him up; then he would belong to me. as long as he doesn't, he doesn't belong to any one. i suppose that if buster bear should happen along and catch him, he would be stealing from me, according to little joe." "of course not! what a silly idea! you're getting foolish in your old age," retorted little joe. "can you tell me the difference between the fish that you haven't caught and the foolish green flies that i haven't caught?" asked grandfather frog. little joe couldn't find a word to say. "you take my advice, little joe otter," continued grandfather frog, "and always make friends with those who are bigger and stronger and smarter than you are. you'll find it pays." [illustration: "you take my advice, little joe otter," continued grandfather frog. _page 26._] vi little joe otter takes grandfather frog's advice who makes an enemy a friend, to fear and worry puts an end. little joe otter found that out when he took grandfather frog's advice. he wouldn't have admitted that he was afraid of buster bear. no one ever likes to admit being afraid, least of all little joe otter. and really little joe has a great deal of courage. very few of the little people of the green forest or the green meadows would willingly quarrel with him, for little joe is a great fighter when he has to fight. as for all those who live in or along the laughing brook or in the smiling pool, they let little joe have his own way in everything. now having one's own way too much is a bad thing. it is apt to make one selfish and thoughtless of other people and very hard to get along with. little joe otter had his way too much. grandfather frog knew it and shook his head very soberly when little joe had been disrespectful to him. "too bad. too bad! too bad! chug-a-rum! it is too bad that such a fine young fellow as little joe should spoil a good disposition by such selfish heedlessness. too bad," said he. so, though he didn't let on that it was so, grandfather frog really was delighted when he heard how buster bear had been too smart for little joe otter. it tickled him so that he had hard work to keep a straight face. but he did and was as grave and solemn as you please as he advised little joe always to make friends with any one who was bigger and stronger and smarter than he. that was good common sense advice, but little joe just sniffed and went off declaring that he would get even with buster bear yet. now little joe is good-natured and full of fun as a rule, and after he had reached home and his temper had cooled off a little, he began to see the joke on himself,--how when he had worked so hard to frighten the fish in the little pools of the laughing brook so that buster bear should not catch any, he had all the time been driving them right into buster's paws. by and by he grinned. it was a little sheepish grin at first, but at last it grew into a laugh. "i believe," said little joe as he wiped tears of laughter from his eyes, "that grandfather frog is right, and that the best thing i can do is to make friends with buster bear. i'll try it to-morrow morning." so very early the next morning little joe otter went to the best fishing pool he knew of in the laughing brook, and there he caught the biggest trout he could find. it was so big and fat that it made little joe's mouth water, for you know fat trout are his favorite food. but he didn't take so much as one bite. instead he carefully laid it on an old log where buster bear would be sure to see it if he should come along that way. then he hid near by, where he could watch. buster was late that morning. it seemed to little joe that he never would come. once he nearly lost the fish. he had turned his head for just a minute, and when he looked back again, the trout was nowhere to be seen. buster couldn't have stolen up and taken it, because such a big fellow couldn't possibly have gotten out of sight again. little joe darted over to the log and looked on the other side. there was the fat trout, and there also was little joe's smallest cousin, shadow the weasel, who is a great thief and altogether bad. little joe sprang at him angrily, but shadow was too quick and darted away. little joe put the fish back on the log and waited. this time he didn't take his eyes off it. at last, when he was almost ready to give up, he saw buster bear shuffling along towards the laughing brook. suddenly buster stopped and sniffed. one of the merry little breezes had carried the scent of that fat trout over to him. then he came straight over to where the fish lay, his nose wrinkling, and his eyes twinkling with pleasure. "now i wonder who was so thoughtful as to leave this fine breakfast ready for me," said he out loud. "me," said little joe in a rather faint voice. "i caught it especially for you." "thank you," replied buster, and his eyes twinkled more than ever. "i think we are going to be friends." "i--i hope so," replied little joe. vii farmer brown's boy has no luck at all farmer brown's boy tramped through the green forest, whistling merrily. he always whistles when he feels light-hearted, and he always feels light-hearted when he goes fishing. you see, he is just as fond of fishing as is little joe otter or billy mink or buster bear. and now he was making his way through the green forest to the laughing brook, sure that by the time he had followed it down to the smiling pool he would have a fine lot of trout to take home. he knew every pool in the laughing brook where the trout love to hide, did farmer brown's boy, and it was just the kind of a morning when the trout should be hungry. so he whistled as he tramped along, and his whistle was good to hear. when he reached the first little pool he baited his hook very carefully and then, taking the greatest care to keep out of sight of any trout that might be in the little pool, he began to fish. now farmer brown's boy learned a long time ago that to be a successful fisherman one must have a great deal of patience, so though he didn't get a bite right away as he had expected to, he wasn't the least bit discouraged. he kept very quiet and fished and fished, patiently waiting for a foolish trout to take his hook. but he didn't get so much as a nibble. "either the trout have lost their appetite or they have grown very wise," muttered farmer brown's boy, as after a long time he moved on to the next little pool. there the same thing happened. he was very patient, very, very patient, but his patience brought no reward, not so much as the faintest kind of a nibble. farmer brown's boy trudged on to the next pool, and there was a puzzled frown on his freckled face. such a thing never had happened before. he didn't know what to make of it. all the night before he had dreamed about the delicious dinner of fried trout he would have the next day, and now--well, if he didn't catch some trout pretty soon, that splendid dinner would never be anything but a dream. "if i didn't know that nobody else comes fishing here, i should think that somebody had been here this very morning and caught all the fish or else frightened them so that they are all in hiding," said he, as he trudged on to the next little pool. "i never had such bad luck in all my life before. hello! what's this?" there, on the bank beside the little pool, were the heads of three trout. farmer brown's boy scowled down at them more puzzled than ever. "somebody _has_ been fishing here, and they have had better luck than i have," thought he. he looked up the laughing brook and down the laughing brook and this way and that way, but no one was to be seen. then he picked up one of the little heads and looked at it sharply. "it wasn't cut off with a knife; it was bitten off!" he exclaimed. "i wonder now if billy mink is the scamp who has spoiled my fun." thereafter he kept a sharp lookout for signs of billy mink, but though he found two or three more trout heads, he saw no other signs and he caught no fish. this puzzled him more than ever. it didn't seem possible that such a little fellow as billy mink could have caught or frightened all the fish or have eaten so many. besides, he didn't remember ever having known billy to leave heads around that way. billy sometimes catches more fish than he can eat, but then he usually hides them. the farther he went down the laughing brook, the more puzzled farmer brown's boy grew. it made him feel very queer. he would have felt still more queer if he had known that all the time two other fishermen who had been before him were watching him and chuckling to themselves. they were little joe otter and buster bear. viii farmer brown's boy feels his hair rise 'twas just a sudden odd surprise made farmer brown's boy's hair to rise. that's a funny thing for hair to do--rise up all of a sudden--isn't it? but that is just what the hair on farmer brown's boy's head did the day he went fishing in the laughing brook and had no luck at all. there are just two things that make hair rise--anger and fear. anger sometimes makes the hair on the back and neck of bowser the hound and of some other little people bristle and stand up, and you know the hair on the tail of black pussy stands on end until her tail looks twice as big as it really is. both anger and fear make it do that. but there is only one thing that can make the hair on the head of farmer brown's boy rise, and as it isn't anger, of course it must be fear. it never had happened before. you see, there isn't much of anything that farmer brown's boy is really afraid of. perhaps he wouldn't have been afraid this time if it hadn't been for the surprise of what he found. you see when he had found the heads of those trout on the bank he knew right away that some one else had been fishing, and that was why he couldn't catch any; but it didn't seem possible that little billy mink could have eaten all those trout, and farmer brown's boy didn't once think of little joe otter, and so he was very, very much puzzled. he was turning it all over in his mind and studying what it could mean, when he came to a little muddy place on the bank of the laughing brook, and there he saw something that made his eyes look as if they would pop right out of his head, and it was right then that he felt his hair rise. anyway, that is what he said when he told about it afterward. what was it he saw? what do you think? why, it was a footprint in the soft mud. yes, sir, that's what it was, and all it was. but it was the biggest footprint farmer brown's boy ever had seen, and it looked as if it had been made only a few minutes before. it was the footprint of buster bear. now farmer brown's boy didn't know that buster bear had come down to the green forest to live. he never had heard of a bear being in the green forest. and so he was so surprised that he had hard work to believe his own eyes, and he had a queer feeling all over,--a little chilly feeling, although it was a warm day. somehow, he didn't feel like meeting buster bear. if he had had his terrible gun with him, it might have been different. but he didn't, and so he suddenly made up his mind that he didn't want to fish any more that day. he had a funny feeling, too, that he was being watched, although he couldn't see any one. he _was_ being watched. little joe otter and buster bear were watching him and taking the greatest care to keep out of his sight. all the way home through the green forest, farmer brown's boy kept looking behind him, and he didn't draw a long breath until he reached the edge of the green forest. he hadn't run, but he had wanted to. "huh!" said buster bear to little joe otter, "i believe he was afraid!" and buster bear was just exactly right. ix little joe otter has great news to tell little joe otter was fairly bursting with excitement. he could hardly contain himself. he felt that he had the greatest news to tell since peter rabbit had first found the tracks of buster bear in the green forest. he couldn't keep it to himself a minute longer than he had to. so he hurried to the smiling pool, where he was sure he would find billy mink and jerry muskrat and grandfather frog and spotty the turtle, and he hoped that perhaps some of the little people who live in the green forest might be there too. sure enough, peter rabbit was there on one side of the smiling pool, making faces at reddy fox, who was on the other side, which, of course, was not at all nice of peter. mr. and mrs. redwing were there, and blacky the crow was sitting in the big hickory-tree. little joe otter swam straight to the big rock and climbed up to the very highest part. he looked so excited, and his eyes sparkled so, that every one knew right away that something had happened. "hi!" cried billy mink. "look at little joe otter! it must be that for once he has been smarter than buster bear." little joe made a good-natured face at billy mink and shook his head. "no, billy," said he, "you are wrong, altogether wrong. i don't believe anybody can be smarter than buster bear." [illustration: reddy glared across the smiling pool at peter. _page 45._] reddy fox rolled his lips back in an unpleasant grin. "don't be too sure of that!" he snapped. "i'm not through with him yet." "boaster! boaster!" cried peter rabbit. reddy glared across the smiling pool at peter. "i'm not through with you either, peter rabbit!" he snarled. "you'll find it out one of these fine days!" "reddy, reddy, smart and sly, couldn't catch a buzzing fly!" taunted peter. "chug-a-rum!" said grandfather frog in his deepest, gruffest voice. "we know all about that. what we want to know is what little joe otter has got on his mind." "it's news--great news!" cried little joe. "we can tell better how great it is when we hear what it is," replied grandfather frog testily. "what is it?" little joe otter looked around at all the eager faces watching him, and then in the slowest, most provoking way, he drawled: "farmer brown's boy is afraid of buster bear." for a minute no one said a word. then blacky the crow leaned down from his perch in the big hickory-tree and looked very hard at little joe as he said: "i don't believe it. i don't believe a word of it. farmer brown's boy isn't afraid of any one who lives in the green forest or on the green meadows or in the smiling pool, and you know it. we are all afraid of him." little joe glared back at blacky. "i don't care whether you believe it or not; it's true," he retorted. then he told how early that very morning he and buster bear had been fishing together in the laughing brook, and how farmer brown's boy had been fishing there too, and hadn't caught a single trout because they had all been caught or frightened before he got there. then he told how farmer brown's boy had found a footprint of buster bear in the soft mud, and how he had stopped fishing right away and started for home, looking behind him with fear in his eyes all the way. "now tell me that he isn't afraid!" concluded little joe. "for once he knows just how we feel when he comes prowling around where we are. isn't that great news? now we'll get even with _him_!" "i'll believe it when i see it for myself!" snapped blacky the crow. x buster bear becomes a hero the news that little joe otter told at the smiling pool,--how farmer brown's boy had run away from buster bear without even seeing him,--soon spread all over the green meadows and through the green forest, until every one who lives there knew about it. of course, peter rabbit helped spread it. trust peter for that! but everybody else helped too. you see, they had all been afraid of farmer brown's boy for so long that they were tickled almost to pieces at the very thought of having some one in the green forest who could make farmer brown's boy feel fear as they had felt it. and so it was that buster bear became a hero right away to most of them. a few doubted little joe's story. one of them was blacky the crow. another was reddy fox. blacky doubted because he knew farmer brown's boy so well that he couldn't imagine him afraid. reddy doubted because he didn't want to believe. you see, he was jealous of buster bear, and at the same time he was afraid of him. so reddy pretended not to believe a word of what little joe otter had said, and he agreed with blacky that only by seeing farmer brown's boy afraid could he ever be made to believe it. but nearly everybody else believed it, and there was great rejoicing. most of them were afraid of buster, very much afraid of him, because he was so big and strong. but they were still more afraid of farmer brown's boy, because they didn't know him or understand him, and because in the past he had tried to catch some of them in traps and had hunted some of them with his terrible gun. so now they were very proud to think that one of their own number actually had frightened him, and they began to look on buster bear as a real hero. they tried in ever so many ways to show him how friendly they felt and went quite out of their way to do him favors. whenever they met one another, all they could talk about was the smartness and the greatness of buster bear. "now i guess farmer brown's boy will keep away from the green forest, and we won't have to be all the time watching out for him," said bobby coon, as he washed his dinner in the laughing brook, for you know he is very neat and particular. "and he won't dare set any more traps for me," gloated billy mink. "ah wish brer bear would go up to farmer brown's henhouse and scare farmer brown's boy so that he would keep away from there. it would be a favor to me which ah cert'nly would appreciate," said unc' billy possum when he heard the news. "let's all go together and tell buster bear how much obliged we are for what he has done," proposed jerry muskrat. "that's a splendid idea!" cried little joe otter. "we'll do it right away." "caw, caw caw!" broke in blacky the crow. "i say, let's wait and see for ourselves if it is all true." "of course it's true!" snapped little joe otter. "don't you believe i'm telling the truth?" "certainly, certainly. of course no one doubts your word," replied blacky, with the utmost politeness. "but you say yourself that farmer brown's boy didn't see buster bear, but only his footprint. perhaps he didn't know whose it was, and if he had he wouldn't have been afraid. now i've got a plan by which we can see for ourselves if he really is afraid of buster bear." "what is it?" asked sammy jay eagerly. blacky the crow shook his head and winked. "that's telling," said he. "i want to think it over. if you meet me at the big hickory-tree at sun-up to-morrow morning, and get everybody else to come that you can, perhaps i will tell you." xi blacky the crow tells his plan blacky is a dreamer! blacky is a schemer! his voice is strong; when things go wrong blacky is a screamer! it's a fact. blacky the crow is forever dreaming and scheming and almost always it is of mischief. he is one of the smartest and cleverest of all the little people of the green meadows and the green forest, and all the others know it. blacky likes excitement. he wants something going on. the more exciting it is, the better he likes it. then he has a chance to use that harsh voice of his, and how he does use it! so now, as he sat in the top of the big hickory-tree beside the smiling pool and looked down on all the little people gathered there, he was very happy. in the first place he felt very important, and you know blacky dearly loves to feel important. they had all come at his invitation to listen to a plan for seeing for themselves if it were really true that farmer brown's boy was afraid of buster bear. on the big rock in the smiling pool sat little joe otter, billy mink, and jerry muskrat. on his big, green lily-pad sat grandfather frog. on another lily-pad sat spotty the turtle. on the bank on one side of the smiling pool were peter rabbit, jumper the hare, danny meadow mouse, johnny chuck, jimmy skunk, unc' billy possum, striped chipmunk and old mr. toad. on the other side of the smiling pool were reddy fox, digger the badger, and bobby coon. in the big hickory-tree were chatterer the red squirrel, happy jack the gray squirrel, and sammy jay. blacky waited until he was sure that no one else was coming. then he cleared his throat very loudly and began to speak. "friends," said he. everybody grinned, for blacky has played so many sharp tricks that no one is really his friend unless it is that other mischief-maker, sammy jay, who, you know, is blacky's cousin. but no one said anything, and blacky went on. "little joe otter has told us how he saw farmer brown's boy hurry home when he found the footprint of buster bear on the edge of the laughing brook, and how all the way he kept looking behind him, as if he were afraid. perhaps he was, and then again perhaps he wasn't. perhaps he had something else on his mind. you have made a hero of buster bear, because you believe little joe's story. now i don't say that i don't believe it, but i do say that i will be a lot more sure that farmer brown's boy is afraid of buster when i see him run away myself. now here is my plan: "to-morrow morning, very early, sammy jay and i will make a great fuss near the edge of the green forest. farmer brown's boy has a lot of curiosity, and he will be sure to come over to see what it is all about. then we will lead him to where buster bear is. if he runs away, i will be the first to admit that buster bear is as great a hero as some of you seem to think he is. it is a very simple plan, and if you will all hide where you can watch, you will be able to see for yourselves if little joe otter is right. now what do you say?" right away everybody began to talk at the same time. it was such a simple plan that everybody agreed to it. and it promised to be so exciting that everybody promised to be there, that is, everybody but grandfather frog and spotty the turtle, who didn't care to go so far away from the smiling pool. so it was agreed that blacky should try his plan the very next morning. xii farmer brown's boy and buster bear grow curious ever since it was light enough to see at all, blacky the crow had been sitting in the top of the tallest tree on the edge of the green forest nearest to farmer brown's house, and never for an instant had he taken his eyes from farmer brown's back door. what was he watching for? why, for farmer brown's boy to come out on his way to milk the cows. meanwhile, sammy jay was slipping silently through the green forest, looking for buster bear, so that when the time came he could let his cousin, blacky the crow, know just where buster was. by and by the back door of farmer brown's house opened, and out stepped farmer brown's boy. in each hand he carried a milk pail. right away blacky began to scream at the top of his lungs. "caw, caw, caw!" shouted blacky. "caw, caw, caw!" and all the time he flew about among the trees near the edge of the green forest as if so excited that he couldn't keep still. farmer brown's boy looked over there as if he wondered what all that fuss was about, as indeed he did, but he didn't start to go over and see. no, sir, he started straight for the barn. blacky didn't know what to make of it. you see, smart as he is and shrewd as he is, blacky doesn't know anything about the meaning of duty, for he never has to work excepting to get enough to eat. so, when farmer brown's boy started for the barn instead of for the green forest, blacky didn't know what to make of it. he screamed harder and louder than ever, until his voice grew so hoarse he couldn't scream any more, but farmer brown's boy kept right on to the barn. "i'd like to know what you're making such a fuss about, mr. crow, but i've got to feed the cows and milk them first," said he. now all this time the other little people of the green forest and the green meadows had been hiding where they could see all that went on. when farmer brown's boy disappeared in the barn, chatterer the red squirrel snickered right out loud. "ha, ha, ha! this is a great plan of yours, blacky! ha, ha, ha!" he shouted. blacky couldn't find a word to say. he just hung his head, which is something blacky seldom does. "perhaps if we wait until he comes out again, he will come over here," said sammy jay, who had joined blacky. so it was decided to wait. it seemed as if farmer brown's boy never would come out, but at last he did. blacky and sammy jay at once began to scream and make all the fuss they could. farmer brown's boy took the two pails of milk into the house, then out he came and started straight for the green forest. he was so curious to know what it all meant that he couldn't wait another minute. now there was some one else with a great deal of curiosity also. he had heard the screaming of blacky the crow and sammy jay, and he had listened until he couldn't stand it another minute. he just _had_ to know what it was all about. so at the same time farmer brown's boy started for the green forest, this other listener started towards the place where blacky and sammy were making such a racket. he walked very softly so as not to make a sound. it was buster bear. xiii farmer brown's boy and buster bear meet if you should meet with buster bear while walking through the wood, what would you do? now tell me true, _i'd_ run the best i could. that is what farmer brown's boy did when he met buster bear, and a lot of the little people of the green forest and some from the green meadows saw him. when farmer brown's boy came hurrying home from the laughing brook without any fish one day and told about the great footprint he had seen in a muddy place on the bank deep in the green forest, and had said his was sure that it was the footprint of a bear, he had been laughed at. farmer brown had laughed and laughed. "why," said he, "there hasn't been a bear in the green forest for years and years and years, not since my own grandfather was a little boy, and that, you know, was a long, long, long time ago. if you want to find mr. bear, you will have to go to the great woods. i don't know who made that footprint, but it certainly couldn't have been a bear. i think you must have imagined it." then he had laughed some more, all of which goes to show how easy it is to be mistaken, and how foolish it is to laugh at things you really don't know about. buster bear _had_ come to live in the green forest, and farmer brown's boy _had_ seen his footprint. but farmer brown laughed so much and made fun of him so much, that at last his boy began to think that he must have been mistaken after all. so when he heard blacky the crow and sammy jay making a great fuss near the edge of the green forest, he never once thought of buster bear, as he started over to see what was going on. when blacky and sammy saw him coming, they moved a little farther in to the green forest, still screaming in the most excited way. they felt sure that farmer brown's boy would follow them, and they meant to lead him to where sammy had seen buster bear that morning. then they would find out for sure if what little joe otter had said was true,--that farmer brown's boy really was afraid of buster bear. now all around, behind trees and stumps, and under thick branches, and even in tree tops, were other little people watching with round, wide-open eyes to see what would happen. it was very exciting, the most exciting thing they could remember. you see, they had come to believe that farmer brown's boy wasn't afraid of anybody or anything, and as most of them were very much afraid of him, they had hard work to believe that he would really be afraid of even such a great, big, strong fellow as buster bear. every one was so busy watching farmer brown's boy that no one saw buster coming from the other direction. you see, buster walked very softly. big as he is, he can walk without making the teeniest, weeniest sound. and that is how it happened that no one saw him or heard him until just as farmer brown's boy stepped out from behind one side of a thick little hemlock-tree, buster bear stepped out from behind the other side of that same little tree, and there they were face to face! then everybody held their breath, even blacky the crow and sammy jay. for just a little minute it was so still there in the green forest that not the least little sound could be heard. what was going to happen? xiv a surprising thing happens blacky the crow and sammy jay, looking down from the top of a tall tree, held their breath. happy jack the gray squirrel and his cousin, chatterer the red squirrel, looking down from another tree, held _their_ breath. unc' billy possum, sticking his head out from a hollow tree, held _his_ breath. bobby coon, looking through a hole in a hollow stump in which he was hiding, held _his_ breath. reddy fox, lying flat down behind a heap of brush, held _his_ breath. peter rabbit, sitting bolt upright under a thick hemlock branch, with eyes and ears wide open, held _his_ breath. and all the other little people who happened to be where they could see did the same thing. you see, it was the most exciting moment ever was in the green forest. farmer brown's boy had just stepped out from behind one side of a little hemlock-tree and buster bear had just stepped out from behind the opposite side of the little hemlock-tree and neither had known that the other was anywhere near. for a whole minute they stood there face to face, gazing into each other's eyes, while everybody watched and waited, and it seemed as if the whole green forest was holding its breath. then something happened. yes, sir, something happened. farmer brown's boy opened his mouth and yelled! it was such a sudden yell and such a loud yell that it startled chatterer so that he nearly fell from his place in the tree, and it made reddy fox jump to his feet ready to run. and that yell was a yell of fright. there was no doubt about it, for with the yell farmer brown's boy turned and ran for home, as no one ever had seen him run before. he ran just as peter rabbit runs when he has got to reach the dear old briar-patch before reddy fox can catch him, which, you know, is as fast as he can run. once he stumbled and fell, but he scrambled to his feet in a twinkling, and away he went without once turning his head to see if buster bear was after him. there wasn't any doubt that he was afraid, very much afraid. everybody leaned forward to watch him. "what did i tell you? didn't i say that he was afraid of buster bear?" cried little joe otter, dancing about with excitement. "you were right, little joe! i'm sorry that i doubted it. see him go! caw, caw, caw!" shrieked blacky the crow. for a minute or two everybody forgot about buster bear. then there was a great crash which made everybody turn to look the other way. what do you think they saw? why, buster bear was running away too, and he was running twice as fast as farmer brown's boy! he bumped into trees and crashed through bushes and jumped over logs, and in almost no time at all he was out of sight. altogether it was the most surprising thing that the little people of the green forest ever had seen. [illustration: buster bear was running away, too. page _71_.] sammy jay looked at blacky the crow, and blacky looked at chatterer, and chatterer looked at happy jack, and happy jack looked at peter rabbit, and peter looked at unc' billy possum, and unc' billy looked at bobby coon, and bobby looked at johnny chuck, and johnny looked at reddy fox, and reddy looked at jimmy skunk, and jimmy looked at billy mink, and billy looked at little joe otter, and for a minute nobody could say a word. then little joe gave a funny little gasp. "why, why-e-e!" said he, "i believe buster bear is afraid too!" unc' billy possum chuckled. "ah believe yo' are right again, brer otter," said he. "it cert'nly does look so. if brer bear isn't scared, he must have remembered something impo'tant and has gone to attend to it in a powerful hurry." then everybody began to laugh. xv buster bear is a fallen hero a fallen hero is some one to whom every one has looked up as very brave and then proves to be less brave than he was supposed to be. that was the way with buster bear. when little joe otter had told how farmer brown's boy had been afraid at the mere sight of one of buster bear's big footprints, they had at once made a hero of buster. at least some of them had. as this was the first time, the very first time, that they had ever known any one who lives in the green forest to make farmer brown's boy run away, they looked on buster bear with a great deal of respect and were very proud of him. but now they had seen buster bear and farmer brown's boy meet face to face; and while it was true that farmer brown's boy had run away as fast as ever he could, it was also true that buster bear had done the same thing. he had run even faster than farmer brown's boy, and had hidden in the most lonely place he could find in the very deepest part of the green forest. it was hard to believe, but it was true. and right away everybody lost a great deal of the respect for buster which they had felt. it is always that way. they began to say unkind things about him. they said them among themselves, and some of them even said them to buster when they met him, or said them so that he would hear them. of course blacky the crow and sammy jay, who, because they can fly, have nothing to fear from buster, and who always delight in making other people uncomfortable, never let a chance go by to tell buster and everybody else within hearing what they thought of him. they delighted in flying about through the green forest until they had found buster bear and then from the safety of the tree tops screaming at him. "buster bear is big and strong; his teeth are big; his claws are long; in spite of these he runs away and hides himself the livelong day!" a dozen times a day buster would hear them screaming this. he would grind his teeth and glare up at them, but that was all he could do. he couldn't get at them. he just had to stand it and do nothing. but when impudent little chatterer the red squirrel shouted the same thing from a place just out of reach in a big pine-tree, buster could stand it no longer. he gave a deep, angry growl that made little shivers run over chatterer, and then suddenly he started up that tree after chatterer. with a frightened little shriek chatterer scampered to the top of the tree. he hadn't known that buster could climb. but buster is a splendid climber, especially when the tree is big and stout as this one was, and now he went up after chatterer, growling angrily. how chatterer did wish that he had kept his tongue still! he ran to the very top of the tree, so frightened that his teeth chattered, and when he looked down and saw buster's great mouth coming nearer and nearer, he nearly tumbled down with terror. the worst of it was there wasn't another tree near enough for him to jump to. he was in trouble this time, was chatterer, sure enough! and there was no one to help him. xvi chatterer the red squirrel jumps for his life it isn't very often that chatterer the red squirrel knows fear. that is one reason that he is so often impudent and saucy. but once in a while a great fear takes possession of him, as when he knows that shadow the weasel is looking for him. you see, he knows that shadow can go wherever he can go. there are very few of the little people of the green forest and the green meadows who do not know fear at some time or other, but it comes to chatterer as seldom as to any one, because he is very sure of himself and his ability to hide or run away from danger. but now as he clung to a little branch near the top of a tall pine-tree in the green forest and looked down at the big sharp teeth of buster bear drawing nearer and nearer, and listened to the deep, angry growls that made his hair stand on end, chatterer was too frightened to think. if only he had kept his tongue still instead of saying hateful things to buster bear! if only he had known that buster could climb a tree! if only he had chosen a tree near enough to other trees for him to jump across! but he _had_ said hateful things, he _had_ chosen to sit in a tree which stood quite by itself, and buster bear _could_ climb! chatterer was in the worst kind of trouble, and there was no one to blame but himself. that is usually the case with those who get into trouble. nearer and nearer came buster bear, and deeper and angrier sounded his voice. chatterer gave a little frightened gasp and looked this way and looked that way. what should he do? what _could_ he do! the ground seemed a terrible distance below. if only he had wings like sammy jay! but he hadn't. "gr-r-r-r!" growled buster bear. "i'll teach you manners! i'll teach you to treat your betters with respect! i'll swallow you whole, that's what i'll do. gr-r-r-r!" "oh!" cried chatterer. "gr-r-r-r! i'll eat you all up to the last hair on your tail!" growled buster, scrambling a little nearer. "oh! oh!" cried chatterer, and ran out to the very tip of the little branch to which he had been clinging. now if chatterer had only known it, buster bear couldn't reach him way up there, because the tree was too small at the top for such a big fellow as buster. but chatterer didn't think of that. he gave one more frightened look down at those big teeth, then he shut his eyes and jumped--jumped straight out for the far-away ground. it was a long, long, long way down to the ground, and it certainly looked as if such a little fellow as chatterer must be killed. but chatterer had learned from old mother nature that she had given him certain things to help him at just such times, and one of them is the power to spread himself very flat. he did it now. he spread his arms and legs out just as far as he could, and that kept him from falling as fast and as hard as he otherwise would have done, because being spread out so flat that way, the air held him up a little. and then there was his tail, that funny little tail he is so fond of jerking when he scolds. this helped him too. it helped him keep his balance and keep from turning over and over. down, down, down he sailed and landed on his feet. of course, he hit the ground pretty hard, and for just a second he quite lost his breath. but it was only for a second, and then he was scurrying off as fast as a frightened squirrel could. buster bear watched him and grinned. "i didn't catch him that time," he growled, "but i guess i gave him a good fright and taught him a lesson." xvii buster bear goes berrying buster bear is a great hand to talk to himself when he thinks no one is around to overhear. it's a habit. however, it isn't a bad habit unless it is carried too far. any habit becomes bad, if it is carried too far. suppose you had a secret, a real secret, something that nobody else knew and that you didn't want anybody else to know. and suppose you had the habit of talking to yourself. you might, without thinking, you know, tell that secret out loud to yourself, and some one might, just might happen to overhear! then there wouldn't be any secret. that is the way that a habit which isn't bad in itself can become bad when it is carried too far. now buster bear had lived by himself in the great woods so long that this habit of talking to himself had grown and grown. he did it just to keep from being lonesome. of course, when he came down to the green forest to live, he brought all his habits with him. that is one thing about habits,--you always take them with you wherever you go. so buster brought this habit of talking to himself down to the green forest, where he had many more neighbors than he had in the great woods. "let me see, let me see, what is there to tempt my appetite?" said buster in his deep, grumbly-rumbly voice. "i find my appetite isn't what it ought to be. i need a change. yes, sir, i need a change. there is something i ought to have at this time of year, and i haven't got it. there is something that i used to have and don't have now. ha! i know! i need some fresh fruit. that's it--fresh fruit! it must be about berry time now, and i'd forgotten all about it. my, my, my, how good some berries would taste! now if i were back up there in the great woods i could have all i could eat. um-m-m-m! makes my mouth water just to think of it. there ought to be some up in the old pasture. there ought to be a lot of 'em up there. if i wasn't afraid that some one would see me, i'd go up there." buster sighed. then he sighed again. the more he thought about those berries he felt sure were growing in the old pasture, the more he wanted some. it seemed to him that never in all his life had he wanted berries as he did now. he wandered about uneasily. he was hungry--hungry for berries and nothing else. by and by he began talking to himself again. "if i wasn't afraid of being seen, i'd go up to the old pasture this very minute. seems as if i could taste those berries." he licked his lips hungrily as he spoke. then his face brightened. "i know what i'll do! i'll go up there at the very first peep of day to-morrow. i can eat all i want and get back to the green forest before there is any danger that farmer brown's boy or any one else i'm afraid of will see me. that's just what i'll do. my, i wish to-morrow morning would hurry up and come." now though buster didn't know it, some one had been listening, and that some one was none other than sammy jay. when at last buster lay down for a nap, sammy flew away, chuckling to himself. "i believe i'll visit the old pasture to-morrow morning myself," thought he. "i have an idea that something interesting may happen if buster doesn't change his mind." sammy was on the lookout very early the next morning. the first jolly little sunbeams had only reached the green meadows and had not started to creep into the green forest, when he saw a big, dark form steal out of the green forest where it joins the old pasture. it moved very swiftly and silently, as if in a great hurry. sammy knew who it was: it was buster bear, and he was going berrying. sammy waited a little until he could see better. then he too started for the old pasture. xviii somebody else goes berrying isn't it funny how two people will often think of the same thing at the same time, and neither one know that the other is thinking of it? that is just what happened the day that buster bear first thought of going berrying. while he was walking around in the green forest, talking to himself about how hungry he was for some berries and how sure he was that there must be some up in the old pasture, some one else was thinking about berries and about the old pasture too. "will you make me a berry pie if i will get the berries to-morrow?" asked farmer brown's boy of his mother. of course mrs. brown promised that she would, and so that night farmer brown's boy went to bed very early that he might get up early in the morning, and all night long he dreamed of berries and berry pies. he was awake even before jolly, round, red mr. sun thought it was time to get up, and he was all ready to start for the old pasture when the first jolly little sunbeams came dancing across the green meadows. he carried a big tin pail, and in the bottom of it, wrapped up in a piece of paper, was a lunch, for he meant to stay until he filled that pail, if it took all day. now the old pasture is very large. it lies at the foot of the big mountain, and even extends a little way up on the big mountain. there is room in it for many people to pick berries all day without even seeing each other, unless they roam about a great deal. you see, the bushes grow very thick there, and you cannot see very far in any direction. jolly, round, red mr. sun had climbed a little way up in the sky by the time farmer brown's boy reached the old pasture, and was smiling down on all the great world, and all the great world seemed to be smiling back. farmer brown's boy started to whistle, and then he stopped. "if i whistle," thought he, "everybody will know just where i am, and will keep out of sight, and i never can get acquainted with folks if they keep out of sight." you see, farmer brown's boy was just beginning to understand something that peter rabbit and the other little people of the green meadows and the green forest learned almost as soon as they learned to walk,--that if you don't want to be seen, you mustn't be heard. so he didn't whistle as he felt like doing, and he tried not to make a bit of noise as he followed an old cow-path towards a place where he knew the berries grew thick and oh, so big, and all the time he kept his eyes wide open, and he kept his ears open too. that is how he happened to hear a little cry, a very faint little cry. if he had been whistling, he wouldn't have heard it at all. he stopped to listen. he never had heard a cry just like it before. at first he couldn't make out just what it was or where it came from. but one thing he was sure of, and that was that it was a cry of fright. he stood perfectly still and listened with all his might. there it was again--"help! help! help"--and it was very faint and sounded terribly frightened. he waited a minute or two, but heard nothing more. then he put down his pail and began a hurried look here, there, and everywhere. he was sure that it had come from somewhere on the ground, so he peered behind bushes and peeped behind logs and stones, and then just as he had about given up hope of finding where it came from, he went around a little turn in the old cow-path, and there right in front of him was little mr. gartersnake, and what do you think he was doing? well, i don't like to tell you, but he was trying to swallow one of the children of stickytoes the tree toad. of course farmer brown's boy didn't let him. he made little mr. gartersnake set master stickytoes free and held mr. gartersnake until master stickytoes was safely out of reach. xix buster bear has a fine time buster bear was having the finest time he had had since he came down from the great woods to live in the green forest. to be sure, he wasn't in the green forest now, but he wasn't far from it. he was in the old pasture, one edge of which touches one edge of the green forest. and where do you think he was, in the old pasture? why, right in the middle of the biggest patch of the biggest blueberries he ever had seen in all his life! now if there is any one thing that buster bear had rather have above another, it is all the berries he can eat, unless it be honey. nothing can quite equal honey in buster's mind. but next to honey give him berries. he isn't particular what kind of berries. raspberries, blackberries, or blueberries, either kind, will make him perfectly happy. "um-m-m, my, my, but these are good!" he mumbled in his deep grumbly-rumbly voice, as he sat on his haunches stripping off the berries greedily. his little eyes twinkled with enjoyment, and he didn't mind at all if now and then he got leaves, and some green berries in his mouth with the big ripe berries. he didn't try to get them out. oh, my, no! he just chomped them all up together and patted his stomach from sheer delight. now buster had reached the old pasture just as jolly, round, red mr. sun had crept out of bed, and he had fully made up his mind that he would be back in the green forest before mr. sun had climbed very far up in the blue, blue sky. you see, big as he is and strong as he is, buster bear is very shy and bashful, and he has no desire to meet farmer brown, or farmer brown's boy, or any other of those two-legged creatures called men. it seems funny but he actually is afraid of them. and he had a feeling that he was a great deal more likely to meet one of them in the old pasture than deep in the green forest. so when he started to look for berries, he made up his mind that he would eat what he could in a great hurry and get back to the green forest before farmer brown's boy was more than out of bed. but when he found those berries he was so hungry that he forgot his fears and everything else. they tasted so good that he just had to eat and eat and eat. now you know that buster is a very big fellow, and it takes a lot to fill him up. he kept eating and eating and eating, and the more he ate the more he wanted. you know how it is. so he wandered from one patch of berries to another in the old pasture, and never once thought of the time. somehow, time is the hardest thing in the world to remember, when you are having a good time. jolly, round, red mr. sun climbed higher and higher in the blue, blue sky. he looked down on all the great world and saw all that was going on. he saw buster bear in the old pasture, and smiled as he saw what a perfectly glorious time buster was having. and he saw something else in the old pasture that made his smile still broader. he saw farmer brown's boy filling a great tin pail with blueberries, and he knew that farmer brown's boy didn't know that buster bear was anywhere about, and he knew that buster bear didn't know that farmer brown's boy was anywhere about, and somehow he felt very sure that he would see something funny happen if they should chance to meet. "um-m-m, um-m-m," mumbled buster bear with his mouth full, as he moved along to another patch of berries. and then he gave a little gasp of surprise and delight. right in front of him was a shiny thing just full of the finest, biggest, bluest berries! there were no leaves or green ones there. buster blinked his greedy little eyes rapidly and looked again. no, he wasn't dreaming. they were real berries, and all he had got to do was to help himself. buster looked sharply at the shiny thing that held the berries. it seemed perfectly harmless. he reached out a big paw and pushed it gently. it tipped over and spilled out a lot of the berries. yes, it was perfectly harmless. buster gave a little sigh of pure happiness. he would eat those berries to the last one, and then he would go home to the green forest. xx buster bear carries off the pail of farmer brown's boy the question is, did buster bear steal farmer brown's boy's pail? to steal is to take something which belongs to some one else. there is no doubt that he stole the berries that were in the pail when he found it, for he deliberately ate them. he knew well enough that some one must have picked them--for whoever heard of blueberries growing in tin pails? so there is no doubt that when buster took them, he stole them. but with the pail it was different. he took the pail, but he didn't mean to take it. in fact, he didn't want that pail at all. you see it was this way: when buster found that big tin pail brimming full of delicious berries in the shade of that big bush in the old pasture, he didn't stop to think whether or not he had a right to them. buster is so fond of berries that from the very second that his greedy little eyes saw that pailful, he forgot everything but the feast that was waiting for him right under his very nose. he didn't think anything about the right or wrong of helping himself. there before him were more berries than he had ever seen together at one time in all his life, and all he had to do was to eat and eat and eat. and that is just what he did do. of course he upset the pail, but he didn't mind a little thing like that. when he had gobbled up all the berries that rolled out, he thrust his nose into the pail to get all that were left in it. just then he heard a little noise, as if some one were coming. he threw up his head to listen, and somehow, he never did know just how, the handle of the pail slipped back over his ears and caught there. this was bad enough, but to make matters worse, just at that very minute he heard a shrill, angry voice shout, "hi, there! get out of there!" he didn't need to be told whose voice that was. it was the voice of farmer brown's boy. right then and there buster bear nearly had a fit. there was that awful pail fast over his head so that he couldn't see a thing. of course, that meant that he couldn't run away, which was the thing of all things he most wanted to do, for big as he is and strong as he is, buster is very shy and bashful when human beings are around. he growled and whined and squealed. he tried to back out of the pail and couldn't. he tried to shake it off and couldn't. he tried to pull it off, but somehow he couldn't get hold of it. then there was another yell. if buster hadn't been so frightened himself, he might have recognized that second yell as one of fright, for that is what it was. you see farmer brown's boy had just discovered buster bear. when he had yelled the first time, he had supposed that it was one of the young cattle who live in the old pasture all summer, but when he saw buster, he was just as badly frightened as buster himself. in fact, he was too surprised and frightened even to run. after that second yell he just stood still and stared. buster clawed at that awful thing on his head more frantically than ever. suddenly it slipped off, so that he could see. he gave one frightened look at farmer brown's boy, and then with a mighty "woof!" he started for the green forest as fast as his legs could take him, and this was very fast indeed, let me tell you. he didn't stop to pick out a path, but just crashed through the bushes as if they were nothing at all, just nothing at all. but the funniest thing of all is this--he took that pail with him! yes, sir, buster bear ran away with the big tin pail of farmer brown's boy! you see when it slipped off his head, the handle was still around his neck, and there he was running away with a pail hanging from his neck! he didn't want it. he would have given anything to get rid of it. but he took it because he couldn't help it. and that brings us back to the question, did buster steal farmer brown's boy's pail? what do you think? xxi sammy jay makes things worse for buster bear "thief, thief, thief! thief, thief, thief!" sammy jay was screaming at the top of his lungs, as he followed buster bear across the old pasture towards the green forest. never had he screamed so loud, and never had his voice sounded so excited. the little people of the green forest, the green meadows, and the smiling pool are so used to hearing sammy cry thief that usually they think very little about it. but every blessed one who heard sammy this morning stopped whatever he was doing and pricked up his ears to listen. sammy's cousin, blacky the crow, just happened to be flying along the edge of the old pasture, and the minute he heard sammy's voice, he turned and flew over to see what it was all about. just as soon as he caught sight of buster bear running for the green forest as hard as ever he could, he understood what had excited sammy so. he was so surprised that he almost forgot to keep his wings moving. buster bear had what looked to blacky very much like a tin pail hanging from his neck! no wonder sammy was excited. blacky beat his wings fiercely and started after sammy. and so they reached the edge of the green forest, buster bear running as hard as ever he could, sammy jay flying just behind him and screaming, "thief, thief, thief!" at the top of his lungs, and behind him blacky the crow, trying to catch up and yelling as loud as he could, "caw, caw, caw! come on, everybody! come on! come on!" poor buster! it was bad enough to be frightened almost to death as he had been up in the old pasture when the pail had caught over his head just as farmer brown's boy had yelled at him. then to have the handle of the pail slip down around his neck so that he couldn't get rid of the pail but had to take it with him as he ran, was making a bad matter worse. now to have all his neighbors of the green forest see him in such a fix and make fun of him, was more than he could stand. he felt humiliated. that is just another way of saying shamed. yes, sir, buster felt that he was shamed in the eyes of his neighbors, and he wanted nothing so much as to get away by himself, where no one could see him, and try to get rid of that dreadful pail. but buster is so big that it is not easy for him to find a hiding place. so, when he reached the green forest, he kept right on to the deepest, darkest, most lonesome part and crept under the thickest hemlock-tree he could find. but it was of no use. the sharp eyes of sammy jay and blacky the crow saw him. they actually flew into the very tree under which he was hiding, and how they did scream! pretty soon ol' mistah buzzard came dropping down out of the blue, blue sky and took a seat on a convenient dead tree, where he could see all that went on. ol' mistah buzzard began to grin as soon as he saw that tin pail on buster's neck. then came others,--redtail the hawk, scrapper the kingbird, redwing the blackbird, drummer the woodpecker, welcome robin, tommy tit the chickadee, jenny wren, redeye the vireo, and ever so many more. they came from the old orchard, the green meadows, and even down by the smiling pool, for the voices of sammy jay and blacky the crow carried far, and at the sound of them everybody hurried over, sure that something exciting was going on. presently buster heard light footsteps, and peeping out, he saw billy mink and peter rabbit and jumper the hare and prickly porky and reddy fox and jimmy skunk. even timid little whitefoot the wood mouse was where he could peer out and see without being seen. of course, chatterer the red squirrel and happy jack the gray squirrel were there. there they all sat in a great circle around him, each where he felt safe, but where he could see, and every one of them laughing and making fun of buster. "thief, thief, thief!" screamed sammy until his throat was sore. the worst of it was buster knew that everybody knew that it was true. that awful pail was proof of it. "i wish i never had thought of berries," growled buster to himself. xxii buster bear has a fit of temper a temper is a bad, bad thing when once it gets away. there's nothing quite at all like it to spoil a pleasant day. buster bear was in a terrible temper. yes, sir, buster bear was having the worst fit of temper ever seen in the green forest. and the worst part of it all was that all his neighbors of the green forest and a whole lot from the green meadows and the smiling pool were also there to see it. it is bad enough to give way to temper when you are all alone, and there is no one to watch you, but when you let temper get the best of you right where others see you, oh, dear, dear, it certainly is a sorry sight. now ordinarily buster is one of the most good-natured persons in the world. it takes a great deal to rouse his temper. he isn't one tenth so quick tempered as chatterer the red squirrel, or sammy jay, or reddy fox. but when his temper is aroused and gets away from him, then watch out! it seemed to buster that he had had all that he could stand that day and a little more. first had come the fright back there in the old pasture. then the pail had slipped down behind his ears and held fast, so he had run all the way to the green forest with it hanging about his neck. this was bad enough, for he knew just how funny he must look, and besides, it was very uncomfortable. but to have sammy jay call everybody within hearing to come and see him was more than he could stand. it seemed to buster as if everybody who lives in the green forest, on the green meadows, or around the smiling brook, was sitting around his hiding place, laughing and making fun of him. it was more than any self-respecting bear could stand. with a roar of anger buster bear charged out of his hiding place. he rushed this way and that way! he roared with all his might! he was very terrible to see. those who could fly, flew. those who could climb, climbed. and those who were swift of foot, ran. a few who could neither fly nor climb nor run fast, hid and lay shaking and trembling for fear that buster would find them. in less time than it takes to tell about it, buster was alone. at least, he couldn't see any one. [illustration: those who could fly, flew. those who could climb, climbed. _page 112._] then he vented his temper on the tin pail. he cuffed at it and pulled at it, all the time growling angrily. he lay down and clawed at it with his hind feet. at last the handle broke, and he was free! he shook himself. then he jumped on the helpless pail. with a blow of a big paw he sent it clattering against a tree. he tried to bite it. then he once more fell to knocking it this way and that way, until it was pounded flat, and no one would ever have guessed that it had once been a pail. then, and not till then, did buster recover his usual good nature. little by little, as he thought it all over, a look of shame crept into his face. "i--i guess it wasn't the fault of that thing. i ought to have known enough to keep my head out of it," he said slowly and thoughtfully. "you got no more than you deserve for stealing farmer brown's boy's berries," said sammy jay, who had come back and was looking on from the top of a tree. "you ought to know by this time that no good comes of stealing." buster bear looked up and grinned, and there was a twinkle in his eyes. "you ought to know, sammy jay," said he. "i hope you'll always remember it." "thief, thief, thief!" screamed sammy, and flew away. xxiii farmer brown's boy lunches on berries when things go wrong in spite of you to smile's the best thing you can do- to smile and say, "i'm mighty glad they are no worse; they're not so bad!" that is what farmer brown's boy said when he found that buster bear had stolen the berries he had worked so hard to pick and then had run off with the pail. you see, farmer brown's boy is learning to be something of a philosopher, one of those people who accept bad things cheerfully and right away see how they are better than they might have been. when he had first heard some one in the bushes where he had hidden his pail of berries, he had been very sure that it was one of the cows or young cattle who live in the old pasture during the summer. he had been afraid that they might stupidly kick over the pail and spill the berries, and he had hurried to drive whoever it was away. it hadn't entered his head that it could be anybody who would eat those berries. when he had yelled and buster bear had suddenly appeared, struggling to get off the pail which had caught over his head, farmer brown's boy had been too frightened to even move. then he had seen buster tear away through the brush even more frightened than he was, and right away his courage had begun to come back. "if he is so afraid of me, i guess i needn't be afraid of him," said he. "i've lost my berries, but it is worth it to find out that he is afraid of me. there are plenty more on the bushes, and all i've got to do is to pick them. it might be worse." he walked over to the place where the pail had been, and then he remembered that when buster ran away he had carried the pail with him, hanging about his neck. he whistled. it was a comical little whistle of chagrin as he realized that he had nothing in which to put more berries, even if he picked them. "it's worse than i thought," cried he. "that bear has cheated me out of that berry pie my mother promised me." then he began to laugh, as he thought of how funny buster bear had looked with the pail about his neck, and then because, you know he is learning to be a philosopher, he once more repeated, "it might have been worse. yes, indeed, it might have been worse. that bear might have tried to eat me instead of the berries. i guess i'll go eat that lunch i left back by the spring, and then i'll go home. i can pick berries some other day." chuckling happily over buster bear's great fright, farmer brown's boy tramped back to the spring where he had left two thick sandwiches on a flat stone when he started to save his pail of berries. "my, but those sandwiches will taste good," thought he. "i'm glad they are big and thick. i never was hungrier in my life. hello!" this he exclaimed right out loud, for he had just come in sight of the flat stone where the sandwiches should have been, and they were not there. no, sir, there wasn't so much as a crumb left of those two thick sandwiches. you see, old man coyote had found them and gobbled them up while farmer brown's boy was away. but farmer brown's boy didn't know anything about old man coyote. he rubbed his eyes and stared everywhere, even up in the trees, as if he thought those sandwiches might be hanging up there. they had disappeared as completely as if they never had been, and old man coyote had taken care to leave no trace of his visit. farmer brown's boy gaped foolishly this way and that way. then, instead of growing angry, a slow smile stole over his freckled face. "i guess some one else was hungry too," he muttered. "wonder who it was? guess this old pasture is no place for me to-day. i'll fill up on berries and then i'll go home." so farmer brown's boy made his lunch on blueberries and then rather sheepishly he started for home to tell of all the strange things that had happened to him in the old pasture. two or three times, as he trudged along, he stopped to scratch his head thoughtfully. "i guess," said he at last, "that i'm not so smart as i thought i was, and i've got a lot to learn yet." this is the end of the adventures of buster bear in this book because--guess why. because old mr. toad insists that i must write a book about his adventures, and old mr. toad is such a good friend of all of us that i am going to do it. the end * * * * * the adventures of buster bear books by thornton w. burgess * * * * * the bedtime story-books 1. the adventures of reddy fox 2. the adventures of johnny chuck 3. the adventures of peter cottontail 4. the adventures of unc' billy possum 5. the adventures of mr. mocker 6. the adventures of jerry muskrat 7. the adventures of danny meadow mouse 8. the adventures of grandfather frog 9. the adventures of chatterer, the red squirrel 10. the adventures of sammy jay 11. the adventures of buster bear 12. the adventures of old mr. toad 13. the adventures of prickly porky 14. the adventures of old man coyote 15. the adventures of paddy the beaver 16. the adventures of poor mrs. quack 17. the adventures of bobby coon 18. the adventures of jimmy skunk 19. the adventures of bob white 20. the adventures of ol' mistah buzzard * * * * * mother west wind series 1. old mother west wind 2. mother west wind's children 3. mother west wind's animal friends 4. mother west wind's neighbors 5. mother west wind "why" stories 6. mother west wind "how" stories 7. mother west wind "when" stories 8. mother west wind "where" stories * * * * * green meadow series 1. happy jack 2. mrs. peter rabbit 3. bowser the hound * * * * * the burgess bird book for children * * * * * note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see 15528-h.htm or 15528-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/5/5/2/15528/15528-h/15528-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/5/5/2/15528/15528-h.zip) sleepy-time tales the tale of cuffy bear by arthur scott bailey illustrated by harry l. smith new york grosset & dunlap publishers 1915 [illustration: cuffy gave it one good, hard cuff] +-------------------------------+ | | | _sleepy-time tales_ | | by | | arthur scott bailey | | --- | | the tale of cuffy bear | | the tale of frisky squirrel | | the tale of tommy fox | | the tale of fatty coon | | the tale of billy woodchuck | | the tale of jimmy rabbit | | the tale of peter mink | | the tale of sandy chipmunk | | the tale of brownie beaver | | the tale of paddy muskrat | | | +-------------------------------+ contents chapter i cuffy wakes up ii cuffy bear finds a porcupine iii cuffy and the wonderful spring iv cuffy learns something v cuffy and the maple-sugar vi cuffy meets a man vii the ice goes out of the river viii cuffy learns to swim ix a surprise x cuffy climbs blue mountain xi mrs. eagle is angry xii cuffy bear goes to market xiii haying-time xiv cuffy likes baked beans xv hunting for a bee-tree xvi the bees sting cuffy xvii cuffy bear goes swimming xviii cuffy frightens his mother xix the little bear peter xx learning to box xxi the forest fire xxii the rain comes xxiii cuffy bear grows sleepy i cuffy wakes up far up on the side of blue mountain lived cuffy bear with his father and mother and his little sister silkie. mr. bear's house was quite the finest for many miles around. it was what people call a cave, being made entirely of stone, and so there was no danger of its ever catching fire; and since it was built straight into the side of the mountain the roof was so very, very thick that cuffy's father never had to worry for fear a tree would fall upon his house and hurt his family. no matter how hard the wind blew, mr. bear was never afraid of that. little cuffy was not a bad bear at heart. but often when he was playing with silkie, his sister, he would lose his temper and cuff her on the head and make her cry. then his father or his mother would cuff _him_. somehow, he never could learn not to strike out when he became angry. that was why he was called cuffy. it happened sometimes that a day or two would pass without cuffy's cuffing his sister. and mr. bear and mrs. bear would begin to think that at last cuffy had been cured of his bad habit. "i do believe the child is growing better mannered," mrs. bear would say to her husband, as they watched their son and daughter playing upon the floor. and then just as likely as not, the first thing they knew cuffy would give silkie a good, hard box on the ear, or a slap right on the end of her nose. but for a long time every winter cuffy was never naughty. you might think that that was just before christmas. but no--it was not then. all winter long cuffy was just as good as any little bear could be. he was good because he was asleep! you see--when cold weather came, mr. and mrs. bear and their children stayed in their cozy house, which was snug and warm, and slept and slept and slept for weeks and weeks until spring came. now, this tale begins on the very first day of spring. and on that day mr. bear waked up. he rose slowly to his feet, for his bones felt stiff because he had been asleep for such a long time. and he was hungry--oh! very hungry, because he had not eaten anything for months and months, since he went to sleep at the beginning of winter. he went to the door of his house and looked out. and he saw that the weather was warm and fine. so he stepped back into the bedroom and said-_"ou-e-e-ee!"_ just like that. and then mrs. bear awaked. "spring has come," mr. bear told her, "and i am going out to fetch something to eat. wake up cuffy and silkie and tell them that it is time to get up." gently mrs. bear roused cuffy and silkie. "come, children! run out and play and get your lungs full of nice, fresh air. now, be good and don't go far away!" she said. ii cuffy bear finds a porcupine for a few minutes cuffy stood in the doorway and blinked and blinked. he rubbed his eyes, for the bright sunlight hurt them. but soon he and silkie were frisking and tumbling about in the front-yard. after a little while cuffy remembered that there was an old tree over in the pine woods--just the finest tree to climb that anybody could want. "let's go over to the old tree and play," cuffy said. "but mother told us not to go far away," silkie reminded him. "oh! i don't care," cuffy said. "besides, we'll be back before she knows it." but silkie would not go with him. so naughty cuffy started off alone for the pine woods. he found the old tree. it seemed smaller than he expected. the reason for that was because cuffy himself had grown tall during the months that he had spent in sleep. he climbed the tree to the very top and as he looked down over the snow he saw something moving a little way off. whatever it was, it was much smaller than cuffy himself, so he was not afraid. and he scrambled down to the ground and ran as fast as he could go to the place where he saw the small thing moving. cuffy wanted to see what it was. he was always like that. cuffy found a little animal covered with stiff, sharp quills and he knew that it was a porcupine. and all at once cuffy felt very hungry. he remembered that his father had sometimes brought home porcupine meat and--yes, cuffy actually smacked his lips! his mother was always telling him not to smack his lips, but cuffy forgot all about it now. as cuffy came running up mr. porcupine rolled himself into a round ball and lay perfectly still. now, cuffy remembered that his father had often told him never to touch a porcupine, because if he should he would get his paws stuck full of quills. but now cuffy decided that he would show his father that he too was clever enough to kill a porcupine. so he stepped close to the little round, prickly ball and gave it one good, hard cuff. the next instant cuffy gave a howl of pain. he was so angry that he struck the porcupine once more with his other front-paw. again cuffy howled! now both his front-paws were full of quills. they looked just like pincushions. and as cuffy saw what had happened he began to cry. he wanted his mother. so home he started. all the way he had to walk on his hind legs, because it hurt him terribly whenever he put one of his front-paws on the ground. cuffy wept very hard when mrs. bear pulled out the quills. and his paws were so sore that he could not feed himself. his mother had to put into his mouth bits of the frozen turnips that his father found in farmer green's field. and though afterward cuffy did many things that he ought not to have done, he never, never touched a porcupine again. iii cuffy and the wonderful spring the pricks of the porcupine's quills made cuffy bear's paws so sore that it was several days before he could run about again. and during all that time cuffy was a very good little bear. he did not cuff his sister silkie once. you see, he knew it would hurt his sore paws if he did. the days were still fine. cuffy loved to feel the bright sunshine upon his black coat. it warmed him through and through and he did not care at all if his feet _did_ get wet in the melting snow. at last one afternoon when his paws were quite well again cuffy strayed some distance down the side of blue mountain, he was alone, because silkie was asleep. you know, she was younger than cuffy and still had to take naps. cuffy had slid and tumbled down the mountainside until he was further from home than he knew. it did seem good to be able to put his paws upon the ground again without whimpering with pain. and coming to a short, steep place, cuffy felt so glad that he actually turned a somersault and landed in a heap at the foot of the bank. he sat there for a moment, brushing the soft snow out of his face, when a flash of light dazzled his eyes. it came from a tree right in front of him. and cuffy at once jumped up and ran to see what it was. he found that some one had fastened a shiny, new tin bucket to the trunk of the tree. cuffy felt that he _must_ have that bucket to play with. he knew that he could have heaps of fun rolling it about on the ground. and he was just going to knock it off the hook that held it when he noticed that a small spout had been driven into the tree just above the bucket. and as cuffy stood there on his hind legs, reaching up as high as he could, he saw a tiny drop fall from the spout and go splash! into the bucket. then, as he watched, another drop fell; and another and another and another. cuffy wondered where they came from. it must be--he thought--that there was a spring inside that tree. yes! he was sure of it, for the bucket was half full of water. he felt thirsty, for he had not had a drink since lunch-time. and so cuffy stuck his head into the pail and took a good, big swallow. the next instant he squealed with joy. it was the nicest water he had ever tasted in all his life, for it was quite sweet--just as if somebody had left a heap of honey in the bottom of the bucket. but when cuffy licked the end of the spout with his little red tongue he found that that tasted sweet too. yes! it certainly was a wonderful spring. cuffy was very glad that he had found it. and he decided that he would drink all he could of the delicious, sweet water and leave the pail hanging there. then he could come back the next day and there would be more of that wonderful water all ready and waiting for him to drink up. iv cuffy learns something after leaving the wonderful spring cuffy bear was so long getting home that he decided he would not say anything to his father and mother about what he had found. you see--he was afraid they would tell him not to go so far away from home again. but cuffy had not been long in the snug little house before he had a terrible stomach-ache. he stood the pain as long as he could without saying anything. but he simply _had_ to hang onto his little fat stomach with both his front paws. and at last he began to cry softly. then mrs. bear asked him what he had been doing; and before cuffy knew it he had told all about finding the delicious, sweet water. "how much did you drink?" asked his mother. "oh--only a little," cuffy answered faintly. then mrs. bear nodded her head three times. she was very wise--was mrs. bear. and she knew quite well that cuffy had drunk a great deal too much of that nice-tasting water. so she made cuffy lie down and gave him some peppermint leaves to chew. in a little while he began to feel so much better that before he knew it he had fallen asleep. when cuffy waked up he found that his father had come home. and soon mr. bear had cuffy on one knee, and silkie on the other, and he was telling them all about maple-sugar. for of course you knew all the time that what cuffy had found was not a spring at all--but a sugar-maple tree, which farmer green had tapped so that he might gather the sap and boil it until it turned to maple-sugar. if cuffy had gone further down the mountainside he would have found a great many other trees, each--like the one he discovered--with a tin bucket hanging on it to catch the sweet sap. "so you see there are many things for little bears to learn," mr. bear said, when he had finished. "and the one _big_ lesson you must learn is to keep away from men. farmer green visits those trees every day to gather the sap. so you must not go down there again." a cold shiver went up and down cuffy's back at these words. farmer green! cuffy had heard a great deal about farmer green and he certainly did not want to meet him all alone and far from home. but as soon as the tickle of that shiver stopped, cuffy forgot all about his fright. "this maple-sugar--does it taste as good as the sweet sap?" he asked his father. "yes, my son--a hundred times better!" mr. bear replied. "i ate some once and i shall never forget it." _a hundred times better!_ after he had gone to bed that night the words kept ringing in cuffy's ears. _a hundred times better! a hundred times better!... a hundred_--and now cuffy was fast asleep and--i am sorry to say it--sucking one of his paws for all the world as if it was a piece of farmer green's maple-sugar. v cuffy and the maple-sugar another day had come and all the morning long cuffy bear and his sister silkie played and played as hard as they could. they played that they were making maple-sugar. and they pretended to hang buckets on all the trees near mr. bear's house. there were no maple trees about cuffy's home--only pine and hemlock and spruce--but if you are just _pretending_ to make maple-sugar any sort of tree will do. while they were playing cuffy kept wishing for some _real_ maple-sugar. after all, the little cakes of snow that he and silkie made and _called_ maple-sugar seemed very tasteless, no matter how much cuffy pretended. and later, when silkie was taking her nap, and cuffy had no one to play with, he became so angry with the make-believe sugar that he struck the little pats of snow as hard as he could and spoiled them. and then, after one look toward the door of his father's house--to make sure that his mother did not see him--cuffy started on a trot down the mountainside. what do you suppose he was going to do? to tell the truth, cuffy himself did not quite know. when he came to the tree that he had found the day before he stopped and drank some of the sap once more; and he tried to imagine how sugar would taste _a hundred times sweeter_. then cuffy went on down the mountainside. at last he spied a little house in a clearing. from its chimney a stream of smoke rose, and as cuffy peeped from behind a tree he saw a man come out and pick up an armful of wood from the woodpile nearby. while cuffy watched, the man carried in several loads. soon the smoke began fairly to pour out of the chimney; and then the man came out once more, picked up an axe near the woodpile, and started off toward the other side of the clearing. cuffy was trembling with excitement. the wind blew right in his face and brought to him two odors that were quite different. one was the man-scent, which cuffy did not like at all, and which made his legs want to run away. the other smell was most delightfully sweet. and it made his nose want to go forward. which do you think won--cuffy's nose or his legs?... yes! his nose won! pretty soon cuffy slipped from behind the tree and scampered as fast as he could run to the door of the sugar-house--for that was what he had found. he stuck his head inside and oh, joy! there was no one there. just inside the door stood a tub full of something brown. one sniff told cuffy that it was maple-sugar and he began to gulp great mouthfuls of it. yes! his father was right. it certainly was a hundred times sweeter than the sap. in the middle of the room was a big pan which gave off clouds of steam. cuffy wanted to see it. and with his mouth full of sugar he walked up to the pan and looked into it. he saw a golden liquid, and cuffy felt that he simply _must_ taste that too. so he dipped both his front paws right into the bubbling syrup. vi cuffy meets a man and then how cuffy bear did roar--just one second after he had stuck his paws into the steaming pan. you see--he was so greedy that he had never once stopped to think that the syrup was boiling hot. now, usually if you pick up anything hot you can drop it at once. but it is not so with hot maple syrup. cuffy's paws were covered with the sticky brown stuff. he rubbed them upon his trousers, and he roared again when he saw what he had done. then cuffy had a happy thought. he would go out and shove his paws into a snowbank. that would surely cool them. so out of the sugar-house he dashed and across the clearing he ran, screaming _"ough! ough! ough!"_ at the top of his voice, for the hot syrup made his paws smart terribly. in his haste cuffy did not notice that he was headed in the direction in which the man had disappeared. now it happened that the man who tended the sugar-house fire had gone only to the edge of the clearing; and when he heard cuffy's shrieks he looked around in great surprise. he and cuffy saw each other at the same time. and like a flash cuffy turned and fairly flew the other way. the man ran after him for a few steps. but he soon saw that he could never catch cuffy. so he stood still and watched the little bear bob into the woods and vanish. poor cuffy's heart was beating as if it would burst. he was so frightened that he forgot all about his burned paws and he ran and ran and ran up the steep mountainside. he did not mind the climb; he was used to that. but to his great alarm the snow clung to his sticky paws until each was just a great, round lump. they looked like the hands of a snow-man. cuffy found it very hard to run with his paws like that. but he kept on and on, until at last he came in sight of his father's house. then he stopped and sat down, right behind a knoll, where his mother could not see him. he was very tired. and though he was no longer afraid that the man would catch him, he began to be afraid of something else.... a punishing? no--no! he had not thought of that. cuffy was afraid that he could never get rid of those big heavy lumps. he was afraid his paws would always be covered with those hard balls of snow. you must remember that he was a very _young_ little bear. well! after he had got his breath again cuffy began to nibble at his snow mittens. and little by little--to his delight--he removed them. and still he kept on nibbling at his paws, and--yes! he actually put them right inside his mouth and sucked them. he forgot all about his _manners_, for underneath the snow he found the most beautiful, waxy maple-sugar you can imagine. each paw was just one big lollypop! and though his burns still hurt him, cuffy did not care very much. for those lollypops were _two hundred times_ sweeter than anything he had ever tasted in all his life! vii the ice goes out of the river farmer green had taken his sap-buckets off the maple trees and _that_ meant the spring was fast going. at least, that was what mr. bear said. and cuffy noticed that every day there was a little less snow than there had been the day before. "the ice will soon go out," mr. bear said to cuffy's mother at breakfast one morning, "and then when i cross pleasant valley i shall have to swim the river." cuffy knew that his father meant swift river. in summer cuffy could look down from blue mountain and see the stream as it flashed through the valley. "will the ice go out of the river to-day?" cuffy asked. "well, now--" mr. bear said, "it might. and then again, it might not." mr. bear never said a thing was _so_ unless he was sure of it. now, cuffy thought it would be great fun to go down into the valley and find out for himself if the ice really did go out. he had an idea that it caused a terrific splitting and crashing and thundering noise and he thought that perhaps some fish would be tossed up on the bank and then he would have a good lunch. when mr. bear had gone off down the mountain, "to see a bear," as he explained to his wife, little cuffy sneaked away from the house. his mother was making the beds, and silkie was pretending to help her. now, nobody _sneaks_ unless he knows he is doing something wrong. cuffy knew that his parents would not let him go down into the valley alone, so he went without asking. and when he did at last come to the river there was ice along both banks; but between them ran a broad stream of swift water. "the ice must have gone out in the night," cuffy said to himself. and he looked about in the hope of finding some fish on the banks. but not one fish could he find. he was disappointed. and he crept out onto the ice as far as he could go and peeped over the edge into the water. he thought maybe he could at least catch a fish with his paw. cuffy lay quite still for a long time. and then at last to his delight he saw a fish right before him. he made a quick reach for it. and then there was a sharp _crack!_ the ice tipped and cuffy clung to it with all his claws to keep from falling into the river. he backed away from the edge and looked around. the bank was moving past him. he had never seen such a thing and he was surprised. then he gave a cry which sounded in his throat like _"oug!"_ and ended with _"i-s-s-s!"_ through his nose. it meant that cuffy was frightened. for he saw that the ice he was on had broken away and was floating rapidly down the stream. he had not caught the fish, either. but he forgot all about that now. viii cuffy learns to swim yes! cuffy bear was floating down the river on a cake of ice! how he wished he had been a good little bear and stayed at home, instead of running away to the river all alone! he was huddled up in a little black heap in the center of the cake, and crying as if his heart would break. for cuffy thought he would never see his mother and father and silkie again. if only he knew how to swim, like his father! but he didn't; and there he was, being swept away down the valley, right toward farmer green's house. it certainly was enough to make anybody weep. when cuffy thought about farmer green he was more frightened than ever and he began to scream. he remembered all the dreadful things he had heard about men and the things they do to little bears. pretty soon cuffy saw something move up on the bank ahead of him. and he stopped screaming. he was afraid that it was farmer green himself and he thought he had better keep still. then perhaps farmer green wouldn't see him. but to his dismay the big black thing began to slide down the steep bank right toward the river. cuffy's heart seemed to stand still. he shut his eyes tight and tried to make himself as small as he could. and he hardly breathed. then somebody called his name. cuffy was so surprised that he looked up, and there was his father standing on the edge of the stream. cuffy was _so_ glad to see him! mr. bear seemed very cross, but cuffy did not mind that, he was _so_ glad to see his father. "oh, father! what shall i do?" cuffy cried. mr. bear said just one word. it was _"jump!"_ cuffy could hardly believe his ears. _"jump!"_ said mr. bear again. "i don't know how to swim," cuffy whined. _"jump, jump, jump!"_ mr. bear repeated very sternly. still cuffy did not jump. he was so afraid of that rushing water! then mr. bear became very, very angry. he gave a great roar and plunged into the icy water. with a few strong strokes--for mr. bear was a fine swimmer--he reached the middle of the river. and as he swam close up to cuffy he reached out and gave that naughty, frightened little bear a shove that sent him flying into the stream. cuffy started to scream. but his shriek was cut off short as he sank, head and all, into the cold, cold river. in another moment his nose came up out of the water. it was only an instant, but to cuffy it seemed a long, long time before he could breathe again. and now, to his great surprise, he found that he was swimming as well as his father. now, little bears are different from little boys and girls. they don't have to _learn_ to swim. cuffy didn't know it. but his father did. that was why mr. bear told him to jump. he knew that as soon as cuffy found himself in the water he could swim as well as anybody. in another minute cuffy and his father were safe on the bank, and in another second after that they were running toward home as fast as cuffy could go, so they wouldn't take cold, you know. cuffy had to go to bed for the rest of the day, as a punishment. and as he lay on his little bed he could hear his father and mother laughing in the next room. he didn't see how they could laugh. but you know, cuffy didn't realize how funny he had looked, floating down the river on the cake of ice. ix a surprise one day cuffy bear and his little sister silkie had been making sand pies. and now, having grown tired of that, they were squatting down on the ground and had covered their legs with the clean white sand. perhaps they would have heaped the sand all over themselves, if silkie had not spied her father as he came climbing up the mountain. when they noticed that he was carrying something they both sprang up and ran to see what mr. bear was bringing home. mr. bear's mouth was stretched quite wide in what silkie and cuffy knew to be his most agreeable smile. you and i might not have felt so comfortable if we had looked past mr. bear's great white teeth into his big red mouth. but it was different with cuffy and silkie. they saw at once that their father was feeling very pleasant. "what's that?" silkie asked. as for cuffy, he had not stopped to ask any questions. he was already smelling of the small white animal his father had, and he poked it gently with his paw. he had not forgotten about the porcupine. but this strange animal seemed quite harmless. it was covered with things that looked a little bit like quills, only they were ever so much shorter and smaller. and cuffy found that they were much softer, too, for they did not prick him at all. "what is it?" this time it was cuffy who asked. "you'll see," mr. bear said again. "is it a new kind of rabbit?" silkie inquired. "huh! a rabbit!" cuffy laughed. "of course it isn't a rabbit," he said. "well--it's white, and its tail is short--" silkie began, "and--" "its ears are too small," cuffy told her, "and its tail is all curled up." "you'll see, children," mr. bear said again. "it's a surprise." "a surprise!" cuffy and silkie both shouted. they thought that was the name of the--oh! i almost told what the little animal really was. well! as mr. bear walked on toward his house, cuffy and silkie ran ahead and burst in upon their mother, both of them shouting at the top of their voices, "a surprise! a surprise! father's bringing home a surprise!" "why, ephraim bear!" mrs. bear exclaimed, as soon as she saw her husband. "wherever did you get that lovely little pig?" there--now you know what it was that mr. bear had. "it came from farmer green's, my dear," mr. bear said. "i remembered that this was your birthday, and so i thought i would bring home something 'specially nice, so that we could have a real feast." cuffy and silkie had never eaten any pig before. and when there was nothing left of the surprise except a few bones, cuffy couldn't help wishing that every day could be a birthday. x cuffy climbs blue mountain cuffy bear had never been very far up blue mountain beyond the place where his father's house nestled among the evergreens. you know, the summer before he had been a very small little bear indeed, and the higher one goes up blue mountain the harder the climbing becomes. but now cuffy was growing very fast; and he was able to scramble up places he could never have even crept a year ago. each day now cuffy climbed a little nearer the top of blue mountain. and at last the day came when he reached the very top. it was so high that the trees did not grow there. he found nothing but rocks everywhere, with just a little earth to fill the cracks. cuffy thought it great fun to clamber about all by himself and look down at the hills and valleys that stretched away in all directions. indeed, he hated to leave that delightful spot. but he noticed that the sun was getting low in the west and he knew that he must hurry home. so cuffy started down the mountainside. he did not pick out the easiest way to go. oh, no! he chose the very steepest places to slide down. and as he went slipping down the steepest cliff of all he came upon something that gave him a great surprise. for he saw, built right in the crack of a ledge, a big bird's nest made of sticks. it was the biggest bird's nest cuffy had ever seen; and in it were two great white eggs. they were the greatest white eggs cuffy had ever seen, too. how lucky! at least, that was what cuffy thought then. for he was very fond of birds' eggs, and his climb had made him even hungrier than usual. he stopped then and there and with one rap of the paw he broke one of the eggs and began to eat it. cuffy was enjoying his lunch very much. he had almost finished the first egg and was just about to turn to the other when he heard a deafening scream. cuffy looked all around. he thought that perhaps there was a pig up there on the mountain. but no! he couldn't see a thing. then came that cry again. this time it was louder. and it seemed to come from right over cuffy's head. he looked up then. and there was an enormous bird dropping right down on top of him! it seemed to cuffy that its wings stretched as wide as the branches of the great pine tree in his father's front-yard. he never even dreamed that there could be as big a bird in the whole world. and during that one instant that cuffy's little beady bright eyes were turned upwards he saw that the great bird had a wicked, hooked beak and claws that were as sharp as his own, and ever so much longer. one look was enough for cuffy. he turned and tumbled down the steep cliff, head over heels, with the eagle following him. xi mrs. eagle is angry yes! it was an eagle's nest that cuffy bear had found, and mrs. eagle had caught him eating her eggs. it was no wonder that she was wild with rage. and it was no wonder that cuffy ran for his life. he landed in a heap at the foot of the first cliff, jumped up like a flash and in a twinkling he was rolling heels over head down another cliff. again cuffy fell in a heap at the bottom. again he jumped up. and again he started to run. but this time, alas! mrs. eagle seized him. she pounced down upon his back; and she sunk her claws right into cuffy's neck. then mrs. eagle flapped her wings as hard as she could flap them. and cuffy felt himself rising. soon the earth was far, far beneath cuffy. and he was the most frightened little bear you could imagine. he was afraid mrs. eagle would drop him, and that he would fall down, down, down onto the rocks below. and he was afraid that mrs. eagle wouldn't drop him, too. because if she didn't cuffy felt only too sure that she would take him home and that she and mr. eagle would eat him for their dinner. you see, cuffy bear was in a sad fix. and for my part, when i first heard of his plight i did not see how he was ever going to get out of it alive. well--this was what happened. mrs. eagle _did_ intend to take cuffy home with her and serve him up for dinner that very night at first, after she had seized cuffy, she mounted higher and higher into the air, so that she could at last swoop down on the top of the mountain, right beside her nest. but cuffy was a very fat little bear. and soon mrs. eagle found that she had a heavy load. and it was only a few minutes before she discovered that she couldn't fly up any higher with cuffy. in fact, she began to sink, little by little. yes, cuffy was so heavy that as mrs. eagle grew tired his weight dragged her down toward the earth again. mrs. eagle saw what was happening. but she didn't want to let cuffy go. so she flew far out from the side of the mountain, hoping that she would soon feel stronger. but all the time she kept growing weaker and weaker. and all the time she kept falling faster and faster, until all at once mrs. eagle was afraid that she would lose her balance and go tumbling down onto the ground herself. she was still very angry. and she hated to lose the fine dinner she had been counting on. but she saw nothing else to do but let go of cuffy bear. so she gave one last scream of rage; and the next instant cuffy felt himself dropping through the air like a stone. now, cuffy had shut his eyes tight, just as he did when he was drifting down the river on the cake of ice; so he did not see what was happening. but as luck had it, when mrs. eagle let him go she was flying right over the top of a big fir-tree. and as cuffy fell, he dropped _plump!_ into the branches, and down he went, crashing through the soft, springing boughs. cuffy clutched wildly at the branches. and though he tumbled through them one after another, at last he managed to hold tight to a big limb. and then, after he had caught his breath again, he crept carefully down to the ground. he wondered where he was. the place had a strangely familiar look. it seemed to cuffy that he must have been there before. and then, as he peered cautiously around, what should he see but the door of his father's house, right in front of him! yes! mrs. eagle had dropped cuffy right in his father's door-yard! and cuffy wasn't even late for dinner. as he grew older cuffy often went to the top of blue mountain. but never, so long as he lived, did he get home again so quickly. xii cuffy bear goes to market "mother! when is my birthday?" cuffy asked, a few days after his father had brought home the little pig. "why, your birthday comes on the day the wild geese begin to fly south," mrs. bear said. "is that soon?" cuffy asked. "bless you, no! not for months and months!" his mother said. "and when is silkie's?" he continued. "the day of the first snow," she told him. cuffy knew that that was a long way off--not until summer had come and gone. "and father's?" he inquired once more. mrs. bear shook her head. "your father hasn't many birthdays," she said. "he was born on the day of the great forest fire. it may be a long time before he has another birthday. i hope so, anyhow," she added, "for a great forest fire is a dreadful thing." now you see, having a birthday like that is a good deal like being born on the twenty-ninth of february, when you have a birthday only once in four years. yes--it's a good deal like that, only worse. for you may have to wait years and years before another great fire comes. you understand, of course, that having no clocks or calendars or anything like that, the wild animals can keep track of birthdays only by remembering things that happen. all this made cuffy bear feel very sad. he had been hoping that some member of the family would have a birthday soon, and then perhaps his father would bring home another little pig for another nice feast. but now he saw that there was no chance of that happening for a long, long time. [illustration: mrs. eagle rose higher and higher] cuffy went out of doors then and thought and thought and thought. i'm almost ashamed to have to say it--he was planning to go down to farmer green's and get another fat, tender, little pig like the one his father had brought home. now, when a very young bear starts out to steal a pig there are many things to think of. in the first place, there was farmer green, and farmer green's boy johnnie, and farmer green's hired man. cuffy knew that he must be very, very careful not to meet them. to his great relief, when he had gone down into pleasant valley cuffy saw all three ploughing in a field. they did not see him at all. and so he felt very brave as he went on toward the farm buildings. farmer green's pig-pen was in a little, low building next the cow-barn. cuffy had no trouble in finding it. and he walked inside quite boldly and before you could have winked, almost, he had seized a little, white pig in his mouth and was loping off across the barnyard. the pig had looked very small to cuffy when he first saw and seized it. but now it seemed to be as many as twenty times bigger than cuffy was himself. that was because the pig made the most frightful noise cuffy had ever heard in all his life. cuffy felt as if he had a hundred pigs in his mouth, with their hundred snouts squealing right in his ears. though farmer green was at least a mile away, cuffy was sure he could hear. indeed, cuffy thought that all the world must hear that dreadful racket. and he was so frightened that he let go of the little pig and ran away towards home as fast as he could jump. that squealing rang in his ears for a long time. and if cuffy's father had brought home a pig that night cuffy couldn't have eaten a mouthful of it. he never wanted to see or taste of a pig again. and you may be sure he never wanted to _hear_ one, either. xiii haying-time after cuffy bear's adventure with mrs. eagle he did not stray far from home for several weeks. you can see, from that, that he had been badly frightened. yes--just to look at a crow flapping through the air made cuffy dizzy now; and nothing would have tempted him to go up the mountain again. but cuffy became very tired of playing near his father's house all the time. and at last he wandered down into the valley one day. there was something down there that cuffy wanted to see. you'd never guess what it was; so i'll tell you. cuffy bear wanted to see a mowing-machine. you may think that was queer. but you see, it was summer now. and down in the valley farmer green was making hay as fast as ever he could. early and late there sounded far up the mountainside the _click-clack-click-clack_ of farmer green's mowing-machine. when he first heard it cuffy bear had been very much alarmed; and he had come running into the house in a great fright. but his mother explained what the sound was. and after that cuffy had been very curious to see that wonderful machine, which was pulled back and forth through the meadows by horses, leaving behind it a broad path of grass which lay flat on the ground. so that was the reason why cuffy stole away from home. he felt that he simply _must_ see a mowing-machine. nothing but the sight of a mowing-machine would make him happy. he was sure of that. now, where farmer green's meadow met the forest, cuffy paused. he hid behind a tree and looked out over the field. the _click-clack_ sounded quite loud now. and from the other side of the meadow cuffy could see two horses coming towards him. there was a man driving them. and cuffy thought that they must be drawing the mowing-machine. so he waited quietly. and all the time the _click-clack-click-clack_ grew louder than ever. and pretty soon, as he peeped slyly around the tree, cuffy bear saw the mowing-machine. it came delightfully close to him, stopped, turned about, and moved away again toward the opposite side of the field. cuffy gave a great sigh of satisfaction. he had seen a mowing-machine. he was glad that he had come down into the valley. he was not the least bit sorry that he had disobeyed his parents and stolen away from home. yes, cuffy was feeling very happy as he went prowling along the border of the forest. he crept in and out of the bushes that fringed the hay-field, and was having altogether a most pleasant time; until all at once he stopped short. cuffy's nose sniffed the air for a moment, and the hairs on his back bristled just like those on a dog when he is startled. cuffy had caught a strange odor in the air. at first he was frightened. but after he had sniffed the air a few times he decided that whatever it was that he smelled, it had a good, pleasant odor, and made him think of something to eat. so cuffy bear began to nose about among the bushes. and presently he discovered, hidden away beneath a clump of ferns, a basket of delicious food. it was the haymakers' lunch that cuffy had found. and he lost no time. he began to eat as fast as he could. yes--i am very sorry to say that cuffy actually _gobbled_ farmer green's lunch. and he was so greedy that a strange thing happened to him. xiv cuffy likes baked beans cuffy bear found many good things in farmer green's lunch basket. he bolted all the bread-and-butter, and the doughnuts; and he found the custard pie to be about as enjoyable as any dainty he had ever tasted. and then, with his little black face all smeared with streaks of yellow custard, cuffy began to poke a small iron pot which stood in one corner of the big basket. presently the pot tipped over, its cover fell off, and soon cuffy was devouring the daintiest dish of all! baked beans! of course, he didn't know the name of those delicious, brown, mealy kernels. but that made no difference at all to cuffy. so long as he liked what he was eating the name of it never troubled him. the only thing that annoyed cuffy now was that the pot was not bigger. there were still a few beans which clung to the bottom; and try as he would, cuffy could not reach them, even with his tongue. he was sitting on the ground, with the pot between his legs, and his nose stuck into it as far as cuffy could get it. but still he could not reach those beans in the bottom. and pretty soon cuffy began to lose his temper. he stood up and gave a good, hard push against the ground. and so he managed to squeeze his nose a little further into the bean-pot. and now, to his huge delight, he could just reach the bottom of the pot with his long under-lip. in a twinkling cuffy had all the beans in his mouth. and he would have grinned--he felt so happy--if his nose hadn't been wedged so tightly into the pot that he couldn't even smile. since there were no more beans to be had out of _that_ pot, cuffy lifted his head. and to his great astonishment the bean-pot came right up off the ground too, almost as if it were alive. it startled cuffy, until he saw that it was he who lifted the pot, on his own nose. he seized the bean-pot and pulled. but his paws were so greasy with butter that he couldn't get a good grip on it. the pot still stuck on his nose as fast as ever. cuffy grunted. he couldn't really have said anything, with his mouth deep in the iron pot. so he just grunted in a pouting sort of way; and then he gave the pot a sharp rap against a rock. that hurt his nose. and this time he growled--as well as he could. but all his grunting and growling didn't frighten the bean-pot the slightest bit. there it stayed, perched on his nose just as if it would never come off. all this time the mowing-machine kept up a _click-clack-click-clack_! and cuffy thought that he had better get out of sight. so he plunged into the forest and started toward home. he felt very uncomfortable, for he began to wonder whether he would ever get rid of that troublesome pot. what puzzled him most was this thought: how would he ever be able to eat again, with that horrid thing over his nose? cuffy was very fond of riddles; but here was one that he did not like at all. when he reached home his father and mother and silkie all laughed so hard at the sight of him that cuffy began to whimper. and a big tear rolled from each eye, ran down the bean-pot, and dropped off the bottom of it. and then, with just one tug mr. bear pulled the bean-pot off his son's nose; and cuffy was himself again. he escaped a punishing, too, that time. and mrs. bear was very glad to get such a nice iron pot. she had wanted one for a long time. xv hunting for a bee-tree it was a very hot summer's day. even up on blue mountain cuffy bear felt the heat. and he wished that he might get rid of his thick coat. but though cuffy was beginning to believe himself a very wise little bear, he could think of no way to slip off his heavy black fur. so he sat down in the shade of a big tree, where the breeze blew upon him, and tried to be as cool as he could. except when he was asleep it was not often that cuffy was still for so long. but now he sat motionless for some time, with his bright red tongue hanging out of his mouth like a dog's. yes, he was quite still--all but his little, beady, bright eyes. _they_ kept moving about all the time. and they saw many things, for something or other is always happening in the forest. cuffy saw a gray squirrel stick its head up from the crotch of a tree nearby and peep at him. and he watched a wary old crow as he rested high in a tree-top and cawed a greeting to some of his friends who were flying past on their way to farmer green's cornfield. and cuffy noticed a bee as it lighted on a wild-flower right in front of him and sucked the sweetness out of it. but cuffy didn't pay much attention to that. and since he soon began to feel cooler he was just wondering what he would do next when it occurred to him that several bees had lighted upon the flowers near him, and that they had all flown off _in the same direction_. all at once cuffy forgot how hot and uncomfortable he had been; for now he was wondering if those bees weren't all of them flying home to make honey out of the sweet juices they had drawn from the flowers. and if they were--and if he could only follow them--then he would find the tree where they lived and he could have all the honey he wanted to eat. so cuffy followed on a little way in the direction in which the bees had disappeared. and then he sat down again and waited and watched very carefully. for a long time nothing happened. and cuffy was just about to give up his plan when a bee came buzzing past him and lighted on a mulberry blossom right above his head. and when the bee flew away, cuffy followed him until he lost sight of him. and then cuffy sat down once more. again he waited and watched. and again, just as he was getting discouraged, another bee flew past him and cuffy jumped up and followed _him_ just as fast as he could. [illustration: the bees were right there waiting for cuffy] cuffy bear must have spent as much as two hours doing that same thing over and over again. but he didn't mind that. in fact, it didn't seem long to him, at all, because he kept thinking of _honey_ all the time, and it made a sort of _game_ of what he was doing. if he won the game, you know, it meant that he was going to have something very nice for a prize. and sure enough, finally one of the bees cuffy was following lighted on an old tree, and cuffy saw him crawl into a hole in a queer nest which hung from a limb, and vanish. and as cuffy stood there, looking up at the nest, he saw as many as seven bees come out of that hole and fly away. then cuffy smiled all over his face, he felt so happy. at last he had found a bee-tree. there was no doubt about it. the time he had always wished for had come. he was going to have all the honey he could eat. xvi the bees sting cuffy as cuffy bear stood there on his hind legs looking up at the nest in the old tree he saw so many bees come out and fly away that he thought that there could not be any bees left at home--at least, not more than a half-dozen. and cuffy didn't believe that six bees would trouble him. there was one good thing in having a coat like his, he told himself: even if it was warm in summer, it was so thick that he didn't see how a bee could sting him through it. and with that, cuffy started to climb the old tree. it took him no time at all to hitch himself up the trunk. he shinned up just as any little boy would climb a tree. and in less time than it takes to tell it, cuffy had reached the limb from which the nest hung, and he had stuck his paw right through the side of it. you remember that something is always happening in the forest? well--something happened now. suddenly a terrible roar came from inside the nest. it was a queer, far-off sort of sound, and it made cuffy think of the noise swift river made, where it tumbled over the falls. but cuffy knew that there could be no water-fall inside the nest. he wondered if there was some strange animal in there.... and he drew back his paw very quickly. and then there came pouring out of the nest a perfect cloud of bees, every one of them buzzing as loud as ever he could. cuffy was startled at the sight. and he was more startled when they flew right into his face and lighted on his nose and began to sting. cuffy roared with the pain. yes--he gave such a great roar that he couldn't hear the bees at all. but the bees didn't seem to mind that. _they_ weren't afraid. they just kept on stinging. and they went for cuffy's eyes, too. and some of them even crawled down his ears. _that_ was the worst of all. just for a few moments cuffy slapped at the bees. and he tried to brush them off his face. but as fast as he swept them away from one spot they settled on another. and cuffy felt exactly as if somebody was sticking him with pins and needles. he forgot all about taking any of the honey to eat. he only wanted to get away from those bees. so he began to slide down the tree. but cuffy soon saw that the bees intended to go right along with him. they seemed to have no idea at all of staying at home, and as he scrambled down the tree cuffy thought very quickly. he hadn't put a paw on the ground before he knew what he was going to do. cuffy bear ran straight for the brook that goes tumbling down blue mountain to meet swift river. xvii cuffy bear goes swimming as cuffy bear tore through the forest, with the bees clustering all about his head, he thought he never would reach the brook. he was going straight for the deep pool, which he had often visited in order to watch the speckled trout darting about in the clear water. now and then cuffy paused in his mad rush, to bury his face in the thick blanket of dead leaves that covered the ground. but just as soon as he raised his head the bees would settle on his face again. and cuffy would rush off once more as fast as he could go. at last he came to the brook. and he leaped right off the big boulder that hung high over the pool and landed _ker-splash!_ right in the middle of it. how the water did fly in all directions! and cuffy went right down out of sight. of course, the bees wouldn't go down into the water too. they knew they'd be drowned if they did. so they lingered in a swarm above the water. they hovered there in the air and waited. and when, after a moment, cuffy's head came up out of the pool, they swooped down and began to sting him again. cuffy promptly ducked his head. and he swam under water to the further side of the pool and came up once more. to his surprise the bees were right there waiting for him. and he ducked under again, and swam to the opposite side, near the big boulder. and once more, when he came up to breathe, he found the buzzing bees all ready to pounce upon his nose. so poor cuffy had to keep pulling his head down into the pool. he would keep it there just as long as he could hold his breath; and then he would simply _have_ to stick his nose out of the water in order to draw some fresh air into his lungs. it was not long before cuffy became very tired from so much swimming. so he found a shallow place where he could stand on the bottom of the brook, with just enough water to cover him, and where he could poke his nose out whenever he had to. and just as often as his little black nose came up above the surface of the pool the bees lighted on it and stung cuffy again. all the rest of the afternoon poor cuffy had to stay there in the water. for the bees did not leave him until sundown. and then, when the last one had gone, cuffy crawled out of the brook and started toward home. his little round body and his sturdy little legs were not warm now, as they had been when he sat down beneath the tree to get cool. for the mountain brook was ice-cold; and cuffy felt quite numb from standing in it so long. but cold as he was, his face felt like fire. and for some reason, which cuffy couldn't understand, he could hardly see to pick his way through the shadows of the forest. xviii cuffy frightens his mother when cuffy bear reached home, after his adventure with the bees, he found that his father and mother and his sister silkie were just sitting down to their evening meal. cuffy didn't speak to them as he came into the room where they were. he felt too miserable to say a word, with his face aching and burning, and a terrible smarting in his eyes. so he just stumbled inside the room and tried to make himself as small as he could, so he wouldn't be noticed. cuffy's parents and his little sister all looked at the little bear who had come into their house without even a knock. and his father said, in a cross voice-"go away, little bear. where are your manners?" cuffy didn't know what to make of that. he didn't know what his father meant. so he just stood there and stared. "what do you want?" his father asked him. "whose little bear are you? and whatever is the matter with your face?" actually, cuffy's own father didn't know him. and neither did his mother or his sister. you see, cuffy's face was so swollen from the bees' stings that his face did not look like a little bear's face at all. his nose, instead of being smooth and pointed, was one great lump. and he hadn't a sign of an eye--just two slits. "what's the matter with you?" mr. bear asked again. "are you ill? have you the black measles?" at that, mrs. bear rose hastily from the table and snatched silkie up from her high-chair and took her right out of the room. the thought of black measles frightened mrs. bear. you know, they are ever so much worse than _plain_ measles. and she was afraid silkie would catch them. well, poor cuffy felt more miserable than ever. he saw that his own family didn't know him. and he wondered what was going to become of him. then, when his father told him very sternly to leave his house at once, cuffy began to cry. "oh! oh! oh!" he sobbed. "it's me--it's only me!" he cried. that very morning, at breakfast, his father had told him to say "it is i," instead of "it is _me_." but cuffy forgot all about that, now. "what! are you my cuffy?" his father exclaimed. for he knew cuffy at last. you see, the bees hadn't stung cuffy's _voice_. and in no time at all cuffy was tucked into his little bed and his mother was gently licking his poor, aching face with her tongue. among bears that is thought to be the very best thing to do for bee-stings. after a while cuffy stopped crying. and it was not long before he had fallen asleep. but it was two days before cuffy bear felt really himself again. and then his father went off into the forest with him and cuffy led the way to the bee-tree; for mr. bear knew enough about bees so that he could take their honey away from them without getting stung badly. he didn't mind just a _few_ stings, you know. well--what do you think happened? when they came to the old tree mr. bear took just one look at the nest into which cuffy had thrust his paw. and then he began to laugh, though he was somewhat disappointed, as you will see. "those aren't bees!" he told cuffy. "that's a hornets' nest!... we'd get no honey there." xix the little bear peter one day late in the summer cuffy bear went blackberrying. and on his way home he stopped at the deep pool where the hornets had chased him. he stayed there for a little while to watch the speckled trout as their bright sides flashed out of the depths of the clear water. as cuffy stood on the big boulder and looked down, he could see himself quite plainly, reflected in the still surface of the water. he waved a paw. and the little bear in the brook waved _his_ paw too. of course cuffy knew that it was himself he saw. but he pretended for a time that it was some other little bear who was playing with him. and he was having lots of fun. [illustration: cuffy received a slap on his nose] you see, mr. bear's family was the only bear family for miles and miles around. and cuffy often wished he had other little boy-bears to play with. to be sure, he had his sister, silkie. but she was a girl, and younger than he was, besides. well! cuffy danced a jig on the top of the big boulder. and the little bear down below danced a jig, too. and cuffy waved his paw again at the little bear in the water. and once more the little bear in the water waved a paw at _him_. it was great sport. and then cuffy happened to look up. to his great surprise, there stood a little bear on the other bank of the brook, right opposite. cuffy was astonished. the other little bear and the little bear in the brook looked as much alike as two peas. cuffy had never known that he could see a picture of himself by looking anywhere except into water. it was very strange, he thought. he waved a paw. and the little bear on the other bank waved _his_ paw. cuffy kicked up one of his hind legs. and the other little bear kicked up, too. cuffy was puzzled. was it really himself he was looking at? he nodded his head. and the other little bear nodded _his_ head. then cuffy tried something else. he stared very hard at the little bear opposite him, and called "hello!" "hello, yerself!" the other little bear said. and then cuffy knew that it was a real, live boy-bear over there, and not just a reflection of himself. cuffy was so delighted that he jumped down off the boulder and splashed through the brook, he was in such a hurry to get over there where the strange bear stood. "what's yer name?" the strange bear asked. cuffy told him. and he learned that the strange bear's name was peter, and that he lived around on the other side of blue mountain, as many as ten miles away. "aw--call me _pete_," the new bear said, as cuffy began to talk to him. "they all calls me pete." he stuffed his front paws into the pockets of his ragged trousers. "say, cuff--what was yer doin' up on that rock?" "playing!" cuffy told him. pete gave a grunt. "that's no way ter play," he said. "i'll show yer how ter have fun. watch me!" he led the way to the bank. and sitting down, he slid and rolled all the way down the steep slope and landed _plump!_ in the deep pool. now, cuffy was not going to have pete think that he couldn't do that, too. although he was wearing his best trousers that day (for his mother was mending his every-day pair), cuffy sat down on the top of the bank. and in another moment he had slid and slipped down the bank and landed _ker-splash!_ in the water. xx learning to box for some time cuffy bear and his new friend pete, as he preferred to be called, continued to slide down the bank of the brook into the water. they became plastered with mud from head to foot. and cuffy's best trousers had two big holes in them. but cuffy was having a splendid time. "let's box, cuff!" pete exclaimed, after a while. "what's that?" cuffy asked. he liked to be called "cuff." nobody had ever called him by that name before. he felt quite grown up. "i'll show yer," pete said. "stand up in front of me." cuffy stood up on his hind legs. "now, hold up yer paws--so." and cuffy did as he was told. "now hit me!" pete ordered. and cuffy struck out at his new friend. but to his surprise he didn't succeed in touching pete at all. instead, he received a stinging slap right on the end of his nose. cuffy didn't like that. in fact, it made him somewhat angry. and he struck out at pete once more. but pete dodged; and he gave cuffy a good, hard blow in the eye. and while cuffy was holding onto his poor eye, pete hit his other eye. and then cuffy couldn't see a thing, except bright spots that made him think of stars. he tried not to cry. but a few tears _would_ go rolling down his cheeks. and he did not like it at all when pete began to laugh. "huh! don't be a cry-baby!" pete said. "yer want ter learn ter box, don't yer?" "y-es!" cuffy answered. "well--quit yer cryin' and stand up here, then," pete commanded. so once more cuffy straightened up and held his paws in front of him. and when he thought pete wasn't watching, cuffy tried again to hit him. again cuffy missed. his paw didn't reach pete at all. but pete gave him a terrible poke right in the stomach, and cuffy sat down quickly on the ground and began to groan. pete sat down on the ground too and he looked at cuffy and grinned. "want any more?" he asked. cuffy shook his head. "i'll have to go home now," he said. "of course, i'd like to box some more; but i haven't time to-day." "first lesson's over, then," pete announced. "come back termorrer and i'll give yer another." "how long will it be before i learn to box well?" cuffy inquired. "you might learn next time," pete said, "better try it, anyhow," he advised. "all right!" cuffy said. he hoped that another time he would be able to show pete how it felt to be pounded. "all right--i'll be here at the same time to-morrow." so pete trotted off spryly in one direction; and cuffy trotted off in another, but not quite so spryly, for his head ached and one of his eyes was closed tight. "mercy sakes!" mrs. bear said, when cuffy came into the house. "look at those trousers!" cuffy looked at them as well as he could with his one good eye. "and you're _covered_ with mud!" his mother added severely. "what's the matter with your eye?" she demanded. "i've been having fun--" cuffy began. "i've been boxing--" "fun! boxing! you've _ruined_ your best trousers," she said. "you're a naughty little bear and you're going straight to bed. who has been playing with you?" she asked. mrs. bear was very much displeased when she learned about cuffy's new friend. "i know who he is," she said. "his people are very rough. they're not nice bears at all. and i forbid you aver to play with that peter again." so cuffy had to go to bed. and the next day when pete arrived at the pool he found no cuffy there. for some time he waited. but still there was no cuffy. "huh!" pete grunted, as he went away at last. "he's afraid, he is. and it's a good thing for him he didn't come back. if he had, i'd 'a' fixed him. yes, sir! i'd--" whatever it was that peter would have done to cuffy, i am sure it wouldn't have been at all pleasant, because the rough little bear peter scowled frightfully as he trotted off. xxi the forest fire it was quite late in the fall. and blue mountain looked very different from the way it had looked all summer. the leaves had turned to brown and yellow and scarlet, except where there were clumps of fir-trees, as there were around mr. bear's house. indeed, blue mountain looked almost as if it were all aflame, so bright were the autumn colors. mr. bear remarked as much to mrs. bear one day. "for goodness' sake, don't say that!" she exclaimed. "don't mention fire to me. the very thought of it makes me nervous. everything's _so_ dry! i shall be glad when it rains again." "it _is_ dry," mr. bear agreed. "but don't worry. it's like this every fall." and he went slowly down the mountain. cuffy and silkie were playing together that morning. cuffy was teaching silkie to box, though, to be sure, he knew very little about boxing. but he found it easy to tap silkie on the nose. and he had tapped her so hard that mrs. bear heard a sound very much like quarreling; and she came to the door to see what was the trouble. mrs. bear was just going to call to her children, when she noticed a peculiar odor in the air. and she stood quite still, and sniffed, just as cuffy had when he smelled the haymakers' lunch. you remember that the more cuffy sniffed, the less alarmed he had been. but it was different with mrs. bear. the longer she stood there, with her nose twitching, and snuffing up the air, the more uneasy she became. and pretty soon she saw something that gave her a great start. it was something white that mrs. bear saw, and it hung over the tree-tops; and where the wind had caught it it was spun out thin, like a veil. it was exactly what mrs. bear had feared--it was smoke! the forest was afire! and mrs. bear was very much alarmed. she sent cuffy and silkie into the house, because she wanted to be sure that they wouldn't wander off into the woods. and then their mother stood in the doorway and watched. she was looking for mr. bear. while she waited there the smoke kept rising more and more until there were great clouds of it; and at last mrs. bear could see red flames licking up to the tops of the trees. several deer came bounding past, and a great number of rabbits and squirrels. and then followed other animals that couldn't run so fast--such as raccoons, and skunks, and woodchucks. not for years had mrs. bear seen so many of the forest-people--and they were all so frightened, and in such a hurry to get away from the fire, that not one of them noticed mrs. bear as she stood in her doorway. "where are they going, mother?" it was cuffy who asked the question. he had crept up behind his mother and had been looking at the strange sight for some time. "they're going over to the lake, on the other side of the mountain," mrs. bear said. "are they going fishing?" cuffy inquired. mrs. bear shook her head. and then cuffy squeezed past her and saw what was happening. "oh-h, hurrah! hurrah!" he shouted. his mother looked at him in astonishment. "it's father's birthday!" he cried. you remember that cuffy's mother had told him that mr. bear was born on the day of a great forest fire, and that he never had a birthday except when the woods caught fire again. "now maybe father will bring home another little pig for a feast!" cuffy said hopefully. xxii the rain comes cuffy bear was disappointed. for when at last his father came galloping up to his house he brought no pig with him. indeed he seemed to have forgotten that it was his birthday. "get the children!" he shouted to mrs. bear, as soon as he came in sight. and pretty soon cuffy and silkie and their father and mother were hurrying along on their way to the lake that lay on the other side of the mountain. cuffy was delighted. he thought that perhaps he would see the naughty little bear peter again; for he remembered that peter lived around the mountain, right where they were going. they had travelled several miles when mr. bear stopped suddenly. and he said, "hah!" and he looked up at the sky. something had hit him right in the eye. you might think that mr. bear was angry. but no! he was very glad. for it was a drop of rain that had fallen upon him. and in a few minutes there were countless drops pattering down. yes, soon it was raining hard. and to cuffy's great disappointment they all started homewards again, for mr. bear knew that the rain would soon put the fire out. mr. bear had known all the time that his house wouldn't burn; for it was made of rock, and went straight into the side of the mountain. but he knew that if the woods all around caught fire it would be several days before they could go out and get anything to eat, or even a drink of water. and that was why he had started to lead his family away. when they were back in their house once more cuffy could think of only one thing that would make up for his not having seen the small bear peter again. and he climbed up on his father's knees and said-"will you go and get a little pig, father?" "a _pig_?" mr. bear exclaimed. "well, now--why on earth do you want a pig? what would you do with a pig?" "i'd eat it," cuffy answered promptly. "it's your birthday, you know. and we ought to have a pig so we can have a real feast." mr. bear smiled. and pretty soon he went out of the house. he was gone a long time. but at last he came back again, fairly staggering beneath the load that he carried. when cuffy saw what his father dropped down onto the floor he hopped up and down in his delight. there was no pig there, but cuffy didn't mind that. for mr. bear had brought home four rabbits, and four squirrels, and four porcupines, and four raccoons. and cuffy ate and ate until his skin grew so tight that he was afraid it would burst. he ate all of one rabbit, and one squirrel, and one raccoon. but he never touched his porcupine at all. it made him think of the time he had tried to kill a porcupine himself, and had got his paws stuck full of quills. but he had a real feast, just the same. xxiii cuffy bear grows sleepy far up blue mountain, and down in the valley too, the leaves had long ago fallen off the trees. and for some time the ground had been white with snow; for winter had come again. and cuffy bear's sister silkie had had a birthday-party the very first day it snowed. cuffy and silkie shouted with glee each morning now, when they went out of doors, where the earth was covered with a snow-blanket. and they played and played and had just as good a time as little boys and girls have when winter comes. as they scampered about in the door-yard their feet left tracks that looked exactly like the foot-prints of barefooted girls and boys. they played tag, and hide-and-seek, and turned somersaults. and one day, when mrs. bear called them into the house, they ate, each of them, several quarts of chestnuts which mr. bear had gathered and brought home. in fact, before mrs. bear knew it they had eaten a great many more chestnuts than were good for them. and cuffy, who had eaten the most, soon began to have a pain in his stomach. "that's what you get for being greedy," his mother told him. "i didn't eat many chestnuts," cuffy said. mrs. bear pointed to the floor. "what do you call those?" she asked. "chestnut-shells," cuffy replied, hanging his head. there was a great heap of shells on the floor where cuffy had sat. "pick them all up--every one of them," his mother ordered. "and when you have finished you may take a nap--both of you." cuffy yawned. "what do you say?" mrs. bear asked severely. "excuse me!" cuffy said hastily. "that's better!" said mrs. bear. "now do as i say. you'll be asleep before you know it. and i don't intend to have those chestnut shells lying on the floor all winter." you may think that that was a queer thing for mrs. bear to say. but when you see what happened, you'll understand what mrs. bear meant. as cuffy and silkie sat down on the floor and began gathering up the chestnut-shells they both yawned and yawned. and since mrs. bear had left the room they didn't bother to say "excuse me!" they were _so_ sleepy! and before little silkie had finished picking up her shells she just rolled herself up into a round ball and fell fast asleep. as for cuffy, being a little older, he managed to stay awake just long enough to get the floor all nice and clean. and then _he_ rolled himself into a ball and _he_ went to sleep, right there on the floor. so mrs. bear found them when she came back into the room. she smiled as she saw them. and picking up first one and then the other she carried them into their little bed-chamber and put them down gently and covered them over with leaves, so they would be snug and warm. yes, mrs. bear wanted her children to be warm, for she knew that they would not wake up again until spring. she had noticed for several days that cuffy and silkie were growing sleepy. and to tell the truth, mrs. bear was becoming sleepy herself. that very night she and mr. bear went to bed a whole hour earlier than usual. and the next day they never minded at all how cold it grew outside or how much the wind howled. for not one of mr. bear's family waked up at all! they just slept and slept and slept, the whole winter long. the end a word to grown ups to you;--parents, guardians, teachers and all others upon whom devolves the supremely important responsibility of directing the early years of development of childhood, this series of tuck-me-in tales which sketch such vivid and delightful scenes of the vibrant life of meadow and woodland should have tremendous appeal. in this collection of stories you will find precisely the sort of healthy, imaginative entertainment that is an essential in stimulating thought-germs in the child mind. merely from the standpoint of their desirability for helping the growing tot to pass an idle half hour, any one of these volumes would be worth your while. but the author had something further than that in mind. he has, with simplicity and grace, worthy of high commendation, sought to convey a two-fold lesson throughout the entire series, the first based upon natural history and the second upon the elementary principles of living which should be made clear to every child at the earliest age of understanding. the first of these aims he has accomplished by adapting every one of his bird characters to its living counterpart in the realm of biology. the child learns very definite truths about which the story is woven; learns in such a fascinating manner that he will not quickly forget, and is brought into such pleasant intimacy that his immediate sympathy is aroused. the author accomplishes the purpose of driving home simple lessons on good conduct by attributing the many of the same traits of character to his feathered heroes and heroines that are to be found wherever the human race made its habitation. the praise-worthy qualities of courage, love, unselfishness, truth, industry, and humility are portrayed in the dealings of the field and forest folk and the consequential reward of these virtues is clearly shown; he also reveals the unhappy results of greed, jealousy, trickery and other character weaknesses. the effect is to impress indelibly upon the imagination of the child that certain deeds are their own desirable reward while certain others are much better left undone. if any further recommendation is necessary, would it not be well to resort to the court of final appeal, the child himself? simply purchase a trial copy from your bookseller with the understanding that if it meets with the disapproval of the little man or woman for whom it is intended, he will accept its return. the tale of jolly robin of course, there is a time when jolly robin is only a nestling. then one day, after he tumbles out of the apple tree and falls squawking and fluttering to the ground, he takes his first lesson in flying. so pleased is jolly to know that he can actually sail through the air on his wings, that he goes out into the wide, wide world to shift for himself. one day, after advising with jimmy rabbit, he decides to become general laugh-maker to the inhabitants of pleasant valley, and he becomes one of mother nature's happiest little feathered folk, going about trying to make things a bit better in the world. true, he falls into many blunders and has many strange experiences, but his intentions are always the best, remember. slyly tucked away in this story of jolly robin and of his adventures, is much bird lore and philosophy,--both instructive and entertaining. the tale of betsy butterfly betsy butterfly is the owner of a pair of such beautifully colored wings and her sweet disposition matches them so perfectly that it is a very common occurrence to hear one of the tiny dwellers in farmer green's meadow remark: "why, the sun just has to smile on her!" of course, any lady so gifted is bound to have many admirers and betsy is no exception. but there are a few of her acquaintances who cannot keep from showing their jealousy of her popularity and these try in various unkind ways to make her disliked. the story of how she politely overlooks these rude attempts, in that way causing herself to be all the more thought of, is the best sort of example to any human girl or boy who wishes to know how to be sure of making friends. you will find that betsy is a great girl for giving parties and perhaps she will give you a few valuable ideas that will be useful sometime when you have a party of your own. buster bumblebee buster's intentions are all very good, but he is so awkward and stupid that he constantly stumbles into trouble, thereby causing his acquaintances much unnecessary discomfiture and himself no end of embarrassment. he is, furthermore, a terrific boaster, as you will learn when you read of his many declarations of the pummeling he would give the ferocious robber fly, if ever he chanced to meet that devouring assassin. what buster actually does when the unexpected encounter takes place will afford you a good laugh at his expense, and, finally, after you have romped and dallied with him through his many happy excursions you will close the book with a feeling that it has done you good to have known him, lazy and blundering though he is, for he is indeed the best natured fellow, and he is so anxious to buzz into everything that attracts his attention that you find you have learned a great many things you never before dreamed of about the tiny creatures of the fields. the tale of freddie firefly freddie firefly is most anxious to lighten the cares of his friends in pleasant valley for he is a most unselfish fellow and enjoys nothing more than seeing other people as happy as he. he has one grave fault, however, that prevents him from being a very great help, and that is his inability to remain long in one place. he is so full of spry gaiety that he never can be quite content unless he is dancing with his relatives in the hollow near the swamp or darting about farmer green's lawn. his friends often give him advice as to how he may use the wonderful light which he always carries with him, and finally mrs. ladybug tells him he should go to the railroad and work as a signal-man for the trains. you will hold your breath as you read about the exciting adventure that follows this suggestion, and you will no doubt agree with those to whom he later tells it that he is a very lucky freddie to escape. the tale of rusty wren rusty wren is another little neighbor in pleasant valley. his particular home there is farmer green's yard where he lives in a bright shiny home which is really a tin can with a hole in it! and dear me! i forgot all about rusty wren's family--his wife and six baby children who had to be given wren food by rusty and little chippy, jr. you will laugh heartily when you read about chippy growing so big and fat that he gets stuck in rusty's tiny doorway and can't get pulled out. my, what an exciting time it was! and you will laugh again when you watch rusty wren go 'way over to the bank of black creek all ready for a party when there really is no party. yes, you will agree with farmer green's boy and the rest of our friends in pleasant valley that rusty certainly is a very interesting little neighbor. the tale of daddy long-legs daddy is a person of such unusual appearance with his eight scrawny legs in contrast to ordinary people's two, and everything about his private life is such a mystery to his neighbors that his acquaintances give him credit for having a marvelous ability to look into the future. in fact, there are many two-legged humans, even to-day, who think he is a sort of soothsayer and mystery man. perhaps, if you are one of these, you will be inclined to change your mind after reading about his contest with old mr. crow to see which is really the wiser of the two. and would you not naturally suppose that anybody with so many legs to carry him would be the champion walker of the world? maybe daddy finds that it takes time to decide which of his feet he should put forward in taking the next step, or may be each separate foot has a notion of its own as to the direction daddy should choose; at any rate, he proves to be the slowest traveler imaginable. but he is so popular among his neighbors and you will like him too--he has so many quaint ideas. the tale of kiddie katydid kiddy katydid and his relatives were in possession of a secret that none of the pleasant valley folk can solve, though they waste much time and energy trying to guess it. even to this day it is doubtful if anyone other than kiddie himself really knows what katy did! but his friends are a curious lot and they work their brains over-time to think of some scheme to make kiddie tell. if you want to know what they do accidentally discover about kiddie himself and how excited every body becomes as the rare news spreads from mouth to mouth, you will find that and many other remarkable things about him in this interesting story of his life in the maple tree that grows in farmer green's yard. you will like kiddie. he is very modest and retiring--behaving very much as any well raised youngster should, and when you understand just how it happens that he keeps repeating that funny remark about katy, you can join him in the hearty laugh he has on his friends. the tale of old mr. crow mr. crow has a very solemn look--unless you regard him closely. but it is a very sly, knowing look, if you take pains to stare boldly into his eyes. like many human beings, he is fond of clothes, and he particularly likes gay ones, but perhaps that is because he is so black himself. anyhow, so long as he can wear a bright red coat and a yellow necktie--or a bright red necktie and a yellow coat--he is generally quite happy. one fall mr. crow decides to stay in pleasant valley during the winter, instead of going south, and he remembers all at once that he will need some warm clothing. now, mr. frog, the tailor, and jimmy rabbit, the shoemaker, know just how to talk to mr. crow to sell their merchandise, playing upon his vanity to buy the latest, and even to "set the styles," but they have to be pretty keen and sly to get the best of mr. crow in the end. mr. crow has his good points as well as his bad ones, and he helps farmer green a lot more than he injures him it is said. nevertheless, farmer green does not figure that way,--and in justice to old "jim crow," you should read of his adventures for yourself. the tale of solomon owl all the folks down in pleasant valley know solomon owl. well, it's this way. if you hear solomon owl on a dark night when his "wha-wha! whoo-ah!" sends a chill 'way up your spine, and if you see him you can never forget him, either. he has great, big, staring eyes that make you feel queer when you look at his pale face. no, sir, little folks like mr. frog, the tailor, certainly don't like to have any visits from solomon owl when solomon has a fine appetite. to be sure, farmer green isn't happy when solomon steals some of his fine chickens, and neither are the chickens for that matter. but solomon doesn't have all the fun on some one else. oh no! reddy woodpecker knows how to tease him by tapping with his bill on solomon's wooden house in the daytime, when every owl likes to sleep and dream of all the nice frogs and fat chickens they are going to feast on the next night, and then, out comes solomon all blinking with his big, black eyes. but this wise owl, who really isn't as wise as he looks, you know, finds a good way to fool reddy and the rest of the folks who like to annoy him, and lives his own happy life. the tale of jasper jay jasper jay really is a good sort of a fellow even though he does make a dreadful racket when he is around; but that is his way of talking. he just likes to tease for the fun of teasing and so naturally he gets into lots of scraps and seems bound to get into more. of course, lots of folks in pleasant valley don't like him because he plays tricks and pranks on them and makes them feel all ruffled up. why, he even thinks he can spoil the singing society, but do you know, the society fools jasper himself. and that time jimmy rabbit teaches jasper jay some manners down by the cedar tree--the poor jay stays there until his feet are frozen in the water before he finds out--well--you may discover for yourself what happens next. [illustration] [illustration] the arkansaw bear [illustration] new york r. h. russell publisher [illustration: bosephus and horatio] the arkansaw bear a tale of fanciful adventure told in song and story by albert bigelow paine in pictures by frank ver beck [illustration] new york: r. h. russell london: kegan paul, trench, trübner & co. mdcccxcviii copyright, 1898, by robert howard russell printed in the united states of america dedication to master frank ver beck, for whose bedtime entertainment the arkansaw bear first performed contents chapter page i the meeting of bosephus and horatio 11 ii the first performance 20 iii horatio and the dogs 29 iv the dance of the forest people 38 v good-bye to arkansaw 46 vi an exciting race 55 vii horatio's moonlight adventure 64 viii sweet and sour 73 ix in jail at last 83 x an afternoon's fishing 92 xi the road home 101 xii the bear colony at last. the parting of bosephus and horatio 111 [illustration] chapter i the meeting of bosephus and horatio [illustration: music] "oh, 'twas down in the woods of the arkansaw, and the night was cloudy and the wind was raw, [illustration: music] and he didn't have a bed and he didn't have a bite, and if he hadn't fiddled he'd a travelled all night." bosephus paused in his mad flight to listen. surely this was someone playing the violin, and the tune was familiar. he listened more intently. "but he came to a cabin and an old gray man, and says he, 'where am i going? now tell me if you can----'" it was the "arkansaw traveller" and close at hand. the little boy tore hastily through the brush in the direction of the music. the moon had come up, and he could see quite well, but he did not pause to pick his way. as he stepped from the thicket out into an open space the fiddling ceased. it was bright moonlight there, too, and as bosephus took in the situation his blood turned cold. in the center of the open space was a large tree. backed up against this tree, and looking straight at the little boy, with fiddle in position for playing, and uplifted bow, was a huge black bear! bosephus looked at the bear, and the bear looked at bosephus. "who are you, and what are you doing here?" he roared. "i--i am bo-se-bosephus, an' i--i g-guess i'm l-lost!" gasped the little boy. "guess you are!" laughed the bear, as he drew the bow across the strings. "an-an' i haven't had any s-supper, either." "neither have i!" grinned the bear, "that is, none worth mentioning. a young rabbit or two, perhaps, and a quart or so of blackberries, but nothing real good and strengthening to fill up on." then he regarded bosephus reflectively, and began singing as he played softly:- "oh, we'll have a little music first and then some supper, too, but before we have the supper we will play the music through." "no hurry, you know. be cool, please, and don't wiggle so." but bosephus, or bo, as he was called, was very much disturbed. so far as he could see there was no prospect of supper for anybody but the bear. "you'll forget all about supper pretty soon," continued the bear, fiddling. "you'll forget about your supper--you'll forget about your home- you'll forget you ever started out in arkansaw to roam." "my name is horatio," he continued. "called ratio for short. but i don't like it. call me horatio, in full, please." [illustration: "maybe you can play it yourself."] "oh, ye-yes, sir!" said bo, hastily. "see that you don't forget it!" grunted the bear. "i don't like familiarity in my guests. but i am clear away from the song i was singing when you came tearing out of that thicket. seems like i never saw anybody in such a hurry to see me as you were. "now the old man sat a-fiddling by the little cabin door, and the tune was pretty lively, and he played it o'er and o'er; and the stranger sat a-list'ning and a-wond'ring what to do, as he fiddled and he fiddled, but he never played it through." bo was very fond of music, and as horatio drew from the strings the mellow strains of "the arkansaw traveller" he forgot that both he and the bear were hungry. he could dance very well, and was just about to do so as the bear paused. "why don't you play the rest of that tune, horatio?" he asked, anxiously. "same reason the old man didn't!" growled the bear, still humming the air, "oh, raddy daddy dum--daddy dum--dum--dum-"why!" continued bo, "that's funny!" "is it?" snorted horatio; "i never thought so! "then the stranger asked the fiddler 'won't you play the rest for me?' 'don't know it,' says the fiddler, 'play it for yourself!' says he----" "maybe you can do what the stranger did, bosephus--maybe you can play it yourself, eh?" grunted the huge animal, pausing and glowering at the little boy. "oh, no, sir--i--i--that is, sir, i can only wh-whistle or s-sing it!" trembled bo. "what!" "y-yes, sir. i----" "you can sing it?" shouted the bear, joyfully, and for once forgetting to fiddle. "you don't say so!" "why, of course!" laughed bo; "everybody in arkansaw can do that. it goes this way:-[illustration: music] "then the stranger took the fiddle, with a ridy-diddle-diddle, and the strings began to jingle at the tingle of the bow, [illustration: music] while the old man sat and listened, and his eyes with pleasure glistened, as he shouted 'hallelujah! and hurray--for--joe!'" when bo had finished, horatio stood perfectly still for some moments in astonishment and admiration. then he came up close to the little boy. "look here, bo," he said, "if you'll teach me to play and sing that tune, we'll forget all about that sort o' personal supper i was planning on, and i'll take you home all in one piece. and anything you want to know i'll tell you, and anything i've got, except the fiddle, is yours. furthermore, you can call me ratio, too, see? 'oh, ridy-diddy, diddy-diddy----' how does it go? give me a start, please." bo brightened up at once. he liked to teach things immensely, and especially to ask questions. "why, of course, ratio," he said, condescendingly; "i shall be most happy. and i can make up poetry, too. ready, now:- "i am glad to be the teacher of this kind and gentle creature, who can play upon the fiddle in a----" "wait, bo! wait till i catch up!" cried horatio, excitedly. "now!" "hold on, ratio. i want to ask a question!" "all right! fire away! i couldn't get any further anyhow." "well," said bo, "i want to know how you ever learned to play the fiddle." horatio did not reply at first, but closed his eyes reflectively and drew the bow across the string softly. "oh, raddy daddy dum--daddy dum--dum--dum--"i took a course of lessons," he said, presently, "but it is a long story, and some of it is not pleasant. i think we had better go on with the music now:- "oh, there was a little boy and his name was bo, went out into the woods when the moon was low, and he met an old bear who was hungry for a snack, and his folks are still awaiting for bosephus to come back." "go right on with the rest of it," said bo, hastily. "for the boy became the teacher of this kind and gentle creature, who can play upon the fiddle in a very skilful way." "but i say, ratio," interrupted bo again, "how did it come you never learned to play the second part of that tune?" horatio scowled fiercely at first, and then once more grew quite pensive. he played listlessly as he replied:-"ah," he said, "my teacher was--was unfortunate. he taught me to play the first part of that tune. he would have taught me the rest of it--if he had had time." horatio drew the bow lightly across the strings and began to sing, in a far-away voice:- "oh, there was an old man, and his name was jim, and he had a pet bear who was fond of him; but the man was very cruel and abusive to his pet, and one day his people missed him, and they haven't found him yet." "oh!" said bo; "and w-what happened, horatio?" horatio paused and dashed away a tear. "it happened in a lonely place," he said, chewing reflectively, "a lonely place in the woods, like this. we were both of us tired and hungry and he grew impatient and beat me. he also spoke of my parents with disrespect, and in the excitement that followed he died." "oh!" said bo. "yes," repeated horatio, "he died. he was such a nice man--such a nice fat italian man, and so good while--while he lasted." "oh!" said bo. horatio sighed. "his death quite took away my appetite," he mused. "i often miss him now, and long for some one to take his place. i kept this fiddle, though, and he might have been teaching me the second part of that tune on it now if his people hadn't missed him--that is, if he hadn't been impatient, i mean." "oh, ratio!" said bo, "i will teach you the tune all through! and i will never be the least bit impatient or--or excited. are you ready to begin, ratio?" "all ready! play." "oh, it's fine to be the teacher of a kind and gentle creature who can play upon the fiddle in a very skilful way, and i'll never, never grieve him, and i'll never, never leave him, till i hear the rooster crowing for the break--of--day." "that was very nice, bo, very nice indeed!" exclaimed horatio, as they finished. "now, i am going to tell you a secret." "oh!" said bo. "i have a plan. it is to start a colony for the education and improvement of wild bears. but first i am going to travel and see the world. i have lived mostly with men and know a good deal of their taste--tastes, i mean--and have already travelled in some of the states. after my friend, the italian, was gone, i tried to carry out his plans and conduct our business alone. but i could only play the first part of that tune, and the people wouldn't stand it. they drove me away with guns and clubs. so i came back to the woods to practice and learn the rest of that music. my gymnastics are better--watch me." horatio handed bo his fiddle and began a most wonderful performance. he stood on his head, walked on his hands, danced on two feet, three feet, and all fours. then he began and turned somersaults innumerable. bo was delighted. "it wasn't because you couldn't play and perform well enough!" he cried, excitedly. "it was because you went alone, and they thought you were a crazy, wild bear. if i could go along with you we could travel together over the whole world and make a fortune. then we could buy a big swamp and start your colony. what do you say, ratio? i am a charity boy, and have no home anyway! we can make a fortune and see the world!" at first ratio did not say anything. then he seized bo in his arms and hugged him till the boy thought his time had come. the bear put him down and held him off at arm's length, joyously. "say!" he shouted. "why, i say that you are a boy after my own heart! we'll start at once! i'll take you to a place to-night where there are lots of blackberries and honey, and to-morrow we will set forth on our travels. here's my hand as a guarantee of safety as long as you keep your agreement. you mean to do so, don't you?" "oh, yes," said bo. "and now for camp. we can play and sing as we go." as the little boy took horatio's big paw he ceased to be even the least bit afraid. he had at last found a strong friend, and was going forth into the big world. he had never been so happy in his life before. "all right, ratio!" he shouted. "one, two, three, play!" and ratio gave the bow a long, joyous scrape across the strings, and thus they began their life together--bosephus whistling and the bear playing and singing with all his might the fascinating strains of "the arkansaw traveller":- "oh, there was a little boy and his name was bo, went out into the woods when the moon was low, and he hadn't had his supper and his way he didn't know, so he didn't have a bite to eat nor any place to go. then he heard the ridy-diddle of horatio and his fiddle, and his knees began to tremble as he saw him standing there; now they'll never, never sever, and they'll travel on forever- bosephus, and the fiddle, and the old--black--bear." chapter ii the first performance [illustration: music] "oh, 'twas down in the woods of the arkansaw i met an old bear with a very nimble paw; [illustration: music] he could dance and he could fiddle at the only tune he knew, and he fiddled and he fiddled, but he never played it through." bo was awake first, and horatio still lay sound asleep. as the boy paused the bear opened one eye sleepily and reached lazily toward his fiddle, but dropped asleep again before his paw touched it. they had found a very cosy place in a big heap of dry leaves under some spreading branches, and horatio, though fond of music, was still more fond of his morning nap. bosephus looked at him a moment and began singing again, in the same strain:- "then there came a little boy who could whistle all the tune, and he whistled and he sang it by the rising of the moon; and he whistled and he whistled, and he sang it o'er and o'er, till horatio learned the music he had never learned before." the bear opened the other eye, and once more reached for his fiddle. this time he got hold of it, but before his other paw touched the bow he was asleep again. bo waited a moment. then he suddenly began singing to the other part of the tune:-[illustration: music] "yes, he learned it all so neatly and he played it all so sweetly that he fell in love completely with the boy without a home; [illustration: music] and he said, 'no matter whether it is dark or sunny weather we will travel on together till the cows--come--home.'" before bosephus finished the first two lines of this strain horatio was sitting up straight and fiddling for dear life. "once more, bo, once more!" he shouted as they finished. they repeated the music, and horatio turned two handsprings without stopping. "now," he said, "we will go forth and conquer the world." "i could conquer some breakfast first," said bo. "do you like roasting ears?" "oh, yes," said bo. "well, i have an interest in a little patch near here--that is, i take an interest, i should say, and you can take part of mine or one of your own if you prefer. it really doesn't make any difference which you do just so you take it before the man that planted it is up." "why," exclaimed the boy as they came out into a little clearing, "that is old zack todd's field!" "it is, is it? well, how did old zack todd get it, i'd like to know." "why--why i don't know," answered bo, puzzled. [illustration: "once more, bo, once more"] "of course not," said the bear. "and now, bosephus, let me tell you something. the bears owned that field long before old zack todd was ever thought of. we're just renting it to him on shares. this is rent day. we don't need to wake zack up. you get over the fence and hand me a few of the best ears you can get quick and handy, and you might bring one of those watermelons i see in the corn there, and we'll find a quiet place that i know of and eat it." bo hopped lightly over the rail fence, and, gathering an armful of green corn, handed it to horatio. then he turned to select a melon. "has zack todd got a gun, bosephus?" asked the bear. "yes, sir-ee. the best gun in arkansaw, and he's a dead shot with it." "oh, he is. well, maybe you better not be quite so slow picking out that melon. just take the first big one you see and come on." "why, zack wouldn't care for us collecting rent, would he?" "well, i don't know. you see, some folks are peculiar that way. zack might forget it was rent day, and a man with a bad memory and a good gun can't be trusted. especially when he's a dead shot. there, that one will do. never mind about his receipt--we'll mail it to him." bo scrambled back over the fence with the melon and hastened as fast as he could after horatio, who was already moving across the clearing with his violin under one arm and the green ears under the other. "wait, ratio," called the little boy. "this melon is heavy." "is that a long range gun, bo?" called back the bear. "carries a mile and a half." "can't you move up a little faster, bo? i'm afraid, after all, that melon is bigger than we needed." the boy was fat and he panted after his huge companion. suddenly there was a sharp report, and bosephus saw a little tuft of fur fly from one of his companion's ears. horatio dodged frantically and dropped part of his corn. [illustration: conquering the world.] "run zigzag, bo!" he called, "and don't drop the melon. run zigzag. he can't hit you so well then," and horatio himself began such a performance of running first one way and then the other that bo was almost obliged to laugh in spite of their peril. "is this what you call conquering the world, ratio?" then, as he followed the bear's example, he caught a backward glimpse out of the corner of his eye. "oh, ratio," he called, "the whole family is after us. zack todd, and old mis' todd, and jim, and the girls." "how many times does that gun shoot?" "only once without loading." "muzzle loader?" "yep," panted bo. "old style." "good! hold on to that melon. we'll get to the woods yet." but horatio was mistaken, for just as they dashed into the edge of the timber, with the pursuers getting closer every moment, right in front of them was a high barbed-wire fence which the todd family had built around the clearing but a few days before. the bear dropped his corn, and the boy carefully, but with some haste, put down the melon. then they turned. the todd family was just entering the woods--old zack and the gun in front. he had loaded it and was putting on the cap as he ran. "what shall we do, bo, what shall we do now?" groaned horatio. the situation was indeed desperate. their pursuers were upon them, and in a moment more the deadly gun would be levelled. suddenly a bright thought occurred to bo. "i know," he shouted; "dance! horatio! dance!" [illustration: "dance! horatio, dance!"] horatio still had his fiddle under his arm. he threw it into position and ran the bow over the strings. in a second more he was playing and dancing, and bo was singing as though it were a matter of life and death, which indeed it was:-[illustration: music] "oh, there was a fine man and a mighty fine gun and a bear that played the fiddle and a boy that couldn't run, [illustration: music] and the boy was named bosephus and horatio the bear, and they couldn't find a bite to eat for breakfast anywhere." the todd family stood still at this unexpected performance and stared at the two musicians. old man todd leaned his gun against a tree. "now they couldn't buy their breakfast for their money all was spent, so they dropped into a cornfield to collect a little rent; but they only took a melon and an ear of corn or so, and were going off to eat them where the butter blossoms grow." the todd family were falling into the swing of the music. old mis' todd and the girls were swaying back and forth and the men were beating time with their feet. suddenly bosephus changed to the second part of the tune. [illustration: music] "but the old man got up early with a temper rather surly, and he chased them with his rifle and to catch them he was bound; [illustration: music] till he heard the ridy-diddle of horatio and his fiddle, then he shouted, 'hallelujah, girls, and all--hands--'round!'" the first line of this had started the todd family. old zack swung old mis' todd, and jim swung the girls. then all joined hands and circled to the left. they circled around bosephus and horatio, who kept on with the music, faster and faster. then there was a grand right and left and balance all--every one for himself--until they were breathless and could dance no more. horatio stopped fiddling and when old man todd could catch his breath he said to bo:-"look a-here; that bear of yours is a whole show by himself, and you're another. anybody that can play and sing like that can have anything i've got. there's my house and there's my cornfield; help yourselves." bo thanked him and said that the corn and the melon already selected would do for the time. to oblige them, however, he would take up a modest collection. he passed his hat and received a silver twenty-five cent piece, a spool of thread with a needle in it, a one-bladed jack-knife and two candy hearts with mottoes on them--these last being from the girls, who blushed and giggled as they contributed. then he said good-by, and the todd family showed them a gate that led into the thick woods. as the friends passed out of sight and hearing bosephus paused and waved his handkerchief to the girls. a little later horatio turned to him and said, impressively:-"that is what i call conquering the world, bosephus. we began a little sooner and more abruptly than i had expected, but it was not badly done, and, all things considered, you did your part very well, bosephus; very well indeed." chapter iii horatio and the dogs [illustration: music] "blossom on the bough and bird on the limb- old black bear sits a-grinning at him; [illustration: music] sawing on his fiddle and a-grinning at the jay- grinning as he saws the only tune that he can play." horatio leaned back against the tree and played lazily. bosephus lay stretched full length on the leaves, following idly with any words that happened to fit the strain. a blue jay just over their heads bobbed up and down on a limber branch, waiting for them to go. the bear took up the song as the boy paused:- "boy on the bank and bird on the tree- bird keeps a-bobbing and a-blinking at me; bobbing and a-blinking, and a-waiting for a bite- hasn't had a thing to eat since late--last--night." "i say, ratio," interrupted bo. "suppose we move on and give mr. jay bird a chance?" horatio grunted and rose heavily. after their adventure with the todd family they had come to a pleasant spot in the woods by a clear stream of water. bo, who had some matches in his pocket, had kindled a fire and roasted some of the corn, much to the disgust of horatio, who disliked fire and asked him why he didn't roast the watermelon, too, while he was about it. then they had eaten their breakfast together and taken a brief rest before setting forth again on their travels. a jay bird was waiting to peck the gnawed ears and melon rinds. he stared at the strange pair as they strolled away through the trees, the bear continuing his favorite melody. "ratio," said bo, pausing suddenly, "what is that i hear scurrying through the bushes every now and then?" "friends of mine, likely." "friends! what friends?" "oh, everything, most. wild cats, wolves, foxes and a few wild bears, maybe." "wildcats! bears! wolves!" "why, yes. often when i play in the moonlight they come out and dance for me." "oh!" said bo. "i have them all dancing together, sometimes. i'll have them dance for you before long." "oh, ratio, will you?" "yes. it's a lot of fun, but there's no money in it, and that's what we're after now, bo. we're going to buy that swamp, you remember, and start that bear colony." bosephus was about to reply when horatio paused and listened. there was the distant sound of dogs barking. "hello!" said bo. "we're coming to somewhere. now we'll give our first regular performance. come on, ratio!" horatio hesitated. "how many dogs do you suppose there are, bo?" he asked anxiously. "about a dozen, i should think, big and little." "little dogs, bo? little snapping dogs?" "that's what it sounds like, and some hounds and a big dog or two. you don't mind dogs, do you?" [illustration: "hello!" said bo, "we're coming to somewhere."] "oh, no, not in the least--but it's most too soon after breakfast to give a performance, and besides, all that noise would spoil the music." but the little boy, who still had in his pocket the two candy hearts that had been given to him by the todd girls, walked ahead proudly. "you trust to me!" he said, flourishing a large stick. "i'll stop their noise pretty quick. i'm not afraid of dogs!" the bear followed some steps behind, looking ahead warily. "i'm not afraid, either, you know," he said, anxiously. "only when there are so many of them they get me mixed up on my notes and one of them once had the ill manners to nip quite a piece out of my left hind leg." presently they came into an open space and plump upon a little crossroads village. a gang of dogs gambolled upon the common, chasing stray geese and barking loudly. horatio paused. "come back, bo," he whispered. "there's no money in that crowd." but bosephus was already some distance ahead, stick in hand, and the dogs had spied him. they ceased barking for a moment and two or three of the larger ones ran away. then the little dogs began yelping again and came on in a swarm. bo made at them with his stick, but they dodged past him, and in a moment more were circling and snapping around horatio, who was waving his violin wildly with one paw and slapping like a man killing mosquitoes with the other. "quick, bo!" he shouted. "quick! help! murder!" the little boy wanted to laugh, but ran up instead and began striking among the bevy of dogs that were torturing his friend. some of them howled and ran off a few paces. then they came flocking back. suddenly horatio thrust his violin into bo's hand and ran swiftly toward a large tree a few yards distant. the curs followed and jumped high into the air after him as he scrambled up to the lower limbs. bosephus hurried after them and struck at them so fiercely with his club that they ran yelping away. a number of villagers, attracted by the commotion, were now appearing from all quarters. "here come the people, ratio," said bo, grinning. "now we can perform." "all right, bo," whispered the bear, "but if you'll kindly hand me up that fiddle i believe i'll perform right where i am." the boy passed up the violin and the bear struck a few notes. by this time the people had collected. there was a blacksmith with a leather apron, and a painter with all colors of paint on his clothes. behind them there came a woman with dough on her hands and another carrying a baby. other men and women followed in the procession, and a dozen or so children of all ages. they halted a little way from the tree and stood staring. horatio sat astride a big limb and commenced playing. suddenly the boy threw back his head and began to sing:- "oh, the dogs barked loud and the dogs barked low and the boy stood still and the bear climbed the tree, at an old black bear and a boy named bo. while the people came a-running to see what they could see." the children drew up close at the first line and held their breath to listen. as the boy paused they shouted and screamed with laughter at the sight of horatio fiddling in the forks of the tree. the dogs sat in a row and howled plaintively. "sing some more," cried the woman with the baby; "it amuses my little joey." [illustration: bosephus hurried after them and struck at them.] "yes, the people came to see them and the dogs they ran away, and the boy began to sing and the bear began to play, till it tickled all the children and it made the baby crow, and it set the people dancing till they jumped--jim--crow." "more! more!" shouted the people as they formed into cotillons and reels. "sing us some more!" [illustration: music] "oh, the ridy-diddle-diddle of horatio and his fiddle, and the singing of bosephus they had never heard before; [illustration: music] and it set them all to spinning, and the music was so winning that they wined them and they dined them until half past four!" "wait! wait!" called the woman with the baby under her arm, "i'm all out of breath." "no, no!" shouted the children and all the others. "go on! go on!" so once more and yet another time the unwearied musicians repeated their performance, and then bo politely passed his hat to the dancers. when he had been to each one his hat was heavy with some money and many useful articles. "bring your bear down out of the tree," said the blacksmith, "and we will give you a feast on the common." bo beckoned to horatio to climb down, but the big fellow hesitated. the temptation of a feast, however, was too much for him. [illustration: once more and yet another time.] that night, when they had both danced again for the people and horatio had given them an acrobatic exhibition, they strolled away through the evening loaded down with luxuries of all kinds. the villagers went with them to the outskirts, and called good luck after them. as they passed into the quiet shadows of the forest they once more heard the barking of dogs in the distance behind them. "we have had a good day, bosephus," said horatio, with a long sigh of satisfaction. "we are on the road to fortune. to be sure, there are little thorns along the way--" "dogs, for instance--and guns." "trifles, bosephus; trifles. don't give them a second thought. of course you are only a little boy as yet, and will outgrow these fears." "and learn to climb trees." "i hope you don't think i climbed that tree out of fear, bosephus. i merely went up there to get a better view of my audience. one should always rise above his audience. and now let us sing softly together as we go. it will rest us after our day of conquest." and touching the strings lightly and singing softly together, the friends sought leisurely their evening camp. here and there a light rustle in the bushes showed that the forest people were listening, and the leaves of the forest whispered in time to their melody. chapter iv the dance of the forest people [illustration: music] "oh! the night was warm and the moon was bright, and we pitched our camp in the pale moonlight; [illustration: music] in the pale moonlight and the green, green shade, and we counted up together all the money we had made." the little boy jingled the coins in his hands, and sang reflectively to the bear's soft music. their camp fire had died down to a few red embers, and the big moon hanging in the tree-tops made all the world white and black, with one bright splash in the brook below. they had finished their supper, and bosephus, with the needle and thread given to him by old mis' todd, had patiently mended by the firelight a small rent in his trouser leg. horatio, watching him with a grin, had finally remarked:-"you see, bo, if you wore clothes like mine you wouldn't have to do that." "and if the dog that did that had got his teeth into your clothes, you'd have wished they were like mine. maybe that's why you didn't give him a chance." "let's count the money, bo." so then they counted up their day's receipts. there was something more than a dollar in all, and horatio was much pleased. [illustration: their camp-fire had died down.] "i tell you, bo," he said excitedly, "we've made a fine start. by and by we will earn two or three times that much every day, and be able to start our bear colony before you know it." the little boy fondled the coins over and over. they were the first he had ever earned. "ratio," he said at last, "don't you suppose when we get a lot of money--a big lot, i mean--we might give some to those people i used to live with?" horatio scowled. "i thought you said they didn't treat you well and you had to run away." "yes, of course, ratio; but then they were so poor and maybe they'd have been better to me if i had been able to earn money for them. they did take me out of the poor house, you know, and--" "and you tried to get back again and got lost and fell in with me. now you are sorry and want to go to them, do you?" and the bear snorted so fiercely that the little boy trembled. "oh, no! not for the world! i never was so happy in all my life, only i just thought--" "then don't think, bo," interrupted horatio, gently. "you are only a little boy. i will do the thinking for this firm. now for a song, bo, to soothe us." so then they played and sang softly together while the moon rose and the fire died out, and the boy poured the money from hand to hand, lovingly. "bosephus," said his companion, as they paused, "were those people you lived with nice people? nice fat people, i mean?" "not very. old mr. sugget might have been pretty fat if he'd had more to eat, but mis' sugget wasn't made to get fat, i know. it wasn't her build." "it was the old man that abused you, wasn't it?" "well, mostly." "knocked you about and half starved you?" "sometimes, but then----" "wait, please. i have an idea. when we get our bear colony started we'll invite this sugget party to visit us. we'll feed him--all he can eat. by and by, when he gets fat--how long do you suppose it will take him to get fat, bo? fat enough, i mean?" "fat enough for what?" shivered bo. horatio drew the horsehair briskly across the strings and looked up at the moon. "fat enough to be entertaining," he grinned, and began singing:- "oh, there was an old man and his ways were mighty mean, and he wasn't very fat and he wasn't very lean, till he went to pay a visit to a colony of bears, then you couldn't find a nicer man than he was, anywheres." while the bear played the little boy had been watching a slim, moving shadow that seemed to have drifted out from among the heavier shadows into the half-lit open space in front of them. as the music ceased it drifted back again. "play some more, ratio," he whispered. again the bear played and again the slim shadow appeared in the moonlight and presently another and another. some of them were slender and graceful; some of them heavier and slower of movement. as the music continued they swung into a half circle and drew closer. now and then the boy caught a glimpse of two shining sparks that kept time and movement with each. he could hardly breathe in his excitement. "look there, ratio," he whispered. horatio did not stir. "sh-h!" he said softly. "my friends--the forest people." the bear slackened the music a little as he spoke and the shadows wavered and drew away. then he livened the strain and they trooped forward again eagerly. just then the moon swung clear of the thick trees and the dancers were in its full flood. the boy watched them with trembling eagerness. a tall, catlike creature, erect and graceful, swayed like a phantom in and out among the others, and seemed to lead. as it came directly in front of the musicians it turned full front toward them. it was an immense gray panther. at any other time bo would have screamed. now he was only fascinated. its step was perfect and its long tail waved behind it, like a silver plume, which the others followed. two red foxes kept pace with it. two gray ones, a little to one side, imitated their movements. in the background a family of three bears danced so awkwardly that bo was inclined to laugh. "we will teach them to do better than that when we get our colony," he said. horatio nodded without pausing. the dancers separated, each group to itself, the gray panther in the foreground. spellbound, the boy watched the beautiful swaying creature. he had been taught to fear the "painter," as it was called in arkansaw, but he had no fear now. he almost felt that he must himself step out into that enchanted circle and join in the weird dance. new arrivals stole constantly out of the darkness to mingle in the merrymaking. a little way apart a group of rabbits skipped wildly together, while near them a party of capering wolves had forgotten their taste for blood. two plump 'coons and a heavy bodied 'possum, after trying in vain to keep up with the others, were content to sit side by side and look on. other friends, some of whom the boy did not know, slipped out into the magic circle, and, after watching the others for a moment, leaped madly into the revel. the instinct of the old days had claimed them when the wild beasts of the forest and the wood nymphs trod measures to the pipes of pan. the boy leaned close to the player. "the rest of it!" he whispered. "play the rest of it!" "i am afraid. they have never heard it before." "play it! play it!" commanded bo, excitedly. there was a short, sharp pause at the end of the next bar, then a sudden wild dash into the second half of the tune. the prancing animals stopped as if by magic. for an instant they stood motionless, staring with eyes like coals. then came a great rush forward, the gray panther at the head. the boy saw them coming, but could not move. "sing!" shouted horatio; "sing!" for a second the words refused to come. then they flooded forth in the moonlight. bo could sing, and he had never sung as he did now. [illustration: music] "oh, our singing, yes our singing, all our friends to us 'tis bringing, for it sets the woods to ringing, and the forest people know [illustration: music] that we do not mean to harm them in their dancing, nor alarm them- we are seeking but to charm them with the sounds of long ago." [illustration: the instinct of the old days had claimed them.] at the first notes of the boy's clear voice the animals hesitated; then they crept up slowly and gathered about to listen. they did not resume dancing to this new strain. perhaps they wanted to learn it first. bo sang on and on. the listening audience never moved. then horatio played very softly, and the singer lowered his voice until it became like a far off echo. when bo sang like this he often closed his eyes. he did so now. the music sank lower and lower, until it died away in a whisper. the boy ceased singing and opening his eyes gazed about him. here and there he imagined he heard a slight rustle in the leaves, but the gray panther was gone. the frisking rabbits and the capering wolves had vanished. the red and gray foxes, the awkward bears and the rest of that frolicking throng had melted back into the shadows. so far as he could peer into the dim forest he was alone with his faithful friend. chapter v good-bye to arkansaw "oh, the wind blows cold and the wind blows raw, when the night comes on in the arkansaw- yes, the wind blows cold and the snow will fall. and bosephus and horatio must travel through it all." the little boy's voice quavered as he sang, and his teeth chattered. it had been more than two months since he started on his travels with horatio, and the october nights, even in southern arkansaw, were beginning to be chilly. the night before he had in some way got separated from his friend's warm furry coat and woke shivering. he kindled a fire now, singing as he worked, while horatio touched the chords of his violin pensively. he did not feel the cold. nature was providing him with his winter furs. "bo," he said presently, "you'll have to have some heavier clothes. either that or we'll have to go farther south. as for me, you know, i could go to sleep in a hollow tree and not mind the winter, but you couldn't do it, and i don't intend to, either, this year; we're making too much money for that." bo laughed in spite of the cold and jingled his pockets. they were more than half full of coin, and he had a good roll of bills in his jacket besides. "no," he said; "we are getting along too well. we'll be rich by spring if we keep right on. i'm thinking, though, that we'll never be able to get south fast enough if we walk." "look here, bo; you're not thinking about putting me on that cyclone thing they call a train, are you?" "well, not exactly, but yesterday where we performed i heard a fellow say that there was a river right close here, and steamboats. you wouldn't mind a steamboat, would you, ratio?" "of course not. i don't mind anything. i've always wanted to ride on one of those trains, only i knew the people would be frightened at me, and as for a steamboat, why, if i should meet a steamboat coming down the road--" "but steamboats don't come down the roads, ratio; they go on the water." "water! water that you drink, and drown things in?" "of course! and if the boat goes down we'll be drowned, too." horatio struck a few notes on the violin before replying. "bo," he said presently, "you're a friend of mine, aren't you? a true friend?" "yes, ratio, you know i am." "well, then, don't you go on one of those boats. it would grieve me terribly if anything should happen to you. i might not be able to save you, bo, and then think how lonely i should be." and horatio put one paw to his eyes and sobbed. "oh, pshaw, ratio! why, i can swim like everything. i'm not afraid." "but you couldn't save us both, bo--i mean, we both couldn't save the fiddle--it would get wet. think--think of the fiddle, bo!" the fire was burning brightly by this time and the little boy was getting warm. he laughed and rubbed his hands and began to sing:- "oh, we're going down the river on a great big boat, and horatio's so excited he can hardly play a note, for he never liked the water and he never learned to swim, and he thinks if he goes sailing now his chances will be slim." horatio stopped short and snorted angrily. "i want you to understand," he said, sharply, "that i'm not afraid of anything. you'll please remember that night when the forest people danced and you thought your time had come, how i saved you by making you sing. there's nothing i fear. why if--" but what horatio was about to say will never be known, for at that moment there came such a frightful noise as neither of them had ever heard before. it came from everywhere at once, and seemed to fill all the sky and set the earth to trembling. it was followed by two or three fierce snorts and a dazzling gleam of light through the trees. the little boy was startled, and as for the bear, he gave one wild look and fled. in his fright he did not notice a small shrub, and, tripping over it, he fell headlong into a clump of briars, where he lay, groaning dismally that he was killed and that the world was coming to an end. suddenly bosephus gave a shout of laughter. "get up, ratio," he called, "it's our steamboat! we're right near the river and didn't know it. they're landing, too, and we can go right aboard." the groaning ceased and there was a labored movement among the briars. presently horatio crept out, very much crestfallen, and picked up the violin, which in his haste he had dropped. "bo," he said, sheepishly, "i never told you about it before, but i am subject to fits. i had one just then. they come on suddenly that way. all my family have them and act strangely at times. i'm sure you don't think for a moment that i was frightened just now." [illustration: he fell headlong.] "oh, no, of course not. you merely picked out that briar patch as a good place to have a fit in. do you always think the world's coming to an end when you are taken that way?" "we'll go right aboard, bo; you are a little timid, no doubt, so i'll lead the way." and horatio stepped out briskly toward the lights and voices and the landing steamer. a few steps brought them out to the river bank and a full view of the boat that had crept silently around a bend to the woodyard, where it was halting to take on fuel. the gang plank had not been pushed out to the bank as yet, but a white ray of light shot from a small window to the dark shore and looked exactly like a narrow board. the boy and the bear were both deceived by it, and horatio in his eagerness to show his bravery did not pause to investigate. "take the fiddle, bo," he said, loftily, "and i'll show you how to get on a boat. you should always be brave, bosephus." bosephus took the instrument and horatio, with arms extended as a balance, stepped straight out into nothing and vanished. there was a sudden splash, a growl, a scrambling sound in the shallow water and horatio's head appeared above the bank. bosephus, at first frightened, was now doubled with laughter. "oh, ratio," he gasped, "how funny of you to try to walk on a moonbeam!" horatio shook himself and sniffed angrily. a wide gang plank was now being lowered from the boat, and as it touched the bank the boy stepped quickly aboard, followed by the wet, shambling bear. "oh, there was an old bear on a dark, dark night, who tried to walk on a beam of light," sang bo, as he crossed the plank, "but the beam wouldn't hold and the bear broke through, and now horatio follows, as horatio ought to do." "hello!" called a voice. "where did you come from?" bo looked up and saw a brawny man with a group of wondering negroes behind him. "we are travelling," said bo, "and we want to go down the river. we can pay our way and will make music for you, too." "good boy," said the mate. "go right up and report to the clerk, then come back down here, and after we get this wood loaded we'll give you some supper and you can give us a show." on the upper deck the few passengers gathered around and made much of the arrivals. all asked questions at once, and bo answered as best he could. horatio kept silent--he never talked except when he was alone with bo. the boy kept his hand on the bear's head, and when the boat backed away and puffed down stream he felt his big friend tremble, but a little later, when they had had a good supper, ratio's fear passed off, and on the lower deck, where all hands collected, the friends gave an entertainment that not only won for them free passage down the river, but a good collection besides. it was far in the night when the performance ended. the officers, passengers and crew kept calling for more, and the travellers were anxious to accommodate them. the negroes went wild over the music, and patted and danced crazily whenever horatio played. finally bo sang a good night song:-[illustration: music] "now, we've had a lot of music, and we've had some supper, too, and we're sailing down the river in a little steam canoe, [illustration: music] and we love to be obliging with our music, but it seems that we ought to go a-sailing to the land of pleasant dreams. [illustration: the negroes went wild over the music.] [illustration: the little boy was in the land of dreams.] [illustration: music] and i must not fail to mention we enjoy your kind attention, and the favors you have shown to us have filled us with delight, [illustration: music] and to-morrow we will play for you and sing our songs so gay for you, but now you will excuse us if we say--good--night." bosephus and horatio were both offered staterooms on the upper deck, but horatio preferred to sleep outside, and the little boy said he would sleep there also. horatio sat up for some moments after bo had stretched himself to rest, looking at the dark wooded banks and the starlight on the water behind them. "bo," he said, at last, "we are going to see the world now, sure enough." "yes, ratio," was the sleepy answer. "bo, do you suppose our camp fire is still burning back yonder?" no answer. "i hate to leave old arkansaw, don't you, bo?" but the little boy was in the land of dreams. chapter vi an exciting race "sailing down the river so early in the morn, sailing down the river so early in the morn, sailing down the river so early in the morn, never was so happy since the day that i was born." the boat on which horatio and bosephus had taken their passage made no landings during the night, and the little boy and the big bear slept soundly on the deck together. rather too soundly, as will be seen later. at daybreak the next morning bosephus was wide awake, singing softly and watching through the mist the queer forms of the cypress trees, with the long spanish moss swinging from the limbs. horatio, hearing the singing, rubbed his eyes and sat up. he had never been so far south before, so the scenery was new to both of them, and when they came to open spaces and saw that the shores were only a few inches higher than the river and that fields of waving green came right to the water's edge they were both pleased and surprised at this new world. the climate had changed, too, and the air was warm and spring-like. "i tell you, bo," said horatio grandly, "there's nothing like travel. you're a lucky boy, bo, to fall in with me. why, the way you've come out in the last few months is wonderful. of course, there is a good deal of room yet for improvement, and there are still some things that you are rather timid of, but when i remember how you looked the first minute i saw you, and then to see the sociable way you sit up and talk to me now, you really don't seem like the same boy, bosephus, you really don't." the little boy leaned up close to his companion. "oh, there was a little boy and his name was bo," he sang softly, remembering their first meeting. "went out into the woods when the moon was low," added the bear, strumming lightly the strings of the violin. "and he met an old bear that was hungry for a snack, and the folks are still awaiting for bosephus to come back." they continued together in a half whisper. "ratio," said the little boy, confidentially, "did you really intend to--to have me--you know, ratio--for--for supper until i taught you the tune? did you, ratio?" horatio gazed away across a broad cane field, where the first streak of sunrise was beginning to show. "for the boy became the teacher of the kind and gentle creature who could play upon the fiddle in a very skilful way," he sang dreamily, and then both together once more:- "now he'll never, never leave him, and he'll never, never grieve him, and we're singing here together at the break--of--day." "this is very pleasant travelling," commented horatio thoughtfully. "it beats walking, at least for speed and comfort. of course, there are a number of places we cannot reach by boat," he added, regretfully. "not in southern louisiana, ratio. i've heard that there's a regular tangle of rivers and bayous all over the country, and that boats go everywhere." horatio looked pleased. "aren't you glad now, bo," he said proudly, "that i proposed this boat business? i have always wanted to travel this way. i was afraid at first that you might not take to it very well, and when that whistle blew last night i could see that you were frightened. it was unfortunate that i should have had a fit just then or i might have calmed you. you saw how anxious i was to go aboard. of course, in being over brave i made a slight mistake. i am always that way. all my family are. one really ought to be less reckless about some things, but somehow none of my family ever knew what fear was. we----" but just then the boat concluded to land, and the morning stillness was torn into shreds by its frightful whistle. horatio threw up both hands and fell backward on the deck, where he lay pawing the air wildly. then he stuffed his paws into his ears and howled as he kicked with his hind feet. bo stood over him and shouted that there was no danger, but his voice made no sound in that awful thunder. all at once horatio sprang up and jammed his head under bo's arm, trembling like a jellyfish. then the noise stopped, and with one or two more hoarse shouts ceased entirely. "it's all right, ratio, come out!" said bo, trying to stop laughing. horatio felt of his ears a moment to see that they were still there, while he looked skittishly in the direction of the dreadful whistle and started violently at the quick snorts of the escaping steam. "bo," he said faintly, "do all boats do that?" "oh, yes! some worse than others. this one isn't very bad." "i'm sorry, bo, for it is a great drawback to travel where one is subject to fits as i am. it seems to bring them on. and it is not kind of you to laugh at my affliction, either, bosephus," he added, for bo had dropped down on the deck, where he was rolling and holding his sides. [illustration: he stuffed his paws into his ears.] all at once the boy lay perfectly still. then he sprang up with every bit of laugh gone out of his face. his left hand grasped the outside of his jacket, while with his right hand he dived down into the inside pocket like mad. the bear watched him anxiously. "what is it, bo? have you got one, too?" he asked. "horatio!" gasped the boy. "our money! it's gone!" "gone! gone! where?" "stolen. some of those niggers did it while we were asleep!" the bear reflected a moment. then he said thoughtfully:-"do you suppose, bo, it was that nice fat one?" "i shouldn't wonder a bit. i saw him watch every penny i took in last night." horatio licked out his tongue eagerly. "could i have him if it was?" he asked hungrily. "have him! how?" said bo. then he shuddered. "oh! no, not that way--of course not. but i'll tell you, ratio," he added, "we'll make him believe that you can, and frighten him into giving up the money." horatio frowned. "i don't like make-believes," he grumbled. "can't we let the money go this time and not have any make-believe?" "not much--we want that money right now, before the boat lands; then we'll go ashore and get out of such a crowd. come, ratio." no one was stirring on the upper deck as yet, but the crew was collected below where the second mate was shouting orders as the boat swung slowly into the bank. they boy and bear dashed down the stairs. [illustration: "our money! it is gone!"] "wait!" shouted bo to the officer. "somebody on this boat last night stole our money, and i want my bear to find him. it won't take but a minute, for he can tell a thief at sight when he's mad and hungry, and he's mad now, and hungry for dark meat!" the boy looked straight into the crowd of negroes, while the bear growled fiercely and fixed his eye on the fat darky. the crew fell back and the fat darky with a howl started to run. "that's the one! that's the thief!" shouted bo, and with a snarl horatio bounded away in pursuit. down the narrow gangway to the stern of the boat, then in a circle around a lot of cotton, they ran like mad, the bear getting closer to the negro every minute. then back again to the bow in a straight stretch, the thief blue with fright and horatio's eyes shining with hungry anticipation. the rest of the crew looked on and cheered. suddenly, as the fat darky passed bo, he jerked a sack from his pocket and flung it behind him. "dar's yo' money! dar's yo' money!" he shouted. "call off yo' b'ar!" but that was not so easy. bosephus shouted frantically at horatio, but he did not seem to hear. his blood was up, and his taste for dark meat was stronger than his love of money. as the two came clattering around the second time he was so close to his prey that with a quick swipe he got quite a piece of his shirt. with a wild yell the fat fugitive leaped over into the river and struck out for shore. horatio paused. his half open jaws were dripping and his eyes red and fiery with disappointment. bo went up to him gently. "come, ratio," he whispered. the bear paid no heed. he was watching his escaped prey, who had reached the shore and was disappearing in a great canefield. [illustration: the fat fugitive leaped over into the river.] "come!" bo whispered again. "we'll go ashore, too." horatio wheeled eagerly. the gangplank was being lowered, and he hurried bo out on it, so that when it touched the bank he was all ready to give chase again. "no, wait; some music first," said bo. "i have thought of some new lines for the second part of the tune." for a moment horatio hesitated. then the temptation of the music was stronger even than his appetite, and, throwing his violin into position, he began to play. the passengers, roused by the excitement, had gathered on the upper deck. the crew coming ashore below paused to listen. [illustration: music] "oh! there was a fat darky with an appetite for wealth, and the only way to get it was to capture it by stealth, [illustration: music] but when it came to keep it, his chances were so small, he concluded that he really didn't care for it at all. [illustration: music] for we placed him and we faced him, and my bear horatio chased him- in a manner most surprising he pursued him to and fro-[illustration: music] and we hope we do not grieve you, but we feel that we must leave you, for the southern sun is rising, and we're bound--to--go." the crew cheered and the passengers on the upper deck shouted and waved their handkerchiefs. "don't go!" they called. "don't leave us!" but the friends turned their faces to the east and set out on a broad white road that led away to the sunrise. chapter vii horatio's moonlight adventure [illustration: music] "rooster in de chicken coop crowin' foh day, horses in de stable goin' 'nay, nay, nay!' [illustration: music] ducks in de yard goin' 'quack, quack, quack!' guineas in de tree tops goin' 'rack-pot-rack!'" during the two weeks since they had come to the land of sugar-cane horatio and bosephus had learned some of the old negro songs of louisiana and sang them to their own music. they were doing so now as they marched along the bank of a quiet bayou, where the blue grass came to the water's edge and the long spanish moss from big live oak trees swung down twenty feet or more till it almost touched the water. they had had a good day and were going to camp. "bo," said the bear presently, "we are doing well. we are making money, bo." "fifty dollars since we left the boat," said the little boy. "these fat babies--little darky babies--are very amusing, too, bosephus, don't you think so?" horatio added, nodding in the direction of some they were just then passing. [illustration: "these little darkey babies are very--amusing."] "i notice that you think so," said bo, dryly. "if you'll take my advice, though, you won't show any special fondness for them. people might not understand your ways, you know, and besides," he added, with a grin, "i've heard say these darkies down here are mighty fond of bear meat, and there's such a lot of them----" "don't you mention it, bo; i never dreamed of such a thing as you are hinting at." "well, you said you were dreaming yesterday when we met that little darky boy, and you nearly tore the jacket off of him before i could wake you up with a club." horatio drew his bow hastily across the strings and began singing-[illustration: music] "keemo, kimo, kilgo, kayro, horses in de stable goin' 'nay, nay, nay!' [illustration: music] rop strop, periwinkle, little yaller nigger, cum a rop strop bottle till the break of day." the sun was just setting behind a large, white, old fashioned sugar house, where the bayou turned, and made it look like an ancient castle. the little boy sighed. he had never believed that any country could be so beautiful as this, and he wanted to stay in it forever. horatio liked it, too. they had played and danced at many of the sugar houses, and the bear had been given everywhere all the waste sugar he could eat. he was fond of the green cane also, and was nearly always chewing a piece when they were not busy with a performance. but the big fellow had never quite overcome his old savage nature, and the race on the steamboat had roused it more fiercely than ever. the fat pickaninnies were a constant temptation to him, and it had taken all bo's watchfulness to keep him out of dreadful mischief. bo never feared for himself. horatio loved him and had even become afraid of him. it was for horatio that he feared, for he knew that death would be sure and swift if one of the pickaninnies was even so much as scratched, not to mention anything worse that might happen. again the little boy sighed as they turned into a clean grassy place and made ready for camp. long after bosephus was asleep horatio sat by the dying camp fire, thinking. by and by he rose and walked out to the bank of the bayou and looked toward the sugar house that lay white in the moonlight, half a mile away. then he went back to where bo was asleep and picked up the violin. then he laid it down again, as though he had changed his mind, and slipped away through the shadows in the direction of the old sugar house. he said to himself that, as they were going in that direction and would stop there next day, he might as well see how the road went and what kind of a place it was. he did not own, even to himself, that it was the negro cabins and fat pickaninnies that were in his mind, and that down in his heart was a wicked and savage purpose. every little way he paused and seemed about to turn back, but he kept on. by and by he drew near the sugar house and saw the double row of whitewashed huts in the moonlight. it was later than he had supposed and the crowds of little darkies that were usually playing outside had gone to bed. he sighed and was about to turn back when suddenly he saw something capering about near the shed of the sugar house. he slipped up nearer and a fierce light came into his eyes. it was a little negro boy doing a hoo-doo dance in the moonlight. [illustration: he slipped away through the shadows.] suddenly the little fellow turned and saw the bear glaring at him. horatio was between him and the cabins. the boy gave one wild shriek and dashed through a small open door that led into the blackness of the sugar house, the bear following close behind. it was one of the old creole sugar houses where the syrup is poured out into open vessels to cool and harden. the little darky knew his way and horatio didn't. he stumbled and fell, and growled and tried to follow the flying shadow that was skipping and leaping and begging, "oh, mars debbil! oh, please, mars debbil, lemme go dis time, an' i nevah do so no mo'. nevah do no mo' hoo-doo, mars debbil; oh, please, mars debbil, lemme go!" but horatio was getting closer and closer and in another moment would seize him. then, suddenly, something happened. the bear stumbled and, half falling, stepped into one of the big shallow wooden vessels. he felt his hind feet break through something like crusted ice and sink a foot or more into a heavy, thick substance below. when he tried to lift them they only sank deeper. then he knew what was the matter. he had stepped into a mass of hardening sugar and was a prisoner! his forefeet were free, but he dared not struggle with them for fear of getting them fast, too. the little darky, who thought the devil had stopped to rest, was huddled together in a corner not daring to move. horatio remembered bo sleeping safely in their camp and began to weep for his own wickedness. in the morning men would come with axes and guns. why had he not heeded bo? half seated on the crusted sugar he gave himself up to sorrow and despair. * * * * * it was early morning when bo awoke. he was surprised to see that horatio was not beside him, for the boy was usually first awake. he called loudly. then, as the moments passed and the bear did not come, he grew uneasy. suddenly a terrible suspicion flashed over him. he sprang to his feet and seizing the violin that lay beside him set forth on a run in the direction of the white sugar house. he knew horatio would go there because it was nearest, and he felt certain that something dreadful had happened. the incident of the day before made him almost sure of horatio's errand, and he feared the worst. no doubt they had caught and killed him by this time, and what would he do now without his faithful friend? [illustration: suddenly the little fellow turned.] he ran faster and faster. as he drew near the sugar house he heard a great commotion. for a moment he stopped. if horatio had done something terrible and they had caught him perhaps it would be dangerous to interfere. the next moment he rushed on. horatio was his friend and he would save his life if possible, unless----. he did not think any further, but flew on. as he dashed into the cane yard he saw crowds gathering and men running with axes and clubs. others had guns and cane knives, and all were crowding toward the big doors of the sugar house, that were now thrown open. inside he heard shouts, mingled with horatio's fierce growls. his friend was still alive. without pausing he rushed through the doors and saw a circle of negro men gathered about the big wooden trough where the bear was a prisoner, snapping and growling and trying to get free. the little pickaninny who, in spite of his fright, had slept all night in the corner, was there, too, and the men with axes and other weapons had entered with bo. there was not a second to be lost. "wait!" screamed bo; "wait!" and tearing through the astonished crowd he thrust the violin into horatio's hands. "play!" he shouted. "play for your worthless life!" horatio did not need to be told again. he reached for the violin and bow, and sitting in the now solid sugar struck the strings wildly. "rooster in de chicken coop, crowin' foh day; horses in de stable goin' 'nay, nay, nay;' ducks in de yard goin' 'quack, quack, quack!' guineas in de tree tops, goin' 'rack-pot-rack!'" horatio fiddled furiously, while bo shouted and sang and the crowd joined in. they all knew this song, and as they sang they forgot all else. axes and guns and clubs were dropped as young and old fell into the swing of the music. "keemo, kimo, kilgo, kayro; fleero, fliro, flav-o-ray; rop strop, periwinkle, little yaller nigger, cum a rop strop bottle till de break--of--day!" you could hear the noise for a mile. they danced and shouted and sang, and work was forgotten. after a long time, when they were tired out, bo took one of the axes and carefully broke the now solid sugar away from ratio's feet and set him free. then they brought water and washed his hind paws and he danced for them. after dinner, when the friends started out on their journey, the crowd followed them for nearly a mile. when all were gone horatio turned to bo and said:-"i am glad you came just as you did, bo." "i should rather think you would be," said bo, grimly. "because," continued horatio, "if you hadn't i might have damaged some of those fellows, and i know you wouldn't have liked that, bosephus." he looked at the little boy very humbly as he said this, expecting a severe lecture. but the little boy made no reply, and down in his heart the big bear at that moment made a solemn and good resolve. chapter viii sweet and sour [illustration: music] "oh, we're down in the land where the jasmine blows, and the cypress waves and the orange grows, [illustration: music] and the song bird nests in the climbing rose- and all the girls are beautiful, and milk and honey flows." horatio paused in his playing and looked at bosephus, who was ready to sing another stanza. "look here, bo," he said gravely, "that sounds very pretty and may be very good poetry and true enough, but i wouldn't get to singing too much about jasmine and song birds and climbing roses if i were you, and especially girls. you are only a little boy, and besides, i can't see that there is any difference in girls, except that some are plump and some are not, and that isn't any difference to me, now," and the bear sighed and strummed on his violin gently. "oh, pshaw, ratio! there's lots of difference. some girls are yellow and sour as a lemon, while some are as pink and sweet and blooming as a creole rose"---"bosephus," interrupted the bear gravely, "you've got a touch of the swamp fever. let me see your tongue!" bo stuck out his tongue. "my tongue's all right," he grinned. "that kind of fever's in the heart." horatio looked alarmed. "you must take something for it right away, bo," he declared. "i can't have you singing silly songs about jasmine and cypress and girls in milk and honey. you know we haven't seen any honey since we left arkansaw, and i'd travel all the way back there on foot to rob one good honey tree. i'm getting tired of so much of this stuff they call sugar and cane and the like." "why they have honey here, ratio, too. i haven't seen any bee trees, but i've seen plenty of bees. i suppose they are in hives--boxes that people keep for them to live in." "where do they have those boxes, bo?" "well, in their yards mostly; generally out by the back fence." "could we rob them?" "well, i shouldn't like to try it." the bear walked along some distance in silence. the boy was also thinking and singing softly to himself. he was very happy. presently he looked up and saw just ahead, in a field near the road, a tree loaded with oranges. "look, ratio!" he said. "don't you wish we had some of those?" the bear looked up and began to lick out his tongue. "climb over and get some, bo," he said eagerly. "not much. i haven't forgotten the roasting ears and the watermelon we got from old man todd in arkansaw. we might go to the house and ask for some. "nonsense, bosephus. watch me!" he handed bo the fiddle, and running lightly to the hedge cleared it at a bound. "fine!" shouted bo. horatio, without pausing, hurried over to the tree. "funny they should leave those oranges so late," thought the little boy as he watched him. swinging himself to the first limb, the bear shook off a lot of the fine yellow fruit, and climbing down, gathered in his arms all he could carry. as he did so there came a loud barking of dogs, and without looking behind him he started to run. he dropped a few of the oranges, but kept straight on, the two huge dogs that had appeared getting closer and closer. as he reached the hedge he once more made a grand leap, but the oranges prevented him doing so well as before. his foot caught in the top branches and he rolled over and over in the dusty road, the oranges flying in every direction. the dogs behind the hedge barked and raged. horatio rose, dusty and panting, but triumphant. "you see, bo," he said, "what it is to be brave. you can fill your pockets now with these delicious oranges." he picked up one as he spoke, and brushing off the dust, bit it in half cheerfully. then bo, who was watching him, saw a strange thing take place. the half orange flew out of the bear's mouth as from a popgun, and his face became so distorted that the boy thought his friend was having a spasm. suddenly he whirled, and making a rush at the fallen oranges, began to kick them in every direction, coughing and spitting every second. the two dogs looking over the hedge stopped barking to enjoy the fun. one of the oranges rolled to bo's feet. he picked it up and smelled it. then rubbing it on his coat he bit into it. it was not a large bite, but it was enough. the tears rolled from his eyes and every tooth in his head jumped. such a mixture of stinging sour and bitter he had never dreamed of. it grabbed him by the throat and shook him until his bones cracked. the top of his head seemed coming loose, and his ears fairly snapped. then he realized what horatio must be suffering, and laughed in spite of himself. [illustration: flew out of his mouth as from a pop gun.] "they are mock oranges, ratio," he shouted, "and they are mocking us for stealing them!" horatio had seated himself by the roadside and was snorting and clawing at his tongue. "i must have some honey, bo," he said, "to take away that dreadful taste. you must find me some honey, bo." "you see, ratio," said the little boy, "it doesn't pay to take things." "bosephus," said the bear, "a man who will plant a tree like that so near the road deceives wilfully and should be punished." they walked along slowly, the two dogs barking after them from behind the hedge. just beyond the next bend in the road a beautiful plantation came into view. they turned into the cane yard and immediately the workhands surrounded them. horatio felt better by this time, and they began a performance. first bo sang and then horatio gave a gymnastic exhibition. then at last bo sang a closing verse as follows:-[illustration: music] "now our little show is ended, and we hope you think it splendid, and we trust we've not offended or displeased you anywhere, [illustration: music] you have paid us to be funny, and we thank you for the money, but i'd like a little honey for the old--black--bear. horatio smiled when he heard this, and the planter who was listening sent one of the servants to the house. he came out soon with a piece of fresh honey on a plate. he offered it to horatio, who handed bo the violin, and seizing the plate, swallowed the honey at one gulp. this made the crowd shout and laugh, and then bo shook hands with the planter and said good-bye, and all the darkies came up and wanted to shake hands, too. when he had shaken hands all around the little boy turned to look for horatio. he was nowhere in sight. the others had not noticed him slip away. bo was troubled. when horatio disappeared like that it meant mischief. he had promised reform as to pickaninnies, but bo was never quite sure. he was about to ask the people to run in every direction in search of his comrade when there was a sudden commotion in the back door yard, and a moment later a black figure dashed through the gate with something under its arm. it was horatio! the crowd of darkies took one look and scattered. the thing under horatio's arm was a square, box looking affair, and out of it was streaming a black, living cloud. "bees!" shouted the people as they fled. "bees! bees!" bo understood instantly. the taste of honey had made horatio greedy for more. he had gone in search of it and returned with hive and all. there was a clump of tall weeds just behind the little boy, and he dropped down into them. they hid him from view, and none too soon, for the bear dashed past, snorting and striking at the swarm of stingers that not only covered him, but fiercely attacked everything in sight. howls began to come from some of the hands that had failed to find shelter in time, and bo, peeping out between the weeds, saw half a dozen darkies frantically trying to open the big door of the sugar house, which had been hastily closed by those within, while the angry bees were pelting furiously at the unfortunates. [illustration: the bear dashed past, snorting.] as for horatio, he was coated with bees that were trying to sting through his thick fur. he did not mind them at first, but presently they began to get near his eyes. with a snarl he dropped the hive and began to paw and strike with both hands. then they swarmed about him worse than ever, and, half blinded, he began to run around and around with no regard as to direction. every darky in sight fled like the wind. some of them ran out of the gate and down the road, and without seeing them, perhaps, the bear suddenly leaped the fence and set out in the same direction. glancing back, they saw him coming and began to shriek and scatter into the fields. bo waited some minutes; then, noticing that the maddened insects were no longer buzzing viciously over him, he crept out and followed. he still held the violin and was glad enough to get away from the plantation. the bees had followed the fugitive, and the boy kept far enough behind to be out of danger. by and by he met bees coming back, but perhaps they were tired or thought he belonged to another crowd, for they did not molest him. a mile further on he found horatio sitting in the road rocking and groaning and throwing dust on himself. his eyes and nose were swollen in great knots, and his ears were each puffed up like little balloons. the bees had left him, but his sorrow was at its height. "hello, ratio! having fun all alone?" asked bo as he came up. "oh, bo, this has been an awful day!" was the wailing reply. "first those terrible oranges and then these millions and millions of murderous bees. and now i am blind, bo, and dying. tell me, bo, how do i look?" "oh, you look all right. your nose looks like a big potato and your ears like two little ones. i can't tell you how your eyes are, for they don't show, but your whole skin looks as if it had been stuffed full of apples and put on in a hurry." "bo," said horatio meekly, "did you bring the fiddle?" [illustration: he found horatio sitting in the road, rocking and groaning.] "well, yes; i thought it might happen that we'd need it again." horatio put out his paw for it. the boy gave it to him and he ran the bow gently over the strings. "sing, bo," he pleaded. "sing that song about jasmine and cypress and climbing roses. it will soothe me. sing about girls, too, if you want to, but leave out the oranges, bo, and put in something else besides honey in the last line." "ratio," said bo, "you've got a touch of the swamp fever. let me see your tongue!" chapter ix in jail at last "oh, the sky is blue and the sun is high, and the days roll 'round, and the weeks go by----" "bo," interrupted horatio, softly; "what's that over there on the bank that looks like a man all in a wad?" the little boy was singing along through the sweet louisiana afternoon, putting into his song whatever came into his head:- "and i turn, and i look, and what do i see? someone's left his bundle by a live oak tree." "what do you suppose is in that bundle, bo?" asked the bear, anxiously. "oh, i don't know. old clothes, from the looks of it. the owner isn't far off. "when a coat and vest and hat, and pair of trousers you espy, you can bet your bottom dollar there's a man close by." horatio looked in every direction. then he walked over to the clothes. "why," said bo, following; "i guess somebody's taking a swim. come on, ratio. remember the honey and the oranges." but the bear was curious. he picked up the hat and set it on his head. bo laughed lazily. then horatio laid down his violin and slipped one arm into the waistcoat, trying vainly to reach with the other. bo good-naturedly helped him. the little boy felt in the humor for fun, and horatio looked too comical. "better not put on the coat," said bo. "it might not be big enough and if you tore it the owner would make us pay for it." but horatio was excited. "hurry, bo! help me on with it. how do i look, bo? i think i'll dress this way all the time, hereafter. is my hat becoming, bo?" "oh, there was an old bear in a hat and a coat," sang bo, but he got no further, for suddenly close by there was a loud yell, and without pausing to look behind horatio made a wild dash in the other direction, followed by the little boy. glancing back as they ran, bo saw that they were pursued by a tall white man. he had paused only a second to slip on his boots and trousers, and was coming after them full speed. in one hand he carried a revolver, in the other horatio's violin. "shed 'em!" he shouted. "shed them clothes or i'll shoot!" "shed 'em!" echoed bo. "shed 'em, horatio!" the bear slipped off the coat and flung it behind him. "shed 'em!" shouted the man again, and the waistcoat followed. "i won't give up the hat, bo!" panted horatio. [illustration: "how do i look, bo?"] but horatio was mistaken, for at that instant the world beneath his feet suddenly opened and he disappeared. before the boy could check himself he plunged after the bear and was struggling in the deep waters of a bayou that came to a level with the bank and was covered thickly and concealed by fallen leaves. rising to the surface he found horatio clinging to a fallen tree and the man, who had now overtaken them, holding out a limb, which the little boy gladly seized. the hat had been already rescued. "well, you're a nice pair!" said their captor. "to run away with a man's clothes and then go headlong into the bayou and get his hat all wet! i'm glad you didn't have that fiddle, or you'd a-ruined it. i've bin wantin' a good fiddle a long time, an' this here looks like a good one. come out o' that, now, an' we'll take a walk up toward the jail. i happen to be constable of this here community." bo groaned as he was dragged to shore. he did not mind the wetting, for the weather was warm, but now they had lost the violin and would be taken to jail. of course they would lose all their money. perhaps horatio would be killed. the bear only blinked and shook himself when he had been also towed to the bank and had scrambled out. "i hope you won't take us to jail, sir," said bo. "my bear was mischievous, but he didn't mean any harm, and i have a little money i'll give you if you'll return us the violin and let us go." "you come along with me!" answered the man, sternly. "it'll take more money than you've got to pay your fine, an' as fer that chap, we don't want no bears roamin' loose aroun' here. march on ahead there, an' don't try none o' your tricks." the constable cocked his revolver, and boy and bear hurriedly started in the direction of the village that showed above the trees about a mile further on. bo was afraid to speak to their captor again, and as he never talked with horatio except when they were alone, they marched along disconsolately and in silence. now and then the man strummed on the violin and chuckled to himself. [illustration: "shed them clothes or i'll shoot!"] when they got to the village everybody came out to look at them. the man called out his story as they went along, and the people laughed and jeered. heretofore the friends had entered louisiana villages in triumph. now, for the first time, they came dishonored and disgraced. poor horatio looked very downcast. he knew that he was to blame for it all. when they got to the court room they found that the justice of the peace was away fishing, so they were lodged in jail for the night. it was only a little one room affair, with two small iron-barred windows, quite high from the ground. boys climbed up and looked through these windows and threw stones and coal in at horatio, who huddled in a corner. by and by the officer came with a plate of supper for bo. he drove the boys away and left the friends together. there was no supper for the bear, so the little boy divided with him. "bo," said horatio, tearfully, "it was my fault. they'll let you go, and, and--i hope they'll give you my skin, bo." then they went to sleep. * * * * * early next morning there was a crowd around the jail. the justice had returned and the people wanted to see the fun. the friends were hustled into court by the constable, the crowd stepping back to let horatio pass. the justice was rather a young man and had a good-natured face, which made bo more hopeful. but when they heard the constable make his charge against them, both lost heart. they were accused of stealing and damages and a lot of other things that they could not understand. the justice listened and then turned to the prisoners. "what have you to say for yourselves?" he asked, looking straight at bo. at first the little boy tried to speak and could not. the court room was still--every one waiting to hear what he was about to say. all at once an idea came to him. "please, sir," he trembled, "if you will let my bear have the violin we will plead our case together." "what violin? what does the boy mean?" asked the justice, turning to the constable. "oh, an ole fiddle they dropped when they took my clothes. i lef' it down 't the house this morning." bo's heart sank. it was their only chance. he was about to give up when suddenly there came another gleam of hope, though very faint. wheeling quickly toward the sorrow stricken bear he shouted:-"perform for them, horatio! perform!" the words acted on horatio like a shock of electricity. he straightened up with a snort that caused the crowd to fall back, knocking each other over like dominos. then he made a bound into the open space and stood on his head. then with a spring backward he landed on his feet, and waved a bow to the justice! another bound and he was walking on his hands and then, after another bow to the court, he turned a series of somersaults so rapidly that he looked like a great wheel! when he landed on his feet this time, and bowed once more to the court, the crowd broke out into a mighty cheer of applause. "order!" shouted the justice. "order!" it grew still, and the little boy looked at the court anxiously. "please, your honor," he said humbly, "that's our case." "case!" roared the justice. "well, i should say that was a case of fits and revolution." at this the crowd cheered again until they were rapped to order by the court. "i sentence you," he said solemnly, and looking sternly at horatio, "to sudden and disagreeable death!" he paused, and horatio staggered against bo, who was very pale. [illustration: a case of fits and revolution.] "to sudden death," continued the court, "if i catch you running off and falling in the water with any more of my officer's clothes. and i now fine you, for the first offense, a performance on the common for the whole town! court is adjourned! show begins at once! constable, bring that fiddle!" with a wild shout the people poured outside. many scrambled over each other to get near bosephus and the wonderful bear, and when the violin was brought and the show had begun every soul in the village was gathered on the common. that night, when all was over, the little boy and the bear were the guests of the justice, who owned a fine plantation adjoining the village. during the evening he had a long talk with bo, and seemed greatly impressed with the little boy's natural ability and shrewdness. when they parted next morning he said:-"remember, if you ever feel like giving up travel, come back here and i'll send you to school and college and make a man of you." "i'll remember," said bo, as they shook hands. a crowd had gathered to see the travellers off. the constable was among them, and as they disappeared around a bend in the road he waved and shouted with the rest. "bosephus," said horatio gravely, "i hope you don't think of deserting me. remember how many close places i have helped you out of. this last was a little the closest of all, bosephus, and i shudder to think where you might have been today if it had not been for me." "that's so," said the little boy solemnly. "i don't suppose they'd have even given me your skin, ratio." chapter x an afternoon's fishing "sitting on a bank where the bull frogs dream- sitting on the shore of a deep, deep stream- sitting on a log and waiting for a bite- bound to catch our supper, if we fish--all--night." the little boy was holding a long cane pole that he had cut as they came along, on the small end of which he had fastened a hook and line, baited with a lively worm. the bear was leaning back against a tree and watching him lazily. "bo," said he presently, "i shouldn't wonder if that singing of yours scared the fish all away." "i wouldn't say that to you, ratio. i know if you'd wake up and take the fiddle and play some they'd walk right out on the bank." the bear laughed sleepily. he was in a comfortable position and the warm afternoon sun was soothing. he hummed some negro lines he had heard:- "when yo' wan' to ketch fish yo' mus' jes' set an' wait- when yo' wan' to ketch fish yo' must spit on yo' bait- when yo' wan' to ketch fish yo' mus' git across de tide, for dey's alw'ys bettah fishin' on de oth--ah--side." "i shouldn't wonder if you were right, ratio," assented bo, anxiously. "it does look better over there, only there's no way to get across except this slippery looking, rotten old log, and i don't feel much like trying that." "walk out on it a little way, bo," said horatio, getting interested, "and throw your line over there by that cypress snag. that looks like a good place." bosephus rose cautiously, and, balancing himself with the long cane pole, edged his way a few inches at a time toward the middle of the stream, pausing every little way to be sure that the log showed no sign of yielding. he could swim, but he did not wish for a wetting, and besides there were a good many alligators in these louisiana waters and some very fierce snapping turtles. he had heard the negroes say that alligators were particularly fond of boys, and that snapping turtles never let go till it thundered. he had no wish to furnish supper for an alligator and there were no signs of a thunder storm. hence he advanced with great prudence. when he had nearly reached the centre horatio called to him. "try it from there, bo! your line's long enough to reach!" the little boy steadied himself by a limb that projected from the log and swung his line in the direction the bear had indicated. then he waited, holding his breath almost, and watching his float, which lay silently on the water. horatio was watching, too, with half closed eyes, and now and then giving instructions. "pull it a little more to the right, bo--nearer that root," he whispered. bosephus obeyed, but the float still lay silently on the water. "draw it a little toward you, bo; sometimes when they think its going away they make a rush for it." again the little boy did as directed, but without result. "lift out your bait and see if it's all right. now fling it a little further toward the bank." bo lifted out the bait, which was still lively and untouched, and flung it far over toward the other shore. then he waited in silence once more, but there was no sign of even so much as a nibble. "oh, pshaw, ratio!" he said at last impatiently. "i don't believe you know anything about fishing. either that or there are no fish in here--one of the two." he had turned his head toward the bear as he spoke and was not looking at his float. all at once the bear sat straight up, pointing at the water. "your cork's gone!" he shouted. "you've got one! pull, bo, pull!" the little boy turned so quickly that he almost lost his balance and could not immediately obey. horatio was wild with excitement. "why don't you pull?" he howled. "do you expect him to climb up your pole? are you waiting for him to make his toilet before he appears? well, talk about fishermen!" bosephus was struggling madly to follow instructions. he was holding to the dead limb like grim death and pulling fiercely at the pole with one hand. the fish must be a large one, for it swung furiously from side to side, but could not be brought to the surface. horatio on the bank was still shouting and dancing violently. "you'll lose him!" he yelled; "you'll never in the world land him that way. you ought to go fishing for tin fish in a tub! just let me out there; i'll show you how to fish!" and horatio made a rush toward the log on which bo was standing. [illustration: "pull, bo, pull!"] "go back! go back!" screamed the little boy. "it won't hold us both!" but the bear was too much excited by this time to heed any caution. he hurried to the centre of the log and seizing the pole from bo's hand gave a fierce pull. the fish swung clear of the water and far out on the bank, but the strain on their support was too great. there was a loud cracking sound, and before they knew what had happened both were struggling in the water. "help! help!" howled horatio. "i'm drowning!" "hold to the end of the log!" shouted bo. "i'll swim ashore and tow you in with the pole!" he struck out as he spoke and in a few strokes was near enough to seize some bushes that overhung the water. suddenly he heard horatio give forth a scream so wild that he whirled about to look. then he saw something that made him turn cold. in a half circle, a few feet away from where horatio was clinging to the end of the broken log for dear life, there had risen from the water a number of long, black, ugly heads. a drove of alligators! "bo! bo!" shrieked the wretched bear. "they're after me! they'll eat me alive--skin and all! save me! save me!" the little boy swung himself to the shore and dashed up the bank. his first thought had been to seize the fishing pole and with it to drag horatio to safety. but at that instant his eye fell on the violin. he had learned to play very well himself during the last few weeks and he remembered the night of the panther dance in the arkansaw woods. he snatched up the instrument and struck the bow across the strings. "sing, horatio!" he shouted. "it's your turn to sing!" and bosephus broke out into a song that after the first line the bear joined as if he never expected to sing again on earth. [illustration: music] "oh, there was an old bear went out for a swim, and the alligators came just to take a look at him, [illustration: "oh, there was an old bear went out for a swim."] [illustration: music] and the bear was glad to see 'em, and he wanted them to stay, and he sang a song to please 'em so they wouldn't go away." as the music rolled out on the water there rose to the surface another half circle of dark objects. the bear shut his eyes and his voice grew faint. they were snapping turtles. "stop, bo!" he wailed. "it's no use. it only brings more of 'em, and new kinds." "no, no; go on," whispered bo, who had crept down quite to the water's edge. "now--ready! sing!" [illustration: music] "then 'tis 'gator, alligator, we expect to see you later, if you really have to leave us--if you can't remain to tea-[illustration: music] then 'tis turtle, mr. turtle, you will notice we are fertile, in providing entertainment for our com--pa--nee." new arrivals appeared constantly until the water and logs and stumps by the water's edge were alive with listening creatures. still remembering the panther dance the boy called in a whisper to horatio:-"softly now; sing it again." they repeated the song, letting their voices and music gradually blend into the whispering of the trees. bo sang with closed eyes, but the watching bear saw the listening circle of heads sink lower and lower so gently that he could not be sure when the water had closed over them. from roots and logs and stumps dark forms slid noiselessly into the stream and disappeared. the music died away and ceased. horatio looked at the little boy eagerly. [illustration: "help! help!"] "quick, the pole, bo," he called softly. "they're all gone." a moment later he was holding on to the cane pole with teeth and claws and being towed to shore. as he marched up the bank he picked up the large fish that was still flopping at the end of the line. "very fine, bosephus," he said, holding it up. "you wouldn't have had that fish for supper if it hadn't been for me, bosephus." chapter xi the road home "going back to arkansaw as fast as we can go- never mind the winter time--never mind the snow, for the weather's not so chilly as the louisiana law, and we'll feel a good deal safer in the ar--kan--saw." it had happened in this way. the afternoon before christmas had come and the little boy and the bear had been talking over a christmas dinner for the next day. "bosephus," horatio had said, "we must have something extra. i should like a real old-fashioned dinner. one such as i used to have; but, of course, that is all over now." and there was an untamed, regretful look in his eyes. "ratio," said bo, "we have got a lot of money--nearly two hundred dollars. we can afford to have something good. i will buy a duck and a turkey and maybe some pies. we'll take a holiday and eat from morning till night if we feel like it." the bear smiled at this thought and touched the strings of the violin. "oh, we'll buy a tender turkey, and we'll buy a youthful duck, and some pies, perhaps, and cookies, and some doughnuts, just for luck, and we'll take our christmas dinner where the balmy breezes stray, and we'll spread it in the sunshine and we'll eat--all--day." suddenly he paused in his singing and listened. they were coming out into an open space and there was a sound of a voice speaking. somebody was talking in a foreign language that bo did not understand, but the bear trembled with eagerness. "bo," he whispered, "that's italian. that's the way my first teacher talked. the one that abused me--and died." the bear licked out his tongue fiercely at this memory and pushed forward into the open, the little boy following. as they stepped out where they could see, bosephus uttered an exclamation and horatio a snort of surprise. by the roadside sat a dark-browed, villainous-looking italian and before him stood a miserable half-starved bear cub, which he was trying to teach. he would speak a few words to it and then beat it fiercely with a heavy stick. the little bear cowered and trembled and could not obey. horatio gave a low dangerous growl as bo held him back. the italian turned and saw them. "what are you beating that cub for?" asked bo, sternly. the italian looked at him evilly. "maka him grow an' dance an' playa fid, lika yo' bear," he said, sullenly. "soa he maka da mun'." "that won't do it. you can teach him better with kindness. throw that stick away. aren't you ashamed of yourself." "minda yo' own biz," was the insolent reply. the little boy saw that it would not be safe to stay there any longer. the cub was whining pitifully and horatio was becoming furious. he turned away, the bear following reluctantly. when they had gone perhaps a half a mile horatio paused. "let's camp here," he said. "this is a nice place and i'm tired." bosephus was tired, too. the day before christmas with its merry preparation had been a big day among the plantations and the friends had reaped a harvest. "all right, ratio," he said, and they made preparations for the night, though it was still quite early. [illustration: "maka him grow an' dance an' play a 'fid'."] "bo," said the bear, reflectively, "christmas always reminds me of when i was a little cub like that poor little fellow we saw back yonder. i was a christmas present--by accident." "a christmas present by accident! how was that?" "it was this way. i was always brave and adventurous, as you know. my folks lived in a very large tree and were all asleep for the winter except me. i stayed awake so as to run away and see the world. well, i started out and i travelled and i travelled. it was all woods and i lost my way. by and by i got very tired and climbed up into a thick evergreen tree to rest. i suppose i went to sleep and some men who were out hunting for a christmas tree must have picked out mine and tied the limbs together tight with cords and cut it down. then i suppose they must have carried me home and set the tree up in its place and untied the cords, for the first i knew i was tumbling out on to a carpet in a big room, and a lot of children were screaming and running in every direction. i was bigger and some fatter than that cub we saw with the italian--poor little fellow. "i'd like to talk to that villain about five minutes alone," continued horatio, grimly. "i'm sure i could interest him. i'd tell him about the man that used to beat me, and i might give him an imitation of what happened to him," and the big fellow rose and walked back and forth in excitement. "but go on with your story, ratio; what happened to you after you fell out of the christmas tree?" "oh! the children tamed me and fed me till i got so big they were afraid of me, and then i ate up some young pigs and a calf and went away." "you ran away, you mean. what happened then?" "well, i went quite a distance and fell in with a circus. i learned to dance there and stayed with them a while. but one day the young ibex came in to see me and they couldn't find anything of him after that except his horns, and seemed suspicious of me, so i went away again." "oh, ratio!" "yes; i travelled and changed about a good deal till by and by i fell in with the italian who promised to teach me to play the violin, and he did teach me some, as you know, but he wasn't kind to me, so i--i wore mourning for him a while, and went away again. then i met up with you, and you taught me the second part of our tune, and we went into partnership and i reformed, and we've been together ever since. we've been in some pretty close places together, bosephus, but i've always managed to pull us through safely, and you have behaved very nobly, too, at times, bosephus--very nobly, indeed." "are you sure you have reformed, horatio?" horatio swung the violin to his shoulder and drew the bow across the strings. then he sang softly:-[illustration: music] "oh, there's some folks say a nigger won't steal, but i caught one in my corn-fiel'. [illustration: music] and there's other folks say that a bear will tame, but i wouldn't trust him with my----" he hesitated, and then, with a final flourish, "with my money all the same." the little boy laughed. the bear seemed to have forgotten the cruel italian and was in his usual good humor. "i think i can trust you, horatio; i'm not a bit afraid of you." "bo," said ratio, speaking suddenly, "speaking of christmas trees, we ought to have one. i saw a beautiful one up the stream yonder. i think i'll go and get it, if you'll look after the supper while i'm gone." "why, yes, horatio, only don't be long about it." horatio struck the violin with a long vigorous sweep. [illustration: music] "oh, we'll have a tree for christmas in this louisiana isthmus, where the orange trees are waving and the jasmines are in bloom; [illustration: music] and i'll have a christmas dinner, if i don't i am a sinner, and i'll eat it if it sends me to my doom--doom--doom." bo laughed again. he had never seen horatio in a better humor. "if you eat too much pie it may send you to your doom--doom--doom," he said. "hurry back, now, with that tree. you can pull it up by the roots and we'll plant it again here. then it will keep right on growing." the bear set out up the stream and the boy busied himself with building a fire and taking out of a sack a lot of food that had been given them by the planters during the afternoon. he spread this on the leaves and moss and then sat down and gazed into the bright blaze. it was pleasant and warm and he was quite tired. after a while he wondered sleepily why the bear didn't come back, and concluded he was having a hard time pulling up the tree. then he began thinking of all the adventures they had had together and of the little cub bear and the cruel italian. "i was tempted to let horatio at him," he thought. "a man like that should be beaten until he couldn't stand. that poor little creature! how wistfully he looked at us. he kept whining--perhaps he was telling ratio something." the little boy's head nodded forward now and then and presently he slept. he slept soundly and the moments flew by unheeded. he was having a long dream about old man todd and the girls and the two candy hearts, when suddenly there arose close at hand such a commotion, such a mingling of excited language, fierce snarls and crashing of brush that the little boy leaped to his feet wildly. "ratio!" he shouted. "ratio! where are you?" the only answer was the redoubled fury of the furious uproar, which bo now located at the edge of the road but a few feet away. he tore through the brush hastily in that direction. as he reached the spot the turmoil ceased and he heard the sound of running feet. dashing through into the road he beheld a strange sight. a half-naked man was disappearing over the hill just beyond, and horatio, holding some rags of clothing in one hand and the paw of the little bear in the other, was looking after him hungrily, as if about to pursue. before him lay the christmas tree badly broken and bruised. "ratio!" exclaimed bo. "what have you been doing?" the bear looked at bo sheepishly. "i went for the christmas tree," he said, meekly, "and just as i was coming back the italian man came along, and he was beating this little chap, and so i tried the christmas tree on him to see how he liked it. then we got into an argument, and when he went away he left the cub with us and didn't take all of his clothing." the little boy reflected a moment. "i hope, horatio," he said, gravely, "you did not mean to break your agreement about, you know--about dinners." "i didn't, bo; honest, i didn't. i wouldn't touch that fellow if i was starving. but i did pretty nearly break his neck, bo, and i'm glad of it!" [illustration: going back to arkansaw.] "ratio," said bo, solemnly, "it's very wrong, i suppose; very wrong, indeed; but i'm glad, too. only we've got to postpone that christmas dinner. that fellow will be back here to-night with officers, and we've had all the law we want. we start for arkansaw in five minutes. a bite of supper and then right about! ready! march!" and this was the reason horatio and bosephus and the little cub bear were travelling swiftly northward in spite of the winter weather that was not yet over. the cub was small and weak and horatio, who loved him and sometimes called him "little brother," often carried him. they gave no performances, but only pushed forward, mile after mile, chanting solemnly:- "going back to arkansaw as fast as we can go- never mind the winter time and never mind the snow, for the weather's not so chilly as the louisiana law, and we'll feel a good deal safer in the ar--kan--saw." [illustration: horatio was looking at him hungrily.] chapter xii the bear colony at last. the parting of bosephus and horatio "oh, the wind blows fair and the snow is gone in the arkansaw when the spring comes on. oh, the sun shines warm and the wind blows fair, for the boy and the cub and the old--black--bear." so sang bosephus and horatio as they sat side by side in the doorway of a deserted lumberman's cabin in the depths of an arkansaw forest. the cub rescued from the brutal italian and brought with them on their hasty journey out of louisiana, stood a few feet away watching them intently. now and then he made an awkward attempt at dancing, which caused bosephus and horatio to stop their music and laugh. he had grown fat and saucy with good treatment, and seemed to enjoy the amusement he caused. at a little distance behind him, some seated and some standing, and all enjoying the entertainment, were seven other bears of various sizes. the colony so long planned by horatio and bosephus was established. the long journey out of louisiana had been made rapidly and with no delays. though midwinter when begun, the weather had been beautiful at the start, and there had been few storms and but little cold since. the cub had gradually confided his story to horatio, who loved him and continued to call him affectionately "little brother." he had been captured in a very deep woods, he said, by hunters, who sold him to the italian. he did not know where these woods were, but as the friends crossed the louisiana line and entered lower arkansaw he grew more and more excited every day, for he declared these were so like his native woods that he could almost hear his mother's voice crooning the evening lullaby. soon after, they came one evening upon a deserted lumberman's camp and took possession of the one cabin that still remained. it was a good shelter and there was a stream with fine fish in it close at hand. but when the friends awoke next morning the little bear was gone. they were very sorry, for they had grown much attached to the little chap and he had seemed to be fond of them also. it was very lonely in the deep forest without him. horatio sighed. "he didn't appreciate us, bo," he said, sadly. "he's gone back to be a wild bear. he never got the taste of men--tastes, i mean, and i suppose these woods made him homesick. they are like my old woods, too, and i get homesick sometimes--even now." then the boy and the bear went to the brook to fish and the day passed gloomily. but that night, when bo had built a fire in the big fireplace which almost filled one end of the cabin, and was cooking the fish, there came a muffled scratching sound at the door. horatio sprang to his feet instantly. "that's cub," he said, excitedly. the boy ran to the door and opened it. sure enough, the little cub stood before him, and out of the darkness behind gleamed seven other pairs of eyes. the boy was brave, but as he saw that row of fiery orbs he felt his flesh creep and his hair began to prickle. "horatio!" he called, softly, "come quick." [illustration: the poor bear gave way completely.] the bear was already by his side, and a moment later with the cub stepped out into the night. then bosephus heard low growls followed by a strange commotion, which he at first took to be the sound of fighting. suddenly horatio ran to him in great excitement. "bo, bo!" he exclaimed, "it's my family! and, oh, bosephus, it's cub's family, too! we're really brothers, and we didn't know it!" then he ran back into the dark and presently returned with the cub and the seven other bears, following. the newcomers stared and blinked at the little boy as they entered the lighted cabin and then withdrew to a darker corner, where they sat silently regarding everything that passed, like strangers from the country. the cub sat with them and whispered softly, in the bear tongue, and horatio now and then went over, too, and no doubt told them marvellous tales of his strange adventures. late that night all lay down to sleep--the little boy in the arms of his faithful friend. and so the bear colony had begun, even sooner than bo and ratio had expected, and they had given up all notion of travelling any further. the lumber camp was deserted for good by the woodcutters, for the largest trees had been cut out and taken away long before. the cabin was headquarters--bosephus was president, horatio prime minister, and the cub, because of his adventures and slight educational advancement, was chief assistant. early spring was upon the land, and the woods were beginning to be sweet with song and blossom. bosephus was almost afraid at first that, with the native woods and the renewal of home ties, horatio might return more or less to his savage instincts, but he became gentler and more docile than ever. his place as prime minister and chief instructor made him realize his advancement and the importance of good behavior. he was grave and dignified, and about the fire in the evening, played the violin with an air of skill and superiority that was very impressive. bosephus at first enjoyed it all immensely. the bears were obedient and submissive, and were gradually learning to understand his language. he had more money than he would ever need and was lord of all he surveyed. but gradually there came a change. he grew tired of seeing only the black faces and shining eyes of his subjects and of hearing only the singing of bees and birds. at first he did not realize what was the matter. then it came to him at last that this life of the forest was palling upon him and that, like the cub, he yearned for his own kind--the faces of men. one morning he divided up the money into two equal parts and slipped out to where horatio was sunning himself and playing softly before the cabin. "horatio," he said, tenderly, "i have divided up the money. here is your half. you have been the best friend i ever had and it breaks my heart to leave you, but i can't live away from my own race any longer. i am going back to louisiana, to the planter who told me to come back and he would send me to school and college and make a man of me," and then the little boy suddenly broke down and fell weeping into his companion's arms. for some moments horatio could not speak. then he spoke, sobbing between every word. "bo--bo--you--you're--not--not going to--to leave me! oh, bo!" and the poor bear gave way completely and wept on the little boy's shoulder. they were all alone, as the others had gone out together for a walk. at last horatio put the boy gently from him and took up his violin. he began to play very softly and sang in a breaking voice:- "oh, he's going away to leave me to the lou'siana shore, and i'll never see my darling, my bosephus, any more; he's divided up the money, and he's going far away, and my poor old heart is breaking but he--will--not--stay. we have battled with the weather--we have faced the world together- never caring why or whether--never minding when or where- but he says we now must sever--happy days are done forever, for bosephus and the fiddle and the old--black--bear!" [illustration: fell weeping into his companion's arms.] an hour later bo was wending his way southward through the sweet spring woods alone. in his inner breast pocket was stored every dollar the friends had earned together. "i will never need it now, bo," horatio had said at parting, "and you will need a great many times as much. take it and sometimes think of your far off faithful ratio." and then, after one long embrace, they had parted. and now the little boy was trying to keep up courage to carry out what he had undertaken. at every turn in the path he was tempted to return and throw himself in horatio's arms. but he pressed on, hoping to arrive at some sort of habitation for the night, which he did not like to pass alone in the woods. "poor old ratio," he thought. "he will be happier with his own people after a while. and perhaps he will really civilize them." he turned and cast one long look in the direction of the colony which he could no longer see. then facing about again he hurried forward. about a mile further on he paused at a little brook for a drink. he was bending over the water when he heard a sudden crashing in the bushes behind him. he started up instantly and seized a heavy stick that lay close at hand. nearer and nearer came the tearing through the brush, like some heavy animal in fierce chase. the boy stepped out of the path to let the creature pass, and then, all at once, he gave a cry of joy and surprise. headlong out of the bushes, stumbling and rolling at his feet, with tears streaming from his eyes and violin under his arm, was horatio. "bo, bo!" he cried. "i couldn't stand it. i'm going with you. that kind planter will give me a place to stay, i know, and maybe if he sends you to college he'll let me go, too. i could play for the college boys, bo, and help pay your way. don't send me back, bo! don't send me back!" bo embraced him silently. "why, of course not, ratio," he said at last, "but i thought you wanted to have a colony of your own people." "i did, bo, but i have turned it over to cub. he can take care of it. like you, bo, i have been civilized too long to live away from men! and, besides, bo, you need me to protect you." horatio recovered his dignity at this point and continued, gravely, "you are brave and noble, bosephus, but you need some one near you who is ever ready to face any danger. let us sing now, bosephus, as we travel onward." and with a joyful scrape of the strings and a sweet burst of melody the friends set their faces once more to the south. [illustration: music] "oh, there was a little boy and his name was bo, went out into the woods when the moon was low. [illustration: music] and he met an old bear who was hungry for a snack, and the folks are still waiting for bosephus to come back. [illustration: music] "for the boy became the teacher of this kind and gentle creature, who was faithful in his friendship and was watchful in his care, [illustration: music] and they travelled on forever and they'll never, never sever, bosephus and the fiddle and the old--black--bear." [illustration: "and they traveled on forever"] * * * * * transcriber's notes: obvious punctuation errors repaired. page 20, "to" changed to "bo" (bo was awake first) page 66, two lines of text were transposed. the original read: of them----" down here are mighty fond of bear meat, and there's such a lot monarch, the big bear of tallac with 100 drawings by ernest thompson seton author of wild animals i have known trail of the sandhill stag biography of a grizzly lives of the hunted. two little savages. etc. 1919 this book is dedicated to the memory of the days in tallac's pines, where by the fire i heard this epic tale. kind memory calls the picture up before me now, clear, living clear: i see them as they sat, the one small and slight, the other tall and brawny, leader and led, rough men of the hills. they told me this tale--in broken bits they gave it, a sentence at a time. they were ready to talk but knew not how. few their words, and those they used would be empty on paper, meaningless without the puckered lip, the interhiss, the brutal semi-snarl restrained by human mastery, the snap and jerk of wrist and gleam of steel-gray eye, that really told the tale, of which the spoken word was mere headline. another, a subtler theme was theirs that night; not in the line but in the interline it ran; and listening to the hunter's ruder tale, i heard as one may hear the night bird singing in the storm; amid the glitter of the mica i caught the glint of gold, for theirs was a parable of hill-born power that fades when it finds the plains. they told of the giant redwood's growth from a tiny seed; of the avalanche that, born a snowflake, heaves and grows on the peaks, to shrink and die on the level lands below. they told of the river at our feet: of its rise, a thread-like rill, afar on tallac's side, and its growth--a brook, a stream, a little river, a river, a mighty flood that rolled and ran from hills to plain to meet a final doom so strange that only the wise believe. yes, i have seen it; it is there to-day--the river, the wonderful river, that unabated flows, but that never reaches the sea. i give you the story then as it came to me, and yet i do not give it, for theirs is a tongue unknown to script: i give a dim translation; dim, but in all ways respectful, reverencing the indomitable spirit of the mountaineer, worshiping the mighty beast that nature built a monument of power, and loving and worshiping the clash, the awful strife heroic, at the close, when these two met. in this book the designs for cover, title-page, and general make-up were done by grace gallatin seton. list of full-page drawings "the pony bounded in terror while the grizzly ran almost alongside" "jack ate till his paunch looked like a rubber balloon" "'honey--jacky--honey'" "jack ... held up his sticky, greasy arms" the thirty-foot bear "'now, b'ar, i don't want no scrap with you'" "rumbling and snorting, he made for the friendly hills" monarch list of the chapters i. the two springs ii. the springs and the miner's dam iii. the trout pool iv. the stream that sank in the sand v. the river held in the foothills vi. the broken dam vii. the freshet viii. roaring in the canon ix. fire and water x. the eddy xi. the ford xii. swirl and pool and growing flood xiii. the deepening channel xiv. the cataract xv. the foaming flood xvi. landlocked foreword the story of monarch is founded on material gathered from many sources as well as from personal experience, and the bear is of necessity a composite. the great grizzly monarch, still pacing his prison floor at the golden gate park, is the central fact of the tale. in telling it i have taken two liberties that i conceive to be proper in a story of this sort. first, i have selected for my hero an unusual individual. second, i have ascribed to that one animal the adventures of several of his kind. the aim of the story is to picture the life of a grizzly with the added glamour of a remarkable bear personality. the intention is to convey the known truth. but the fact that liberties have been taken excludes the story from the catalogue of pure science. it must be considered rather an historical novel of bear life. many different bears were concerned in the early adventures here related, but the last two chapters, the captivity and the despair of the big bear, are told as they were told to me by several witnesses, including my friends the two mountaineers. i. the two springs high above sierra's peaks stands grim mount tallac. ten thousand feet above the sea it rears its head to gaze out north to that vast and wonderful turquoise that men call lake tahoe, and northwest, across a piney sea, to its great white sister, shasta of the snows; wonderful colors and things on every side, mast-like pine trees strung with jewelry, streams that a buddhist would have made sacred, hills that an arab would have held holy. but lan kellyan's keen gray eyes were turned to other things. the childish delight in life and light for their own sakes had faded, as they must in one whose training had been to make him hold them very cheap. why value grass? all the world is grass. why value air, when it is everywhere in measureless immensity? why value life, when, all alive, his living came from taking life? his senses were alert, not for the rainbow hills and the gem-bright lakes, but for the living things that he must meet in daily rivalry, each staking on the game, his life. hunter was written on his leathern garb, on his tawny face, on his lithe and sinewy form, and shone in his clear gray eye. the cloven granite peak might pass unmarked, but a faint dimple in the sod did not. calipers could not have told that it was widened at one end, but the hunter's eye did, and following, he looked for and found another, then smaller signs, and he knew that a big bear and two little ones had passed and were still close at hand, for the grass in the marks was yet unbending. lan rode his hunting pony on the trail. it sniffed and stepped nervously, for it knew as well as the rider that a grizzly family was near. they came to a terrace leading to an open upland. twenty feet on this side of it lan slipped to the ground, dropped the reins, the well-known sign to the pony that he must stand at that spot, then cocked his rifle and climbed the bank. at the top he went with yet greater caution, and soon saw an old grizzly with her two cubs. she was lying down some fifty yards away and afforded a poor shot; he fired at what seemed to be the shoulder. the aim was true, but the bear got only a flesh-wound. she sprang to her feet and made for the place where the puff of smoke arose. the bear had fifty yards to cover, the man had fifteen, but she came racing down the bank before he was fairly on the horse, and for a hundred yards the pony bounded in terror while the old grizzly ran almost alongside, striking at him and missing by a scant hair's-breadth each time. but the grizzly rarely keeps up its great speed for many yards. the horse got under full headway, and the shaggy mother, falling behind, gave up the chase and returned to her cubs. [illustration: "the pony bounded in terror while the grizzly ran almost alongside"] she was a singular old bear. she had a large patch of white on her breast, white cheeks and shoulders, graded into the brown elsewhere, and lan from this remembered her afterward as the "pinto." she had almost caught him that time, and the hunter was ready to believe that he owed her a grudge. a week later his chance came. as he passed along the rim of pocket gulch, a small, deep valley with sides of sheer rock in most places, he saw afar the old pinto bear with her two little brown cubs. she was crossing from one side where the wall was low to another part easy to climb. as she stopped to drink at the clear stream lan fired with his rifle. at the shot pinto turned on her cubs, and slapping first one, then the other, she chased them up a tree. now a second shot struck her and she charged fiercely up the sloping part of the wall, clearly recognizing the whole situation and determined to destroy that hunter. she came snorting up the steep acclivity wounded and raging, only to receive a final shot in the brain that sent her rolling back to lie dead at the bottom of pocket gulch. the hunter, after waiting to make sure, moved to the edge and fired another shot into the old one's body; then reloading, he went cautiously down to the tree where still were the cubs. they gazed at him with wild seriousness as he approached them, and when he began to climb they scrambled up higher. here one set up a plaintive whining and the other an angry growling, their outcries increasing as he came nearer. he took out a stout cord, and noosing them in turn, dragged them to the ground. one rushed at him and, though little bigger than a cat, would certainly have done him serious injury had he not held it off with a forked stick. after tying them to a strong but swaying branch he went to his horse, got a grain-bag, dropped them into that, and rode with them to his shanty. he fastened each with a collar and chain to a post, up which they climbed, and sitting on the top they whined and growled, according to their humor. for the first few days there was danger of the cubs strangling themselves or of starving to death, but at length they were beguiled into drinking some milk most ungently procured from a range cow that was lassoed for the purpose. in another week they seemed somewhat reconciled to their lot, and thenceforth plainly notified their captor whenever they wanted food or water. and thus the two small rills ran on, a little farther down the mountain now, deeper and wider, keeping near each other; leaping bars, rejoicing in the sunlight, held for a while by some trivial dam, but overleaping that and running on with pools and deeps that harbor bigger things. ii. the springs and the miner's dam jack and jill, the hunter named the cubs; and jill, the little fury, did nothing to change his early impression of her bad temper. when at food-time the man came she would get as far as possible up the post and growl, or else sit in sulky fear and silence; jack would scramble down and strain at his chain to meet his captor, whining softly, and gobbling his food at once with the greatest of gusto and the worst of manners. he had many odd ways of his own, and he was a lasting rebuke to those who say an animal has no sense of humor. in a month he had grown so tame that he was allowed to run free. he followed his master like a dog, and his tricks and funny doings were a continual delight to kellyan and the few friends he had in the mountains. on the creek-bottom below the shack was a meadow where lan cut enough hay each year to feed his two ponies through the winter. this year when hay-time came jack was his daily companion, either following him about in dangerous nearness to the snorting scythe, or curling up an hour at a time on his coat to guard it assiduously from such aggressive monsters as ground squirrels and chipmunks. an interesting variation of the day came about whenever the mower found a bumblebees' nest. jack loved honey, of course, and knew quite well what a bees' nest was, so the call, "honey--jacky--honey!" never failed to bring him in waddling haste to the spot. jerking his nose up in token of pleasure, he would approach cautiously, for he knew that bees have stings. watching his chance, he would dexterously slap at them with his paws till, one by one, they were knocked down and crushed; then sniffing hard for the latest information, he would stir up the nest gingerly till the very last was tempted forth to be killed. when the dozen or more that formed the swarm were thus got rid of, jack would carefully dig out the nest and eat first the honey, next the grubs and wax, and last of all the bees he had killed, champing his jaws like a little pig at a trough, while his long red, snaky tongue was ever busy lashing the stragglers into his greedy maw. [illustration: "jack ate till his paunch looked like a rubber balloon"] lan's nearest neighbor was lou bonamy, an ex-cowboy and sheep-herder, now a prospecting miner. he lived, with his dog, in a shanty about a mile below kellyan's shack. bonamy had seen jack "perform on a bee-crew." and one day, as he came to kellyan's, he called out: "lan, bring jack here and we'll have some fun." he led the way down the stream into the woods. kellyan followed him, and jacky waddled at kellyan's heels, sniffing once in a while to make sure he was not following the wrong pair of legs. "there, jacky, honey--honey!" and bonamy pointed up a tree to an immense wasps' nest. jack cocked his head on one side and swung his nose on the other. certainly those things buzzing about looked like bees, though he never before saw a bees' nest of that shape, or in such a place. but he scrambled up the trunk. the men waited--lan in doubt as to whether he should let his pet cub go into such danger, bonamy insisting it would be a capital joke "to spring a surprise" on the little bear. jack reached the branch that held the big nest high over the deep water, but went with increasing caution. he had never seen a bees' nest like this; it did not have the right smell. then he took another step forward on the branch--what an awful lot of bees; another step--still they were undoubtedly bees; he cautiously advanced a foot--and bees mean honey; a little farther--he was now within four feet of the great paper globe. the bees hummed angrily and jack stepped back, in doubt. the men giggled; then bonamy called softly and untruthfully: "honey--jacky--honey!" [illustration: "'honey--jacky--honey'"] the little bear, fortunately for himself, went slowly, since in doubt; he made no sudden move, and he waited a long time, though urged to go on, till the whole swarm of bees had reentered their nest. now jacky jerked his nose up, hitched softly out a little farther till right over the fateful paper globe. he reached out, and by lucky chance put one horny little paw-pad over the hole; his other arm grasped the nest, and leaping from the branch he plunged headlong into the pool below, taking the whole thing with him. as soon as he reached the water his hind feet were seen tearing into the nest, kicking it to pieces; then he let it go and struck out for the shore, the nest floating in rags down-stream. he ran alongside till the comb lodged against a shallow place, then he plunged in again; the wasps were drowned or too wet to be dangerous, and he carried his prize to the bank in triumph. no honey; of course, that was a disappointment, but there were lots of fat white grubs--almost as good--and jack ate till his paunch looked like a little rubber balloon. "how is that?" chuckled lan. "the laugh is on us," answered bonamy, with a grimace. iii. the trout pool jack was now growing into a sturdy cub, and he would follow kellyan even as far as bonamy's shack. one day, as they watched him rolling head over heels in riotous glee, kellyan remarked to his friend: "i'm afraid some one will happen on him an' shoot him in the woods for a wild b'ar." "then why don't you ear-mark him with them thar new sheep-rings?" was the sheep-man's suggestion. thus it was that, much against his will, jack's ears were punched and he was decorated with earrings like a prize ram. the intention was good, but they were neither ornamental nor comfortable. jack fought them for days, and when at length he came home trailing a branch that was caught in the jewel of his left ear, kellyan impatiently removed them. at bonamy's he formed two new acquaintances, a blustering, bullying old ram that was "in storage" for a sheep-herder acquaintance, and which inspired him with a lasting enmity for everything that smelt of sheep--and bonamy's dog. this latter was an active, yapping, unpleasant cur that seemed to think it rare fun to snap at jacky's heels, then bound out of reach. a joke is a joke, but this horrid beast did not know where to stop, and jack's first and second visits to the bonamy hut were quite spoiled by the tyranny of the dog. if jack could have got hold of him he might have settled the account to his own satisfaction, but he was not quick enough for that. his only refuge was up a tree. he soon discovered that he was happier away from bonamy's, and thenceforth when he saw his protector take the turn that led to the miner's cabin, jack said plainly with a look, "no, thank you," and turned back to amuse himself at home. his enemy, however, often came with bonamy to the hunter's cabin, and there resumed his amusement of teasing the little bear. it proved so interesting a pursuit that the dog learned to come over on his own account whenever he felt like having some fun, until at length jack was kept in continual terror of the yellow cur. but it all ended very suddenly. one hot day, while the two men smoked in front of kellyan's house, the dog chased jack up a tree and then stretched himself out for a pleasant nap in the shade of its branches. jack was forgotten as the dog slumbered. the little bear kept very quiet for a while, then, as his twinkling brown eyes came back to that hateful dog, that he could neither catch nor get away from, an idea seemed to grow in his small brain. he began to move slowly and silently down the branch until he was over the foe, slumbering, twitching his limbs, and making little sounds that told of dreams of the chase, or, more likely, dreams of tormenting a helpless bear cub. of course, jack knew nothing of that. his one thought, doubtless, was that he hated that cur and now he could vent his hate. he came just over the tyrant, and taking careful aim, he jumped and landed squarely on the dog's ribs. it was a terribly rude awakening, but the dog gave no yelp, for the good reason that the breath was knocked out of his body. no bones were broken, though he was barely able to drag himself away in silent defeat, while jacky played a lively tune on his rear with paws that were fringed with meat-hooks. evidently it was a most excellent plan; and when the dog came around after that, or when jack went to bonamy's with his master, as he soon again ventured to do, he would scheme with more or less success to "get the drop on the purp," as the men put it. the dog now rapidly lost interest in bear-baiting, and in a short time it was a forgotten sport. iv. the stream that sank in the sand jack was funny; jill was sulky. jack was petted and given freedom, so grew funnier; jill was beaten and chained, so grew sulkier. she had a bad name and she was often punished for it; it is usually so. one day, while lan was away, jill got free and joined her brother. they broke into the little storehouse and rioted among the provisions. they gorged themselves with the choicest sorts; and the common stuffs, like flour, butter, and baking-powder, brought fifty miles on horseback, were good enough only to be thrown about the ground or rolled in. jack had just torn open the last bag of flour, and jill was puzzling over a box of miner's dynamite, when the doorway darkened and there stood kellyan, a picture of amazement and wrath. little bears do not know anything about pictures, but they have some acquaintance with wrath. they seemed to know that they were sinning, or at least in danger, and jill sneaked, sulky and snuffy, into a dark corner, where she glared defiantly at the hunter. jack put his head on one side, then, quite forgetful of all his misbehavior, he gave a delighted grunt, and scuttling toward the man, he whined, jerked his nose, and held up his sticky, greasy arms to be lifted and petted as though he were the best little bear in the world. [illustration: "jack ... held up his sticky, greasy arms"] alas, how likely we are to be taken at our own estimate! the scowl faded from the hunter's brow as the cheeky and deplorable little bear began to climb his leg. "you little divil," he growled, "i'll break your cussed neck"; but he did not. he lifted the nasty, sticky little beast and fondled him as usual, while jill, no worse--even more excusable, because less trained--suffered all the terrors of his wrath and was double-chained to the post, so as to have no further chance of such ill-doing. this was a day of bad luck for kellyan. that morning he had fallen and broken his rifle. now, on his return home, he found his provisions spoiled, and a new trial was before him. a stranger with a small pack-train called at his place that evening and passed the night with him. jack was in his most frolicsome mood and amused them both with tricks half-puppy and half-monkey like, and in the morning, when the stranger was leaving, he said: "say, pard, i'll give you twenty-five dollars for the pair." lan hesitated, thought of the wasted provisions, his empty purse, his broken rifle, and answered: "make it fifty and it's a go." "shake on it." so the bargain was made, the money paid, and in fifteen minutes the stranger was gone with a little bear in each pannier of his horse. jill was surly and silent; jack kept up a whining that smote on lan's heart with a reproachful sound, but he braced himself with, "guess they're better out of the way; couldn't afford another storeroom racket," and soon the pine forest had swallowed up the stranger, his three led horses, and the two little bears. "well, i'm glad he's gone," said lan, savagely, though he knew quite well that he was already scourged with repentance. he began to set his shanty in order. he went to the storehouse and gathered the remnants of the provisions. after all, there was a good deal left. he walked past the box where jack used to sleep. how silent it was! he noted the place where jack used to scratch the door to get into the cabin, and started at the thought that he should hear it no more, and told himself, with many cuss-words, that he was "mighty glad of it." he pottered about, doing--doing--oh, anything, for an hour or more; then suddenly he leaped on his pony and raced madly down the trail on the track of the stranger. he put the pony hard to it, and in two hours he overtook the train at the crossing of the river. "say, pard, i done wrong. i didn't orter sell them little b'ars, leastwise not jacky. i--i--wall, now, i want to call it off. here's yer yellow." "i'm satisfied with my end of it," said the stranger, coldly. "well, i ain't," said lan, with warmth, "an' i want it off." "ye're wastin' time if that's what ye come for," was the reply. "we'll see about that," and lan threw the gold pieces at the rider and walked over toward the pannier, where jack was whining joyfully at the sound of the familiar voice. "hands up," said the stranger, with the short, sharp tone of one who had said it before, and lan turned to find himself covered with a .45 navy colt. "ye got the drop on me," he said; "i ain't got no gun; but look-a here, stranger, that there little b'ar is the only pard i got; he's my stiddy company an' we're almighty fond o' each other. i didn't know how much i was a-goin' to miss him. now look-a here: take back yer fifty; ye give me jack an' keep jill." "if ye got five hundred cold plunks in yaller ye kin get him; if not, you walk straight to that tree thar an' don't drop yer hands or turn or i'll fire. now start." mountain etiquette is very strict, and lan, being without weapons, must needs obey the rules. he marched to the distant tree under cover of the revolver. the wail of little jack smote painfully on his ear, but he knew the ways of the mountaineers too well to turn or make another offer, and the stranger went on. many a man has spent a thousand dollars in efforts to capture some wild thing and felt it worth the cost--for a time. then he is willing to sell it for half cost, then for quarter, and at length he ends by giving it away. the stranger was vastly pleased with his comical bear cubs at first, and valued them proportionately; but each day they seemed more troublesome and less amusing, so that when, a week later, at the bell-cross ranch, he was offered a horse for the pair, he readily closed, and their days of hamper-travel were over. the owner of the ranch was neither mild, refined, nor patient. jack, good-natured as he was, partly grasped these facts as he found himself taken from the pannier, but when it came to getting cranky little jill out of the basket and into a collar, there ensued a scene so unpleasant that no collar was needed. the ranchman wore his hand in a sling for two weeks, and jacky at his chain's end paced the ranch-yard alone. v. the river held in the foothills there was little of pleasant interest in the next eighteen months of jack's career. his share of the globe was a twenty-foot circle around a pole in the yard. the blue hills of the offing, the nearer pine grove, and even the ranch-house itself were fixed stars, far away and sending merely faint suggestions of their splendors to his not very bright eyes. even the horses and men were outside his little sphere and related to him about as much as comets are to the earth. the very tricks that had made him valued were being forgotten as jack grew up in chains. at first a butter-firkin had made him an ample den, but he rapidly passed through the various stages--butter-firkin, nail-keg, flour-barrel, oil-barrel--and had now to be graded as a good average hogshead bear, though he was far from filling that big round wooden cavern that formed his latest den. the ranch hotel lay just where the foothills of the sierras with their groves of live oaks were sloping into the golden plains of the sacramento. nature had showered on it every wonderful gift in her lap. a foreground rich with flowers, luxuriant in fruit, shade and sun, dry pastures, rushing rivers, and murmuring rills, were here. great trees were variants of the view, and the high sierras to the east overtopped the wondrous plumy forests of their pines with blocks of sculptured blue. back of the house was a noble river of water from the hills, fouled and chained by sluice and dam, but still a noble stream whose earliest parent rill had gushed from grim old tallac's slope. things of beauty, life, and color were on every side, and yet most sordid of the human race were the folk about the ranch hotel. to see them in this setting might well raise doubt that any "rise from nature up to nature's god." no city slum has ever shown a more ignoble crew, and jack, if his mind were capable of such things, must have graded the two-legged ones lower in proportion as he knew them better. cruelty was his lot, and hate was his response. almost the only amusing trick he now did was helping himself to a drink of beer. he was very fond of beer, and the loafers about the tavern often gave him a bottle to see how dexterously he would twist off the wire and work out the cork. as soon as it popped, he would turn it up between his paws and drink to the last drop. the monotony of his life was occasionally varied with a dog fight. his tormentors would bring their bear dogs "to try them on the cub." it seemed to be very pleasant sport to men and dogs, till jack learned how to receive them. at first he used to rush furiously at the nearest tormentor until brought up with a jerk at the end of his chain and completely exposed to attack behind from another dog. a month or two entirely changed his method. he learned to sit against the hogshead and quietly watch the noisy dogs around him, with much show of inattention, making no move, no matter how near they were, until they "bunched," that is, gathered in one place. then he charged. it was inevitable that the hind dogs would be the last to jump, and so hindered the front ones; thus jack would "get" one or more of them, and the game became unpopular. when about eighteen months old, and half grown, an incident took place which defied all explanation. jack had won the name of being dangerous, for he had crippled one man with a blow and nearly killed a tipsy fool who volunteered to fight him. a harmless but good-for-nothing sheep-herder who loafed about the place got very drunk one night and offended some fire-eaters. they decided that, as he had no gun, it would be the proper thing to club him to their hearts' content instead of shooting him full of holes, in the manner usually prescribed by their code. faco tampico made for the door and staggered out into the darkness. his pursuers were even more drunk, but, bent on mischief, they gave chase, and faco dodged back of the house and into the yard. the mountaineers had just wit enough to keep out of reach of the grizzly as they searched about for their victim, but they did not find him. then they got torches, and making sure that he was not in the yard, were satisfied that he had fallen into the river behind the barn and doubtless was drowned. a few rude jokes, and they returned to the house. as they passed the grizzly's den their lanterns awoke in his eyes a glint of fire. in the morning the cook, beginning his day, heard strange sounds in the yard. they came from the grizzly's den: "hyar, you, lay over dahr," in sleepy tones; then a deep, querulous grunting. the cook went as close as he dared and peeped in. said the same voice in sleepy tones: "who are ye crowding, caramba!" and a human elbow was seen jerking and pounding; and again impatient growling in bear-like tones was the response. the sun came up and the astonished loafers found it was the missing sheep-herder that was in the bear's den, calmly sleeping off his debauch in the very cave of death. the men tried to get him out, but the grizzly plainly showed that they could do so only over his dead body. he charged with vindictive fury at any who ventured near, and when they gave up the attempt he lay down at the door of the den on guard. at length the sheep-herder came to himself, rose up on his elbows, and realizing that he was in the power of the young grizzly, he stepped gingerly over his guardian's back and ran off without even saying "thank you." the fourth of july was at hand now, and the owner of the tavern, growing weary of the huge captive in the yard, announced that he would celebrate independence day with a grand fight between a "picked and fighting range bull and a ferocious californian grizzly." the news was spread far and wide by the "grapevine telegraph." the roof of the stable was covered with seats at fifty cents each. the hay-wagon was half loaded and drawn alongside the corral; seats here gave a perfect view and were sold at a dollar apiece. the old corral was repaired, new posts put in where needed, and the first thing in the morning a vicious old bull was herded in and tormented till he was "snuffy" and extremely dangerous. jack meanwhile had been roped, "choked down," and nailed up in his hogshead. his chain and collar were permanently riveted together, so the collar was taken off, as "it would be easy to rope him, _if need be, after the bull was through with him."_ the hogshead was rolled over to the corral gate and all was ready. the cowboys came from far and near in their most gorgeous trappings, and the california cowboy is the peacock of his race. their best girls were with them, and farmers and ranchmen came for fifty miles to enjoy the bull-and-bear fight. miners from the hills were there, mexican sheep-herders, storekeepers from placerville, strangers from sacramento; town and county, mountain and plain, were represented. the hay-wagon went so well that another was brought into market. the barn roof was sold out. an ominous crack of the timbers somewhat shook the prices, but a couple of strong uprights below restored the market, and all "the corners" was ready and eager for the great fight. men who had been raised among cattle were betting on the bull. "i tell you, there ain't nothing on earth kin face a big range bull that hez good use of hisself." but the hillmen were backing the bear. "pooh, what's a bull to a grizzly? i tell you, i seen a grizzly send a horse clean over the hetch-hetchy with one clip of his left. bull! i'll bet he'll never show up in the second round." so they wrangled and bet, while burly women, trying to look fetching, gave themselves a variety of airs, were "scared at the whole thing, nervous about the uproar, afraid it would be shocking," but really were as keenly interested as the men. all was ready, and the boss of "the corners" shouted: "let her go, boys; house is full an' time's up!" faco tampico had managed to tie a bundle of chaparral thorn to the bull's tail, so that the huge creature had literally lashed himself into a frenzy. jack's hogshead meanwhile had been rolled around till he was raging with disgust, and faco, at the word of command, began to pry open the door. the end of the barrel was close to the fence, the door cleared away; now there was nothing for jack to do but to go forth and claw the bull to pieces. but he did not go. the noise, the uproar, the strangeness of the crowd affected him so that he decided to stay where he was, and the bull-backers raised a derisive cry. their champion came forward bellowing and sniffing, pausing often to paw the dust. he held his head very high and approached slowly until he came within ten feet of the grizzly's den; then, giving a snort, he turned and ran to the other end of the corral. now it was the bear-backers' turn to shout. but the crowd wanted a fight, and faco, forgetful of his debt to grizzly jack, dropped a bundle of fourth of july crackers into the hogshead by way of the bung. "crack!" and jack jumped up. "fizz--crack--c-r-r-r-a-a-c-k, cr-k-crk-ck!" and jack in surprise rushed from his den into the arena. the bull was standing in a magnificent attitude there in the middle, but when he saw the bear spring toward him, he gave two mighty snorts and retreated as far as he could, amid cheers and hisses. perhaps the two main characteristics of the grizzly are the quickness with which he makes a plan and the vigor with which he follows it up. before the bull had reached the far side of the corral jack seemed to know the wisest of courses. his pig-like eyes swept the fence in a flash--took in the most climbable part, a place where a cross-piece was nailed on in the middle. in three seconds he was there, in two seconds he was over, and in one second he dashed through the running, scattering mob and was making for the hills as fast as his strong and supple legs could carry him. women screamed, men yelled, and dogs barked; there was a wild dash for the horses tied far from the scene of the fight, to spare their nerves, but the grizzly had three hundred yards' start, five hundred yards even, and before the gala mob gave out a long and flying column of reckless, riotous riders, the grizzly had plunged into the river, a flood no dog cared to face, and had reached the chaparral and the broken ground in line for the piney hills. in an hour the ranch hotel, with its galling chain, its cruelties, and its brutal human beings, was a thing of the past, shut out by the hills of his youth, cut off by the river of his cub-hood, the river grown from the rill born in his birthplace away in tallac's pines. that fourth of july was a glorious fourth--it was independence day for grizzly jack. vi. the broken dam a wounded deer usually works downhill, a hunted grizzly climbs. jack knew nothing of the country, but he did know that he wanted to get away from that mob, so he sought the roughest ground, and climbed and climbed. he had been alone for hours, traveling up and on. the plain was lost to view. he was among the granite rocks, the pine trees, and the berries now, and he gathered in food from the low bushes with dexterous paws and tongue as he traveled, but stopped not at all until among the tumbled rock, where the sun heat of the afternoon seemed to command rather than invite him to rest. the night was black when he awoke, but bears are not afraid of the dark--they rather fear the day--and he swung along, led, as before, by the impulse to get up above the danger; and thus at last he reached the highest range, the region of his native tallac. he had but little of the usual training of a young bear, but he had a few instincts, his birthright, that stood him well in all the main issues, and his nose was an excellent guide. thus he managed to live, and wild-life experiences coming fast gave his mind the chance to grow. jack's memory for faces and facts was not at all good, but his memory for smells was imperishable. he had forgotten bonamy's cur, but the smell of bonamy's cur would instantly have thrilled him with the old feelings. he had forgotten the cross ram, but the smell of "old woolly whiskers" would have inspired him at once with anger and hate; and one evening when the wind came richly laden with ram smell it was like a bygone life returned. he had been living on roots and berries for weeks and now began to experience that hankering for flesh that comes on every candid vegetarian with dangerous force from time to time. the ram smell seemed an answer to it. so down he went by night (no sensible bear travels by day), and the smell brought him from the pines on the hillside to an open rocky dale. long before he got there a curious light shone up. he knew what that was; he had seen the two-legged ones make it near the ranch of evil smells and memories, so feared it not. he swung along from ledge to ledge in silence and in haste, for the smell of sheep grew stronger at every stride, and when he reached a place above the fire he blinked his eyes to find the sheep. the smell was strong now; it was rank, but no sheep to be seen. instead he saw in the valley a stretch of gray water that seemed to reflect the stars, and yet they neither twinkled nor rippled; there was a murmuring sound from the sheet, but it seemed not at all like that of the lakes around. [illustration: the herd of eyes] the stars were clustered chiefly near the fire, and were less like stars than spots of the phosphorescent wood that are scattered on the ground when one knocks a rotten stump about to lick up its swarms of wood-ants. so jack came closer, and at last so close that even his dull eyes could see. the great gray lake was a flock of sheep and the phosphorescent specks were their eyes. close by the fire was a log or a low rough bank--that turned out to be the shepherd and his dog. both were objectionable features, but the sheep extended far from them. jack knew that his business was with the flock. he came very close to the edge and found them surrounded by a low hedge of chaparral; but what little things they were compared with that great and terrible ram that he dimly remembered! the blood-thirst came on him. he swept the low hedge aside, charged into the mass of sheep that surged away from him with rushing sounds of feet and murmuring groans, struck down one, seized it, and turning away, he scrambled back up the mountains. the sheep-herder leaped to his feet, fired his gun, and the dog came running over the solid mass of sheep, barking loudly. but jack was gone. the sheep-herder contented himself with making two or three fires, shooting off his gun, and telling his beads. that was jack's first mutton, but it was not the last. thenceforth when he wanted a sheep--and it became a regular need--he knew he had merely to walk along the ridge till his nose said, "turn, and go so," for smelling is believing in bear life. vii. the freshet pedro tampico and his brother faco were not in the sheep business for any maudlin sentiment. they did not march ahead of their beloveds waving a crook as wand of office or appealing to the esthetic sides of their ideal followers with a tabret and pipe. far from leading the flock with a symbol, they drove them with an armful of ever-ready rocks and clubs. they were not shepherds; they were sheep-herders. they did not view their charges as loved and loving followers, but as four-legged cash; each sheep was worth a dollar bill. they were cared for only as a man cares for his money, and counted after each alarm or day of travel. it is not easy for any one to count three thousand sheep, and for a mexican sheep-herder it is an impossibility. but he has a simple device which answers the purpose. in an ordinary flock about one sheep in a hundred is a black one. if a portion of the flock has gone astray, there is likely to be a black one in it. so by counting his thirty black sheep each day tampico kept rough count of his entire flock. grizzly jack had killed but one sheep that first night. on his next visit he killed two, and on the next but one, yet that last one happened to be black, and when tampico found but twenty-nine of its kind remaining he safely reasoned that he was losing sheep--according to the index a hundred were gone. "if the land is unhealthy move out" is ancient wisdom. tampico filled his pocket with stones, and reviling his charges in all their walks in life and history, he drove them from the country that was evidently the range of a sheep-eater. at night he found a walled-in canon, a natural corral, and the woolly scattering swarm, condensed into a solid fleece, went pouring into the gap, urged intelligently by the dog and idiotically by the man. at one side of the entrance tampico made his fire. some thirty feet away was a sheer wall of rock. ten miles may be a long day's travel for a wretched wool-plant, but it is little more than two hours for a grizzly. it is farther than eyesight, but it is well within nosesight, and jack, feeling mutton-hungry, had not the least difficulty in following his prey. his supper was a little later than usual, but his appetite was the better for that. there was no alarm in camp, so tampico had fallen asleep. a growl from the dog awakened him. he started up to behold the most appalling creature that he had ever seen or imagined, a monster bear standing on his hind legs, and thirty feet high at least. the dog fled in terror, but was valor itself compared with pedro. he was so frightened that he could not express the prayer that was in his breast: "blessed saints, let him have every sin-blackened sheep in the band, but spare your poor worshiper," and he hid his head; so never learned that he saw, not a thirty-foot bear thirty feet away, but a seven-foot bear not far from the fire and casting a black thirty-foot shadow on the smooth rock behind. and, helpless with fear, poor pedro groveled in the dust. [illustration: the thirty-foot bear] when he looked up the giant bear was gone. there was a rushing of the sheep. a small body of them scurried out of the canon into the night, and after them went an ordinary-sized bear, undoubtedly a cub of the monster. pedro had been neglecting his prayers for some months back, but he afterward assured his father confessor that on this night he caught up on all arrears and had a goodly surplus before morning. at sunrise he left his dog in charge of the flock and set out to seek the runaways, knowing, first, that there was little danger in the day-time, second, that some would escape. the missing ones were a considerable number, raised to the second power indeed, for two more black ones were gone. strange to tell, they had not scattered, and pedro trailed them a mile or more in the wilderness till he reached another very small box canon. here he found the missing flock perched in various places on boulders and rocky pinnacles as high up as they could get. he was delighted and worked for half a minute on his bank surplus of prayers, but was sadly upset to find that nothing would induce the sheep to come down from the rocks or leave that canon. one or two that he manoeuvered as far as the outlet sprang back in fear from _something on the ground_, which, on examination, he found--yes, he swears to this--to be the deep-worn, fresh-worn pathway of a grizzly from one wall across to the other. all the sheep were now back again beyond his reach. pedro began to fear for himself, so hastily returned to the main flock. he was worse off than ever now. the other grizzly was a bear of ordinary size and ate a sheep each night, but the new one, into whose range he had entered, was a monster, a bear mountain, requiring forty or fifty sheep to a meal. the sooner he was out of this the better. it was now late, too late, and the sheep were too tired to travel, so pedro made unusual preparations for the night: two big fires at the entrance to the canon, and a platform fifteen feet up in a tree for his own bed. the dog could look out for himself. viii. roaring in the canon pedro knew that the big bear was coming; for the fifty sheep in the little canon were not more than an appetizer for such a creature. he loaded his gun carefully as a matter of habit and went up-stairs to bed. whatever defects his dormitory had the ventilation was good, and pedro was soon a-shiver. he looked down in envy at his dog curled up by the fire; then he prayed that the saints might intervene and direct the steps of the bear toward the flock of some neighbor, and carefully specified the neighbor to avoid mistakes. he tried to pray himself to sleep. it had never failed in church when he was at the mission, so why now? but for once it did not succeed. the fearsome hour of midnight passed, then the gray dawn, the hour of dull despair, was near. tampico felt it, and a long groan vibrated through his chattering teeth. his dog leaped up, barked savagely, the sheep began to stir, then went backing into the gloom; there was a rushing of stampeding sheep and a huge, dark form loomed up. tampico grasped his gun and would have fired, when it dawned on him with sickening horror that the bear was thirty feet high, his platform was only fifteen, just a convenient height for the monster. none but a madman would invite the bear to eat by shooting at him now. so pedro flattened himself face downward on the platform, and, with his mouth to a crack, he poured forth prayers to his representative in the sky, regretting his unconventional attitude and profoundly hoping that it would be overlooked as unavoidable, and that somehow the petitions would get the right direction after leaving the under side of the platform. in the morning he had proof that his prayers had been favorably received. there was a bear-track, indeed, but the number of black sheep was unchanged, so pedro filled his pocket with stones and began his usual torrent of remarks as he drove the flock. "hyah, capitan--you huajalote," as the dog paused to drink. "bring back those ill-descended sons of perdition," and a stone gave force to the order, which the dog promptly obeyed. hovering about the great host of grumbling hoofy locusts, he kept them together and on the move, while pedro played the part of a big, noisy, and troublesome second. as they journeyed through the open country the sheep-herder's eye fell on a human figure, a man sitting on a rock above them to the left. pedro gazed inquiringly; the man saluted and beckoned. this meant "friend"; had he motioned him to pass on it might have meant, "keep away or i shoot." pedro walked toward him a little way and sat down. the man came forward. it was lan kellyan, the hunter. each was glad of a chance to "talk with a human" and to get the news. the latest concerning the price of wool, the bull-and-bear fiasco, and, above all, the monster bear that had killed tampico's sheep, afforded topics of talk. "ah, a bear devill--de hell-brute--a gringo bear--pardon, my amigo, i mean a very terroar." as the sheep-herder enlarged on the marvelous cunning of the bear that had a private sheep corral of his own, and the size of the monster, forty or fifty feet high now--for such bears are of rapid and continuous growth--kellyan's eye twinkled and he said: "say, pedro, i believe you once lived pretty nigh the hassayampa, didn't you?" this does not mean that that is a country of great bears, but was an allusion to the popular belief that any one who tastes a single drop of the hassayampa river can never afterward tell the truth. some scientists who have looked into the matter aver that this wonderful property is common to the rio grande as well as the hassayampa, and, indeed, all the rivers of mexico, as well as their branches, and the springs, wells, ponds, lakes, and irrigation ditches. however that may be, the hassayampa is the best-known stream of this remarkable peculiarity. the higher one goes, the greater its potency, and pedro was from the headwaters. but he protested by all the saints that his story was true. he pulled out a little bottle of garnets, got by glancing over the rubbish laid about their hills by the desert ants; he thrust it back into his wallet and produced another bottle with a small quantity of gold-dust, also gathered at the rare times when he was not sleepy, and the sheep did not need driving, watering, stoning, or reviling. "here, i bet dat it ees so." gold is a loud talker. kellyan paused. "i can't cover your bet, pedro, but i'll kill your bear for what's in the bottle." "i take you," said the sheep-herder, "eef you breeng back dose sheep dat are now starving up on de rocks of de canon of baxstaire's." the mexican's eyes twinkled as the white man closed on the offer. the gold in the bottle, ten or fifteen dollars, was a trifle, and yet enough to send the hunter on the quest--enough to lure him into the enterprise, and that was all that was needed. pedro knew his man: get him going and profit would count for nothing; having put his hand to the plow lan kellyan would finish the furrow at any cost; he was incapable of turning back. and again he took up the trail of grizzly jack, his one-time "pard," now grown beyond his ken. the hunter went straight to baxter's canon and found the sheep high-perched upon the rocks. by the entrance he found the remains of two of them recently devoured, and about them the tracks of a medium-sized bear. he saw nothing of the pathway--the dead-line--made by the grizzly to keep the sheep prisoners till he should need them. but the sheep were standing in stupid terror on various high places, apparently willing to starve rather than come down. lan dragged one down; at once it climbed up again. he now realized the situation, so made a small pen of chaparral outside the canon, and dragging the dull creatures down one at a time, he carried them--except one--out of the prison of death and into the pen. next he made a hasty fence across the canon's mouth, and turning the sheep out of the pen, he drove them by slow stages toward the rest of the flock. only six or seven miles across country, but it was late night when lan arrived. tampico gladly turned over half of the promised dust. that night they camped together, and, of course, no bear appeared. in the morning lan went back to the canon and found, as expected, that the bear had returned and killed the remaining sheep. the hunter piled the rest of the carcasses in an open place, lightly sprinkled the grizzly's trail with some very dry brush, then making a platform some fifteen feet from the ground in a tree, he rolled up in his blanket there and slept. an old bear will rarely visit a place three nights in succession; a cunning bear will avoid a trail that has been changed overnight; a skilful bear goes in absolute silence. but jack was neither old, cunning, nor skilful. he came for the fourth time to the canon of the sheep. he followed his old trail straight to the delicious mutton bones. he found the human trail, but there was something about it that rather attracted him. he strode along on the dry boughs. "crack!" went one; "crack-crack!" went another; and kellyan arose on the platform and strained his eyes in the gloom till a dark form moved into the opening by the bones of the sheep. the hunter's rifle cracked, the bear snorted, wheeled into the bushes, and, crashing away, was gone. ix. fire and water that was jack's baptism of fire, for the rifle had cut a deep flesh-wound in his back. snorting with pain and rage, he tore through the bushes and traveled on for an hour or more, then lay down and tried to lick the wound, but it was beyond reach. he could only rub it against a log. he continued his journey back toward tallac, and there, in a cave that was formed of tumbled rocks, he lay down to rest. he was still rolling about in pain when the sun was high and a strange smell of fire came searching through the cave; it increased, and volumes of blinding smoke were about him. it grew so choking that he was forced to move, but it followed him till he could bear it no longer, and he dashed out of another of the ways that led into the cavern. as he went he caught a distant glimpse of a man throwing wood on the fire by the in-way, and the whiff that the wind brought him said: "this is the man that was last night watching the sheep." strange as it may seem, the woods were clear of smoke except for a trifling belt that floated in the trees, and jack went striding away in peace. he passed over the ridge, and finding berries, ate the first meal he had known since killing his last sheep. he had wandered on, gathering fruit and digging roots, for an hour or two, when the smoke grew blacker, the smell of fire stronger. he worked away from it, but in no haste. the birds, deer, and wood hares were now seen scurrying past him. there was a roaring in the air. it grew louder, was coming nearer, and jack turned to stride after the wood things that fled. the whole forest was ablaze; the wind was rising, and the flames, gaining and spreading, were flying now like wild horses. jack had no place in his brain for such a thing; but his instinct warned him to shun that coming roaring that sent above dark clouds and flying fire-flakes, and messengers of heat below, so he fled before it, as the forest host was doing. fast as he went, and few animals can outrun a grizzly in rough country, the hot hurricane was gaining on him. his sense of danger had grown almost to terror, terror of a kind that he had never known before, for here there was nothing he could fight; nothing that he could resist. the flames were all around him now; birds without number, hares, and deer had gone down before the red horror. he was plunging wildly on through chaparral and manzanita thickets that held all feebler things until the fury seized them; his hair was scorching, his wound was forgotten, and he thought only of escape when the brush ahead opened, and the grizzly, smoke-blinded, half roasted, plunged down a bank and into a small clear pool. the fur on his back said "hiss," for it was sizzling-hot. down below he went, gulping the cool drink, wallowing in safety and unheat. down below the surface he crouched as long as his lungs would bear the strain, then slowly and cautiously he raised his head. the sky above was one great sheet of flame. sticks aflame and flying embers came in hissing showers on the water. the air was hot, but breathable at times, and he filled his lungs till he had difficulty in keeping his body down below. other creatures there were in the pool, some burnt, some dead, some small and in the margin, some bigger in the deeper places, and one of them was close beside him. oh, he knew that smell; fire--all sierra's woods ablaze--could not disguise the hunter who had shot at him from the platform, and, though he did not know this, the hunter really who had followed him all day, and who had tried to smoke him out of his den and thereby set the woods ablaze. here they were, face to face, in the deepest end of the little pool; they were only ten feet apart and could not get more than twenty feet apart. the flames grew unbearable. the bear and man each took a hasty breath and bobbed below the surface, each wondering, according to his intelligence, what the other would do. in half a minute both came up again, each relieved to find the other no nearer. each tried to keep his nose and one eye above the water. but the fire was raging hot; they had to dip under and stay as long as possible. the roaring of the flame was like a hurricane. a huge pine tree came crashing down across the pool; it barely missed the man. the splash of water quenched the blazes for the most part, but it gave off such a heat that he had to move--a little nearer to the bear. another fell at an angle, killing a coyote, and crossing the first tree. they blazed fiercely at their junction, and the bear edged from it a little nearer the man. now they were within touching distance. his useless gun was lying in shallow water near shore, but the man had his knife ready, ready for self-defense. it was not needed; the fiery power had proclaimed a peace. bobbing up and dodging under, keeping a nose in the air and an eye on his foe, each spent an hour or more. the red hurricane passed on. the smoke was bad in the woods, but no longer intolerable, and as the bear straightened up in the pool to move away into shallower water and off into the woods, the man got a glimpse of red blood streaming from the shaggy back and dyeing the pool. the blood on the trail had not escaped him. he knew that this was the bear of baxter's canon, this was the gringo bear, but he did not know that this was also his old-time grizzly jack. he scrambled out of the pond, on the other side from that taken by the grizzly, and, hunter and hunted, they went their diverse ways. x. the eddy all the west slopes of tallac were swept by the fire, and kellyan moved to a new hut on the east side, where still were green patches; so did the grouse and the rabbit and the coyote, and so did grizzly jack. his wound healed quickly, but his memory of the rifle smell continued; it was a dangerous smell, a new and horrible kind of smoke--one he was destined to know too well; one, indeed, he was soon to meet again. jack was wandering down the side of tallac, following a sweet odor that called up memories of former joys--the smell of honey, though he did not know it. a flock of grouse got leisurely out of his way and flew to a low tree, when he caught a whiff of man smell, then heard a crack like that which had stung him in the sheep-corral, and down fell one of the grouse close beside him. he stepped forward to sniff just as a man also stepped forward from the opposite bushes. they were within ten feet of each other, and they recognized each other, for the hunter saw that it was a singed bear with a wounded side, and the bear smelt the rifle-smoke and the leather clothes. quick as a grizzly--that is, quicker than a flash--the bear reared. the man sprang backward, tripped and fell, and the grizzly was upon him. face to earth the hunter lay like dead, but, ere he struck, jack caught a scent that made him pause. he smelt his victim, and the smell was the rolling back of curtains or the conjuring up of a past. the days in the hunter's shanty were forgotten, but the feelings of those days were ready to take command at the bidding of the nose. his nose drank deep of a draft that quelled all rage. the grizzly's humor changed. he turned and left the hunter quite unharmed. oh, blind one with the gun! all he could find in explanation was: "you kin never tell what a grizzly will do, but it's good play to lay low when he has you cornered." it never came into his mind to credit the shaggy brute with an impulse born of good, and when he told the sheep-herder of his adventure in the pool, of his hitting high on the body and of losing the trail in the forest fire--"down by the shack, when he turned up sudden and had me i thought my last day was come. why he didn't swat me, i don't know. but i tell you this, pedro: the b'ar what killed your sheep on the upper pasture and in the sheep canon is the same. no two b'ars has hind feet alike when you get a clear-cut track, and this holds out even right along." "what about the fifty-foot b'ar i saw wit' mine own eyes, caramba?" "that must have been the night you were working a kill-care with your sheep-herder's delight. but don't worry; i'll get him yet." so kellyan set out on a long hunt, and put in practice every trick he knew for the circumventing of a bear. lou bonamy was invited to join with him, for his yellow cur was a trailer. they packed four horses with stuff and led them over the ridge to the east side of tallac, and down away from jack's peak, that kellyan had named in honor of his bear cub, toward fallen leaf lake. the hunter believed that here he would meet not, only the gringo bear that he was after, but would also stand a chance of finding others, for the place had escaped the fire. they quickly camped, setting up their canvas sheet for shade more than against rain, and after picketing their horses in a meadow, went out to hunt. by circling around leaf lake they got a good idea of the wild population: plenty of deer, some black bear, and one or two cinnamon and grizzly, and one track along the shore that kellyan pointed to, briefly saying: "that's him." "ye mean old pedro's gringo?" "yep. that's the fifty-foot grizzly. i suppose he stands maybe seven foot high in daylight, but, 'course, b'ars pulls out long at night." so the yellow cur was put on the track, and led away with funny little yelps, while the two hunters came stumbling along behind him as fast as they could, calling, at times, to the dog not to go so fast, and thus making a good deal of noise, which gringo jack heard a mile away as he ambled along the mountain-side above them. he was following his nose to many good and eatable things, and therefore going up-wind. this noise behind was so peculiar that he wanted to smell it, and to do that he swung along back over the clamor, then descended to the down-wind side, and thus he came on the trail of the hunters and their dog. his nose informed him at once. here was the hunter he once felt kindly toward and two other smells of far-back--both hateful; all three were now the smell-marks of foes, and a rumbling "woof" was the expressive sound that came from his throat. that dog-smell in particular roused him, though it is very sure he had forgotten all about the dog, and gringo's feet went swiftly and silently, yes, with marvelous silence, along the tracks of the enemy. on rough, rocky ground a dog is scarcely quicker than a bear, and since the dog was constantly held back by the hunters the bear had no difficulty in overtaking them. only a hundred yards or so behind he continued, partly in curiosity, pursuing the dog that was pursuing him, till a shift of the wind brought the dog a smell-call from the bear behind. he wheeled--of course you never follow trail smell when you can find body smell--and came galloping back with a different yapping and a bristling in his mane. "don't understand that," whispered bonamy. "it's b'ar, all right," was the answer; and the dog, bounding high, went straight toward the foe. jack heard him coming, smelt him coming, and at length saw him coming; but it was the smell that roused him--the full scent of the bully of his youth. the anger of those days came on him, and cunning enough to make him lurk in ambush: he backed to one side of the trail where it passed under a root, and, as the little yellow tyrant came, jack hit him once, hit him as he had done some years before, but now with the power of a grown grizzly. no yelp escaped the dog, no second blow was needed. the hunters searched in silence for half an hour before they found the place and learned the tale from many silent tongues. "i'll get even with him," muttered bonamy, for he loved that contemptible little yap-cur. "that's pedro's gringo, all right. he's sure cunning to run his own back track. but we'll fix him yet," and they vowed to kill that bear or "get done up" themselves. without a dog, they must make a new plan of hunting. they picked out two or three good places for pen-traps, where trees stood in pairs to make the pillars of the den. then kellyan returned to camp for the ax while bonamy prepared the ground. as kellyan came near their open camping-place, he stopped from habit and peeped ahead for a minute. he was about to go down when a movement caught his eye. there, on his haunches, sat a grizzly, looking down on the camp. the singed brown of his head and neck, and the white spot on each side of his back, left no doubt that kellyan and pedro's gringo were again face to face. it was a long shot, but the rifle went up, and as he was about to fire, the bear suddenly bent his head down, and lifting his hind paw, began to lick at a little cut. this brought the head and chest nearly in line with kellyan--a sure shot; so sure that he fired hastily. he missed the head and the shoulder, but, strange to say, he hit the bear in the mouth and in the hind toe, carrying away one of his teeth and the side of one toe. the grizzly sprang up with a snort, and came tearing down the hill toward the hunter. kellyan climbed a tree and got ready, but the camp lay just between them, and the bear charged on that instead. one sweep of his paw and the canvas tent was down and torn. whack! and tins went flying this way. whisk! and flour-sacks went that. rip! and the flour went off like smoke. slap--crack! and a boxful of odds and ends was scattered into the fire. whack! and a bagful of cartridges was tumbled after it. whang! and the water-pail was crushed. pat-pat-pat! and all the cups were in useless bits. kellyan, safe up the tree, got no fair view to shoot--could only wait till the storm-center cleared a little. the bear chanced on a bottle of something with a cork loosely in it. he seized it adroitly in his paws, twisted out the cork, and held the bottle up to his mouth with a comical dexterity that told of previous experience. but, whatever it was, it did not please the invader; he spat and spilled it out, and flung the bottle down as kellyan gazed, astonished. a remarkable "crack! crack! crack!" from the fire was heard now, and the cartridges began to go off in ones, twos, fours, and numbers unknown. gringo whirled about; he had smashed everything in view. he did not like that fourth of july sound, so, springing to a bank, he went bumping and heaving down to the meadow and had just stampeded the horses when, for the first time, gringo exposed himself to the hunter's aim. his flank was grazed by another leaden stinger, and gringo, wheeling, went off into the woods. the hunters were badly defeated. it was fully a week before they had repaired all the damage done by their shaggy visitor and were once more at fallen leaf lake with a new store of ammunition and provisions, their tent repaired, and their camp outfit complete. they said little about their vow to kill that bear. both took for granted that it was a fight to the finish. they never said, "_if_ we get him," but, "_when_ we get him." xi. the ford gringo, savage, but still discreet, scaled the long mountain-side when he left the ruined camp, and afar on the southern slope he sought a quiet bed in a manzanita thicket, there to lie down and nurse his wounds and ease his head so sorely aching with the jar of his shattered tooth. there he lay for a day and a night, sometimes in great pain, and at no time inclined to stir. but, driven forth by hunger on the second day, he quit his couch and, making for the nearest ridge, he followed that and searched the wind with his nose. the smell of a mountain hunter reached him. not knowing just what to do he sat down and did nothing. the smell grew stronger, he heard sounds of trampling; closer they came, then the brush parted and a man on horseback appeared. the horse snorted and tried to wheel, but the ridge was narrow and one false step might have been serious. the cowboy held his horse in hand and, although he had a gun, he made no attempt to shoot at the surly animal blinking at him and barring his path. he was an old mountaineer, and he now used a trick that had long been practised by the indians, from whom, indeed, he learned it. he began "making medicine with his voice." "see here now, b'ar," he called aloud, "i ain't doing nothing to you. i ain't got no grudge ag'in' you, an' you ain't got no right to a grudge ag'in' me." "gro-o-o-h," said gringo, deep and low. "now, i don't want no scrap with you, though i have my scrap-iron right handy, an' what i want you to do is just step aside an' let me pass that narrer trail an' go about my business." "grow--woo-oo-wow," grumbled gringo. "i'm honest about it, pard. you let me alone, and i'll let you alone; all i want is right of way for five minutes." "grow-grow-wow-oo-umph," was the answer. "ye see, thar's no way round an' on'y one way through, an' you happen to be settin' in it. i got to take it, for i can't turn back. come, now, is it a bargain--hands off and no scrap?" it is very sure that gringo could see in this nothing but a human making queer, unmenacing, monotonous sounds, so giving a final "gr-u-ph," the bear blinked his eyes, rose to his feet and strode down the bank, and the cowboy forced his unwilling horse to and past the place. "wall, wall," he chuckled, "i never knowed it to fail. thar's whar most b'ars is alike." if gringo had been able to think clearly, he might have said: "this surely is a new kind of man." [illustration: "now, b'ar, i don't want no scrap with you"] xii. swirl and pool and growing flood gringo wandered on with nose alert, passing countless odors of berries, roots, grouse, deer, till a new and pleasing smell came with especial force. it was not sheep, or game, or a dead thing. it was a smell of living meat. he followed the guide to a little meadow, and there he found it. there were five of them, red, or red and white--great things as big as himself; but he had no fear of them. the hunter instinct came on him, and the hunter's audacity and love of achievement. he sneaked toward them upwind in order that he might still smell them, and it also kept them from smelling him. he reached the edge of the wood. here he must stop or be seen. there was a watering-place close by. he silently drank, then lay down in a thicket where he could watch. an hour passed thus. the sun went down and the cattle arose to graze. one of them, a small one, wandered nearer, then, acting suddenly with purpose, walked to the water-hole. gringo watched his chance, and as she floundered in the mud and stooped he reared and struck with all his force. square at her skull he aimed, and the blow went straight. but gringo knew nothing of horns. the young, sharp horn, upcurling, hit his foot and was broken off; the blow lost half its power. the beef went down, but gringo had to follow up the blow, then raged and tore in anger for his wounded paw. the other cattle fled from the scene. the grizzly took the heifer in his jaws, then climbed the hill to his lair, and with this store of food he again lay down to nurse his wounds. though painful, they were not serious, and within a week or so grizzly jack was as well as ever and roaming the woods about fallen leaf lake and farther south and east, for he was extending his range as he grew--the king was coming to his kingdom. in time he met others of his kind and matched his strength with theirs. sometimes he won and sometimes lost, but he kept on growing as the months went by, growing and learning and adding to his power. kellyan had kept track of him and knew at least the main facts of his life, because he had one or two marks that always served to distinguish him. a study of the tracks had told of the round wound in the front foot and the wound in the hind foot. but there was another: the hunter had picked up the splinters of bone at the camp where he had fired at the bear, and, after long doubt, he guessed that he had broken a tusk. he hesitated to tell the story of hitting a tooth and hind toe at the same shot till, later, he had clearer proof of its truth. no two animals are alike. kinds which herd have more sameness than those that do not, and the grizzly, being a solitary kind, shows great individuality. most grizzlies mark their length on the trees by rubbing their backs, and some will turn on the tree and claw it with their fore paws; others hug the tree with fore paws and rake it with their hind claws. gringo's peculiarity of marking was to rub first, then turn and tear the trunk with his teeth. it was on examining one of the bear trees one day that kellyan discovered the facts. he had been tracking the bear all morning, had a fine set of tracks in the dusty trail, and thus learned that the rifle-wound was a toe-shot in the hind foot, but his fore foot of the same side had a large round wound, the one really made by the cow's horn. when he came to the bear tree where gringo had carved his initials, the marks were clearly made by the bear's teeth, and one of the upper tusks was broken off, so the evidence of identity was complete. "it's the same old b'ar," said lan to his pard. they failed to get sight of him in all this time, so the partners set to work at a series of bear-traps. these are made of heavy logs and have a sliding door of hewn planks. the bait is on a trigger at the far end; a tug on this lets the door drop. it was a week's hard work to make four of these traps. they did not set them at once, for no bear will go near a thing so suspiciously new-looking. some bears will not approach one till it is weather-beaten and gray. but they removed all chips and covered the newly cut wood with mud, then rubbed the inside with stale meat, and hung a lump of ancient venison on the trigger of each trap. they did not go around for three days, knowing that the human smell must first be dissipated, and then they found but one trap sprung--the door down. bonamy became greatly excited, for they had crossed the grizzly's track close by. but kellyan had been studying the dust and suddenly laughed aloud. "look at that,"--he pointed to a thing like a bear-track, but scarcely two inches long. "there's the b'ar we'll find in that; that's a bushy-tailed b'ar," and bonamy joined in the laugh when he realized that the victim in the big trap was nothing but a little skunk. "next time we'll set the bait higher and not set the trigger so fine." they rubbed their boots with stale meat when they went the rounds, then left the traps for a week. there are bears that eat little but roots and berries; there are bears that love best the great black salmon they can hook out of the pools when the long "run" is on; and there are bears that have a special fondness for flesh. these are rare; they are apt to develop unusual ferocity and meet an early death. gringo was one of them, and he grew like the brawny, meat-fed gladiators of old--bigger, stronger, and fiercer than his fruit-and root-fed kin. in contrast with this was his love of honey. the hunter on his trail learned that he never failed to dig out any bees' nest he could find, or, finding none, he would eat the little honey-flowers that hung like sleigh-bells on the heather. kellyan was quick to mark the signs. "say, bonamy, we've got to find some honey." it is not easy to find a bee tree without honey to fill your bee-guides; so bonamy rode down the mountain to the nearest camp, the tampico sheep camp, and got not honey but some sugar, of which they made syrup. they caught bees at three or four different places, tagged them with cotton, filled them with syrup and let them fly, watching till the cotton tufts were lost to view, and by going on the lines till they met they found the hive. a piece of gunny-sack filled with comb was put on each trigger, and that night, as gringo strode with that long, untiring swing that eats up miles like steam-wheels, his sentinel nose reported the delicious smell, the one that above the rest meant joy. so gringo jack followed fast and far, for the place was a mile away, and reaching the curious log cavern, he halted and sniffed. there were hunters' smells; yes, but, above all, that smell of joy. he walked around to be sure, and knew it was inside; then cautiously he entered. some wood-mice scurried by. he sniffed the bait, licked it, mumbled it, slobbered it, reveled in it, tugged to increase the flow, when "bang!" went the great door behind and jack was caught. he backed up with a rush, bumped into the door, and had a sense, at least, of peril. he turned over with an effort and attacked the door, but it was strong. he examined the pen; went all around the logs where their rounded sides seemed easiest to tear at with his teeth. but they yielded nothing. he tried them all; he tore at the roof, the floor; but all were heavy, hard logs, spiked and pinned as one. the sun came up as he raged, and shone through the little cracks of the door, and so he turned all his power on that. the door was flat, gave little hold, but he battered with his paws and tore with his teeth till plank after plank gave way. with a final crash be drove the wreck before him and jack was free again. the men read the story as though in print; yes, better, for bits of plank can tell no lies, and the track to the pen and from the pen was the track of a big bear with a cut on the hind foot and a curious round peg-like scar on the front paw, while the logs inside, where little torn, gave proof of a broken tooth. "we had him that time, but he knew too much for us. never mind, we'll see." so they kept on and caught him again, for honey he could not resist. but the wreckage of the trap was all they found in the morning. pedro's brother knew a man who had trapped bears, and the sheep-herder remembered that it is necessary to have the door quite _light-tight_ rather than very strong, so they battened all with tar-paper outside. but gringo was learning "pen-traps." he did not break the door that he did not see through, but he put one paw under and heaved it up when he had finished the bait. thus he baffled them and sported with the traps, till kellyan made the door drop into a deep groove so that the bear could put no claw beneath it. but it was cold weather now. there was deepening snow on the sierras. the bear sign disappeared. the hunters knew that gringo was sleeping his winter's sleep. xiii. the deepening channel april was bidding high sierra snows go back to mother sea. the california woodwales screamed in clamorous joy. they thought it was about a few acorns left in storage in the live oak bark, but it really was joy of being alive. this outcry was to them what music is to the thrush, what joy-bells are to us--a great noise to tell how glad they were. the deer were bounding, grouse were booming, rills were rushing--all things were full of noisy gladness. kellyan and bonamy were back on the grizzly quest. "time he was out again, and good trailing to get him, with lots of snow in the hollows." they had come prepared for a long hunt. honey for bait, great steel traps with crocodilian jaws, and guns there were in the outfit. the pen-trap, the better for the aging, was repaired and re-baited, and several black bears were taken. but gringo, if about, had learned to shun it. he was about, and the men soon learned that. his winter sleep was over. they found the peg-print in the snow, but with it, or just ahead, was another, the tracks of a smaller bear. "see that," and kellyan pointed to the smaller mark. "this is mating-time; this is gringo's honeymoon," and he followed the trail for a while, not expecting to find them, but simply to know their movements. he followed several times and for miles, and the trail told him many things. here was the track of a third bear joining. here were marks of a combat, and a rival driven away was written there, and then the pair went on. down from the rugged hills it took him once to where a love-feast had been set by the bigger bear; for the carcass of a steer lay half devoured, and the telltale ground said much of the struggle that foreran the feast. as though to show his power, the bear had seized the steer by the nose and held him for a while--so said the trampled earth for rods--struggling, bellowing, no doubt, music for my lady's ears, till gringo judged it time to strike him down with paws of steel. once only the hunters saw the pair--a momentary glimpse of a bear so huge they half believed tampico's tale, and a bear of lesser size in fur that rolled and rippled in the sun with brown and silver lights. "oh, ain't that just the beautifulest thing that ever walked!" and both the hunters gazed as she strode from view in the chaparral. it was only a neck of the thicket; they both must reappear in a minute at the other side, and the men prepared to fire; but for some incomprehensible reason the two did not appear again. they never quit the cover, and had wandered far away before the hunters knew it, and were seen of them no more. but faco tampico saw them. he was visiting his brother with the sheep, and hunting in the foot-hills to the eastward, in hopes of getting a deer, his small black eyes fell on a pair of bears, still love-bound, roaming in the woods. they were far below him. he was safe, and he sent a ball that laid the she-bear low; her back was broken. she fell with a cry of pain and vainly tried to rise. then gringo rushed around, sniffed the wind for the foe, and faco fired again. the sound and the smoke-puff told gringo where the man lay hid. he raged up the cliff, but faco climbed a tree, and gringo went back to his mate. faco fired again; gringo made still another effort to reach him, but could not find him now, so returned to his "silver-brown." whether it was chance or choice can never be known, but when faco fired once more, gringo jack was between, and the ball struck him. it was the last in faco's pouch, and the grizzly, charging as before, found not a trace of the foe. he was gone--had swung across a place no bear could cross and soon was a mile away. the big bear limped back to his mate, but she no longer responded to his touch. he watched about for a time, but no one came. the silvery hide was never touched by man, and when the semblance of his mate was gone, gringo quit the place. the world was full of hunters, traps, and guns. he turned toward the lower hills where the sheep grazed, where once he had raided pedro's flocks, limping along, for now he had another flesh-wound. he found the scent of the foe that killed his "silver-brown," and would have followed, but it ceased at a place where a horse-track joined. yet he found it again that night, mixed with the sheep smell so familiar once. he followed this, sore and savage. it led him to a settler's flimsy shack, the house of tampico's parents, and as the big bear reached it two human beings scrambled out of the rear door. "my husband," shrieked the woman, "pray! let us pray to the saints for help!" "where is my pistol?" cried the husband. "trust in the saints," said the frightened woman. "yes, if i had a cannon, or if this was a cat; but with only a pepper-box pistol to meet a bear mountain it is better to trust to a tree," and old tampico scrambled up a pine. the grizzly looked into the shack, then passed to the pig-pen, killed the largest there, for this was a new kind of meat, and carrying it off, he made his evening meal. he came again and again to that pig-pen. he found his food there till his wound was healed. once he met with a spring-gun, but it was set too high. six feet up, the sheep-folk judged, would be just about right for such a bear; the charge went over his head, and so he passed unharmed--a clear proof that he was a devil. he was learning this: the human smell in any form is a smell of danger. he quit the little valley of the shack, wandering downward toward the plains. he passed a house one night, and walking up, he discovered a hollow thing with a delicious smell. it was a ten-gallon keg that had been used for sugar, some of which was still in the bottom, and thrusting in his huge head, the keg-rim, bristling with nails, stuck to him. he raged about, clawing at it wildly and roaring in it until a charge of shot from the upper windows stirred him to such effort that the keg was smashed to bits and his blinders removed. thus the idea was slowly borne in on him: going near a man-den is sure to bring trouble. thenceforth he sought his prey in the woods or on the plains. he one day found the man scent that enraged him the day he lost his "silver-brown." he took the trail, and passing in silence incredible for such a bulk, he threaded chaparral and manzanita on and down through tule-beds till the level plain was reached. the scent led on, was fresher now. far out were white specks--moving things. they meant nothing to gringo, for he had never smelt wild geese, had scarcely seen them, but the trail he was hunting went on. he swiftly followed till the tule ahead rustled gently, and the scent was _body scent_. a ponderous rush, a single blow--and the goose-hunt was ended ere well begun, and faco's sheep became the brother's heritage. xiv. the cataract just as fads will for a time sway human life, so crazes may run through all animals of a given kind. this was the year when a beef-eating craze seemed to possess every able-bodied grizzly of the sierras. they had long been known as a root-eating, berry-picking, inoffensive race when let alone, but now they seemed to descend on the cattle-range in a body and make their diet wholly of flesh. one cattle outfit after another was attacked, and the whole country seemed divided up among bears of incredible size, cunning, and destructiveness. the cattlemen offered bounties--good bounties, growing bounties, very large bounties at last--but still the bears kept on. very few were killed, and it became a kind of rude jest to call each section of the range, not by the cattle brand, but by the grizzly that was quartered on its stock. wonderful tales were told of these various bears of the new breed. the swiftest was reelfoot, the placerville cattle-killer that could charge from a thicket thirty yards away and certainly catch a steer before it could turn and run, and that could even catch ponies in the open when they were poor. the most cunning of all was brin, the mokelumne grizzly that killed by preference blooded stock, would pick out a merino ram or a white-faced hereford from among fifty grades; that killed a new beef every night; that never again returned to it, or gave the chance for traps or poisoning. the pegtrack grizzly of feather river was rarely seen by any. he was enveloped in mysterious terror. he moved and killed by night. pigs were his favorite food, and he had also killed a number of men. but pedro's grizzly was the most marvelous. "hassayampa," as the sheep-herder was dubbed, came one night to kellyan's hut. "i tell you he's still dere. he has keel me a t'ousand sheep. you telled me you keel heem; you haff not. he is beegare as dat tree. he eat only sheep--much sheep. i tell you he ees gringo devil--he ees devil bear. i haff three cows, two fat, one theen. he catch and keel de fat; de lean run off. he roll een dust--make great dust. cow come for see what make dust; he catch her an' keel. my fader got bees. de devil bear chaw pine; i know he by hees broke toof. he gum hees face and nose wit' pine gum so bees no sting, then eat all bees. he devil all time. he get much rotten manzanita and eat till drunk--locoed--then go crazy and keel sheep just for fun. he get beeg bull by nose and drag like rat for fun. he keel cow, sheep, and keel face, too, for fun. he devil. you promise me you keel heem; you nevaire keel." this is a condensation of pedro's excited account. and there was yet one more--the big bear that owned the range from the stanislaus to the merced, the "monarch of the range" he had been styled. he was believed--yes, known to be--the biggest bear alive, a creature of supernatural intelligence. he killed cows for food, and scattered sheep or conquered bulls for pleasure. it was even said that the appearance of an unusually big bull anywhere was a guaranty that monarch would be there for the joy of combat with a worthy foe. a destroyer of cattle, sheep, pigs, and horses, and yet a creature known only by his track. he was never seen, and his nightly raids seemed planned with consummate skill to avoid all kinds of snares. the cattlemen clubbed together and offered an enormous bounty for every grizzly killed in the range. bear-trappers came and caught some bears, brown and cinnamon, but the cattle-killing went on. they set out better traps of massive steel and iron bars, and at length they caught a killer, the mokelumne grizzly; yes, and read in the dust how he had come at last and made the fateful step; but steel will break and iron will bend. the great bear-trail was there to tell the tale: for a while he had raged and chafed at the hard black reptile biting into his paw; then, seeking a boulder, he had released the paw by smashing the trap to pieces on it. thenceforth each year he grew more cunning, huge, and destructive. kellyan and bonamy came down from the mountains now, tempted by the offered rewards. they saw the huge tracks; they learned that cattle were not killed in all places at once. they studied and hunted. they got at length in the dust the full impressions of the feet of the various monsters in regions wide apart, and they saw that all the cattle were killed in the same way--their muzzles torn, their necks broken; and last, the marks on the trees where the bears had reared and rubbed, then scored them with a broken tusk, the same all through the wide range; and kellyan told them with calm certainty: "pedro's gringo, old pegtrack, the placerville grizzly, and the monarch of the range _are one and the same bear."_ the little man from the mountains and the big man from the hills set about the task of hunting him down with an intensity of purpose which, like the river that is dammed, grew more fierce from being balked. all manner of traps had failed for him. steel traps he could smash, no log trap was strong enough to hold this furry elephant; he would not come to a bait; he never fed twice from the same kill. two reckless boys once trailed him to a rocky glen. the horses would not enter; the boys went in afoot, and were never seen again. the mexicans held him in superstitious terror, believing that he could not be killed; and he passed another year in the cattle-land, known and feared now as the "monarch of the range," killing in the open by night, and retiring by day to his fastness in the near hills, where horsemen could not follow. bonamy had been called away; but all that summer, and winter, too,--for the grizzly no longer "denned up,"--kellyan rode and rode, each time too late or too soon to meet the monarch. he was almost giving up, not in despair, but for lack of means, when a message came from a rich man, a city journalist, offering to multiply the reward by ten if, instead of killing the monarch, he would bring him in alive. kellyan sent for his old partner, and when word came that the previous night three cows were killed in the familiar way near the bell-dash pasture, they spared neither horse nor man to reach the spot. a ten-hour ride by night meant worn-out horses, but the men were iron, and new horses with scarcely a minute's delay were brought them. here were the newly killed beeves, there the mighty footprints with the scars that spelled his name. no hound could have tracked him better than kellyan did. five miles away from the foot of the hills was an impenetrable thicket of chaparral. the great tracks went in, did not come out, so bonamy sat sentinel while kellyan rode back with the news. "saddle up the best we got!" was the order. rifles were taken down and cartridge-belts being swung when kellyan called a halt. "say, boys, we've got him safe enough. he won't try to leave the chaparral till night. if we shoot him we get the cattlemen's bounty; if we take him alive--an' it's easy in the open--we get the newspaper bounty, ten times as big. let's leave all guns behind; lariats are enough." "why not have the guns along to be handy?" "'cause i know the crowd too well; they couldn't resist the chance to let him have it; so no guns at all. it's ten to one on the riata." nevertheless three of them brought their heavy revolvers. seven gallant riders on seven fine horses, they rode out that day to meet the monarch of the range. he was still in the thicket, for it was yet morning. they threw stones in and shouted to drive him out, without effect, till the noon breeze of the plains arose--the down-current of air from the hills. then they fired the grass in several places, and it sent a rolling sheet of flame and smoke into the thicket. there was a crackling louder than the fire, a smashing of brush, and from the farther side out hurled the monarch bear, the gringo, grizzly jack. horsemen were all about him now, armed not with guns but with the rawhide snakes whose loops in air spell bonds or death. the men were calm, but the horses were snorting and plunging in fear. this way and that the grizzly looked up at the horsemen--a little bit; scarcely up at the horses; then turning without haste, he strode toward the friendly hills. "look out, now, bill! manuel! it's up to you." oh, noble horses, nervy men! oh, grand old grizzly, how i see you now! cattle-keepers and cattle-killer face to face! three riders of the range that horse had never thrown were sailing, swooping, like falcons; their lariats swung, sang--sang higher--and monarch, much perplexed, but scarcely angered yet, rose to his hind legs, then from his towering height looked down on horse and man. if, as they say, the vanquished prowess goes into the victor, then surely in that mighty chest, those arms like necks of bulls, was the power of the thousand cattle he had downed in fight. "caramba! what a bear! pedro was not so far astray." "sing--sing--sing!" the lariats flew. "swish--pat!" one, two, three, they fell. these were not men to miss. three ropes, three horses, leaping away to bear on the great beast's neck. but swifter than thought the supple paws went up. the ropes were slipped, and the spurred cow-ponies, ready for the shock, went, shockless, bounding--loose ropes trailing afar. "hi--hal! ho--lan! head him!" as the grizzly, liking not the unequal fight, made for the hills. but a deft mexican in silver gear sent his hide riata whistling, then haunched his horse as the certain coil sank in the grizzly's hock, and checked the monarch with a heavy jar. uttering one great snort of rage, he turned; his huge jaws crossed the rope, back nearly to his ears it went, and he ground it as a dog might grind a twig, so the straining pony bounded free. round and round him now the riders swooped, waiting their chance. more than once his neck was caught, but he slipped the noose as though it were all play. again he was caught by a foot and wrenched, almost thrown, by the weight of two strong steeds, and now he foamed in rage. memories of olden days, or more likely the habit of olden days, came on him--days when he learned to strike the yelping pack that dodged his blows. he was far from the burnt thicket, but a single bush was near, and setting his broad back to that, he waited for the circling foe. nearer and nearer they urged the frightened steeds, and monarch watched--waited, as of old, for the dogs, till they were almost touching each other, then he sprang like an avalanche of rock. what can elude a grizzly's dash? the earth shivered as he launched himself, and trembled when he struck. three men, three horses, in each other's way. the dust was thick; they only knew he struck--struck--struck! the horses never rose. "santa maria!" came a cry of death, and hovering riders dashed to draw the bear away. three horses dead, one man dead, one nearly so, and only one escaped. "crack! crack! crack!" went the pistols now as the bear went rocking his huge form in rapid charge for the friendly hills; and the four riders, urged by kellyan, followed fast. they passed him, wheeled, faced him. the pistols had wounded him in many places. "don't shoot--don't shoot, but tire him out," the hunter urged. "tire him out? look at carlos and manuel back there. how many minutes will it be before the rest are down with them?" so the infuriating pistols popped till all their shots were gone, and monarch foamed with slobbering jaws of rage. "keep on! keep cool," cried kellyan. his lariat flew as the cattle-killing paw was lifted for an instant. the lasso bound his wrist. "sing! sing!" went two, and caught him by the neck. a bull with his great club-foot in a noose is surely caught, but the grizzly raised his supple, hand-like, tapering paw and gave one jerk that freed it. now the two on his neck were tight; he could not slip them. the horses at the ends--they were dragging, choking him; men were shouting, hovering, watching for a new chance, when monarch, firmly planting both paws, braced, bent those mighty shoulders, and, spite of shortening breath, leaned back on those two ropes as samson did on pillars of the house of baal, and straining horses with their riders were dragged forward more and more, long grooves being plowed behind; dragging them, he backed faster and faster still. his eyes were starting, his tongue lolling out. "keep on! hold tight!" was the cry, till the ropers swung together, the better to resist; and monarch, big and strong with frenzied hate, seeing now his turn, sprang forward like a shot. the horses leaped and escaped--almost; the last was one small inch too slow. the awful paw with jags of steel just grazed his flank. how slight it sounds! but what it really means is better not writ down. the riders had slipped their ropes in fear, and the monarch, rumbling, snorting, bounding, trailed them to the hills, there to bite them off in peace, while the remnant of the gallant crew went, sadly muttering, back. bitter words went round. kellyan was cursed. "his fault. why didn't we have the guns?" "we were all in it," was the answer, and more hard words, till kellyan flushed, forgot his calm, and drew a pistol hitherto concealed, and the other "took it back." [illustration: "rumbling and snorting, he made for the friendly hills"] xv. the foaming flood "what is next, lan?" said lou, as they sat dispirited by the fire that night. kellyan was silent for a time, then said slowly and earnestly, with a gleam in his eye: "lou, that's the greatest bear alive. when i seen him set up there like a butte and swat horses like they was flies, i jest loved him. he's the greatest thing god has turned loose in these yer hills. before to-day, i sure wanted to get him; now, lou, i'm a-going to get him, an' get him alive, if it takes all my natural days. i think i kin do it alone, but i know i kin do it with you," and deep in kellyan's eyes there glowed a little spark of something not yet rightly named. they were camped in the hills, being no longer welcome at the ranch; the ranchers thought their price too high. some even decided that the monarch, being a terror to sheep, was not an undesirable neighbor. the cattle bounty was withdrawn, but the newspaper bounty was not. "i want you to bring in that bear," was the brief but pregnant message from the rich newsman when he heard of the fight with the riders. "how are you going about it, lan?" every bridge has its rotten plank, every fence its flimsy rail, every great one his weakness, and kellyan, as he pondered, knew how mad it was to meet this one of brawn with mere brute force. "steel traps are no good; he smashes them. lariats won't do, and he knows all about log traps. but i have a scheme. first, we must follow him up and learn his range. i reckon that'll take three months." so the two kept on. they took up that bear-trail next day; they found the lariats chewed off. they followed day after day. they learned what they could from rancher and sheepherder, and much more was told them than they could believe. three months, lan said, but it took six months to carry out his plan; meanwhile monarch killed and killed. in each section of his range they made one or two cageor pen-traps of bolted logs. at the back end of each they put a small grating of heavy steel bars. the door was carefully made and fitted into grooves. it was of double plank, with tar-paper between to make it surely light-tight. it was sheeted with iron on the inside, and when it dropped it went into an iron-bound groove in the floor. they left these traps open and unset till they were grayed with age and smelt no more of man. then the two hunters prepared for the final play. they baited all without setting them--baited them with honey, the lure that monarch never had refused--and when at length they found the honey baits were gone, they came where he now was taking toll and laid the long-planned snare. every trap was set, and baited as before with a mass of honey--but _honey now mixed with a potent sleeping draft_. xvi. landlocked that night the great bear left his lair, one of his many lairs, and, cured of all his wounds, rejoicing in the fullness of his mighty strength, he strode toward the plains. his nose, ever alert, reported--sheep, a deer, a grouse; men--more sheep, some cows, and some calves; a bull--a fighting bull--and monarch wheeled in big, rude, bearish joy at the coming battle brunt; but as he hugely hulked from hill to hill a different message came, so soft and low, so different from the smell of beefish brutes, one might well wonder he could sense it, but like a tiny ringing bell when thunder booms it came, and monarch wheeled at once. oh, it cast a potent spell! it stood for something very near to ecstasy with him, and down the hill and through the pines he went, on and on faster yet, abandoned to its sorcery. here to its home he traced it, a long, low cavern. he had seen such many times before, had been held in them more than once, but had learned to spurn them. for weeks he had been robbing them of their treasures, and its odor, like a calling voice, was still his guide. into the cavern he passed and it reeked with the smell of joy. there was the luscious mass, and monarch, with all caution lulled now, licked and licked, then seized to tear the bag for more, when down went the door with a low "bang!" the monarch started, but all was still and there was no smell of danger. he had forced such doors before. his palate craved the honey still, and he licked and licked, greedily at first, then calmly, then slowly, then drowsily--then at last stopped. his eyes were closing, and he sank slowly down on the earth and slept a heavy sleep. calm, but white-faced, were they--the men--when in the dawn they came. there were the huge scarred tracks in-leading; there was the door down; there dimly they could see a mass of fur that filled the pen, that heaved in deepest sleep. strong ropes, strong chains and bands of steel were at hand, with chloroform, lest he should revive too soon. through holes in the roof with infinite toil they chained him, bound him--his paws to his neck, his neck and breast and hind legs to a bolted beam. then raising the door, they dragged him out, not with horses--none would go near--but with a windlass to a tree; and fearing the sleep of death, they let him now revive. chained and double chained, frenzied, foaming, and impotent, what words can tell the state of the fallen monarch? they put him on a sled, and six horses with a long chain drew it by stages to the plain, to the railway. they fed him enough to save his life. a great steam-derrick lifted bear and beam and chain on to a flat-car, a tarpaulin was spread above his helpless form; the engine puffed, pulled out; and the grizzly king was gone from his ancient hills. so they brought him to the great city, the monarch born, in chains. they put him in a cage not merely strong enough for a lion, but thrice as strong, and once a rope gave way as the huge one strained his bonds. "he is loose," went the cry, and an army of onlookers and keepers fled; only the small man with the calm eye and the big man of the hills were stanch, so the monarch was still held. free in the cage, he swung round, looked this way and that, then heaved his powers against the triple angling steel and wrenched the cage so not a part of it was square. in time he clearly would break out. they dragged the prisoner to another that an elephant could not break down, but it stood on the ground, and in an hour the great beast had a cavern into the earth and was sinking out of sight, till a stream of water sent after him filled the hole and forced him again to view. they moved him to a new cage made for him since he came--a hard rock floor, great bars of nearly two-inch steel that reached up nine feet and then projected in for five. the monarch wheeled once around, then, rearing, raised his ponderous bulk, wrenched those bars, unbreakable, and bent and turned them in their sockets with one heave till the five-foot spears were pointed out, and then sprang to climb. nothing but pikes and blazing brands in a dozen ruthless hands could hold him back. the keepers watched him night and day till a stronger cage was made, impregnable with steel above and rocks below. the untamed one passed swiftly around, tried every bar, examined every corner, sought for a crack in the rocky floor, and found at last the place where was a six-inch timber beam--the only piece of wood in its frame. it was sheathed in iron, but exposed for an inch its whole length. one claw could reach the wood, and here he lay on his side and raked--raked all day till a great pile of shavings was lying by it and the beam sawn in two; but the cross-bolts remained, and when monarch put his vast shoulder to the place it yielded not a whit. that was his last hope; now it was gone; and the huge bear sank down in the cage with his nose in his paws and sobbed--long, heavy sobs, animal sounds indeed, but telling just as truly as in man of the broken spirit--the hope and the life gone out. the keepers came with food at the appointed time, but the bear moved not. they set it down, but in the morning it was still untouched. the bear was lying as before, his ponderous form in the pose he had first taken. the sobbing was replaced by a low moan at intervals. two days went by. the food, untouched, was corrupting in the sun. the third day, and monarch still lay on his breast, his huge muzzle under his huger paw. his eyes were hidden; only a slight heaving of his broad chest was now seen. "he is dying," said one keeper. "he can't live overnight." "send for kellyan," said another. so kellyan came, slight and thin. there was the beast that he had chained, pining, dying. he had sobbed his life out in his last hope's death, and a thrill of pity came over the hunter, for men of grit and power love grit and power. he put his arm through the cage bars and stroked him, but monarch made no sign. his body was cold. at length a little moan was sign of life, and kellyan said, "here, let me go in to him." "you are mad," said the keepers, and they would not open the cage. but kellyan persisted till they put in a cross-grating in front of the bear. then, with this between, he approached. his hand was on the shaggy head, but monarch lay as before. the hunter stroked his victim and spoke to him. his hand went to the big round ears, small above the head. they were rough to his touch. he looked again, then started. what! is it true? yes, the stranger's tale was true, for both ears were pierced with a round hole--one torn large--and kellyan knew that once again he had met his little jack. "why, jacky, i didn't know it was you. i never would have done it if i had known it was you. jacky, old pard, don't you know me?" but jack stirred not, and kellyan got up quickly. back to the hotel he flew; there he put on his hunter's suit, smoky and smelling of pine gum and grease, and returned with a mass of honeycomb to reenter the cage. "jacky, jacky!" he cried, "honey, honey!" and he held the tempting comb before him. but monarch lay as one dead now. "jacky, jacky! don't you know me?" he dropped the honey and laid his hands on the great muzzle. the voice was forgotten. the old-time invitation, "honey, jacky--honey," had lost its power, but the _smell_ of the honey, the coat, the hands that he had fondled, had together a hidden potency. there is a time when the dying of our race forget their life, but clearly remember the scenes of childhood; these only are real and return with master power. and why not with a bear? the power of scent was there to call them back again, and jacky, the grizzly monarch, raised his head a little--just a little; the eyes were nearly closed, but the big brown nose was jerked up feebly two or three times--the sign of interest that jacky used to give in days of old. now it was kellyan that broke down even as the bear had done. "i didn't know it was you, jacky, or i never would have done it. oh, jacky, forgive me!" he rose and fled from the cage. the keepers were there. they scarcely understood the scene, but one of them, acting on the hint, pushed the honeycomb nearer and cried, "honey, jacky--honey!" filled by despair, he had lain down to die, but here was a new-born hope, not clear, not exact as words might put it, but his conqueror had shown himself a friend; this seemed a new hope, and the keeper, taking up the old call, "honey, jacky--honey!" pushed the comb till it touched his muzzle. the smell was wafted to his sense, its message reached his brain; hope honored, it must awake response. the great tongue licked the comb, appetite revived, and thus in newborn hope began the chapter of his gloom. skilful keepers were there with plans to meet the monarch's every want. delicate foods were offered and every shift was tried to tempt him back to strength and prison life. he ate and--lived. and still he lives, but pacing--pacing--pacing--you may see him, scanning not the crowds, but something beyond the crowds, breaking down at times into petulant rages, but recovering anon his ponderous dignity, looking--waiting--watching--held ever by that hope, that unknown hope, that came. kellyan has been to him since, but monarch knows him not. over his head, beyond him, was the great bear's gaze, far away toward tallac or far away on the sea, we knowing not which or why, but pacing--pacing--pacing--held like the storied wandering one to a life of ceaseless journey--a journey aimless, endless, and sad. the wound-spots long ago have left his shaggy coat, but the earmarks still are there, the ponderous strength, the elephantine dignity. his eyes are dull,--never were bright,--but they seem not vacant, and most often fixed on the golden gate where the river seeks the sea. the river, born in high sierra's flank, that lived and rolled and grew, through mountain pines, o'erleaping man-made barriers, then to reach with growing power the plains and bring its mighty flood at last to the bay of bays, a prisoner there to lie, the prisoner of the golden gate, seeking forever freedom's blue, seeking and raging--raging and seeking--back and forth, forever--in vain. produced from scanned images of public domain material from the google print project.) [illustration: bears and brothers.] the adventures of a bear and a great bear too by alfred elwes with nine illustrations by harrison weir. london: addey and co. 21 old bond street. mdcccliii. london: printed by g. barclay, castle st. leicester sq. contents. page at home 1 upon his travels 10 town life 19 prosperity 35 reverses 44 progress 56 down hill 66 at rest 74 illustrations. page bears and brothers 8 a close embrace 17 making an impression 31 a very great bear 43 three throws a-penny 54 selling the natives 63 cheap harmony 69 the last lead 83 tailpiece 84 at home. yes, it is an "at home" to which i am going to introduce you; but not the at-home that many of you--i hope _all_ of you--have learnt to love, but the at-home of a bear. no carpeted rooms, no warm curtains, no glowing fireside, no pictures, no sofas, no tables, no chairs; no music, no books; no agreeable, cosy chat; no anything half so pleasant: but soft moss or snow, spreading trees, skies with ever-changing, tinted clouds, some fun, some rough romps, a good deal of growling, and now and then a fight. with these points of difference, you may believe the _at-home_ of a bear is not quite so agreeable a matter as the at-home of a young gentleman or lady; yet i have no doubt master bruin is much more at his ease in it than he would find himself if he were compelled to conform to the usages of human society, and behave as a gentleman ought to do. but there is a quality that is quite as necessary to adorn one home as the other, without which the most delightful mansion and the warmest cavern can never be happy, and with which the simplest cottage and the meanest den may be truly blest; and that one quality is, good temper. of what avail are comforts, or even luxuries, when there is no seasoning of good temper to enjoy them with? how many deficiencies can there not be overlooked, when good temper is present to cover them with a veil? perhaps you have not yet learnt what a valuable treasure this good temper is; when you have read the history of my bear, you will be better able to form an opinion. i cannot tell you when this bear was born, nor am i quite sure where; bears are born in so many parts of the world now, that it becomes very difficult to determine what country heard their first growl, and they never think to preserve a memorandum of the circumstance. let it suffice that our bear was born, that he had a mamma and papa, and some brothers and sisters; that he lived in a cavern surrounded by trees and bushes; that he was always a big lump of a bear, invariably wore a brown coat, and was often out of temper, or rather, was always _in_ temper, only that temper was a very bad one. no doubt his parents would have been very willing to cure this terrible defect, if they had known how; but the fact is, they seemed always too much absorbed in their own thoughts to attend much to their family. old mr. bruin would sit in his corner by the hour together sucking his paw; and his partner, mrs. bruin, would sit in her corner sucking her paw; whilst the little ones, or big ones, for they were growing up fast, would make themselves into balls and roll about the ground, or bite one another's ears by way of a joke, or climb up the neighbouring trees to admire the prospect, and then slip down again, to the imminent destruction of their clothes; not that a rent or two would have grieved their mother very much, for she was a great deal too old, and too ignorant besides, to think of mending them. in all these sports master bruin, the eldest, was ever the foremost; but as certain as he joined in the romps, so surely were uproar and fighting the consequence. the reason was clear enough; his temper was so disagreeable, that although he was quite ready to play off his jokes on others, he could never bear to receive them in return; and being, besides, very fierce and strong, he came at length to be considered as the most unbearable bear that the forest had known for many generations, and in his own family was looked on as quite a bug-bear. now i privately think, that if a good oaken stick had been applied to his shoulders, or any other sensitive part of his body, whenever he displayed these fits of spleen, the exercise would have had a very beneficial effect on his disposition; but his father, on such occasions, only uttered his opinion in so low a growl that it was impossible to make out what he said, and then sucked his paw more vigorously than ever; and his mother was much too tender-hearted to think of mending his manners in so rude a way: so master bruin grew apace, until his brothers and sisters were wicked enough to wish he might some day go out for a walk and forget to come home again, or that he might be persuaded by a kind friend to emigrate, without going through the ceremony of taking leave of his family. it began to be conjectured that some such event had occurred when, for three whole days, he never made his appearance. the respectable family of the bruins were puzzled, but calm, notwithstanding, at this unusual absence; it evidently made them thoughtful, though it was impossible to guess what they thought about: if one could form an idea from the attitudes of the different members, each of whom sat in a corner sucking his right paw and his left paw alternately--it was a family habit, you must know--i should say their thoughts were too deep for expression; but before their meditations were converted from uncertainty into mourning, the object of them made his appearance at the entrance of the cavern, with his coat torn, limping in his gait, and with an ugly wound in his head, looking altogether as disconsolate a brute as you can well conceive. he did not condescend to say where he had been, nor what he had been doing; perhaps no one made the inquiry: but it was very evident he had been doing no good, and had got his reward accordingly. if, however, this great bear's ill temper was remarkable before, judge what it must have been with such a sore head! the experience of mankind has led to the opinion, that there are few more disagreeable beings in creation than ill-nurtured bears,--bears that have been ill-licked,--those great, fierce, sullen, cross-grained and ill-tempered beasts, that are, unhappily, to be found in every part of this various world; but when all these unhandsome qualities are found in one individual of the species, and that one happens to have a sore head into the bargain, it is easy to believe the _at home_ which he honours or dishonours with his presence can neither be very quiet nor particularly comfortable. habit makes many things supportable which at first would seem beyond our powers of endurance. mr. and mrs. b., and, indeed, all the other b.'s, male and female, had got so used to the tyranny of this ill-tempered animal, that they put up with his moroseness almost without a growl; but there is a limit to sufferance, beyond which neither men nor bears can travel, and that boundary was at last attained with the b.'s. as what i am now about to relate is, however, rather an important fact in my biography, i must inform you how the matter occurred, and what were the circumstances which led to it. you are, perhaps, aware that bears, being of rather an indolent disposition, are not accustomed to hoard up a store of provision for their wants in winter, but prefer--in their own country, at least--sleeping through the short dreary days and long bitter nights, and thus avoid the necessity of taking food for some weeks, although they grow very thin during their lengthened slumbers. i forget what this time is called in bears' language, but we give it the name of hybernation. now it happened that mrs. bruin had taken it into her head to lay by this winter a nice little stock, which she very carefully buried at a short distance from the mouth of the cavern, when she felt the usual drowsiness of the season coming on, and having covered the spot with a heap of dead leaves that she might know it again when she woke up, she crawled into bed, and turning her back to her old partner, who was already in a comfortable state of forgetfulness, went fast asleep. the whole family rather overslept themselves, for the sun was quite brilliant when they awoke, and it was very evident that they had been dozing away for some months. the ill-tempered bear was the first on his legs, and kicking his two nearest brothers as he got up, just to hint to them that he was awake again, he opened his mouth to its whole extent--and a very great extent it was, too--and stretching his limbs one after another, and giving himself a hearty shake instead of washing, shaving, and combing, he scuffled to the entrance of the cavern and sniffed at the fresh air. he sniffed and sniffed, and the more he sniffed, the more certainly did his nose whisper that there was something else besides fresh air which he was inhaling. the smell of the fresh air, too, or the _something else_, caused him a tremendous appetite, which was every moment becoming greater; and then it entered his bearish brain that where there was a smell there must be something to occasion it. whereupon, following that great nose of his--and he could not have had a better guide--he scuffled out of the cavern and down the path, till he reached a little mound of earth and leaves, where, the odour being strongest, he squatted down. with his great paws he soon demolished the entrance to his mamma's larder, and lost no time in pulling out some of the dainties it contained, which, without more ado, he set about devouring. meanwhile his brothers, who had been aroused by the affectionate conduct of the eldest, were by this time also wide awake, and had quite as good appetites as bruin himself; and though on ordinary occasions they stood in great awe of that most ill-tempered brute, it must be admitted that this was an _extra_-ordinary occasion, and they acted accordingly. just fancy being months without anything to eat, and having appetites fierce enough to devour one another! so they rushed to the spot where bruin was making so excellent a meal, and without any other apology than a short grunt or two, they seized upon some of the hidden treasures, and with little ceremony crammed them into their hungry jaws. bruin was thunderstruck! never before had they ever presumed to dip their paws into his dish, and now they were actually before his face, converting the most delicate morsels to their own use, and, as it were, taking the food out of his very mouth! after an internal struggle of a few seconds, during which it seemed doubtful whether his emotions or his greediness in filling his jaws so full would choke him, he uttered a savage growl, and, with one stroke of his huge paw, felled his younger brother to the ground. then turning to the second, he flew at him like a fury, and seemed resolved to make him share a similar fate; but the other, who was not wanting in courage, and who was strengthened by the idea that there was something still in the larder worth fighting for, and which he would certainly lose if he ran away, warded off his blows, and, by careful management, now dodging, now striking, kept his brother at bay, and avoided coming to such close quarters as to subject himself to bruin's hug: for he knew, if he once felt that embrace, there was not much chance of his having any appetite left with which to complete his half-finished breakfast. the noise of the combat had now, however, roused the family. mrs. b. was the first to make her appearance, and she was soon followed by the rest. explanations ensued, although the facts of the case were sufficiently clear, and bruin's character was well known. old ursus major drew himself up, and, for once in his life, assumed a dignified demeanour. the ill-tempered bear stood abashed before his parents, although he moved his head to and fro in an obstinate manner, as though rejecting all interference. it is a pity i cannot relate to you what was said upon this occasion, for old bruin is reported to have made a very eloquent discourse on the horrible effects of ill-temper and greediness; and good advice is worth having, whether uttered by a bear or any other animal. suffice it, that after lecturing his son on the enormity of his offences,--which probably he was himself partly the cause of, through not punishing many of his previous errors,--he bid him quit for ever his paternal roof, and seek his fortune elsewhere; cautioning him at the same time, that if he ever expected to get through the world with credit to his name, and even comfort to his person, he must be honest, good-tempered, and forbearing. bruin took this advice in most ungracious part; and without exchanging a word with any of the family, although it was evident his poor old mother longed to hug him in her arms, he growled out some unintelligible words, and set forth upon his travels. upon his travels. there is no denying that when bruin had got clear of the old familiar path, and lost sight of the dwelling where he had hitherto spent his days, he felt most particularly uncomfortable; and if he had had the power of recalling the past, he would, in his present state of feeling, no doubt have done so. for the first time in his life, the sense of his ill-temper struck him in all its ugliness; and as he sat down on a huge tree which was lying across his road, he looked such a picture of disconsolateness, that it was evident he would have felt great relief if he could have shed some tears. alas, how much does bruin's condition remind us of little scenes among ourselves! we give way to our bad tempers and our selfishness; we make ourselves disagreeable, and our friends unhappy; we quarrel, if we do not actually fight; and when we meet the reward of our waywardness, and find ourselves abandoned by those who would have loved us had we acted differently, we then moan over our fate, and bitterly regret what we might have avoided. alas, poor human nature! alas, poor bear! i am truly sorry to observe that no act of repentance followed bruin's sense of desolation. his first feeling of sorrow over, he felt indignant that he should have been so treated; but, more than that, as he was still hungry, he felt regret at being denied a closer search into his old mother's larder. whilst engaged in his various reflections he happened to cast his eyes up to a neighbouring hollow tree, where, at some height from the ground, a number of bees were flying in and out a great hole, with all the bustle and buzzing usual to those busy people. now, it is well known that bears are mightily fond of honey, and will run great risks in order to obtain this dainty, and bruin was very far from being an exception to his tribe. he was too ignorant to reflect that it was a great deal too early in the season to hope for any store, but, consulting only his own inclinations, he lost no time in climbing up the tree; and when he had reached the spot where the now angry bees were hurrying to and fro more vigorously than ever, he thrust his great paw into a hole with the hope of drawing forth a famous booty. but the indignant insects now came out in a swarm, and attacked him with the utmost fury; three of them settled on his nose, and pricked him most unmercifully; a dozen or two planted themselves on a great patch behind, where his trousers were worn thin; and a whole troop fastened on to the sore place in his head--for it was not quite healed up--and so stung him, that, roaring with pain and rage, he threw himself, rather than descended, from the tree, and went flying through the wood to get rid of his determined little enemies: they stuck fast, however, to their points of attack, nor did bruin get clear of his tormentors till he dashed himself into a pool of water and buried his head for a moment or two under the surface. it was with some degree of trepidation that he raised his nose above water and peeped about him; the bees were all gone, so he crawled out of the mud, and after an angry shake or two, for his coat was quite wet, he resumed his journey. bruin now travelled on till noon; and what with hunger and his long walk, you may believe his temper was not improved. a rustling noise on the left, accompanied every now and then with a short, contented kind of grunt, attracted his attention, and looking through some brambles, he descried in an open space a very large boar, with two most formidable tusks protruding from his jaws, busily engaged in rooting up the ground, from which he had extracted a curious variety of roots and other edibles, the sight of which made bruin's mouth water. for the first time in his life he felt the necessity of civility; for though he had never made any personal acquaintance with the tribe to which the animal before him belonged, there were many tales current in his family of their ferocity when provoked; and the few reasoning powers he possessed were sufficient to assure him, that not even his rough paws or burly strength would secure him from those glistening tusks if directed angrily against him. so bruin resolved to try and be civil; and with this determination walked into the stranger's domain, and accosted him in as polite a way as his rude nature would permit him to assume. the animal, who was known in his neighbourhood as wylde boare, esquire, on account of the extent of his property, received bruin's advances with great caution, for he was naturally of a suspicious temper, his bright reddish eyes twinkling in a very unpleasant manner; perceiving, however, that his unexpected visitor was but a mere youngster, and that he looked very hungry and tired, he grunted out a surly sort of welcome, and, jerking his snout in the direction of the heap of provisions, bade him squat down and make a meal. bruin did not wait for a second invitation, but, stretching out his huge legs, picked up the fresh vegetables, which he thrust into his capacious jaws with every appearance of relish. when his repast came to an end--and this did not happen till there was an end of the food--he wiped his mouth with the back of his arm, and looked at the boar; and the boar, who had said nothing during the disappearance of the fruits of his morning's work, but had contented himself with uttering a grunt or two, looked at bruin. at length he observed,---"hurgh, you have a famous appetite!" "ah," answered the bear, "and so would you, if you had not eaten anything for the last few weeks!" after a pause:---"hurgh, hurgh!" said mr. boare, in a guttural voice; "i never tried; but a big fellow like you ought to be able to get through a deal of work." "perhaps so," observed the surly bear; "but i don't intend to make the experiment." after another pause:---"hurgh, an idle fellow, i'm afraid!" said mr. boare, half aside; "and not quite so civil as before his breakfast." then he exclaimed aloud, "i suppose you will make no objection to help me dig up some more food, seeing that you have made away with my dinner, hurgh?" "who do you take me for?" said the ungrateful beast, springing to his legs, and eyeing his entertainer with one of his furious looks. "who do i take you for, hurgh, you graceless cub?" exclaimed mr. boare, in a rage, for he was rather hasty in his manner, and his red eyes twinkled, and his back began to get up in a way which showed his agitation; "who do i take you for? why, i did take you for one who would be at least thankful for food given you when almost starving: but i now perceive you are only an ugly lump of a bear. out of my sight this instant, or, from want of my own dinner, which you have devoured, i shall, perchance, make a meal of you!--hurgh, hurgh!" as he said these words the bristles on his back started up so furiously, and his tusks glistened so horridly in a little ray of sunlight, which was peeping in to see what was the matter, that master bruin felt thoroughly frightened, and made a precipitate retreat, turning round at every few steps to observe whether he were followed, and if it would be necessary to take refuge in one of the trees; but wylde boare, esq. only grunted out his favourite expression, which, in this case, was mixed with a great deal of contempt, and recommenced digging for his dinner as if nothing had occurred to disturb his usual contented state of mind. bruin now travelled on till he reached a stream, which came bounding through this part of the wood at a very rapid pace, and making a terrible fuss because sundry large stones in the middle of its course rather impeded its progress. the noise it made, and the anger it showed, seemed to please our sulky bear mightily, so he sat down on the bank with his toes in the water to enjoy the spectacle. the scene was a very striking one, and was fitted to charm the most indifferent eye; and bruin, bear as he was, could not help being attracted by it. whatever his meditations, however, it was not destined that he should pursue them long without interruption; for his quick ear soon detected the sharp, quick bark of several dogs--a sound that was carried along by a breeze which swept by him at intervals. he raised his head with his huge nose in the air to sniff out any possible danger, and did not seem at all pleased with the result of his observations; for he drew first one foot and then the other out of the water, and raised himself to his full height. as he did so, a more than usual commotion in the stream drew his attention, when he perceived the round head of a large otter appear above the surface, whilst two bright eyes gave a hasty look all round. on observing bruin, the head immediately disappeared, and at the same moment a whole pack of terriers, in hot haste, came sweeping round a bank hard by, but stopped short on finding themselves in presence of such a formidable creature. bruin perceived that he had made an impression, and his usual insolence returned; for he had at first been startled, and he attributed the pause of the terriers to fear, when, in fact, it was only the result of surprise. if he had been a little better physiognomist, he would have observed a certain air of determination about the little fellows, which sufficiently showed that it was prudence or a sense of duty which stayed them, and not a lack of courage: they had been sent out to procure an otter, and they were now deliberating among themselves whether it would be wise to spend their time in quarrelling with a bear. [illustration: a close embrace.] after a short consultation, one who appeared to have the guidance of the pack uttered a decided little bark, and turning a little aside, endeavoured to pass between bruin and the stream, but sufficiently near to show that he was not afraid to come into contact with him, followed by his companions. this evidently contemptuous mode of treating him, aroused all our ill-tempered hero's bad humour; so, without considering the consequences of the action, he raised his big paw and knocked the leader down. the sturdy little fellows wanted no further provocation; as if influenced by a single will, they turned upon him, and attacked him in front, flank, and rear, with an impetuosity which was at first irresistible, because unexpected. finding that those behind him were his greatest and most successful tormentors, he very prudently sat himself down, crushing one or two of them in his descent; then springing to his legs, and as he did so catching several more in his arms, he hugged them till they had no more breath in their bodies, when he dropped them, and took up a fresh supply. one of the pack, however, more alert than his fellows, sprang up and seized him by the nose, making his teeth meet in that prominent feature, and caused bruin such intense pain, that, forgetting all his strategy, he tried to beat down his determined little foe with his paws, and ran off howling in a most terrific manner, pursued by the remainder of the pack, who bit at his hind legs, tore his already ragged coat till it hung in ribbons; and when bruin, who, having at length got rid of the bold little fellow that had fastened to his nose, climbed up a tree, they stood yelping at the foot of it, till evening had completely set in, when they slowly retired. and what were our ill-natured hero's thoughts, as he sat upon an elevated branch, and gently rubbed his wounded snout? why, unfortunately for his own happiness, he laid the blame of his mishap on any one or any thing, rather than the right being or circumstance. it was the otter's fault, or the dogs' fault--those dogs were always so quarrelsome; or it was his father's fault in driving him away from home: in fact, every one was in error rather than himself and his own disagreeable disposition. and here we may observe, that they are such characters as bruin who bring disrepute on a whole tribe; for we are too apt to form our opinions of a nation by the few individuals we may happen to fall in with, although, probably, no conclusions can be falser. let us, therefore, be careful ere we form our judgments, and let us not believe that all bruin's kindred and compatriots were sulky and ill-tempered because he himself was such a disagreeable lump of a bear. town life. bruin woke up next morning with so uncomfortable a feeling of soreness from the rough treatment he had received, that it was with some difficulty he was enabled to move his heavy limbs; and he found sitting so unpleasant a posture, that he lay stretched across two or three branches for several hours, and in a very ill-humour, indeed, watched the activity displayed beneath and around him. now a stealthy fox, upon some foraging expedition, would come creeping along, his foot-fall scarcely heard on the withered leaves and dead branches; now a timid mouse would leap nimbly by, and, at the least signal of danger, would disappear as if by enchantment; then a frolicsome squirrel, vaulting as fearlessly from bough to bough as if he were not fifty feet from the ground, would arouse him for a minute from his sulky mood, and light up his fierce eye with an expression of interest which it was very clear had no higher source than a hope that the little tumbler might fall down and break his neck, for daring to be in such a good humour. but the birds, above all, excited his anger; for seeing them flying about gaily in the sun, which tinged the tops of the trees so gloriously, bruin actually growled with indignation--a sound which nearly caused that accident to master squirrel that our ungracious hero had desired for him, so terribly was he frightened. a few days thus spent sufficiently recovered him to render him capable of moving, when he descended from his temporary hospital, and, with the aid of a thick staff, which he had provided himself for the purpose, set off once more, supplying his wants in the way of food with such edibles as fell in his way, a bear not being remarkably particular concerning its quality or kind. one only thought now possessed him,--that of quitting the wooded ground where his life had hitherto been passed, and reaching one of those spots where, as he had heard his parents relate, animals of various kinds congregate together, and live in habitations raised by their own ingenuity; in fact, a city. "at least," he thought, "if what i have heard of such places be true, and that merit of every kind is certain there to meet its reward, and be properly appreciated, i shall stand a better chance than my neighbours." with this reflection, he shuffled on a little quicker; and the reader, who has been thus allowed a private view of his motives, will observe that modesty was not among bruin's list of virtues. after a day's march, with sundry restings by the way--for he was not in good travelling order--he reached the outskirts of the wood; and when he got beyond it, he stood still to mark the prospect, which was, in sooth, a very charming one, and the more striking to him as being so entirely novel. as he stood on a rising ground, the scene lay beneath; and the sun, which was nearing the horizon, darted his level beams through a gentle mist that was beginning to rise from the valley, and made a wondrous golden haze, shedding beauty over every object within its influence. a silvery brook ran from some distant hills, and, after numerous windings, spread into a broad pond; then narrowing again, with an abrupt fall or two, which made its pace the faster, it ran noiselessly through some green meadows, where cattle and horses were grazing, then made a bend into the wood, where it was lost to view. bruin's quick eye scarcely, however, watched its course, for his whole attention was rivetted on what to him was of more interest,--the city to which his weary steps were directed. it stood upon the margin of the rivulet, just before its waters expanded into the little lake, and seemed to occupy a considerable extent of ground. it was neither handsomely nor regularly built, yet it had an imposing effect as a whole, and in bruin's eyes seemed to need nothing in the way of architecture. its inhabitants, i may observe in passing, were principally descendants of canine tribes, with a few pussies, who, for some worldly advantage, had overcome their prejudices to such society; and a flock or two of birds: as the latter, however, were of a volatile disposition, and were constantly on the move, they resided principally in the higher portions of the city, so that they might come and go without interfering with the steadier habits of the animal population. several horses and black cattle resided in the environs, but, with the exception of a donkey or two, rarely entered the town, for they found few inducements in the noisy streets to compensate them for the charm and tranquillity of a rural life. after contemplating the scene for some time, bruin slowly descended the hill, his confidence in his own powers somewhat weakened now he was in sight of the spot where they were to be called into action; one reason for this slight depression of his spirits arising, probably, from his ignorance of the dwellers in the great city, for the intelligence just communicated to the reader was at that time totally unknown to him. the strange appearance, also, of every creature he now met, contributed to abash him; for every one who had any pretensions to respectability wore over the coats with which nature had provided them, clothes of a cut that looked wonderful in the eyes of the untutored bruin. his own aspect was, meanwhile, not less odd in the opinion of the more civilised animals. his untrimmed hair and beard, his ragged coat, his queer gait, and the unrestrained gape of wonder with which he stared around him, were sufficient to excite the attention of the most indifferent, and it was with a tolerably large train at his heels that he reached the entrance to the principal street. here crowds of well-dressed dogs, both male and female (the latter always well-attended), were walking about or idling the time away; town-bred puppies, with insolent stare, were lounging at every turn, their delicate paws proving how little they were used to labour. on one side bruin observed a gracefully-proportioned white cat, veiled, gliding demurely along, whilst a strong tabby, her nurse, purred behind, with three little kittens in her arms, mewing to their hearts' content; and on the other several huge mastiffs, stalking gravely in a row, like policemen in our london streets going to their beats, the animals to which they have been compared being bound on a similar errand. these various sights proved to bruin that there must be a different agency at work to that which existed in his native forest. he was wise enough to perceive that mere animal force was not likely to succeed here, or hold the same position as it did in the land where he was born and had spent his earlier years. the appearances of wealth on one hand, the evidences of a soldier-like discipline and order on the other, convinced him that this was no place to vent his ill-humour by an exhibition of brute strength, for that it was sure to meet more than its match; whilst the uncertainty of the punishment which would attend such outbreak, provided it were indulged in, made him resolve, at least, to put a curb upon his public conduct. this was the first great step in bruin's education; a step, alas! merely taught him by his fears. had it sprung from higher sources, there would have been a chance of its doing permanent good; but what solid benefit can be reckoned on or attained which arises from such a motive? the attention that the rough stranger from a distant country met with from the civilised population of caneville (for that, or something like it, was the name of the city), was beginning to be rather irksome to him. every lady-dog, as she passed him, seemed anxious to allow him plenty of room; the three kittens in arms, at sight of him set up a chorus of cries, which their nurse tried in vain to appease; a mastiff, who was on guard on the opposite side of the way, seemed very much inclined to interfere for the preservation of public peace; whilst a couple of puppies, touched off in the extreme of the then prevailing fashion at caneville, turned up their noses and their tails in a way which seemed to render it perfectly marvellous how they kept upon their legs. all this was sufficiently irritating, even to the most good-natured of beings, and bruin found it especially hard to bear; he was assisted, however, in his prudential resolution to abstain from any outward exhibition of wrath by a sound which was as new to his ear as it was exciting to his feelings. it came from the upper end of the street, where a crowd had assembled; and as every one in his neighbourhood seemed to think the amusement it promised would be of a more interesting kind than baiting a bear, and had hastened in the direction whence it proceeded, bruin thought he could not do better than follow their example. on reaching the spot, his great height enabled him to get a view of what was going on; and as he pressed forward, the animals with which he came in contact gladly made way at his approach, so that in a few seconds he stood in the front row of a large circle, the centre of which was occupied by a fat, overgrown pig, with an astonishingly long snout, and a couple of rings through it by way of ornament; two equally long ears, that had evidently been submitted to some curious operation, for they were slit in various places, and hung down from his head like uncombed locks of hair; and a pair of very sharp little eyes, which seemed to have the unpleasant power of piercing right through you, if in their incessant wanderings they chanced to catch a look from your own. it was very evident that this animal, who was quite a _savant_, or, as we should say, a learned pig, enjoyed a high reputation in the community of caneville, where he had been settled some time; and whenever, as now, he chose to make an outdoor exhibition of himself and his powers, he was certain of a very full audience. behind him stood a punchy little bull-dog, with an inflamed countenance, evidently caused by too close application to a mouth-organ, arranged in such a way as to be at a convenient distance from his capacious muzzle; and before him was a drum, an article on which bruin looked with a curious and most ludicrous expression of physiognomy. as he was now in the foremost van, he gradually edged near and nearer to the object of his attraction, whilst the learned beast was making preparations for a grand display; and just as bruin had reached the place where the drummer had taken his stand, herr schwein (so was he called) gave orders for a flourish of music by way of opening the performance. but how describe the effect which the sound produced on our bear? at the first stroke of the stick on the drum, he leaped from the ground as if he had been shot; then giving utterance to a prolonged howl, he began dancing about in a way which would have been irresistibly funny, if the audience had not been too frightened to stop and witness it. as it happened, a general panic seized the multitude, and off went good part of the population of caneville, howling, screaming, and yelping to their various homes, where they, of course, each gave a different version of the story. the learned pig alone, and his faithful tom, who would not run away for any body, were the only creatures who stood their ground; the former, because he had travelled much and was acquainted with the peculiarities of bears; and the latter, partly for the reason just given, and in part because he was so fixed to the drum that to go away without it was impossible; and to go away with it, without previous packing, would have been equally difficult, so he stood his ground and watched the proceedings. on the ceasing of the music and dispersing of the crowd our hero also stood still, as much surprised as any of the former spectators at the effect he had produced; and then feeling still more sensibly the effects of his fatigues, he sat down panting and exhausted. the pig, who had been quietly watching him, and had evidently been revolving some interesting thoughts in his contemplative brain, shortly after rose, and gathering up the things which were to have figured in his evening's performance, and assisting to pack the drum comfortably on tom's back, beckoned to the bear, and waddled gently off in an opposite direction of the city to that where bruin had entered. our interesting brute hesitated a moment; but being nudged by tom, who uttered at the same time a word or two of encouragement, which, to render intelligible, may be translated by "come along, stupid!" he mechanically followed this fast young dog, and they all reached the pig's habitation just as evening was falling. after the bear had been regaled with a most hearty supper--for pigs, it may be remarked by the way, are famous caterers--his learned host unfolded to him his plans. he explained the nature of his own avocations; how that he had supported himself, and saved a nice little store besides, through telling the fortunes and relating the age of the lady-dogs and doglets of caneville; and how he performed sundry conjuring tricks, which, though easy enough when found out, had earned for him an astonishing reputation among the simple animals of the city, who never _had_ penetrated the secret. he explained, besides, that there were many more he could perform if his figure were more slim and his movements as active as they had been some years ago, before time, by increasing his rotundity, had lessened the ease of his motions; but that if bruin would undertake to learn them, his fortune was as good as made: for he, herr schwein, would not only teach him all he knew, but would reward him with half the profits derived from his performance, when he should have mastered his studies. this proposal so jumped with bruin's humour, that he consented without further solicitation, and it was agreed that his engagement should commence from the following day. with the morning's sun did our hero's lessons begin; and as nature had not added stupidity to his various weaknesses, he made really rapid progress. but poor piggy found it dreadfully hard work, and more than once repented his bargain; for though reflection and circumstances had made him a philosopher, and travelling had taught him experience, it required all his philosophy and his utmost skill to support the weight of bruin's unhandsome temper and prevent an utter breach between them. pride, however, and a natural wish to reap the harvest which he had sown at the cost of so much pains and labour, induced him to persevere, and the day at length arrived when bruin was to make his next appearance in public. since the first evening of his arrival he had kept strictly within his employer's grounds, and had familiarised his mind with the mouth-organ and the drum. but now the sun had risen that was to shine on him again abroad; he felt considerably elated; the idea of sporting a handsome pair of silk drawers, and a medal with a ribbon round his neck, and a silver anklet, contributing not a little to produce the feeling. the pig, who knew the value of notoriety in such cases, had, from early morning, kept tom parading the streets with a large placard over his shoulders, announcing the arrival of a distinguished foreigner! engaged by herr schwein at a ruinous expense!! for a limited number of representations, to perform his extraordinary and intensely interesting feats before the highly-discriminating public of caneville!!! the highly-discriminating being thus prepared, assembled in the great square, the place chosen for the exhibition, long before the appointed hour. the ladies were arranged in the foremost rank, with a politeness that was perfectly edifying, whilst knots of fashionable dogs and cats got as near as possible to the reigning favourites; curs of inferior degree occupied the outermost ranks, and a bird or two got gallery places above the heads of the animal spectators. it was when expectation was raised to that pitch which usually finds vent in the most discordant cries, that bruin, carrying a bag, followed by tom with the drum, made his appearance,--a sight which caused universal approbation. some praised his evident strength, others admired his dress, and some again criticised his figure; but when he drew out from his bag a quantity of singular objects, and tom struck up an extraordinary extempore air with variations on the pipes, accompanied by sundry vicious blows on the drum, public curiosity was strained to the utmost. [illustration: making an impression.] when the music ceased, bruin imperatively waved the spectators back, and the performance began. he handled a pair of knives in a way which made the beholders tremble; for those implements were swallowed and appeared again at the tips of his paws or the end of his nose, without doing him any injury, and they were forced into his arms and drawn furiously across his throat without causing the slightest wound; and then they were tucked into his waistband, and after sundry contortions and leaps, and affected attitudes, they were pulled from out his capacious jaws, where they had stuck fast, to the wonder and delight of the spectators. then he took up three balls of polished brass, which seemed too heavy for any fashionable puppy present to lift, and commenced a wonderful series of exploits with them. now they leaped a great height into the air, one after another, with a rapidity which made the crowd's eyes water; then they ran over his shoulders, and down his back, and between his legs, and over his shoulders again in a continuous stream; and then they went bumping over every projecting part of his body, leaping here, jumping there, now on the top of his head, now on the tip of his nose, and never falling to the ground, and always going this game with such wondrous swiftness, as though there were thirty balls instead of three. but the feat which pleased them most, and which may be called the crowning effort of the display, was when bruin balanced a short stick on his forehead with a pewter plate on the top of it, which, by some mysterious agency, was made to spin round and round, and dazzle the optics of the crowd as it glittered in the sun. at this marvellous sight there was a burst of admiration! tom blew at his pipes and hammered at his drum with the utmost energy. two well-dressed young dogs, who had been paying particular attention to a tall young lady with a long sentimental nose, over which a veil dropped gracefully (she was evidently one of the aristocratic greyhound family), gaped with wonder as they stared at the whirling pewter; the young lady herself looked on with a gaze where surprise and admiration were singularly mingled; and the curs, who are less accustomed to restrain their feelings, gave vent to them in vigorous howls. the success was, indeed, complete; and when tom went round with the plate, a rich harvest amply repaid the pains which had been bestowed on the rehearsals. prosperity. herr schwein, that very learned pig, who had stationed himself in an unobserved corner of the throng, in order that he might witness the behaviour of his pupil, was delighted, though not astonished, at his success, and gave vent to his feelings in as marked a manner as a philosopher and an animal of his peculiar temperament could be expected to betray. he even went so far as to beg bruin to embrace him--an experiment he was not likely to desire repeated, for that malicious beast gave him so severe a squeeze, as to cause him an indigestion for several days after. piggy's calculations, and the joy which he built on them, would not have been of so solid a kind, if he had known a little more of bruin's disposition; but, though an animal of experience and knowledge of the world, he was in this case too blinded by his pride to form his usually correct judgment. he only considered what the bear owed to him in the way of gratitude for clothing, feeding, and civilising; he grunted with satisfaction as he revolved in his thoughts the goodly treasure which bruin might be the means of his acquiring; for, philosopher and animal of the world as he was, he had not been able to divest himself of two grand vices,--gluttony and avarice. the former belonged to his tribe, the latter to himself; and though at first sight they would seem in contradiction with each other, he managed somehow to permit, in his own proper person, that both should have equal sway; and the older he grew, the larger and firmer-rooted did these two passions become. he was getting also so unwieldy, that indolence was, to a certain extent, forced upon him; and this was another powerful consideration which induced him to look on the accession of bruin as a real benefit. unhappy, however, the lot of that animal who should repose any degree of confidence in good to be derived from such a temper and disposition! as day by day developed some new feature which helped to betray a character singularly unamiable and unattractive, so day by day did herr schwein's habitation resound with growls and grunts of anger, where formerly reigned the completest calm. bruin's performances also lacking novelty, began to pall upon the public taste; and though tom trudged about with his placards more vigorously than ever, and wore the soles of his poor paws thin with the exercise, the novelty was dying out, and the fashionable puppies began to be witty in their whispered remarks upon the person of the bearer. the bear had got a great deal too lazy to learn any fresh exploits; and the pig, indeed, was almost too much out of spirits to teach them. besides this, bruin had acquired habits of rather an expensive kind, to indulge which required a good deal of money; and, as herr schwein suspected that his due half of the now diminished receipts was withheld from him, quarrels not unnaturally ensued. these various annoyances produced a great change in poor piggy, who, perhaps, felt more deeply the overthrow of his pet projects, than the actual loss his bargain had entailed on him; though the loss itself was not trifling, for bruin's enormous appetite, which he indulged to a frightful extent, went considerably beyond the income that his diminished exertions produced, and there was a chance, as matters stood, that this resource would soon fail altogether. it is not surprising, then, if the herr should contemplate breaking off his engagement, and terminating at once the difficulties which seemed to threaten him, by turning the great bear adrift upon the world. but a stronger power than a pig's was about to settle the question, a power to which all animals are equally amenable: and thus was it brought into action. it was evening; bruin and tom, the former in excessively ill-humour, the latter much as usual, though sulky, returned home, where the herr awaited them with impatience. it did not require a very great amount of sagacity to learn that they had been unsuccessful, for disappointment was plainly visible on the features of both. from bruin nothing could be obtained in the way of information, for he had thrown himself on the ground, and stuffed his wide jaws with some delicacies piggy had reserved for his own supper, so it was to tom his master's eyes were directed for an explanation. now that valuable servant's _fort_, never lay in making an eloquent discourse, or even in describing the most ordinary facts in a plain and intelligible manner; and in this instance, as his feelings interfered with the relation of facts, a tolerably large stock of patience, and some cleverness to boot, were needed to understand the account. this was, after cross-examination, what herr schwein managed to comprehend. they had gone to the marketplace as usual, and, to their delight, found it crowded, immediately jumping to the conclusion that the public mind of caneville was not so utterly degraded as they had begun to fancy it. the innocent conjecture was soon, however, disabused; for on their drawing nearer they observed that faithless population gathered about "another distinguished foreigner," with a remarkably long beard and a fierce pair of horns, who proclaimed himself a magician from beyond the land where the sun rose, and rejoiced in the name of doctor capricornus, a.v.g.t., and m.u.h.s., which the great learning of herr schwein interpreted by a very great traveller, or thief, and member of the universal herbage or humbug society. now, the feats displayed by this new candidate for public favour were of the stupidest order (remember, this is not the statement of a disinterested party), consisting merely in pointing out any pebble on the ground that any one of the crowd should have previously fixed on, and mounting to the top of a little ladder and balancing himself on the tips of his horns at the upper round; yet it was enough to excite the enthusiasm of the lookers-on: nor could all the cries of bruin, bidding them come and see what true genius really was; nor all the dulcet notes of tom, though he blew at his pipes till he was black in the face, and thrashed his drum till he beat in its crown, procure them a single spectator. thoroughly disgusted, they quitted the spot and returned home, bruin getting into a dispute with one of the city police by the way for comporting himself bearishly towards a richly-dressed and genteel-looking cat, who was quietly serenading his mistress, seated at a balcony. as tom finished his relation, a slight squeak issued from the pig's throat, but from its profoundest depths, as if it came from the bottom of his heart. once or twice, indeed, he turned his snout to the place where the bear, who had finished his employer's supper, lay at his full length asleep, as though he intended to arouse him; but his philosophy or his physical weakness made him change his resolution, and, making a motion to tom to lend him some assistance, he tottered off with difficulty to bed, where he cast himself down as if he were tired of the world and its struggles. at least his manner so far affected tom that he could not prevail on himself to quit his master's side; but after watching him with interest for a full hour, and observing him in a deep sleep, he stretched his body upon some clean straw, instead of seeking his own crib, and was soon likewise in a state of forgetfulness. it must have been about midnight that tom was aroused by a suppressed grunting; he started up, and, by the aid of the moon, beheld herr schwein lying on his back, and convulsively kicking his legs in the air. he ran to his head and tried to raise him up, but his weight was more than he could manage, so he called out in his loudest voice for the assistance of bruin. that ungracious beast, however, though waked by the noise, felt no inclination to have his repose disturbed; so bid him hold his peace, and let honest folks go to sleep. tom was a thoroughly faithful creature at heart, though a rough and untutored one. the want of feeling displayed by the bear, and his ingratitude in thus allowing his master to struggle without even lending him a paw, aroused all the indignation of his honest nature; so, flying at master bruin, he caught hold of the tip of his ear and bit it till the great beast roared with pain, and, effectually roused, followed his adversary about the place in order to punish him for his insolence. in his awkward evolutions he caught one of his legs in a heap of straw, and fell full sprawl over poor herr schwein. a small grunt, like a sigh with a bad cold, escaped the learned pig: it was his last! for, when bruin raised himself up, he found his late employer perfectly motionless; nor did all his efforts, such as pulling his snout, and shaking his trotters, and twisting his tail, succeed in producing the slightest impression. the bear was puzzled. he squatted down beside his old master, and, sucking his right paw, whilst he scratched his pate with his left, gazed long at the prostrate body. meanwhile tom drew nigh, and guessing at the truth from his companion's attitude and the pig's breathless quiet, raised his nose to the roof of the dwelling and uttered a long and dismal howl of sorrow. again and again, at brief intervals, did the faithful servant thus deplore his master's fate, till bruin, angered by the noise, threw the broken drum at the unconscious mourner, with such effect, indeed, that the shattered extremity alighted on his crown, and for the time completely buried him, his voice sounding singularly sepulchral from the depths of the hollow instrument. it effectually stopped the current of his grief by creating a flood of irritation, which only respect for the dead prevented his giving vent to, for he would otherwise have little heeded either the strength or ferocity of his antagonist. bruin, who had betrayed no feeling of any kind at the sight of his late benefactor thus converted into pork, now returned to his own bed, and was soon again in a comfortable snore; but the faithful tom still sat beside the body of his master, and patiently watched there till daylight. the sun rose, and many neighbours, apprised of the event, made their appearance; some urged by curiosity to see how a dead pig looked, some stimulated by avarice, hoping there might be a trifle or two to pick up, and a few from a higher motive--the wish, namely, to show respect for the memory of the deceased, by assisting, if necessary, his survivors. herr schwein, however, had come amongst them alone, nor was it thought that he had kith or kin; for no mention of any amiable _frau_, or sow, no syllable of any interesting piglet, had ever issued from his learned jaws. he died as he had lived, among strangers; and, alas! all the learning he had acquired was destined to perish with him: for, with one exception, herr schwein had never committed any of his thoughts or experiences to writing. i have said, with _one_ exception; for the occasion is worth noting, as it was on a matter interesting, indeed, to every epicure in the universe. the subject which then engaged his pen bore the following title:--"_signs by which the most unobservant may detect in the soils of the world the existence of truffles; together with an essay on the most effectual mode of cultivating them._" and it may well be conjectured, from the great learning and fitness of the writer to deal with such a subject, how much new light must have been thrown upon it. unfortunately for the tribes of gourmands, and poor piggy's fame, this valuable paper was never destined to electrify the world; for, cast into the street by bruin among other articles, considered, alas! of no value, it was picked up by some ignorant puppy passing by, who, seeing it written in german character, and not understanding a word of it, tore up the priceless document to make lights for his cigars. two mastiffs, who had been informed of the death, kept watch meanwhile without the house; and when night again came on they were joined by a couple of ugly curs, whose business it was to convey the body to its last resting-place without the city; for the dogs, with great good sense, had an intense dislike to bury the dead among the living. the mortal remains of herr schwein being placed upon a kind of sledge, were drawn slowly down to the little lake, followed by tom, as chief and only mourner, for bruin was so devoid of feeling as to refuse even this last tribute to the memory of one who had been his best friend; and when the funeral procession reached the water, the body was gently let down into the current, which bore it gradually away. poor tom sent after it a prolonged and melancholy howl, the last sad adieu of a simple but faithful heart; and then turning his steps, which were mechanically leading him towards his late home, in quite an opposite direction, he set off upon a lonely pilgrimage, resolving in his own mind that many a scene should be traversed ere he again gazed on his native city of caneville. meanwhile bruin, who felt not the least alarm at tom's continued absence, found himself suddenly in a position of the highest prosperity. as no one was there to claim the property of the deceased, he took possession of it as his right. every corner was ransacked, every hiding-place examined, and a large store of costumes, and things of every kind, gathered in the course of the late herr's wanderings in different lands, were dragged from their obscurity. [illustration: a very great bear.] his present habitation did not, however, suit his change of fortune: he must have a house in the most fashionable quarter of the town. when this was obtained, not satisfied with the simple name his fathers had honestly borne for so many generations, he resolved to dub himself a nobleman, which he could the more easily do in a place where his connexions were unknown, so styled himself count von bruin forthwith. the wardrobe of his late learned employer furnished him with a suit of astonishingly fine clothes, which fitted him to a nicety; so on every fine morning, dressed therein, with hat cocked upon his crown, his paws grasping a cane, and placed under his coat-tails, so as to show off all the glory of his waistcoat, frill, and splendid jewellery, he marched into the streets. he made so imposing a figure in his new dress, and assumed such an air of pomposity, that it was no wonder the uninitiated should have been deceived, and have taken him for a lion of the very first nobility; nor can we be surprised that a poor cur, almost in a state of nudity, should, in the most abject manner, supplicate a trifle from "his lordship;" that an ignorant cat, in passing, should take off his cap and make a profound bow; or a kitten, just behind, cross its paws as though it stood in the presence of a superior. there was one, however, who penetrated through all his disguise; one who had watched him with interest when he made his _debut_ in the public square and drew down such abundant admiration, and who, by some feeling for which she could not account, had followed his varying fortunes till she saw him thus rich, superbly dressed, and strutting down the street, as though caneville were too small to hold him,--and that one was the hon. miss greyhound. reverses. solitary as were bruin's habits by nature, he had felt, since his residence in a town, a change stealing gradually over him, and the necessity of companionship becoming every day more sensibly experienced. in his late position, he had had the constant companionship of tom and the learned society of his master, which, indeed, he was but little capable of appreciating, besides the acquaintance of some inferior animals whom he had managed to fall in with during his idle hours; though that these must have been of the very lowest class, the reader, who is aware of the character of that great beast, will readily suppose. tom was, however, now gone; poor schwein, too, had departed; and bruin's fine clothes and altered condition entirely precluded at present a return to his former associates. society, he felt, he must have, and upon his choice now depended his future fortunes. it was whilst this necessity was pressing on his brain that one morning, when lolling in all the indolence of ignorance allied to wealth, he was surprised at the appearance of a diminutive spaniel, admitted by his porter, who, dressed in a rich scarlet livery, bore a letter in his belt, which he presented with a certain fawning grace to our hero, and hastily departed. this was the first epistle that worthy had ever held in his own paws, so it may well be judged he was but little prepared to investigate its contents. he turned it over and over, and then put it to his nose, for the scent which it emitted was pleasant to his sense of smell; but still this gave him no hint at its meaning. never before had he felt the annoyance which a want of education inevitably causes; but now that it did strike him, instead of arousing his energies to cure so serious a defect,--a cure, too, which he could under present circumstances so easily accomplish,--it only moved his anger to think that the little scrap of paper which he held in his paw, and which he could without the slightest effort crush into nothingness, withheld its secrets from him, whilst every mincing puppy in the streets could command its every word. ah, master bruin! master bruin! you are not the first to make the discovery that knowledge is superior to brute force. angry or not, he wished to know the meaning of the note; and summoning to his presence one who had managed to procure the chief place in his household, cunning fox as he was, he commanded that worthy to read its contents aloud. fox obeyed, not at all displeased that he should be selected for this duty, as he foresaw, from the so-called count's ignorance, that he would be able at a future period to turn his intimate knowledge of his master's secrets to good account. he, therefore, read as follows:- "you may believe i must be actuated by a strong feeling in your favour, when i thus forget what is due to my sex and rank, and overcome all the prejudices which canine society builds up as a barrier to intercourse with foreigners. i confess it; the feeling _is_ a strong one: but i rely on your honour to save me from the ill effects my imprudence might otherwise lay me open to. if you are willing to know farther, and are the animal i take you for, you will be in waiting tomorrow evening after sunset, at the extremity of the mews in the cats' quarter of the city." this missive, written in bold but feminine characters, was without a signature; and when fox had retired, with a cunning leer upon his sharp features, and bruin was left alone to meditate upon the singularity of the adventure, that great beast lost himself in conjectures as to the writer, and figured to his imagination a creature very different, no doubt, to the being actually in question. his impatience, however, to get over the interval of time which must elapse ere his curiosity could be gratified, was sensibly felt by every inmate of the mansion. nothing seemed to go right; the soup was tasteless, the viands were overdone, and the vegetables raw. never was there so fastidious a bear; the cook more than once contemplated some rash act; the poor little turnspits crept into corners with their tails between their legs, fully expecting to be sacrificed in some moment of wrath; whilst the various house-servants, pussies of doubtful reputation, seemed to creep about the place as though they were every moment in dread of being accused of purloining certain savoury made-dishes, reserved especially for cook's private friends. fox, too, the steward and factotum of the establishment, appeared not to possess his usual sleek and quiet ease, but, as the evening drew near, got restless and fidgetty, though he tried to be calm, and even more jocose than usual. he had been absent half the morning, no one knew for what purpose; not that he ever condescended to divulge the causes of his movements, but there was a slyer look in his eyes, and a sharper appearance about his clever, pointed nose, than ordinarily animated those features. the hour drew nigh. the sun was going down when the count von bruin, most superbly dressed, sallied forth from his dwelling. his demeanour was observed and criticised by every domestic in his household, who, crowding to the windows, watched that great bear go forth,--as he fancied, to conquer. fox allowed him to turn the corner; then, enveloped in a cloak which completely hid his figure, he let himself out and glided after his master. bruin, meanwhile, strutted on till he reached the quarter of the city inhabited by the descendants of the feline race; and as he had never before been in that part of the town, he was at first utterly confounded by the discordant cries. instead, too, of the order prevailing in the canine portions, the inhabitants seemed to take delight in the wildest gymnastic demonstrations, and certainly seemed to prefer the house-tops to any other lounging-place. kittens, in horrible abundance, were frisking about in every direction, and the scene was altogether of a character which seemed to justify the wisdom of the magnates of caneville in obliging this singular people to dwell in a distinct part of the town; a rule which, with a few exceptions, was strictly carried out. on reaching the mews, a place so called at the outskirts of the city in this direction, and sufficiently removed from the noisy streets as to make the spot a very solitary one, bruin perceived he was alone at the rendezvous; so, to while away the time, he strutted to and fro, and meditated, in his usual style, on his own self-importance. he was aroused from his reverie by a slight bark, or cough; and raising his head, he perceived in the dim light a tall and graceful figure deeply veiled. he hastily advanced, his rough nature for the first time touched at this proof of confidence, and his vanity suddenly rising to a dangerous height, and taking the delicate white paw, which drooped gracefully from a mantle, within his own, he unclosed his jaws to make some tender speech. but before he had time to commit himself by his ignorance, the young lady uttered an aristocratic squeak, and darted away with the utmost swiftness, and bruin at the same instant found himself seized by a strong grip from behind. he turned round with a violence which threw his assailant a dozen paces off, into a pool of stagnant water, his own coat being slit right up the back by the movement; but he was at once attacked by half-a-dozen others, who seemed bent on his destruction. bruin's great strength, however, served him in good stead; with his back against an old wall, he received the assaults of his adversaries with all his wonted ferocity: so that after ten minutes' fighting they drew off, leaving two of their number motionless on the ground, and a third struggling in vain to escape from the unsavoury hole where the whisk of bruin's coat-tails had cast him. to this spot bruin now proceeded; and sitting himself down on the edge, told the struggling dog he would help him out if he would divulge the meaning of this unexpected attack on him. the half-drowned cur, having supplicated the bear in vain to let him out before he commenced his narration, in accents sadly interrupted by his throat getting at intervals choked with dirty water, explained that himself and the others of his assailants were the attendants of one of the most noble families in caneville; and that their master, learning from some member of count von bruin's household that he (the count) intended meeting the eldest daughter at this spot to-night, had commanded a body of his servitors to be in readiness to fall upon him, and if possible take him prisoner, for presuming to raise or lower his eyes to a damsel of such standing. scarcely had bruin heard this communication to an end, than, despite his promise and the poor dog's cries, he caught up a huge clod of earth and dropped it upon the devoted head of the struggling animal beneath. there was a great splash; a bubble or two came to the surface of the horrid pool, and the brutal deed was consummated. yet at the same moment bruin regretted he had been so precipitate, for he had not learnt _which_ member of his household had played the spy. as he slowly left the place, he revolved this subject in his mind, but could come to no satisfactory conclusion; for though fox appeared the most likely to be guilty, that worthy animal had made himself so useful to his master, that he could not well manage without him. he resolved, nevertheless, to watch him closely, and with this prudent resolve he reached his own door. very different was his appearance now to that which it presented on his issuing from the mansion. his coat torn to ribbons, his hat without a crown, his majestic frill rumpled and bloody, and his waistcoat without a single button left wherewith to restrain the exuberance of his linen. all his domestics were eager in their inquiries and offers of service; and fox was so overpowering in his expressions of regret, that all suspicion vanished from bruin's brain at once; and he attributed his informant's tale to some malicious calumny, invented to save his life and conceal the true cause of the attack upon him. our hero, finding that the paths of gallantry were filled with so much unpleasantness, resolved, like a prudent animal, to avoid them carefully in future; but as his desire for an introduction to society continued, he availed himself of the offer of his steward, who promised to procure him introductions to youth of the best families. the class with which fox managed to bring him into connexion was the most worthless in caneville, consisting of fast young dogs, who had a singular knack of reversing the order of nature, and going to bed when other animals were getting up, and thinking of rising when the discreet part of the world deemed it time to retire to rest. they had formed themselves into a sort of club, which they called the "hard and fast;" and, indeed, no terms could better express the habits of the members; for they gamed hard, drank hard, and talked hard, and lived so uncommonly _fast_, that it was not surprising that, though quite young, they should have many of the infirmities of age. to these worthies bruin was an acquisition; for he was rich, ignorant, and gullible, whilst they were poor, grasping, and unscrupulous. at the very first interview, all parties were equally delighted with each other; the ease of his new companions' manners was perfectly charming to bruin, who considered it as a proof of their breeding, and every following day strengthened the connexion. riotous parties of pleasure were constantly projected, for which their friend von bruin paid; banquets of the most expensive kind were always spread upon his table, at which his "dear fellows of the club" assisted--themselves; and, indeed, so closely were the bonds of union drawn, that after some time many of them could not bear to separate from their esteemed count; and, therefore, took up their residence with him altogether. if disorder were running such a race in company with the chief of the establishment, it may be conjectured that but little prudence or economy was displayed by the domestics. extravagance of every kind ran riot amongst them as wildly as with their master, and they scrupled not at all sorts of petty pilfering, where there were none to censure or restrain. fox, it is true, had the right, and possessed the influence requisite to do so; but, for some evil design of his own, possibly that his private peccadilloes might escape unnoticed, he seemed tacitly to submit to such a state of things, and in some instances actually encouraged it. and what could be the only result of such a life of dissipation, unchecked by a single effort of discretion? why, nothing but the most irretrievable ruin; and ruined the bear was after three months' trial. and when, following a banquet of several days' duration, the clouded intellects of the beast were made sensible of the fact; when he found his table cleared for the last time both of servants and guests; when he traversed the various apartments of his mansion, and observed all stripped, destroyed, and echoing only to the sounds of his own footsteps; when, in fine, he discovered that he was again alone in the world, without any portion of that wealth which he had so sadly abused, and with many new and vicious tastes which he had no longer the means to gratify; bitter, indeed, were his lamentations, shocking his fits of anger. these over, and they lasted long, long days, he seriously examined the state of his affairs. with the exception of the clothes upon his back, and a little change in his pocket, he possessed absolutely nothing, so effectually had his kind friends and faithful servants stripped him of his means: it was, therefore, with no enviable feelings he left the house, his house no longer, to seek a shelter for his head, and a crust to appease his hunger. he carefully avoided all his former resorts, and directed his steps to those parts of the town where poverty and vice were accustomed to assemble, strong in their numbers and their misery. among them he now strove to bury his griefs and acquire consolation; but, alas, it was at the cost of every hope of virtue which might yet lurk in his nature! characters like bruin's, that are ever more apt to imitate the evil than the good which is around them, can only acquire some fresh stain from every contact with the wicked; and thus our bear sunk lower and lower in the scale of beasts, till many even of his new associates at last shrunk from him. some months after bruin's being turned out of his splendid home there was a great fair held, just without the town of caneville; and, as is usual in such cases, the lowest orders of the population assembled there. the hon. miss greyhound, who had been a prey to feelings of a very mixed nature since her interrupted interview with bruin, had joined a party of fashionables in an unusually long walk, and on their return to the city by a different route they came upon the fair. they stopped on a rising ground at some little distance to view the sports; then observing a group with a tall ungainly figure in the centre, a little to the right, they drew nearer to observe the proceedings. the great beast in the centre had his back to them, so they could not observe his features; but they saw that his clothes were ragged, his whole appearance very dirty, and his hat a particularly bad one. a dozen of heavy sticks were at his feet, and a couple were under his arm; whilst at some twenty paces distant two wands, with an ornament or trinket at the top of each, were stuck upright in a straw bag, ready to be thrown at by any adventurous puss or puppy who had a coin at his disposal. a couple of cats were lovingly walking at some distance, another was climbing a large tree which overhung the place, and a fourth was lazily seated high above; whilst, in the neighbourhood of the animal who was presiding over the scene, were several dogs and a cat or two waiting for their turn. the tall beast now altered his position, and the strongly-marked features of a bear became plainly visible to the party; at the same time he caught sight of the fashionable group, and, with a fierce expression in his eye, surlily invited the well-dressed males to take their chance at "three throws a-penny!" [illustration: three throws a-penny.] a gentle howl from miss g. was the only reply, as the party hastily retreated; for she recognized in the dirty, degraded beast, who was presiding over this vulgar sport, the object she had once looked on with affection, the once wealthy count von bruin. progress. the fair of caneville was like fairs in most other parts of the world, and contained the usual elements of fun and wickedness, toys and dirt, sweets and other messes. as all these various ingredients looked best at night, when the broad sun was withdrawn and an artificial light very feebly supplied its place, it was towards evening that the fair began to fill, and doubtful characters to ply their various vocations. it was matter of remark that there was much more quarrelling and ill-humour in the fair this particular year, than there had been for several previous periods; and it was also observed that a tall and powerful bear--no other than our hero bruin--was ever in the midst of it, either as an instigator or a principal. this circumstance made the authorities more than usually alert, and caused master bruin to be closely watched. it was at the close of the last day, after many scenes of evil which it is not necessary to describe, that a serious disturbance arose in the part of the field where bruin had his stand. blows soon followed angry words; the contending parties flew at each other with great ferocity; growl followed growl, and bite succeeded bite, so that a good deal of blood was shed--ill blood; so, perhaps, better out than in;--and as bruin's sticks were conveniently at hand as weapons of offence, they were soon seized upon, and used so indiscriminately, that almost every throw told. many were stretched on the ground, and one of the mastiff-police was thought to be killed. this was a serious offence, indeed, and those who knew the penalty attending such a calamity instantly took to flight. they were as instantly pursued; and when about to be captured, with one voice denounced bruin as the culprit; though, in fact, it was not he who had struck the blow, and they knew it: but such was his known ferocity and ill-temper, that to shield themselves they were ready to give up the wrong beast, whom no one loved, and whom every one would have suspected as the author of the calamity. so the bear, in spite of his protestations of innocence, and in spite too of a most furious resistance, in the course of which he got more than one savage bite from some small animal he had injured, he was dragged off to prison. the place used for this purpose was a portion of a ruined castle, standing in the centre of the town, on the banks of the rivulet before spoken of; the ruin itself being of great antiquity, and having been evidently erected by a very different class of beings to that which formed the present population of caneville. several compartments were adapted for the purpose, all more or less secure; but the square stone chamber into which bruin was thrust was the strongest of them all. the door opening outwards was closed on him, and secured by a heavy mass of rock, which the united efforts of several of the police rolled against it; and having thus deposited the prisoner in safety, a couple mounted guard at the entrance, in case by any chance the great strength of the bear should succeed in removing the fastening. bruin seemed, however, in no humour to make the experiment. sore and worn out, he crawled into a corner and was soon fast asleep, resuming in his dreams some of his old avocations. he woke at daylight, and immediately rose to examine his prison. the door he sniffed at, but passed by; the window was at so great a height from the floor that he could not reach it upon tiptoe, but he remarked that a very delicious puff of fresh air came down an aperture originally used as a chimney. he moved hastily towards it, and many feet above observed the blue sky, and the large branch of a tree waving over the aperture. had messieurs the police been aware of bruin's climbing propensities, they would scarcely have left this point unguarded; as it was, the bear proceeded immediately to take advantage of it. with a spring he caught hold of an opening formed by a missing stone, and drawing his body up to his paw, he stuck his foot into the hole and pressed his broad back against the opposite side; a projecting brick gave him a second hold, and then the difficulty was over, for the chimney narrowing he managed to get up by the simple pressure of his knees and back, and the use of his broad and muscular paws. a few seconds sufficed for him to reach the top, on which he sat with his heels dangling in the air, to enjoy the prospect and take breath, while he deliberated on his farther proceedings. meanwhile an inquiry had been entered upon by the authorities of caneville concerning the riot, in which one of the police was alleged to have been killed, but as the object of the inquiry limped into the assembly during the sitting, it was not considered worth while to hear evidence as to the authors of his death; and as he, moreover, distinctly stated that the beast who struck the blow was not a bear, it was ordered that the bear who was in custody on the charge should be liberated forthwith. great was the surprise of his guards, however, on proceeding to his prison, to find that he had anticipated the verdict and had taken the liberty of setting himself free; in what way was pretty clear, as, on looking up the chimney, they were no less amused than astonished to see him just in the act of swinging himself on to the projecting branch of the tree and disappear from their view. they ran round into the court to mark the end of bruin's manoeuvres, but he had been too quick for them; not knowing of his being again a free bear, and apprehensive of being pursued, he had descended the tree with the utmost velocity, climbed over a ruined wall, and dropping, not lightly, into the stream, with a few bold strokes reached the opposite shore, where he immediately climbed a leafy oak, with the intention of waiting till the hue and cry was over. he kept his position very quietly all day, rather surprised that no commotion should be visible in and about the prison, of which he commanded a good view; and as evening was falling he resolved to descend, and, recrossing the stream higher up, seek refuge in some one of his late haunts. just as he was about putting this resolution into effect he heard voices beneath the tree, and lay quite still to listen. but what was his astonishment, as they drew nearer, to perceive that one of the two foxes from whom the sounds proceeded, was his former steward and factotum! his interest in their movements was of course increased, and he listened, with his ears and eyes bent down, to catch their every syllable and look. the stranger fox, it appeared, was about crossing the brook to the city, and the other one had accompanied him thus far, but refused to enter the town. on this, the following words reached bruin's ear:-_stranger._--i have noticed more than once, cousin, that you avoid the town; and yet i have known you to declare that no one but a cow could live in the country. _fox._--true enough, my dear fellow; but since i left _his_ service, you know, i don't care to run the risk of meeting him. _stranger._--ha! ha! i see. you are rather apprehensive he should seize you by the throat, and exclaim, "_my_ money or _your_ life!" _fox._--hush! hush! who knows what ears may be listening? enough that i have a comfortable competency, and don't choose to run the risk of losing it. _stranger._--well, well, cousin, i say no more; but remember, your grandfather and mine never left his home for fear of meeting with a wolf who owed him a grudge, and was found dead in his bed, having been murdered by the very wolf after all. come! you needn't look so down about it, old fellow; nothing half so bad, i hope, will come to you.--ta! ta! so saying, the stranger fox took leave of his cousin, and was soon on the opposite shore. fox waited till he saw him land, and then slowly turned to retrace his steps. scarcely, however, had he taken half-a-dozen paces, than a rushing noise smote his ears; and before he could raise his head a heavy body struck him between the shoulders, with a violence which dashed him flat on to the ground. he neither moved nor uttered a cry: his neck was broken. with a savage howl, bruin--for it is easy to guess that it was he--put his heavy paw upon the other's chest; but finding all still, he examined his clothes, whence he took all the valuables. he paused in his work to chide his own precipitancy; for had he followed the fox he might, perhaps, have learnt his dwelling and regained great part of his property. it was too late now; so, giving a savage kick on the face of the unfortunate animal, he heaped it over with leaves, and pursued his original intention of regaining the city, and before night was once more beneath the roof of a late associate. he remained for several days perfectly quiet and inactive; but finding no search was instituted for him, he, little by little, resumed his old habits, and, as many knew to their cost, his old overbearing temper. [illustration: selling the natives.] among the tastes prevailing to an immense extent in the community of caneville, a great love for those dainties which we call oysters had always been remarkable. it occurred to bruin, as he had now some trifling capital, that he would invest a portion in such articles as made up the fixtures and stock-in-trade of an oyster-merchant: the former expression is, however, a misnomer, for the stall and tubs included under the term fixtures would be more properly described as moveables. this was soon effected; and bruin having chosen a semi-respectable thoroughfare, where he would have a chance of a customer or two from the upper, and would not be too far removed from the lower class of caneville society, he planted his stall, arranged his tubs, spruced up his own person with the addition of a most formidable collar and a most doubtfully clean apron, and vociferated his "penny a lot, pups! penny a lot!" in a way which greatly edified the bystanders. the bystanders were, however, soon induced to become purchasers, for very few of them could resist oysters, if they had the wherewithal to purchase them; and bruin's natives were so fine and fresh, and he had so clever a knack of opening them, that it was really worth the money to see him do that, and many actually went there for the purpose: so that it really seemed he had at last hit upon a business for which he was entirely suited, which met also the public views, and that a short time would enable him, with prudence, to save provision for his old age. but, alas, the perversity of bears! no sooner did anything like a smile from fortune's face alight upon him, than he seemed resolved, by his uncompromising temper, to turn it to a frown! as long as the business was new to him, he took pleasure in performing the duties belonging to it in a proper manner; a little roughly, it may be, but still--properly. directly it grew familiar, he became careless; and he had a most wilful habit of aggravating his customers, which could not, of course, continue without seriously injuring his trade. for instance, when some pert young puppy would come forward, and civilly enough request his "one or two penn'orth of natives," bruin would first insist on having the money paid down, and would then tantalise his customer by offering him the opened oyster and hastily withdrawing it just as the impatient jaws were about to close on the desired morsel, and so on to the end, to the vast irritation of many an irascible little animal. and a day came when this same spirit caused the upset of his trade, and set a veto upon his "selling the natives," at least in caneville, for the future. a fox and a young terrier had both paid their money, and were eagerly waiting for their oysters, disturbing by their clamour a grave old dog who was licking the shell of his last penn'orth, when a domestic from a wealthy family, arrayed in a superb livery cloak, came up to order a lot for his master. the usual game--if it can be called so, when all the fun was on one side, was being played--three distinct efforts had been made by terrier to get his second instalment, when, in the struggle which ensued, the vinegar-bottle was knocked over, the cork came out, and the perfidious liquid, highly adulterated with vitriol (for, to their shame be it spoken, the dogs of distillers did not hesitate to endanger the lives of the inhabitants by such practices), poured in full volume over the rich livery-cloak of the servant, which was completely spoiled. the master, who was as powerful as he was avaricious, made a formal complaint against bruin and his stall as a nuisance; and as it was impossible even in caneville to obtain perfect justice, the report, without other inquiry, was taken as correct, and bruin, boiling with rage, had the mortification of seeing his tubs smashed, his stall destroyed, and his "natives" scattered all abroad without being able to strike a blow in their defence. down hill. bruin, that great animal, was seated on a bank overhanging the river, which, being shallow at this spot, brawled loudly over its pebbly bed, some parts of which were dry. it was at such a distance from the city, that all the noises common to its streets were united into one buzz or hum, and the whole scene was well adapted to suggest meditations upon private matters, or the affairs of the world in general. yet bruin did not seem influenced by any such reflections: if one might venture a guess from the appearance of his physiognomy, one would say that nothing in particular occupied his brains; true, his looks were black, his head was cast down, his eyes, as usual, were cunning and ferocious, but then they were always so, and consequently presented no index of what was passing within. suddenly his features brightened, his face assumed an expression of interest, and he put his paw gently behind him to secure a stone, whilst his gaze was intently fixed on a dry spot of the bed below. following the direction of his look, one might have perceived an uncommonly fat frog pulling with all his strength at the leg of another one whose body was hidden behind a heap of pebbles, and certainly the sight was one to amuse a wiser head than a bear's. the standing-place of the paunchy little animal being very green and slippery, and the leg which he so tightly clasped belonging to a fellow creature of no ordinary robustness, the struggle was diversified every few seconds by the fat fellow toppling on to his nose or back, or being dragged behind the heap, and then suddenly reappearing, still holding with passionless determination to that devoted leg, and tumbling about without uttering a syllable. it was when the greater part of his body was exposed to view in a position more comical than dignified, so great were his exertions, that bruin's stone, cast with unerring aim, descended upon the unfortunate frog. it hit him upon the softest and most projecting part of his back, and had the effect of raising him instantly into a perpendicular position, when looking round and observing the huge beast above about to repeat the application, he clapped his broad hand over the wounded place, and limped hastily away; nor could all the enticements of the bear, conveyed, it is true, in very unflattering language, induce him to expose his person to the chances of a second throw. bruin's attention was shortly after aroused anew, by observing a wretched old dog tottering under the weight of a large bundle, strapped upon his back, which he was conveying to the city. he came within a few feet of the bear, whom he knew slightly, and casting down his load, which he seemed to have brought from a distance, wiped his face with his ragged tail. bruin was the first to speak. _bruin_ (with a grunt).--hard at work as usual, eh! flip? _flip._--yes, master bruin, these are hard times; no bone to pick without it, you know. _bruin_ (with a very emphatic grunt).--that depends; some have lots of bones, and fine clothes, and warm beds, without doing anything harder for them than picking the one, putting on the other, and sleeping on the third;--but never mind that; what have you got there in your bundle, old fellow? _flip._--why, songs, master bruin; and you, who are fond of music, might make mints of money by selling 'em, if you'd only choose to do it. _bruin_ (pricking up his ears).--ah, master flip! and in what way? _flip._--why, here are all the new songs that have been sung for the last ten seasons by the caterwaullic society at their new hall, and a lot more besides, printed in half-a-dozen columns three times as long as my tail, and all for a penny. why, the very names of them are worth double the money. i'm going to take this package to old powtry the bookseller, and, if you're in want of a job, i'll recommend you to him as one of the venders. [illustration: cheap harmony.] the proposal in bruin's state of finance was not to be despised, for since his forced retirement from business, he had found his stomach and his pockets, by a very natural sympathy, suffering from precisely the same complaint--a degree of emptiness, namely--which there seemed no chance of finding a remedy for; but he had sundry doubts as to his capabilities for the new employment he was about seeking, particularly as he was aware his reputation was more notorious than favourable. to his surprise, however, though his person was well known to the individual powtry, not the slightest objection seemed to be made on the score of anything. the terms of his agreement, alas! not remarkably liberal, were arranged; bruin spent a couple of days in conning over his task, and forgetting to thank the poor dog who had procured him his situation, he once more entered the busy streets of caneville to add his bass voice to the other cries of that populous city. his appearance, as he made his way into the centre of the most active thoroughfare, holding in one paw his lists of songs--longer than most of the inhabitants--whilst his other was thrust into his trowsers' pocket; the impudent leer upon his face, as he surveyed his audience, and the careless set of his clothes, which, big as he was, seemed a size too capacious for him,--immediately attracted a crowd. a butcher's dog, who had been ordered to make all speed to no. 10 in this same street with a leg of mutton in his basket, stayed to gape and listen, although he was standing opposite no. 9. a young pup from a neighbouring alley ran out at the sound of his voice to learn the news. a spaniel, with long curly hair and medicine-basket on his arm, could not resist the temptation of just stopping to hear, though three servants of one of his master's patients were scouring the streets in search of him; nor could an eminent vocalist of the feline tribe, la signorina pussetta scracciolini, pass by without lending an ear to the wonderful list of melodies. there was another figure, too, who slackened her pace as she was passing the group, and by an irresistible impulse seemed compelled to draw near and listen; she was richly dressed in mantle and hood, which, thrown gracefully back, displayed a head and neck of aristocratic proportions; she seemed ill, however, and weak, for her delicate paws were resting on a stick, as though such aid were requisite, whilst her short breathing seemed to hint that her sorrows were bringing her nearer to her doom. she must have been once possessed of considerable beauty, and even now there was enough remaining to distinguish the hon. miss greyhound. thus surrounded, bruin vociferated with all the power of his lungs,-"o ... o ... o ... o ... o ... y ........... a! never were such times! here you are! only look! double your own length of songs for one penny! enough paper to make yourselves a coat to wrap yourselves in melody! only one penny! five hundred of the choicest songs of the caterwaullic and puppeeyan amalgamated harmonic societies; and upwards of five hundred more of the most popular ditties of caneville, and all for one penny!!" and then he croaked forth the following doggerel (the most acceptable poetry, by the way, of the city), in which the titles of the songs were dragged in, without any regard to order, to make up a rhyme: "here's 'what's a clock?' and 'like a rock he stood upon his dignity;' with 'pups alive,' and 'we are five,' and dozens more. who'll buy? who'll buy? here's 'puss was out,' and 'piggy's snout was longer far than i can tell;' with 'merry dogs,' and 'yellow frogs' in scores, i'm ready here to sell. here's 'burning sighs,' and, 'ah! those eyes!' and 'songs for kittens newly born;' with 'stay, oh, stay!' and 'don't say nay,' and some no worse for being worn. here's 'love's an ass!' and 'pass the glass,' and 'jocky is the dog for me;' here's 'did you ever?' 'no, i never!' and 'i hope it yet may be,' and all for one penny!" and thus he went down the street disposing of his wares with wonderful rapidity, and producing sundry forced accompaniments to his own wretched song by treading on the toes of all the pups who were attracted by curiosity to his vicinity. a second and a third supply was exhausted before the canine and feline public of caneville got tired of purchasing their own measure of song; whether a fourth would have been successful there was no chance of discovering, for old powtry looked in vain for bruin with the proceeds of the last lot. day after day passed by and still he was absent, until it was deemed necessary to have a search after him. for some time he eluded all inquiries, as he well knew his fate if his hiding-place were discovered; for having appropriated the money of his master to his own use, he was fully aware that his person would have to pay the penalty of his transgression. he skulked about the lowest purlieus of the city, among curs of the most degraded character, as dirty and negligent in body as they were debased in mind, until, in hourly fear of being betrayed, he felt that the worst certainty would be preferable to such a state of suspense and alarm, so resolved to deliver himself up and brave the worst. he was again cast into prison: for that he was prepared; but he was _not_ prepared for the wretched place of confinement to which he was now condemned. on being first thrust into it, he could not behold all its horror; but when his eyes got accustomed to the semi-darkness, he found himself in a dismal cell under ground, half full of water from the overflowing of the river, and teeming with numerous crawling, slimy things. a little hole, half choked with earth and stones, let in all the place possessed of light and air; and as the only air which could ever visit the place had to pass over a bed of stagnant mud ere it reached the spot, it possessed but few refreshing properties. bruin, who had in his despair given himself quietly up to the authorities, thinking probably that by the very act he might procure some mitigation of his sentence, now that he perceived his doom, gave way to one of those fearful bursts of rage which no experience had succeeded in teaching him to curb. he howled till the dirt sticking about the vaulted ceiling, and the earth choking up the air-hole, dropped piecemeal to the ground, and every insect that had ears covered them up the best way it could to prevent its becoming instantaneously deafened by the horrid sound; then tearing round and round and round the confined space of his cell, till there seemed to him fifty windows instead of one, and the single door appeared suddenly placed in every part of the miserable vault,--he struck his head against the rugged wall of his prison, and toppled over senseless on to the ground. at rest. it is not easy to say how long bruin remained insensible, but it must have been some time; for when he recovered himself, there was a feeling of weakness about him as though he had been fasting long. his head, too, felt sadly dizzy as he rose from his cold bed and pushed his nose against the hole of a window to procure a little air. from this he withdrew to pace his narrow cell; and as the turning round increased his giddiness, on reaching the opposite wall he retraced his steps backwards, and so continued for a full hour, gently moving his head meanwhile to the right and left, as was his wont. then getting into the driest corner, he threw himself of a heap on the ground, and mechanically resuming the old family practice of sucking his paw, tried to bring his mind to bear upon his situation. but this was a matter of no little difficulty, for the late events of his life had tended very considerably to weaken an intellect that was never remarkable for strength; and so he sat, and relapsed into a dozy state, where forgetfulness, for the most part, presided. at times, it is true, he would wake up, and the old fire lighting in his eyes, he would dash his paw on the ground as he observed the prison-walls close around him; but the feeling was momentary, and it was evident that the indulgence of his evil passions had so far clouded his reason, that a few weeks' solitary confinement would deprive him of all power of reflection for ever. evening had come again, though it was dark night in bruin's cell, and had been so for hours; when suddenly he heard, or fancied he heard, his name uttered in a loud whisper. a fear he had never before experienced, an apprehension of he knew not what, stole over him; and it was not till the voice, a little louder, exclaimed,-"bruin! bruin, i say!" that he dared venture a reply; when, after an effort, he said,-"who calls?" "a friend," was the ready answer. "a friend!" exclaimed bruin, savagely; "then you can't be seeking _me_, for i have got no friends." "come, come, bruin," said the voice again, "don't be testy; it's i, the captain, and you know i never played you false." bruin now, indeed, recognised the voice as that of, perhaps, the most desperate dog in caneville. he was a bloodhound of large size and formidable strength, and such ferocity and daring, that few cared to come into contact with him, lest by some chance they should be involved in a quarrel which could only have a disastrous termination. public report fixed more than one deep crime upon this canine desperado; but still, somehow, he escaped the power of the law. bruin felt flattered at his attention, and inquired what had brought him there. "why," replied the captain, "this is the third time i have been here already; but though i have called out your name so loudly that i expected to alarm the guard, i have got no answer till to-night. i shouldn't have come back again, for i thought you were dead." "so i have been nearly, captain," answered bruin; "but i am not quite gone yet, you hear. now you _have_ found me alive, though, what is it you want; and how can i, shut up here, be of any interest to you?" "listen to me, bruin," said the captain, as he squeezed his nose into the tiny window, and dropped his voice to a low whisper; "if you were out, and at liberty, would you feel inclined to join me and one or two others in a job we intend to come off to-night?" bruin hastened to reply, but the captain interrupted him, saying,-"don't be in a hurry to make a promise, until you know what it is; for, shut up here as you are, you can't betray the secret if you would, so i don't mind revealing it. four of us mean to break into old lord greyhound's house to-night, where we hear there's money enough to enrich us for our lives; but as we're likely to have some hard work and stout resistance, and think we are not strong enough yet for the business, we should like you to join us, if you choose to do so." bruin reflected a moment, where reflection was ruin. had he at once and scornfully rejected the horrible temptation, there would still have been hope for him; but, besides the prospect of liberty, though he did not yet know how that was to be effected, there was the chance of enriching himself once again; and, above all, there was a prospect of revenge against the dog who had once sought his life, because he had been selected as an object of preference by his daughter. his meditations, therefore, were at once brought to an end, by his resolution to accept the proposal; but before he did so, the caution he had acquired by associating with such beasts as the captain made him say,-"let us understand each other clearly. you said just now, 'if i were out and at liberty;' have you, then, the power to set me free?" "provided you will be of the party, and agree to our terms," answered the captain. "and how if i refuse?" pursued bruin. "why," replied the captain, quickly and ferociously, "you'll stop there till you starve." "i accept your offer," said bruin, after the slightest possible pause; "and i would have done so without the alternative, for private reasons of my own: so let me out, old fellow, as fast as you like." "and you give your word?" said the captain. "the word of a bear," replied bruin. the other exclaimed,-"all right! i shall see you again in half an hour." never did half hour seem so long. as minute after minute flew by, there broke upon bruin's misty brain a notion that, perhaps, this was only a trick of the captain's to get him to declare his willingness to join any desperate deed in order to ruin him; but then, again, he could discover no reason for such enmity, and could see no advantage accruing to that individual by such a course. at the very idea, however, of such betrayal, his teeth gnashed together, his eyes glared in that darkness like two live coals, and he involuntarily crossed his huge paws over his chest as though hugging some imaginary enemy. but he recovered his self-possession on hearing a grating noise at the other side of the cell, which gradually became louder, until at last a gust of air, which revived his spirits, came whistling round the vault, and told that his path was open. the captain, too, was in an instant by his side to confirm it. he passed through an aperture, caused by an open iron door, preceded by his companion, who had, however, first cautiously reclosed and fastened up the secret entrance; and as they traversed a damp and dark tunnel, the captain explained the mystery, by saying this place had been known to him some time, though it was unsuspected by the authorities; and that the exterior entrance was so covered up by brambles, that no one ignorant of the spot could ever imagine what lay behind, or would care to explore the threatening passage, if by any chance they discovered it. as bruin was exhausted for want of food, and it still wanted some hours of the time appointed for their undertaking, they proceeded to one of the old resorts and regaled most heartily, the sense of liberty after his confinement raising the bear's spirits to the highest pitch. at length the time agreed on arrived, and the party, prepared for their desperate and wicked undertaking, set out. it has been mentioned in a previous part of this history, that lord greyhound was one of the principal grandees in caneville, both as regarded fortune and family, and that he lived in a palace befitting his condition. a crowd of domestics belonged to his household, but the captain was aware that their cribs were remote, and that but little in the shape of resistance was to be feared from them, should they be aroused. still great caution was requisite, for if they did not bite they could bark, and that would be equally as fatal to their success on this occasion. the only difficulty to be got over was the vigilance of a porter who slept below, whose fidelity to his master had been tried on more than one occasion, although what made such attachment singular in this instance was the fact that the said porter was one of the feline tribe,--a cat, in fact, of large dimensions, and peculiarly savage nature. bruin, however, took upon himself the task of quieting this servant and keeping watch below, whilst the others should ransack the mansion, a place of rendezvous being appointed where they were to meet in case of alarm. to avoid suspicion they proceeded alone to the scene of their intended crime, and, favoured by darkness, they reached it unchallenged. having gently tried the fastenings in one or two places, they resolved to make the attempt at a small door at the back, which seemed the most weakly guarded. bruin pushed it first quietly with his huge shoulder, and finding it gradually yielding, without farther ado he placed his knee against the lower panel, and, with less noise than might have been expected, sent the door flying from its fastenings. he was the first to enter, though the others were close behind; but he had not taken two steps within the house than he saw, as he thought, two balls of fire on the floor before him,--it was his last look of worldly things,--for at the same moment the porter cat, for it was he, sprang at the huge giant like a fury, and dug his long and pointed talons into bruin's eyes. with a howl so dreadful, so awful in its intense agony and rage, that it seemed to spring from a supernatural source, the affrighted beast rolled over and over in his pain, crushing the cat to death in his struggles; then feeling, even amidst his suffering, the necessity of safety, he rose to his feet, and ran on, on, on, he knew not whither, till he felt himself in the midst of water and heard the rushing which it made. so instantaneous had been the whole transaction that the truth was never rightly known. the family--nay, the neighbourhood--aroused by the horrid noise, rushed to the spot, to find the faithful porter dead, with every bone shattered; the door was open, but no creature was there to tell the tale. one alone suspected it--one to whom that cry of agony was the death-blow; for, two days after the event, the hon. miss greyhound slept with her fathers, the victim of a misplaced and unworthy attachment. and bruin, where was he? alas! poor beast! three days after this event he was discovered by the authorities, half dead with pain, and led back to prison, which he had left with so little ceremony. his senses, however, were so bewildered by his situation, that he could neither explain how he had escaped from his dungeon, nor the cause of his present deplorable condition; perhaps, too, he deemed it more prudent to be silent on both these matters. his judges, nevertheless, taking into consideration his now helpless state, and rightly thinking his powers of mischief were much abated by the loss of his eyes, pardoned his previous offence, and thrust him alone and helpless on the world. for many a long year did the ill-fated animal drag on his wearisome existence, living on the charity--the scanty charity--of caneville. deprived of sight, no longer able to acquire a livelihood by his labour, weary, and full of remorse, he daily took his round through the public streets, soliciting a penny for the "poor blind." a dog, induced for a weekly trifle and the prospect of an extra bone or two thrown to him, sometimes by the compassionate as they went their melancholy way, led him in his wanderings. at first, however, either from ignorance or carelessness, or a currish malice, he would often guide his helpless master into positions of difficulty and danger, from which he could scarce have extricated himself but for the assistance of some benevolent passers-by; though his situation in such cases--be it said to the shame of the inferior population of caneville--too often excited derision and laughter, instead of aid and consolation. once, indeed, he was seriously hurt by the wilful inattention of his guide; for, tottering along as usual, one fine morning with his staff in one hand, the string attached to the dog's collar in the other, and his head with the sightless eyes raised sadly in the air, whilst he uttered his plaintive cry of "have pity on the poor blind!" the last word was suddenly converted from a doleful whine to a howl of pain as his body came in contact with a post which stood right across his path. time, which cures all things, brought at last an effectual remedy to his sufferings, and that remedy was death! ere that great foe or friend relieved poor bruin, he had learnt to be repentant of his former life, and was often known to reprove in others any tendency to those faults of temper or disposition which had been his own ruin. if he could have recovered the use of his eyes and have mingled once more with the business of life, it is a question whether he would have acted up to the precepts which he now inculcated; but as the experiment was never tried, nor could be, it is but charitable to think the best. [illustration: the last lead.] months after he had departed this sinful world, a sturdy traveller, with a particularly wide mouth and short address, entered the city of caneville. he stated that he was a native of the place, and had been wandering far away in other lands. he made various inquiries concerning former inhabitants of the town, and among others asked for bruin. his life, much as i have recounted it, was told to him, and long did the stranger ruminate over the details. many portions of it were, indeed, known to him, for the traveller was no other than our old acquaintance tom; but all was interesting. when he had heard it to the end, he uttered these only words, which might, indeed, serve for moral and poor bruin's epitaph:- "ah! he was a great bear!" [illustration] london:--printed by g. barclay, castle st. leicester sq. [illustration] bear brownie _the life of a bear_ _from animal autobiographies by h. p. robinson_ revised by jane fielding new york a. l. chatterton co. copyright, 1913 a. l. chatterton co. bear brownie chapter i. how i tumbled downhill. it is not easy for one to believe that he ever was a cub. of course, i know that i was, and as it was only nine years ago i ought to remember it fairly clearly. it is not so much a mere matter of size, although it is doubtful if any young bear realizes how small he is. my father and mother seemed enormous to me, but, on the other hand, my sister was smaller than i, and perhaps the fact that i could always box her ears when i wanted to gave me an exaggerated idea of my own importance. not that i did it very often, except when she used to bite my hind-toes. every bear, of course, likes to chew his own feet, for it is one of the most soothing and comforting things in the world; but it is horrid to have anyone else come up behind you when you are asleep, and begin to chew your feet for you. and that was kahwa--that was my sister, my name being brownie--was always doing, and i simply had to slap her well whenever she did. but, as i said, cubhood is not a matter of size only. as i look down at this glossy coat of mine, it is hard to believe that it was ever a dirty yellow color, and all ridiculous wool and fluff, as young cubs' coats are. but i must have been fluffy, because i remember how my mother, after she had been licking me for any length of time, used to be obliged to stop and wipe the fur out of her mouth with the back of her paw. every time my mother had to wipe her mouth she used to try to box my ears, so that when she stopped licking me, i, knowing what was coming next, would tuck my head down as far as it would go between my legs, and keep it there till she began licking again. yes, when i stop to think, i know, from many things, that i must have been just an ordinary cub. for instance, my very earliest recollection is of tumbling downhill. like all bears, i was born and lived on the hillside. in the rocky mountains, where my home was, there is nothing but hills, or mountains, for miles and miles, so that you can wander on for day after day, always going up one side of a hill and down the other, and up and down again; and at the bottom of almost every valley there is a stream or river, which for most of the year swirls along nosily and full of water. in the winter the whole country is covered with snow many feet deep, which, as it falls, slides off the hillsides, and is drifted by the winds into the valleys and hollows till the smaller ones are filled up nearly to the tops of the trees. but bears do not see much of that, for when the first snow comes we get into our dens and go half asleep, and stay hibernating till springtime. and you have no idea how delightful hibernating is, nor how excruciatingly stiff we are when we wake up, and how hungry! the snow lies over everything for months, until in the early spring the warm west winds begin to blow, melting the snow from one side of the mountains. then the sun grows hotter and hotter day by day, and helps to melt it until most of the mountain slopes are clear; but in sheltered places and in the bottoms of the little hollows the snow stays in patches till far into the summer. we bears comes out from our winter sleep when the snow is not quite gone, when the whole earth everywhere is still wet with it, and the streams, swollen with floods, are bubbling and boiling along so that the air is filled with the noise of them by night and day. our home was well up one of the hillsides, where two huge cedar-trees shot up side by side close by a jutting mass of rock. in between the roots of the trees and under the rock was as good a house as a family of bears could want--roomy enough for all four of us, perfectly sheltered, and hidden and dry. can you imagine how warm and comfy it was when we were all snuggled in there, with our arms round each other, and our faces buried in each other's fur? anyone looking in would have seen nothing but a huge ball of brown fluff. it was from just outside the door that i tumbled downhill. it must have been early in the year, because the ground was still very wet and soft, and the gully at the bottom full of snow. of course, if i had not been a cub i should never have fallen, for big bears do not tumble downhill. if by any chance anything did start one, and he found he could not stop himself, he would know enough to tuck in his head and paws out of harm's way; but i only knew that somehow, in romping with kahwa, i had lost my balance, and was going--goodness knew where! i went all spread out like a squirrel, first on my head, then on my back, then on my tummy, clutching at everything that i passed, slapping the ground with my outstretched paws, and squealing for help. bump! bang! slap! bump! i went, hitting trees and thumping all the wind out of me against the earth, and at last--souse into the snow! wow-ugh! how cold and wet it was! and it was deep--so deep, indeed, that i was buried completely out of sight; and i doubt if i should ever have got out alive had not my mother come down and dug me out with her nose and paws. then she half pushed and half smacked me uphill again, and when i got home i was the wettest, coldest, sorest, wretchedest bear-cub in the rocky mountains. then, while i lay and whimpered, my mother spent the rest of the day licking me into the semblance of a respectable bearskin again. but i was bruised and nervous for days afterwards. that tumble of mine gave us the idea of the game which kahwa and i used to play almost every day after that. kahwa would take her stand with her back against the rock by our door, just at the point where the hill went off most steeply, and it was my business to come charging up the hill at her and try to pull her down. what fun it was! sometimes i was the one to stand against the rock, and kahwa tried to pull me down. she could not do it; but she was plucky, and used to come at me so ferociously that i often wondered for a minute whether it was only play or whether she was really angry. best of all was when mother used to play with us. then she put her back to the rock, and we both attacked her at once from opposite sides, each trying to get hold of a hind-leg just above the foot. if she put her head down to pretend to bite either of us, the other jumped for her ear. sometimes we would each get hold of an ear, and hang on as hard as we could, while she pretended we were hurting her dreadfully, growling and shaking her head, and making as much fuss as she could; but if in our excitement either of us did chance to bite a little too hard, we always knew it. with a couple of cuffs, hard enough to make us yelp, she would throw us to one side and the other, and there was no more play for that day. and mother could hit hard when she liked. i have seen her smack father in a way that would have broken all the bones in a cub's body, and killed any human being outright. but to kahwa and me both father and mother were very gentle and kind in those first helpless days, and i suppose they never punished us unless we deserved it. later on my father and i had differences, as you will hear. but in that first summer our lives, uneventful, were happy. chapter ii. cubhood days. when they are small, bear-cubs rarely go about alone. the whole family usually keeps together, or, if it separates, it is generally into couples--one cub with each of the parents; or the father goes off alone, leaving both cubs with the mother. a cub toddling off alone in its own woolly, comfortable ignorance would be sure to make all manner of mistakes in what it ate, and it might find itself in very serious trouble in other ways. bears, when they live far enough away from man, have absolutely nothing to be afraid of. there are, of course, bigger bears--perhaps bigger ones of our own kind, either black or brown ("cinnamon," the brown members of our family are called), or, especially, grizzly. but i never heard of a grizzly bear hurting one of us. when i smell a grizzly in the neighborhood, i confess that it seems wiser to go round the other side of the hill; but that is probably inherited superstition more than anything else. my father and mother did it, and so do i. apart from these, there lives nothing in the forest that a full-grown bear has any cause to fear. he goes where he pleases and does what he likes, and nobody ventures to dispute his rights. with a cub, however, it is different. i had heard my father and mother speak of pumas, or mountain lions, and i knew their smell well enough--and did not like it. but i shall never forget the first one that i saw. we were out together--father, mother, kahwa and i--and it was getting well on in the morning. the sun was up, and the day growing warm, and i, wandering drowsily along with my nose to the ground, had somehow strayed away from the rest, when suddenly i smelled puma very strong. as i threw myself up on my haunches, he came out from behind a tree, and stood facing me only a few yards away. i was simply paralyzed with fear--one of the two or three times in my life when i have been honestly and thoroughly frightened. as i looked at him, wondering what would happen next, he crouched down till he was almost flat along the ground, and i can see him now, his whole yellow body almost hidden behind his head, his eyes blazing, and his tail going slap, slap from side to side. how i wished that i had a tail! then inch by inch he crept towards me, very slowly, putting one foot forward and then the other. i did not know what to do, and so did what proved to be the best thing possible: i sat quite still, and screamed for mother as loud as i could. she must have known from my voice that something serious was the matter, because in a second, just as the puma's muscles were growing tense for the final spring, there was a sudden crash of broken boughs behind me, a feeling as if a whirlwind was going by, and my mother shot past me straight at the puma. i had no idea that she could go so fast. the puma was up on his hind-legs to meet her, but her impetus was so terrific that it bore him backwards, without seeming to check her speed in the least, and away they went rolling over and over down the hill. but it was not much of a fight. the puma, willing enough to attack a little cub like me, knew that he was no match for my mother, and while they were still rolling he wrenched himself loose, and was off among the trees like a shadow. when mother came back to me blood was running over her face, where at the moment of meeting, the puma had managed to give her one wicked, tearing claw down the side of her nose. so, as soon as my father and kahwa joined us, we all went down to the stream, where mother bathed her face, and kept it in the cold water for nearly the whole day. it was probably in some measure to pay me out for this scrape, and to give me another lesson in the unwisdom of too much independence and inquisitiveness in a youngster, that my parents, soon after this sad event, allowed me to get into trouble with that porcupine. one evening my father had taken us to a place where the ground was full of mountain lilies. it was early in the year, when the green shoots were just beginning to appear above the earth; and wherever there was a shoot there was a bulb down below. and a mountain lily bulb is one of the very nicest things to eat that there is--so sweet, and juicy, and crisp! the place was some distance from our home, and after that first visit kahwa and i kept begging to be taken there again. at last my father yielded, and we set out early one morning just before day was breaking. we were not loitering on the way, but trotting steadily along all together, and kahwa and i, at least, were full of expectation of the lily bulbs in store, when in a little open space among the trees, we came upon an object unlike anything i had ever seen before. as we came upon it, i could have declared that it was moving--then that it was an animal which, at sight of us, had stopped stock still, and tucked its head and toes in underneath it. but it certainly was not moving now, and did not look as if it ever could move again, so finally i concluded that it must be a large fungus or a strange new kind of hillock, with black and white grass growing all over it. my father and mother had stopped short when they saw it, and just sat up on their haunches and looked at it; and kahwa did the same, snuggling up close to my mother's side. was it an animal, or a fungus, or only a mound of earth? the way to find out was to smell it. so, without any idea of hurting it, i trotted up and reached out my nose. as i did so it shrank a little more into itself, and became rounder and more like a fungus than ever; but the act of shrinking also made the black and white grass stick out a little farther, so that my nose met it sooner than i expected, and i found that, if it was grass, it was very sharp grass, and pricked horribly. i tried again, and again it shrank up and pricked me worse than ever. then i heard my father chuckling to himself. that made me angry, for i always have detested being laughed at, and, without stopping to think, i smacked the thing just as hard as i could. a moment later i was hopping round on three legs howling with pain, for a hunch of the quills had gone right into my paw, where they were still sticking, one coming out on the other side. my father laughed, but my mother drew out the quills with her teeth, and that hurt worse than anything; and all day, whenever she found a particularly fat lily bulb, she gave it to me. for my part, i could only dig for the bulbs with my left paw, and it was ever so many days before i could run on all four feet again. all these things must have happened when i was very young--less than three months old--because we were still living in the same place, whereas when summer came we moved away, as bears always do, and had no fixed home during the hot months. bear-cubs are born when the mother is still in her winter den, and they are usually five or six weeks old before they come out into the world at all. even then at first, when the cubs are very young, the family stays close at home, and for some time i imagine that the longest journey i made was when i tumbled those fifty feet downhill. father or mother might wander away alone in the early morning or evening for a while, but for the most part we were all four at home by the rock and the cedar-trees, with the bare brown tree-trunks growing up all round out of the bare brown mountain-sides, and kahwa and i spending our time lying sleepily cuddled up to mother, or romping together and wishing we could catch squirrels. there were a great many squirrels about--large gray ones mostly; but living in a fir-tree close by us was a black one with a deplorable temper. every day he used to come and quarrel with us. whenever he had nothing particular to do, he would say to himself, "i'll go and tease those old bears." and he did. his plan was to get on our trees from behind, where we could not see him, then to come round on our side about five or six feet from the ground, just safely out of reach, and there, hanging head downwards, call us every name he could think of. squirrels have an awful vocabulary, but i never knew one that could talk like blacky. and every time he thought of something new to say he waved his tail at us in a way that was particularly aggravating. you have no idea how other animals poke fun at us because we have no tails, and how sensitive we really are on the subject. they say that it was to hide our lack of tail that we originally got into the habit of sitting up on our haunches whenever we meet a stranger. very soon we began to be taken out on long excursions, going all four together, as i have said, and then we began to learn how much that is nice to eat there is in the world. you have probably no idea, for instance, how many good things there may be under one rotting log. even if you do not get a mouse or a chipmunk, you are sure of a fringe of greenstuff which, from lack of sunlight, has grown white and juicy, and almost as sure of some mushrooms or other fungi, most of which are delicious. but before you can touch them you have to look after the insects. mushrooms will wait, but the sooner you catch beetles, and earwigs, and ants, and grubs, the better. it is always worth while to roll a log over, if you can, no matter how much trouble it costs; and a big stone is sometimes nearly as good. insects, of course, are small, and it would take a lot of ants, or even beetles, to make a meal for a bear; but they are good, and they help out. some wild animals, especially those which prey upon others, eat a lot at one time, and then starve till they can kill again. a bear, on the other hand, is wandering about for more than half of the twenty-four hours, except in the very heat of summer, and he is eating most of the while that he wanders. the greater part of his food, of course, is greenstuff--lily bulbs, white camas roots, wild-onions, and young shoots and leaves. as he walks he browses a mouthful of young leaves here, scratches up a root there, tears the bark off a decaying tree and eats the insects underneath, lifts a stone and finds a mouse or a lizard beneath, or loiters for twenty minutes over an ant-hill. with plenty of time, he is never in a hurry, and every little counts. but most of all in summer i used to love to go down to the stream. in warm weather, during the heat of the day, bears stay in the shelter of thickets, among the brush by the water or under the shade of a fallen tree. as the sun sank we would move down to the stream, and lie all through the long evening in the shallows, where the cold water rippled against one's sides. and along the water there was always something good to eat--not merely the herbage and the roots of the water-plants, but frogs and insects of all sorts among the grass. our favorite bathing-place was just above a wide pool made by a beaver-dam. the pool itself was deep in places, but before the river came to it, it flowed for a hundred yards and more over a level gravel bottom, so shallow that even as a cub i could walk from shore to shore without the water being above my shoulders. at the edge of the pool the same black and white kingfisher was always sitting on the same branch when we came down, and he disliked our coming, and _chirred_ at us to go away. i used to love to pretend not to understand him, and to walk solemnly through the water underneath and all round his branch. it made him furious, and sent him _chirring_ upstream to find another place to fish, where there were no idiotic bear-cubs who did not know any better than to walk about among his fish. here, too, my father and mother taught us to fish; but it was a long time before i managed to catch a trout for myself. it takes such a dreadful lot of sitting still. having found where a fish is lying, probably under an overhanging branch or beneath the grass jutting out from the bank, you lie down silently as close to the edge of the water as you can get, and slip one paw in, ever so gradually, behind the fish, and move it towards him gently--gently. if he takes fright and darts away, you leave your paw where it is, or move it as close to the spot where he was lying as you can reach, and wait. sooner or later he will come back, swimming downstream and then swinging round to take his station almost exactly in the same spot as before. if you leave your paw absolutely still, he does not mind it, and may even, on his return, come and lie right up against it. if so, you strike at once. more probably he will stop a few inches or a foot away. if you have already reached as far as you can towards him, then is the time that you need all your patience. again and again he darts out to take a fly from the surface of the water or swallow something that is floated down to him by the current, and each time that he comes back he may shift his position an inch or two. at last he comes to where you can actually crook your claws under his tail. ever so cautiously you move your paw gently half way up towards his head, and then, when your claws are almost touching him, you strike--strike, once and hard, with a hooking blow that sends him whirling like a bar of silver far out on the bank behind you. and trout is good--the plump, dark, pink-banded trout of the mountain streams. but you must not strike one fraction of a second too soon, for if your paw has more than an inch to travel before the claws touch him he is gone, and all you feel is the flip of a tail upon the inner side of the paw, and all your time is wasted. it is hard to learn to wait long enough, and i know that at first i used to strike at fish that were a foot away, with no more chance of catching them than of making supper off a waterfall. but father and mother used to catch a fish apiece for us almost every evening, and gradually kahwa and i began to take them for ourselves. then, as the daylight faded, the beavers came out upon their dam and played about in the pool, swimming and diving and slapping the surface with their tails with a noise like that of an osprey when he strikes the water in diving for a fish. but though they had time for play, they were busy folk, the beavers. some of them were constantly patching and tinkering at the dam, and some always at work, except when the sun was up, one relieving another, gnawing their way with little tiny bites steadily through one of the great trees that stood by the water's edge, and always gnawing it so that when, after weeks of labor, it fell, it never failed to fall across the stream precisely where they wanted it. if an enemy appeared--at the least sign or smell of wolf or puma--there would be a loud ringing slap from one of the tails upon the water, and in an instant every beaver had vanished under water and was safe inside the house among the logs of the dam, the door of which was down below the surface. us bears they were used to and did not mind; but they never let us come too near. sitting safely on the top of their piled logs, or twenty feet away in the water, they would talk to us pleasantly enough; but--well, my father told me that young, very young, beaver was good eating and i imagine that the beavers knew that we thought so, and were afraid, perhaps, that we might not be too particular about the age. as the dusk changed to darkness we would leave the water and roam over the hillsides, sometimes sleeping through the middle hours of the night, but in summer more often roaming on, to come back to the stream for a while just before the sun was up, and then turning in to sleep till he went down again. those long rambles in the summer moonlight, or in the early dawn when everything reeked with dew, how good they were! and when the afternoon of a broiling day brought a thunderstorm, the delight of the smell of the moist earth and the almost overpowering scent of the pines! and when the berries were ripe--blueberries, cranberries, wild-raspberries, and, later in the year, elderberries--no fruit, nor anything else to eat, has ever tasted as they did then in that first summer when i was a cub. chapter iii. the coming of man. summer was far advanced. we had had a week or two of hot, dry weather, during which we had wandered abroad, spending the heat of the days asleep in the shadow of cool brushwood down by the streams, and in the nights and early mornings roaming where we would. ultimately we worked round to the neighborhood of our home, and went to see if all was right there, and to spend one day in the familiar place. it was in the very middle of the day--a sultry day, when the sun was blazing hot--that we were awakened by the sound of somebody coming through the bushes. the wind was blowing towards us, so that long before he came in sight we knew that it was a bear like ourselves. but what was a bear doing abroad at high noon of such a day, and crashing through the bushes in that headlong fashion? something extraordinary must have happened to him, and we soon learned that indeed something had. coming plunging downhill with the wind behind him, he was right on us before he knew we were there. he was one of our cousins--a cinnamon--and we saw at once that he was hurt, for he was going on three legs, holding his left fore-paw off the ground. it was covered with blood and hung limply, showing that the bone was broken. he was so nervous that at sight of us he threw himself up on his haunches and prepared to fight; but we all felt sorry for him, and he soon quieted down. "whatever has happened to you?" asked my father, while we others sat and listened. "man!" replied cinnamon, with a growl that made my blood run cold. man! father had told us of man, but he had never seen him; nor had his father or his grandfather before him. man had never visited our part of the mountains, as far as we knew, but stories of him we had heard in plenty. they had been handed down in our family from generation to generation, from the days when our ancestors lived far away from our present abiding-place; and every year, too, the animals that left the mountains when the snow came brought us back stories of man in the spring. the coyotes knew him and feared him; the deer knew him and trembled at his very name; the pumas knew him and both feared and hated him. everyone who knew him seemed to fear him, and we had caught the fear from them, and feared him, too, and had blessed ourselves that he did not come near us. and now he was here! and poor cinnamon's shattered leg was evidence that his evil reputation was not unjustified. then cinnamon told us his story. he had lived, like his father and grandfather before him, some miles away on the other side of the high range of mountains behind us; and there he had considered himself as safe from man as we on our side had supposed ourselves to be. but that spring when he awoke he found that during the winter the men had come. they were few in the beginning, he said, and he had first heard of them as being some miles away. but more came, and ever more; and as they came they pushed farther and farther into the mountains. what they were doing he did not know, but they kept for the most part along by the streams, where they dug holes everywhere. no, they did not live in the holes. they built themselves places to live in out of trees which they cut down and chopped into lengths and piled together. why they did that, when it was so much easier to dig comfortable holes in the hillside, he did not know; but they did. and they did not cut down the trees with their teeth like beavers, but took sticks in their hands and beat them till they fell! yes, it was true about the fires they made. they made them every day and all the time, usually just outside the houses that they built of the chopped trees. the fires were terrible to look at, but the men did not seem to be afraid of them. they stood quite close to them, especially in the evenings, and burned their food in them before they ate it. we had heard this before, but had not believed it. and it was true, after all! what was still more wonderful, cinnamon said that he had gone down at night, when the men were all asleep in their chopped-tree houses, and, sniffing round, had found pieces of this burnt food lying about, and eaten them, and--they were very good! so good were they that, incredible as it might seem, cinnamon had gone again and again, night after night, to look for scraps that had been left lying about. on the previous night he had gone down as usual after the men, as he supposed, were all asleep, but he was arrested before he got to the houses themselves by a strong smell of the burnt food somewhere close by him. the men, he explained, had cut down the trees nearest to the stream to build their houses with, so that between the edge of the forest and the water there was an open space dotted with the stumps of the trees that had been felled, which stuck up as high as a bear's shoulder from the ground. it was just at the edge of this open space that he smelled the burnt food, and, sure enough, on one of the nearest stumps there was a bigger lump of it than any he had ever seen. naturally, he went straight up to it. just as he got to it he heard a movement between him and the houses, and, looking round, he saw a man lying flat on the ground in such a way that he had hitherto been hidden by another stump. as cinnamon looked he saw the man point something at him (yes, unquestionably, the dreadful thing we had heard of--the thunder-stick--with which man kills at long distances), and in a moment there was a flash of flame and a noise like a big tree breaking in the wind, and something hit his leg and smashed it, as we could see. it hurt horribly, and cinnamon turned at once and plunged into the wood. as he did so there was a second flash and roar, and something hit a tree-trunk within a foot of his head, and sent splinters flying in every direction. since then cinnamon had been trying only to get away. his foot hurt him so that he had been obliged to lie down for a few hours in the bushes during the morning; but now he was pushing on again, only anxious to go somewhere as far away from man as possible. while he was talking, my mother had been licking his wounded foot, while father sat up on his haunches, with his nose buried in the fur of his chest, grumbling and growling to himself, as his way was when he was very much annoyed. i have the same trick, which i suppose i inherited from him. we cubs sat shivering and whimpering, and listening terror-stricken to the awful story. what was to be done now? that was the question. how far away, we asked, were the men? well, it was about midnight when cinnamon was wounded, and now it was noon. except the three or four hours that he had lain in the bushes, he had been travelling in a straight line all the time, as fast as he could with his broken leg. and did men travel fast? no; they moved very slowly, and always on their hind-legs. cinnamon had never seen one go on all fours, though _that_ seemed to him as ridiculous as their building houses of chopped trees instead of making holes in the ground. they very rarely went about at night, and cinnamon did not believe any of them had followed him, so there was probably no immediate danger. moreover, cinnamon explained, they seldom moved far away from the streams, and they made a great deal of noise wherever they went, so that it was easy to hear them. besides which, you could smell them a long way off. it did not matter if you had never smelled it before: any bear would know the man-smell by the first whiff he got of it. all this was somewhat consoling. it made the danger a little more remote, and, especially, it reduced the chance of our being taken by surprise. still, the situation was bad enough as it stood, for the news changed the whole color and current of our lives. hitherto we had gone without fear where we would, careless of anything but our own inclinations. now a sudden terror had arisen, that threw a shadow over every minute of the day and night. man was near--man, who seemed love to kill, and who _could_ kill; not by his strength, but by virtue of some cunning which we could neither combat nor understand. thereafter, though perhaps man's name might not be mentioned between us from one day to another, i do not think there was a minute when we were not all more or less on the alert, with ears and nostrils open for an indication of his dreaded presence. though cinnamon thought we could safely stay where we were, he proposed himself to push on, farther away from the neighborhood of the hated human beings. in any emergency he was sadly crippled by his broken leg, and--at least till that was healed--he preferred to be as remote from danger as possible. after he was gone my father and mother held council. there was no more sleep for us that day, and in the evening, when we started out on our regular search for food, it was very cautiously, and with nerves all on the jump. it was a trying night. we went warily, with our heads ever turned up-wind, hardly daring to dig for a root lest the sound of our digging should fill our ears so that we would not hear man's approach; and when i stripped a bit of bark from a fallen log to look for beetles underneath, and it crackled noisily as it came away, my father growled angrily at me and mother cuffed me from behind. i remember, though, that they shared the beetles between them. i need not dwell on the days of anxiety that followed. i do not remember them much myself, except that they were very long and nerve-racking. i will tell you at once how it was that we first actually came in contact with man himself. in the course of my life i have reached the conclusion that nearly all the troubles that come to animals are the result of one of two things--either of their greediness or their curiosity. it was curiosity which led me into the difficulty with porcupine. it was cinnamon's greediness that got his leg broken for him. our first coming in contact with man was the result, i am afraid, of both--but chiefly of our curiosity. during the days that followed our meeting with cinnamon, while we were moving about so cautiously, we were also all the time (and, though we never mentioned the fact, we all knew that we were) gradually working nearer to the place where cinnamon had told us that man was. i knew what was happening, but would not have mentioned it for worlds, lest if we talked about it we should change our direction. and i wanted--yes, in spite of his terrors--i wanted to see man just once. also--i may as well confess it--there were memories of what cinnamon had said of that wonderful burnt food. some ten or twelve days must have passed in this way, when one morning, after we had been abroad for three or four hours, and the sun was just getting up, we heard a noise such as we had never heard before. chuck! chuck! chuck! it came at regular intervals for a while, then stopped and began again. what could it be? it was not the noise of a woodpecker, nor that which a beaver makes with its tail. chuck! chuck! chuck! it was not the clucking of a grouse, though perhaps more like that than anything else, but different, somehow, in quality. chuck! chuck! chuck! i think we all knew in our hearts that it had something to do with man. the noise came from not far away, but the wind was blowing across us. so we made a circle till it blew from the noise to us; and suddenly in one whiff we all knew that it was man. i felt my skin crawling up my spine, and i saw my father's nose go down into his chest, while the hair on his neck and shoulders stood out as it only could do in moments of intense excitement. slowly, very slowly, we moved towards the noise, until at last we were so close that the smell grew almost overpowering. but still we could not see him, because of the brushwood. then we came to a fallen log and, carefully and silently we stepped on to it--my father and mother first, then i, then kahwa. now, by standing up on our hind-feet, our heads--even mine and kahwa's--were clear of the bushes, and there, not fifty yards away from us, was man. he was chopping down a tree, and that was the noise that we had heard. he did not see us, being too intent on his work. chuck! chuck! chuck! he was striking steadily at the tree with what i now know was an axe, but which at the time we all supposed to be a thunder-stick, and at each blow the splinters of wood flew just as cinnamon had told us. after a while he stopped, and stooped to pick something off the ground. this hid him from my sight, and from kahwa's also, so she strained up on her tiptoes to get another look at him. in doing so her feet slipped on the bark of the log, and down she came with a crash that could have been heard at twice his distance from us, even if the shock had not knocked a "wooff!" out of her as she fell. the man instantly stood up and turned round, and, of course, found himself staring straight into our faces. he did not hesitate a moment, but dropped his axe and ran. i think he ran as fast as he could, but what cinnamon said was true: he went, of course, on his hind-legs, and did not travel fast. it was downhill, and running on your hind-legs for any distance downhill is an awkward performance at best. we, of course, followed our impulse, and went after him. we did not want him in the least. we would not have known what to do with him if we had him. but you know how impossible it is to resist chasing anything that runs away from you. we could easily have caught him had we wished to, but why should we? besides, he might still have another thunder-stick concealed about him. so we just ran fast enough to keep him running. and as we ran, crashing through the bushes, galloping down hill, with his head rising and falling as he leaped along ahead of us, the absurdity of it got hold of me, and i yelped with excitement and delight. to be chasing man, of all things living--man--like this! and i could hear my father "wooffing" to himself at each gallop with amusement and satisfaction. very soon, however, we smelled more men. then we slowed down, and presently there came in sight what we knew must be one of the chopped-tree houses. so we stood and watched, while the man, still running as if we were at his very heels, tore up to the house, and out from behind it came three or four others. we could see them brandishing their arms and talking very excitedly. then two of them plunged into the house, and came out with--yes, there could be no doubt of it; these were the real things--the dreaded thunder-sticks themselves. then we knew that it was our turn to run; and we ran. back up the hill we went, much faster than we had come down; for we were running for our own lives now, and bears like running uphill best. on and on we went, as fast as we could go. we had no idea at how long a distance man could hit us with the thunder-sticks, but we preferred to be on the safe side, and it must have been at least two hours before we stopped for a moment to take breath. and when a bear is in a hurry, two hours, even for a cub, mean more than twenty miles. chapter iv. the forest fire. though we had come off so happily from our first encounter with man, none the less we had no desire to see him again. on the contrary, we determined to keep as far away from him as possible. for my part, i confess that thoughts of him were always with me, and every thought made the skin crawl up my back. nor was i the only one of the family who was nervous. father and mother had become so changed that they were gruff and bad-tempered; and all the pleasure and light-heartedness seemed to have gone out of our long rambles. there was no more romping and rolling together down the hillsides. if kahwa and i grew noisy in our play, we were certain to be stopped with a "wooff, children! be quiet." the fear of man was always with us, and his presence seemed to pervade the whole of the mountains. soon, however, a thing happened which for a time at least drove man and everything else out of our minds. we still lingered around the neighborhood of our home, because, i think, we felt safer there, where we knew every inch of the hills and every bush, and tree, and stone. it had been very hot for weeks, so that the earth was parched dry, and the streams had shrunk till, in places where torrents were pouring but a few weeks ago, there was now no more than a dribble of water going over the stones. during the day we hardly went about at all, but from soon after sunrise to an hour or so before sunset we kept in the shadow of the brushwood along the water's edge. one evening the sun did not seem to be able to finish setting, but after it had gone down the red glow still stayed in the sky to westward, and instead of fading it glowed visibly brighter as the night went on. all night my father was uneasy, growling and grumbling to himself and continually sniffing the air to westward; but the atmosphere was stagnant and hot and dead all night, with not a breath of wind moving. when daylight came the glow died out of the western sky, but in place of it a heavy gray cloud hung over the farther mountains and hid their tops from sight. we went to bed that morning feeling very uncomfortable and restless, and by mid-day we were up again. and now we knew what the matter was. a breeze had sprung up from the west, and when i woke after a few hours' sleep--sleep which had been one long nightmare of man and thunder-sticks and broken leg--the air was full of a new smell, very sharp and pungent; and not only was there the smell, but with the breeze the cloud from the west had been rolling towards us, and the whole mountain-side was covered with a thin haze, like a mist, only different from any mist that i had seen. and it was this haze that smelled so strongly. instead of clearing away, as mist ought to do when the sun grows hot, this one became denser as the day went on, half veiling the sun itself. and we soon found that things--unusual things--were going on in the mountains. the birds were flying excitedly about, and the squirrels chattering, and everything was travelling from west to east, and on all sides we heard the same thing. "the world's on fire! quick, quick, quick!" screamed the squirrels as they raced along the ground or jumped from tree to tree overhead. "fire! fire!" called the myrtle-robin as it passed. "firrrrrre!" shouted the blue jay. a coyote came limping by, yelping that the end of the world was at hand. pumas passed snarling and growling angrily, first at us, and then over their shoulders at the smoke that rolled behind. deer plunged up to us, stood for a minute quivering with terror, and plunged on again into the brush. overhead and along the ground was an almost constant stream of birds and animals, all hurrying in the same direction. presently there came along another family of bears, the parents and two cubs just about the size of kahwa and myself, the cubs whimpering and whining as they ran. the father bear asked my father if we were not going, too; but my father thought not. he was older and bigger than the other bear, and had seen a forest fire when he was a cub, and his father then had saved them by taking to the water. "if a strong winds gets up," he said, "you cannot escape by running away from the fire, because it will travel faster than you. it may drive you before it for days, until you are worn out, and there's no knowing where it will drive you. it may drive you unexpectedly straight into man. i shall try the water." the others listened to what he had to say, but they were too frightened to pay much attention, and soon went on again, leaving us to face the fire. and i confess that i wished that father would let us go, too. meanwhile the smoke had been growing thicker and thicker. it made eyes and throat smart, and poor little kahwa was crying with discomfort and terror. before sunset the air was so thick that we could not see a hundred yards in any direction, and as the twilight deepened the whole western half of the sky, from north to south and almost overhead, seemed to be aflame. now, too, we could hear the roaring of the fire in the distance, like the noise the wind makes in the pine-trees before a thunderstorm. then my father began to move, not away from the fire, however, but down the stream, and the stream ran almost due west straight towards it. what a terrible trip that was! the fire was, of course, much farther away than it looked; the smoke had been carried with the wind many miles ahead of the fire itself, and we could not yet see the flames, but only the awful glare in the sky. but, in my inexperience, i thought it was close upon us, and, with the dreadful roaring growing louder and louder in my ears, every minute was an agony. [illustration: "not fifty yards away was man."] but my father and mother went steadily on, and there was nothing to do but to follow them. sometimes we left the stream for a little to make a short-cut, but we soon came back to it, and for the most part we kept in the middle of the water, or where it was deep close to the bank. at last we reached our pool above the beaver-dam, and here, feeling his way cautiously well out into the middle, till he found a place where it was just deep enough for kahwa and me to be able to lift our heads above the water, father stopped. by this time the air was so hot that it was hard to breathe without dipping one's mouth constantly in the water, and for the roaring of the flames i could not hear kahwa whimpering at my side, or the rush of the stream below the dam. and we soon found that we were not alone in the pool. my friend the kingfisher was not there, but close beside us were old grey wolf and his wife, and, as i remembered that grey wolf was considered the wisest animal in the mountains, i began to feel more comfortable, and was glad that we had not run away with the others. the beavers--what a lot of them there were!--were in a state of great excitement, climbing out on to the top of the dam and slapping the logs and the water with their tails, then plunging into the water, only to climb out again and plunge in once more. once a small herd of deer, seven or eight of them, came rushing into the water, evidently intending to stay there, but their courage failed them. whether it was the proximity of grey wolf or whether it was mere nervousness i do not know, but after they had settled down in the water one of them was suddenly panic-stricken, and plunged for the bank and off into the woods, followed by all the rest. when we reached the pool there was still one ridge or spur of the mountains between us and the fire, making a black wall in front of us, above which was nothing but a furnace of swirling smoke and red-hot air. it seemed as if we waited a long time for the flames to top that wall, because, i suppose, they travelled slowly down in the valley beyond, where they did not get the full force of the wind. then we saw the sky just above the top of the wall glowing brighter from red to yellow; then came a few scattered, tossing bits of flame against the glow and the swirling smoke; and then, with one roar, it was upon us. in an instant the whole line of the mountain ridge was a mass of flame, the noise redoubled till it was almost deafening, and, as the wind now caught it, the fire leaped from tree to tree, not pausing at one before it swallowed the next, but in one steady rush, without check or interruption, it swept over the hill-top and down the nearer slope, and instantaneously, as it seemed, we were in the middle of it. i remember recalling then what my father had said to the other bears about not being able to run away from the fire if the wind were blowing strongly. had we not been out in the middle of the pool, we must have perished. the fire was on both sides of the stream--indeed, as we learned later, it reached for many miles on both sides, and where there was only the usual width of water the flames joined hand across it and swept up the stream in one solid wall. where we were was the whole width of the pool, while, besides, the beavers had cut down the larger trees immediately near the water, so there was less for the fire to feed upon. but even so i did not believe that we could come through alive. it was impossible to open my eyes above water, and the hot air scorched my throat. there was nothing for it but to keep my head under water and hold my breath as long as i could, then put my nose out just enough to breathe once, and plunge it in again. how long that went on i do not know, but it seemed to me ages; though the worst of it can only have lasted for minutes. but at the end of those minutes all the water in that huge pool was hot. i saw my father raising his head and shoulders slowly out of the water and beginning to look about him. that gave me courage, and i did the same. the first thing that i realized was that the roaring was less loud, and then, though it was still almost intolerably hot, i found that it was possible to keep one's head in the open air and one's eyes open. looking back, i saw that the line of flame had already swept far away, and was even now surmounting the top of the next high ridge; and it was, i knew, at that moment devouring the familiar cedars by our home, just as it had devoured the trees on either side of the beavers' pool. on all sides of us the bigger trees were still in flames, and from everywhere thick white smoke was rising, and over all the mountain-side, right down to the water's edge, there was not one green leaf or twig. everything was black. the brushwood was completely gone. the trees were no more than bare trunks, some of them still partially wreathed in flames. the whole earth was black, and from every side rose columns and jets and streams of smoke. it seemed incredible that such a change could have been wrought so instantaneously. it was awful. just a few minutes and what had been a mountain-side clothed in splendid trees, making one dense shield of green, sloping down to the bottom-land by the stream, with its thickets of undergrowth, and all the long cool green herbage by the water, had been swept away, and in its place was only a black and smoking wilderness. and what we saw before our eyes was the same for miles and miles to north and south of us, for a hundred miles to the west from which the fire had come; and every few minutes, as long as the wind held, carried desolation another mile to eastward. and what of all the living things that had died? had the animals and birds that had passed us earlier in the day escaped? the deer which had fled from the pool at the last moment--they, i knew, must have been overtaken in that first terrible rush of the flames; and i wondered what the chances were that the bears who had declined to stay with us, the squirrels, the coyote, the pumas, and the hosts of birds that had been hurrying eastward all day, would be able to keep moving long enough to save themselves. and what of all the insects and smaller things that must be perishing by millions every minute? i do not know whether i was more frightened at the thought of what we had escaped or grateful to my father for the course he had taken. it is improbable that i thought of all this at the time, but i know i was dreadfully frightened; and it makes me laugh now to think what a long time it was before we could persuade kahwa to put her head above water and look about her. our eyes and throats were horribly sore, but otherwise none of us was hurt. but though we were alive, life did not look very bright for us. where should we go? that was the first question. and what should we find to eat in all this smoking wilderness? while we sat in the middle of the pool wondering what we could do or whether it would be safe to do anything, we saw grey wolf start to go away. he climbed out on the bank while his wife sat in the water and watched him. he got out safely, and then put his nose down to snuff at the ground. the instant his nose touched the earth he gave a yelp, and plunged back into the water again. he had burnt the tip of his nose, for the ground was baking hot, as we soon discovered for ourselves. when we first stepped out on shore, our feet were so wet that we did not feel the heat, but in a few seconds they began to dry, and then the sooner we scrambled back into the water again, the better. how long it would have taken the earth to cool again i do not know. it was covered with a layer of burned stuff, ashes, and charred wood, which everywhere continued smouldering underneath, and all through the morning of the next day little spirals of smoke were rising from the ground in every direction. fortunately, at mid-day came a thunderstorm which lasted well on towards evening, and when the rain stopped the ground had ceased smoking. many of the trees still smouldered and burned inside. sometimes the flame would eat its way out again to the surface, so that the tree would go on burning in the middle of the wet forest until it was consumed; and for days afterwards, on scratching away the stuff on the surface, we would come to a layer of half burned sticks that was still too hot to touch. we of course kept to the stream. there along the edges we found food, for the rushes and grass and plants of all kinds had burned to the water-line, but below that the stems and roots remained fresh and good. but it was impossible to avoid getting the black dust into one's nose and mouth, and our throats and nostrils were still full of the smell of the smoke. no amount of water would wash it out. the effect of the thunderstorm soon passed off, and by the next day everything was as dry as ever, and the least puff of wind filled the air with clouds of black powder which made us sneeze, and, getting into our eyes, kept them red and sore. i do not think that in all my life i have spent such a miserable time as during those days while we were trying to escape from the region of the fire. of course, we did not know that there was any escape. perhaps the whole world had burned. but my father was sure that we should get out of it some time or other if we only kept straight on. and keep on we did, hardly ever leaving the water, but travelling on and on up the stream as it got smaller and smaller, until finally there was no stream at all, but only a spring bubbling out of the mountain-side. so we crossed over the burnt ground until we came to the beginning of another stream on the other side, and followed that down just as we had followed the first one up. and perhaps the most dreadful thing all the time was the utter silence of the woods. as a rule, both day and night, they were full of the noises of other animals and birds, but now there was not a sound in all the mountains. we seemed to be the only living things left. the stream which we now followed was that on which the men whom we had seen were camping, and presently we came to the place where they had been. the chopped-log house was a pile of ashes and half-burnt wood. about the ruins we found all sorts of curious things that were new to us--among them, things which i now know were kettles and frying-pans; and we came across lumps of their food, but it was all too much covered with the black powder to be eatable. there we stayed for the best part of a day, and then we went on without having seen a sign of man himself, and wondering what had become of him. seven or eight days had passed since the fire, when, the day after we passed the place where man had lived, we came to a beaver-dam across the stream, and the beavers told us that, some hours before the fire reached there, they had seen the men hurrying downstream, but they did not know whether they had succeeded in escaping or not. and now other life began to reappear. we met badgers and woodchucks and rats which had taken refuge in their holes, and had at first been unable to force their way out again through the mass of burnt stuff which covered the ground and choked up their burrows. the air, too, began to be full of insects, which had been safe underground or in the hearts of trees, and were now hatching out. and then we met birds--woodpeckers first, and afterwards jays, which were working back into the burnt district, and from them it was that we first learned for certain that it was only a burnt district, and that there was part of the world which had escaped. so we pushed on, until one morning, when daylight came, we saw in the distance a hill-top on which the trees still stood with all their leaves unconsumed. and how good and cool it looked! we did not stop to sleep, but travelled on all through the day, going as fast as we could along the rocky edges of the stream, which was now almost wide enough to be a river, when suddenly we heard strange noises ahead of us, and we knew what the noises were, and that they meant man again. men were coming towards us along the bank of the stream, so we had to leave it and hurry into the woods. there, though there was no shelter but the burnt tree-stumps, we were safe and all we had to do was to squat perfectly still, and it was impossible even for us, at a little distance, to distinguish each other from burnt tree-stumps. so we sat and watched the men pass. there were five of them, each carrying a bundle nearly as big as himself on his back, and they laughed and talked noisily as they passed, without a suspicion that four bears were looking at them from less than a hundred yards away. as soon as they had passed, we went on again, and before evening we came to places where the trees were only partly burned; here and there one had escaped altogether. then, close by the stream, a patch of willows was as green and fresh as if there had been no fire; and at last we had left the burnt country behind us. how good it was--the smell of the dry pine-needles and the good, soft brown earth underneath, and the delight of the taste of food that was once more free from smoke, and the glory of that first roll in the green grass among the fresh, juicy undergrowth by the water! that next day we slept--really slept--for the first time since the night in the beavers' pool. chapter v. kahwa. we soon found that the country which we were now in was simply full of animals. of course it had had its share of inhabitants before the fire, and, in addition, all those that fled before the flames had crowded into it; besides which the beasts of prey from all directions were drawn towards the same place by the abundance of food which was easy to get. we heard terrible stories of sufferings and narrow escapes, and the poor deer especially, when they had at last won to a place of safety from the flames, were generally so tired and so bewildered that they fell an easy prey to the pumas and wolves. all night long the forest was full of the yelping of the coyotes revelling over the bodies of animals that the larger beasts had killed and only partly eaten, and every creature seemed to be quarrelling with those of its kind, the former inhabitants of the neighborhood resenting the intrusion of the newcomers. for ourselves, nobody attacked us. we found two other families of bears quite close to us, but though we did not make friends at first, they did not quarrel with us. we were glad enough to live in peace, and to be able to devote ourselves to learning something about the new country. in general it was very much like the place that we had left--the same succession of mountain after mountain, all densely covered with trees, and with the streams winding down through gulch and valley. the stream that we had followed was now a river, broader all along its course than the beavers' pool which had saved our lives, and at one place, about two miles beyond the end of the burned region, it passed through a valley, wider than any that i had seen, with an expanse of level land on either side. here it was, on this level bottom-land, that i first tasted what are, i think, next to honey, of all wild things the greatest treat that a bear knows--ripe blueberries. but this "berry-path," as we called it, was to play a very important part in my life, and i must explain. we had soon learned that we were now almost in the middle of men. there was the party which had passed us going up the stream into the burned country. there were two more log-houses about a mile from the edge of the burned country, and therefore also behind us. there were others farther down the stream, and almost every day men passed either up or down the river, going from one set of houses to another. finally we heard, and, before we had been there a week, saw with our own eyes, that only some ten miles farther on, where our stream joined another and made a mighty river, there was a town, which had all sprung up since last winter, in which hundreds of men lived together. this was the great draw-back to our new home. but if we went farther on, the chances were that we should only come to more and more men; and for the present, by lying up most of the day, and only going out at night in the direction of their houses, there was no difficulty in keeping away from them. familiarity with them indeed had lessened our terror. we certainly had no desire to hurt them, and they, as they passed up and down or went about their work digging in the ground along the side of the river or chopping down trees, appeared to give no thought to us; and with that fear removed, even though we kept constantly on the alert, lest they should unexpectedly come too near us, our life was happy and free from care. father and mother grew to be like their old selves again, less gruff and nervous than they had been since the memorable day when we saw cinnamon with his broken leg; and as for kahwa and me, though we romped less than we used to do--for we were seven months old now, and at seven months a bear is getting to be a big and serious animal--we were as happy as two young bears could be. after a long hot day, during which we had been sleeping in the shade, what could be more delightful than to go and lie in the cool stream, where it flowed only a foot or so deep, and as clear as the air itself, over a firm sandy bottom? there were frogs, and snails, and beetles of all sorts, along the water's edge, and the juicy stems of the reeds and water-plants. then, in the night we wandered abroad finding lily roots, and the sweet ferns, and camas, and mushrooms, with another visit to the river in the early morning and perhaps a trout to wind up with before the sun drove us under cover again. and above all there was the berry-patch. the mere smell of a berry-patch at the end of summer, when the sun has been beating down all day, so that the air is heavy with the scent of the cooking fruit, is delicious enough, but it is nothing to the sweetness of the berries themselves. it was in the evening, after our dip in the river, when twilight was shading into night, that we used to visit the patch. it was a great open space in a bend of the river, half a mile long and nearly as wide, without a tree on it, and nothing but just the blueberry bushes growing close together all over it, reaching about up to one's chest as one walked through, and every bush loaded with berries. not only we, but every bear in the neighborhood, used to go there each evening--the two other families of whom i have spoken, and also two other single he-bears who had no families. one of these was the only animal in the neighborhood--except the porcupines, which every bear hates--whom i disliked and feared. he was a bad-tempered beast, bigger than father, with whom at our first meeting he wanted to pick a quarrel, while making friends with mother. she, however, would not have anything to say to him. when he was getting ready to fight my father--walking sideways at him and snarling, while my father, i am bound to confess, backed away--mother did not say a word, but went straight at him as she had rushed at the puma that day when she saved my life. then father jumped at him also, and between them they bundled him along till he fairly took to his heels and ran. but whenever we met him after that--and we saw him every evening at the patch--he snarled viciously at us, and i, at least, was careful to keep father and mother between him and me. if he had caught any one of us alone, i believe he would have killed us; so we took care that he never should. i can see the berry-patch now, lying white and shining in the moonlight, with here and there round the edges, and even sometimes pretty well out into the middle, if the night was not too light, the black spots showing where the bears were feeding. we enjoyed our feasts in silence, and beyond an occasional snapping of a twig, or the cry of some animal from the forest, or the screech of a passing owl, there was not a sound but that of our own eating. one night, however, there came an interruption. it was bright moonlight, and we were revelling in our enjoyment of the fruit, but father was curiously restless. the air was very still, but in a little gust of wind early in the evening father declared that he had smelled man. as an hour passed and there was no further sign of him, however, we forgot him in the delight of the ripe berries. suddenly from the other side of the patch, nearly half a mile away from us, rang out the awful voice of the thunder-stick. we did not wait to see what was happening, but made at all speed for the shelter of the trees, and tore on up the mountain slope. there was no further sound, but we did not dare to go back to the patch that night, nor did we see any of the other bears; so that it was not until some days afterwards that we heard that the thunder-stick had very nearly killed the mother of one of the other families. it had cut a deep wound in her neck, and she had saved herself only by plunging into the woods. if we had known all this at the time, i doubt if we should have gone back to the berry-patch as we did on the very next night. on our way to the patch we met the bad-tempered bear coming away from it. that was curious, and if it had been anybody else we should undoubtedly have asked him why he was leaving the feast at that time in the evening. had we done so, it might have saved a lot of trouble. as it was, we only snarled back at him as he passed snarling by us, and went on our way. we were very careful, however, and took a long time to make our way out of the trees down to the edge of the bushes; but there was no sound to make us uneasy, nor any smell of man in such wind as blew. of course we took care to approach the patch at the farthest point from where we had heard the thunder-stick on the night before. it was a cloudy night, and the moon shone only at intervals. taking advantage of a passing cloud, we slipped out from the cover of the trees into the berry-bushes. we could see no other bears, but they might be hidden by the clouds. in a minute, however, the moon shone out, and had there been any others there--at least, as far out from the edge as ourselves--we must have been able to see them. certainly, alas! we were seen, for even as i was looking round the patch in the first ray of the moonlight to see if any of our friends were there, the thunder-stick rang out again, and once more we plunged for the trees. but this time the sound was much nearer, and there was a second report before we were well into the shadow, and then a third. so terrified were we that there was no thought of stopping, but after we got into the woods we kept straight on as fast as we could go, father and mother in front, i next, and kahwa behind; and none of us looked back, for we heard the shouts of men and the crashing of branches as they ran, and again and again the thunder-stick spoke. suddenly i became aware that kahwa was not behind me. i stopped and looked round, but she was nowhere to be seen. i remembered having heard her give a sudden squeal, as if she had trodden on something sharp, but i had paid no attention to it at the time. now i became frightened, and called to father and mother to stop. they were a long way ahead, and it was some time before i could get near enough to attract their attention and tell them that kahwa was missing. mother wished to charge straight down the hill again at the men, thunder-sticks or no thunder-sticks; but father dissuaded her, and at last we began to retrace our steps cautiously, keeping our ears and noses open for any sign either of kahwa or of man. as we came near the edge of the wood, noises reached us--shouts and stamping; and then, mixed with the other sounds, i clearly heard kahwa's voice. she was crying in anger and pain, as if she was fighting, and fighting desperately. a minute later we were near enough to see, and a miserable sight it was that we saw. out in the middle of the berry-patch, in the brilliant moonlight, was poor kahwa with four men. they had fastened ropes around her, and two of them at the end of one rope on one side, and two at the end of one on the other, were dragging her across the middle of the patch. she was fighting every inch of the way, but her struggles against four men were useless, and slowly, yard by yard, she was being dragged away from us. but if she could not fight four men, could not we? there were four of us, and i said so to my father. but he only grunted, and reminded me of the thunder-sticks. it was only too true. without the thunder-sticks we should have had no difficulty in meeting them, but with those weapons in their hands it would only be sacrificing our lives in vain to attempt a rescue. so there we had to stand and watch, my mother all the time whimpering and my father growling, and sitting up on his haunches and rubbing his nose in his chest. we dared not show ourselves in the open, so we followed the edge of the patch, keeping alongside of the men, but in the shadow of the trees. they pulled kahwa across the middle of the patch into the woods on the other side, and down to the riverbank, where, we knew, there began an open path which the men had beaten in going to and from their houses half a mile farther on. here there were several houses in a bunch together. inside one of these they shut her, and then all went in to another house themselves. we stayed around, and two or three times later on we saw one or more of the men come out and stand for a while at kahwa's door listening; but at last they came out no more, and we saw the lights go out in their house, and we knew that the men had gone to sleep. then we crept down cautiously till we could hear kahwa whimpering and growling through the walls. my mother spoke to her, and there was silence for a moment, and then, when mother spoke again, the poor little thing recognized her voice and squealed with delight. but what could we do? we talked to her for awhile, and tried to scratch away the earth from round the wall, in the hope of getting at her; but it was all useless, and as the day began to dawn nothing remained but to make off before the men arose, and to crawl away to hide ourselves in the woods again. what a wretched night that was! hitherto i do not think that i had thought much of kahwa. i had taken her as a matter of course, played with her and quarrelled with her by turns, without stopping to think what life might be without her. but now i thought of it, and as i lay awake through the morning i realized how much she had been to me, and wondered what the men would do with her. most of all i wondered why they should have wanted to catch her at all. we had no wish to do them any harm. we were nobody's enemy; least of all was little kahwa. why could not men live in peace with us as we were willing to live in peace with them? long before it was dusk next evening we were in the woods as near to the men's houses as we dared to go, but we could hear no sound of my sister's voice. there appeared to be only one man about the place, and he was at work chopping wood, until just at sunset, when the other three men came back from down the stream, and we noticed that they carried long ropes slung over their arms. were those the ropes with which they had dragged kahwa the night before? if so, had they again, while we slept, dragged her off somewhere else? we feared it must be so. impatiently we waited until it was dark enough to trust ourselves in the open near the houses, and then we soon knew that our fears were justified. the door of the house in which kahwa had been shut was open; the men went in and out of it, and evidently kahwa was not there. nor was there any trace of her about the buildings. so under my father's guidance we started on the path down the stream by which the three men had returned, and it was not long before we found the marks of where she had struggled against her captors, and in places the scent of her trail was still perceptible, in spite of the strong man-smell which pervaded the beaten path. so we followed the trail down until we came to more houses; then made a circuit and followed on again, still finding evidence that she had passed. soon we came to more houses, at ever shortening intervals, until the bank of the stream on both sides was either continuously occupied by houses or showed traces of men being constantly at work there. and beyond was the town itself. it was of no use for us to go farther. in the town we could see lights streaming from many of the buildings, and the shouting of men's voices came to our ears. we wandered round the outskirts of the town till it was daylight, and then drew back into the hills and lay down again, very sad and hungry--for we had hardly thought of food--and very lonesome. kahwa, we felt sure, was somewhere among those houses in the town. but that was little comfort to us. and all the time we wondered what man wanted with her, and why he could not have left us to be happy, as we had been before he came. chapter vi. life in camp. one of the results of kahwa's disappearance was to make me much more solitary than i had ever been before, not merely because i did not have her to play with, but now, for the first time, i took to wandering on excursions by myself. and these excursions all had one object:--to find kahwa. for some days after her capture we waited about the outskirts of the town nearly all night long; but on the third or fourth morning father made up his mind that it was useless, and, though mother persuaded him not to abandon the search for another night or two, he insisted after that on giving up and returning to the neighborhood where we had been living since the fire. so we turned our backs upon the town, and, for my part very reluctantly, went home. the moon was not yet much past the full, and i can remember now how the berry-patch looked that night as we passed it, lying white and shining in the moonlight. we saw no other bears at it, and did not stop, but kept under the trees round the edges, and went on to our favorite resting-place, where, a few hundred yards from the river, a couple of huge trees had at some time been blown down. round their great trunks as they lay on the ground, young trees and a mass of elder-bushes and other brushwood had sprung up, making a dense thicket. the two logs lay side by side, and in between them, with the tangle of bushes all round and the branches of the other trees overhead, there was a complete and impenetrable shelter. we had used this place so much that a regular path was worn to it through the bushes. this night as we came near we saw recent prints of a bear's feet on the path, and the bear that made them was evidently a big one. from the way father growled when he saw them, i think he guessed at once whose feet they were. i know that i had my suspicions--suspicions which soon proved to be correct. during our absence our enemy, the surly bear that i have spoken of, had taken it into his head that he would occupy our home. of course he had lived in this district much longer than we, and, had this been his home when we first came, we should never have thought of disputing possession with him. but it had been our home now, so far as we had any regular home at this time of year, ever since our arrival after the fire, while he had lived half a mile away. now, however, there he was, standing obstinately in the pathway, swinging his head from side to side, and evidently intending to fight rather than go away. we all stopped, my father in front, my mother next, and i behind. i have said that the stranger was bigger than my father, and in an ordinary meeting in the forest i do not think my father would have attempted to stand up to him; but this was different. it was our home, and we all felt that he had no right there, but that, on the contrary, he was behaving as he was out of pure bad temper and a desire to bully us and make himself unpleasant. moreover, the events of the last few days had rendered my father and mother irritable, and they were in no mood to be polite to anybody. usually it takes a long time to make two bears fight. we begin slowly, growling and walking sideways towards each other, and only getting nearer inch by inch. but on this occasion there was not much room in the path, and father was thoroughly exasperated. he hardly waited at all, but just stood sniffing with his nose up for a minute to see if the other showed any sign of going away, and then, without further warning, threw himself at him. i had never seen my father in a real fight, and now he was simply splendid. before the stranger had time to realize what was happening, he was flung back on his haunches, and in a moment they were rolling over and over in one mass in the bushes. at first it was impossible to see what was going on, but, in spite of the ferocity of my father's rush, it soon became evident that in the end the bigger bear must win. my father's face was buried in the other's left shoulder, and he had evidently got a good grip there; but he was almost on his back, for the stranger had worked himself uppermost, and we could see that he was trying to get his teeth round my father's fore-leg. had he once got hold, nothing could have saved the leg, bone and all, from being crushed to pieces, and father, if not killed, would certainly have been beaten, and probably crippled for life. and sooner or later it seemed certain that the stranger would get his hold. then it was that my mother interfered. hurling herself at him, she threw her whole weight into one swinging blow on the side of the big bear's head, and in another second had plunged her teeth into the back of his neck. my father's grip in the fleshy part of the shoulder, however painful it might be, had little real effect; but where my mother had attacked, behind the right ear, was a different matter. the stranger was obliged to leave my father's leg alone and to turn and defend himself against this new onslaught; but, big as he was, he now had more on his hands than he could manage. as soon as he turned his attention to my mother, my father let go of his shoulder, and in his turn tried to grip the other's fore-leg. there was nothing for the stranger to do now but to get out of it as fast as he could; and even i could not help admiring his strength as he lifted himself up and shook mother off as lightly as she would have shaken me. she escaped the wicked blow that he aimed at her, and dodged out of his reach, and my father, letting go his hold of the fore-leg, did the same. the stranger, with one on either side of him, backed himself against one of the fallen logs and waited for them to attack him. but that they had no wish to do. all that they wanted was that he should go away, and they told him so. they moved aside from the path on either hand to give him space to go, and slowly and surlily he began to move. i was still standing in the pathway. suddenly he made a movement as if to rush at me, but my father and mother jumped towards him simultaneously, while i plunged into the bushes, and he was compelled to turn and defend himself against my parents again. but they did not attack him, though they followed him slowly along the path. every step or two he stopped to make an ugly start back at one or the other, but he knew that he was overmatched, and yard by yard he made off, my father and mother following him as far as the edge of the thicket, and standing to watch him out of sight. and i was glad when he was safely gone and they came back to me. it was not a pleasant home-coming, and we were all restless and nervous for days afterwards; and then it was that i vowed to myself that, if i ever grew up and the opportunity came, i would wreak vengeance on that bear. if we were all nervous, i was the worst, and in my restlessness took to going off by myself. up to this time i do not think i had ever been a hundred yards away from one or other of my parents, and now, when i started out alone, it was always in horrible fear of meeting the big bear when there was no one to stand by me. gradually, however, i acquired confidence in myself, making each night a longer trip alone, and each night going in the direction of the town. at last, one night, i found myself at the edge of the town itself, and now when i was alone i did not stop at the first building that i came to, but very cautiously--for the man-smell was thick around me, and terrified me in spite of myself--very cautiously i began to thread my way in between the buildings.[a] as i snuffed round each building, i found all sorts of new things to eat, with strange tastes, but most of them were good. that the men were not all asleep was plain from the shouts and noises which reached me at times from the centre of the big town, where, as i could see by occasional glimpses which i caught of the nearer buildings, many of the houses had bright lights streaming from them all night. avoiding these, i wandered on, picking up things to eat, and all the while keeping ears and nose open for a sign of kahwa. [a] the new mining town or camp of the far west has no long rows of houses or paved streets. the houses are built of logs or of boards, rarely more than one story high, and are set down irregularly. there maybe one more or less well-defined "street"--the main trail running through the camp--but even along that there will be wide gaps between the houses; while, for the rest, the buildings are at all sorts of angles, so that a man or a bear may wander through them as he pleases, regardless of whether he is following a "street" or not. i stayed thus, moving in and out among the buildings, till dawn. once a dog inside a house barked furiously as i came near, and i heard a man's voice speaking to it, and i hurried on. as the sky began to lighten, i made my way out into the woods again, and rejoined my father and mother before the sun was up. when i joined them, my father growled at me because i smelled of man. the next night found me down in the town again. i began to know my way about. i learned which houses contained dogs, and avoided them. other animals besides myself, i discovered, came into the town at night for the sake of the food which they found lying about--coyotes and wood-rats, and polecats; but though bears would occasionally visit the buildings nearest to the woods, no other penetrated into the heart of the town as i did. it had a curious fascination for me, and gradually i grew so much at home, that even when a man came through the buildings towards me, i only slipped out of his way round a corner, and--for man's sight and smell are both miserably bad compared with ours--he never had a suspicion that i was near. on the third or fourth night i had gone nearer to the lighted buildings than i had ever been before, when i heard a sound that made me stop dead and throw myself up on my haunches to listen. yes, there could be no doubt of it! it was kahwa's voice. anyone who did not know her might have thought that she was angry, but i knew better. she was making exactly the noise that she used to make when romping with me, and i knew that she was not angry, but only pretending, and that she must be playing with someone. i suppose i ought to have been glad that she was alive and happy enough to be able to play, but it only enraged me and made me wonder who her playmates might be. then gradually the truth, the incredible truth, dawned upon me. truly incredible it seemed at first, but there could be no doubt of it. _she was playing with man._ i could hear men's voices speaking to her as if in anger, and then i heard her voice and theirs in turn again, and at last i recognized that their anger was no more real than hers. the sounds came from where the lights were brightest, and it was long before i could make up my mind to go near enough to be able to see. at last, however, i crept to a place from which i could look out between two buildings, keeping in the deep shade myself, and i can see now every detail of what met my eyes as plainly as if it was all before me at this minute. there was a building larger than those around it, with a big door wide open, and from the door and from the windows on either side poured streams of light out into the night. in the middle of the light, and almost in front of the door, was a group of five or six men, and in the centre of the group was kahwa, tied to a post by a chain which was fastened to a collar round her neck. i saw a man stoop down and hold something out to her--presumably something to eat--and then, as she came to take it from the hand which he held out, he suddenly drew it away and hit her on the side of the head with his other hand. he did not hit hard enough to hurt her, and it was evidently done in play, because as he did it she got up on her hind-legs and slapped at him, first with one hand and then with the other, growling all the time in angry make-believe. sometimes the man came too near, and kahwa would hit him, and the other men all burst out laughing. then i saw him walk deliberately right up to her, and they took hold of each other and wrestled, just as kahwa and i used to do by the old place under the cedar-trees when we were little cubs. i could see, too, that now and then she was not doing her best, and did not want to hurt him, and he certainly did not hurt her. at last the men went into the building, leaving kahwa alone outside; but other men were continually coming out of, or going into, the open door, and i was afraid to approach her, or even to make any noise to tell her of my presence. so i sat in the shade of the buildings and watched. nearly every man who passed stopped for a minute and spoke to her, but none except the man whom i had first seen tried to play with her or went within her reach. the whole thing seemed to me incredible, but there it was under my eyes, and, somehow, it made me feel terribly lonely--all the lonelier, i think, because she had these new friends; for as friends she undoubtedly regarded them, while i could not even go near enough to speak to her. at last so many men came out of the building that i was afraid to stay. some of them went one way, and some another, and i had to keep constantly moving my position to avoid being seen. in doing so i found myself farther and father away from the centre of the town, and nearer to the outskirts. the men shouted and laughed, and made so much noise that i did not dare to go back, but made my way out into the woods. and for the first time i did not go home to my father and mother, but stayed by myself in the brush. the next evening i again made my way into the town, and once more saw the same sights as on the preceding night. this evening, however, there was a wind blowing, and it blew directly from me, as i stood in the same place, to kahwa in front of the lighted door. suddenly, while she was in the middle of her play, i saw her stop and begin to snuff up the wind with every sign of excitement. then she called to me. answer i dared not, but i knew that she had recognized me and would understand why i did not speak. while she was still calling to me, the man with whom she had been playing--the same man as on the night before--came up and gave her a cuff on the head, and she lost her temper in earnest. she hit at him angrily, but he jumped out of her way (how i wished she had caught him!), and, after trying for awhile to tempt her with play again, he and the other men left her and went into the building. then she gave all her time to me, and at last, when nobody was near, i spoke just loud enough for her to hear. she simply danced with excitement, running to the end of her chain toward me until it threw her back on to her hind-legs, circling round and round the stump to which she was fastened, and then charging out to the end of her chain again, all the time whimpering and calling to me in a way which made me long to go to her. i did not dare to show myself, however, but waited until, as on the night before, just as it was beginning to get light, the men all came out of the building and scattered in different directions. this time, however, i did not go back to the woods, but merely shifted out of the men's way behind the dark corners of the buildings, hoping that somehow i would find an opportunity of getting to speak to kahwa. at last the building was quiet, and only the man who had played with kahwa seemed to be left, and i saw the lights inside begin to grow less. i hoped that then the door would be shut, and the man inside would go to sleep, as i knew that men did in other houses when the lights disappeared at night; but while there was still some light issuing from door and windows the man came out and went up to kahwa, and, unfastening the chain from the stump, proceeded to lead her away somewhere to the rear of the building. she struggled and tried to pull away from him, but he jerked her along with the chain, and i could see that she was afraid of him, and did not dare to fight him in earnest, and bit by bit he dragged her along. i followed and saw him go to a sort of pen, or a small enclosure of high walls without any roof, in which he left her, and then went in to his own building. and soon i saw the last lights go out inside and everything was quiet. i stole round to the pen and spoke to kahwa through the walls. she was crazy at the sound of my voice, and could hear her running round and round inside, dragging the chain after her. could she not climb out? i asked her. no; the walls were made of straight, smooth boards with nothing that she could get her claws into, and much too high to jump. but we found a crack close to the ground through which our noses would almost touch, and that was some consolation. i stayed there as long as i dared, and told her all that had happened since she was taken away--of the fight with the strange bear, and how i had been in the town alone looking for her night after night; and she told me her story, parts of which i could not believe, though now i can understand them better. what puzzled me, and at the time made me thoroughly angry, was the way in which she spoke of the man whom i had seen playing with her, and who had dragged her into the pen. she was afraid of him in a curious way--in much the same way as she was afraid of father or mother. the idea that she could feel any affection for him i would have scouted as preposterous; but after the experiences of the last few nights nothing seemed too wonderful to be true, and it was plain that all her thoughts centered in him and he represented everything in life to her. without him she would have no food, but as it was she had plenty. he never came to her without bringing things to eat, delightful things sometimes; and in particular she told me of pieces of white stuff, square and rough like small stones, but sweeter and more delicious than honey. of course, i know now that it was sugar; but as she told me about it then, and how good it was, and how the man always had pieces of it in his pockets, which he gave her while they were playing together, i found myself envying her, and even wishing that the man would take me to play with, too. but as we talked the day was getting lighter, and promising to come again next night, i slipped away in the dawn into the woods. night after night i used to go and speak to kahwa. sometimes i did not go until it was nearly daylight, and she was already in her pen. sometimes i went earlier, and watched her with the men before the door of the building, and often i saw the man who was her master playing with her and giving her lumps of sugar, and i could tell from the way in which she ate it how good it was. many time i had narrow escapes of being seen, for i grew careless, and trotted among the houses as if i were in the middle of the forest. more than once i came close to a man unexpectedly, for the man-smell was so strong everywhere that a single man more or less in my neighborhood made no difference, and i had to trust to my eyes and ears entirely. somehow, however, i managed always to keep out of their way, and during this time i used to eat very little wild food, living almost altogether on the things that i picked up in the town. and during all these days and nights i never saw my father or my mother. then one evening an eventful thing happened. the door of kahwa's pen closed with a latch from the outside--a large piece of iron which lifted and fell, and was then kept in place by a block of wood. i had spent a great deal of time at that latch, lifting it with my nose, and biting and worrying it, in the hopes of breaking it off or opening the door; but when i did that i was always standing on my hind-legs, so as to reach up to it, with my fore-feet on the door, and, of course, my weight kept the door shut. but that never occurred to me. one evening, however, i happened to be standing up and sniffing at the latch, with my fore-feet not on the door itself, but on the wall beside the door. it happened that, just as i lifted the latch with my nose, kahwa put her fore-feet against the door on the inside. to my astonishment, the door swung open into my face, and kahwa came rolling out. if we had only thought it out, we could just as well have done that on the first night, instead of trying to reach each other for nearly two weeks through a narrow crack in the wall until nearly all the skin was rubbed off our noses. however, it was done at last, and we were so glad that we thought of nothing else. now we were free to go back into the woods and take up our old life again with father and mother. would it not be glorious, i asked? yes, she said, it would be glorious. to go off into the woods, and never, never, never, i said, see or think of man again. yes--yes, she said, but--of course it would be very glorious, but--well, there was the white stuff--the sugar--she could come back once in a while--just once in a while--couldn't she, to see the man and get a lump or two? i am afraid i lost my temper. here was what ought to have been a moment of complete happiness spoiled by her greediness. of course she could not come back, i told her. if she did she would never get away a second time. we would go to father and mother and persuade them to move just as far away from man as they could. instead of being delighted, the prospect only made her gloomy and thoughtful. of course she wanted to see father and mother, but--but--but--there was always that "but"--and the thought of the man and the sugar. while we were arguing, the time came when i usually left the town for the day, and the immediate thing to be done was to get away from that place and out into the woods, and all went well till we got to the last house in the town. now, however, kahwa insisted on going up to snuff around this house. i warned her of the dog, but the truth was that she had grown accustomed to dogs, and i think had really lost her fear of men. so she went close up to the house, and began smelling round the walls to see if there was anything good to eat, while i stood back under the trees fretting and impatient of her delay. having sniffed all along one side of the house, she passed round the corner to the back. in turning the corner she came right upon the dog, who flew at her at once, though he was not much bigger than her head. whether she was accustomed to dogs or not, the sudden attack startled her, and she turned round to run back to me. in doing so she just grazed the corner of the house, and the next instant she was rolling head over heels on the ground. the end of her chain had caught in the crack between the ends of two of the logs at the corner, and she was held as firmly as if she had been tied to her stump in front of the door. as she rolled over, the dog jumped upon her, small as he was, yelping all the time, and barking furiously. i thought it would only be a momentary delay, but the chain held fast, and all the while the dog's attacks made it impossible for her to give her attention to trying to tear it free. a minute later, and the door of the house burst open, and a man came running out, carrying, to my horror, a thunder-stick in his hand. kahwa and the dog were all mixed up together on the ground, and i saw the man stop and stand still a moment and point the thunder-stick at her. and then came that terrible noise of the thunder-stick speaking. too frightened to see what happened, i took to my heels, and plunged into the wood as fast as i could, without the man or the dog having seen me. i ran on for some distance till i felt safe enough to stop and listen, but there was not a sound, and no sign of kahwa coming after me. i waited and waited until the sun came up, and still there was no sign of kahwa, until at last i summoned up courage to steal slowly back again. as i came near i heard the dog barking at intervals, and then the voices of men. very cautiously i crept near enough to get a view of the house from behind, and as i came in sight of the corner where kahwa had fallen i saw her for the second time--just as on that wretched evening at the berry-patch--surrounded by a group of three or four men. but this time they had no ropes round her, and were not trying to drag her away; only they stood talking and looking down at her, while she lay dead on the ground before them. chapter vii. the parting of the ways. now indeed i was truly lonely. during the three or four weeks that had passed since i had seen my father or mother, i had in a measure learned to rely upon myself; nor had i so far felt the separation keenly, because i knew that every evening i should see kahwa. now she was gone for ever. there was no longer any object in going into the town, and the terror of that last scene was still so vivid in my mind that i wished never to see man again. it was true that i had feared man instinctively from the first, but familiarity with him had for a while overcome that fear. now it returned, and with the fear was mingled another feeling--a feeling of definite hatred. originally, though afraid of him, i had borne man no ill-will whatever, and would have been entirely content to go on living beside him in peace and friendliness, just as we lived with the deer and the beaver. man himself made that impossible; and now i no longer wished it. i hated him--hated him thoroughly. had it not been for dread of the thunder-sticks, i should have gone down into the town and attacked the first man that i met. i would have persuaded other bears to go with me to range through the buildings, destroying every man that we could find; and though this was impossible, i made up my mind that it would be a bad day for any man whom i might meet alone, when unprotected by the weapon that gave him so great an advantage. meanwhile my present business was, somehow and somewhere, to go on living. on that first evening, amid my conflict of emotions, it was some time before i could bring myself to turn my back definitely upon the town; for it was difficult to realize at once that there was in truth no longer any kahwa there, nor any reason for my going again among the buildings, and it was late in the night before i finally started to look for my father and mother. i went, of course, to the place where i had left them, and where the fight with the stranger had taken place. they were not there when i arrived, but i saw that they had spent the preceding day at home, and would, in all probability, be back soon after it was light. so i stayed in the immediate neighborhood, and before sunrise they returned. my mother was glad to see me, but i do not think i can say as much for my father. i told them where i had been, and of my visits to the town, and of poor kahwa's death; and though at the time father did not seem to pay much attention to what i said, next day he suggested that we should move farther away from the neighborhood of men. the following afternoon we started, making our way back along the stream by which we had descended, and soon finding ourselves once more in the region that had been swept by fire. it was still desolate, but the two months that had passed had made a wonderful difference. it was covered by the bright red flowers of a tall plant standing nearly as high as a bear's head, which shoots up all over the charred soil whenever a tract of forest is burned. other undergrowth may come up in the following spring, but for the first year nothing appears except the red "fireweed," and that grows so thickly that the burnt wood is a blaze of color, out of which the blackened trunks of the old trees stand up naked and gaunt. we passed several houses of men by the waterside, and gave them a wide berth. we learned from the beavers and the ospreys that a number of men had gone up the stream during the summer, and few had come back, so that now there must be many more of them in the district swept by the fire than there had been before. we did not wish to live in the burnt country, however, because there was little food to be found there, and under the fireweed the ground was still covered with a layer of the bitter black stuff, which, on being disturbed, got into one's throat and eyes and nostrils. so we turned southwards along the edge of the track of the fire, and soon found ourselves in a country that was entirely new to us, though differing little in general appearance from the other places with which we were familiar--the same unbroken succession of hills and gulches covered with the dense growth of good forest trees. it was, in fact, bears' country; and in it we felt at home. for the most part we travelled in the morning and evening; but the summer was gone now, and on the higher mountains it was sometimes bitterly cold, so we often kept on moving all day. we were not going anywhere in particular: only endeavoring to get away from man, and, if possible, to find a region where he had never been. but it seemed as if man now was pushing in everywhere. we did not see him, but continually we came across the traces of him along the banks of the streams. the beavers, and the kingfishers, of course, know everything that goes on along the rivers. nothing can pass upstream or down without going by the beaver-dams, and the beavers are always on the watch. you might linger about a beaver-dam all day, and except for the smell, which a man would not notice, you would not believe there was a beaver near. but they are watching you from the cracks and holes in their homes, and in the evening, if they are not afraid of you, you will be astonished to see twenty or thirty beavers come out to play about what you thought was an empty house. we never passed a dam without asking about man, and always it was the same tale. men had been there a week ago, or the day before, or when the moon last was full. and the kingfishers and the ospreys told us the same things. so we kept on our way southward. as the days went on i grew to think less of kahwa; the memory of those nights spent in the town, with the lights, and the strange noises, and the warm man-smell all about me, began to fade until they all seemed more like incidents of a dream than scenes which i had actually lived through only a few weeks before. i began to feel more as i used to feel in the good old days before the fire, and came again to be a part of the wild, wholesome life of the woods. moreover, i was growing; my mother said that i was growing fast. no puma would have dared to touch me now, and my unusual experiences about the town had bred in me a spirit of independence and self-reliance, so that other cubs of my own age whom we met, and who, of course, had lived always with their parents, always seemed to me younger than i; and certainly i was bigger and stronger than any first-year bear that i saw. on the whole, i would have been fairly contented with life had it not been for the estrangement which was somehow growing up between my father and myself. i could not help feeling that, though i knew not why, he would have been glad to have me go away again. so i kept out of his way as much as possible, seldom speaking to him, and, of course, not venturing to share any food that he found. on the first evening after my return he had rolled over an old log, and mother and i went up as a matter of course to see what was there; but he growled at me in a way that made me stand off while he and mother finished the fungi and the beetles. after that i kept my distance. it did not matter much, for i was well able to forage for myself. but i would have preferred to have him kinder. his unkindness, however, did not prevent him from taking for himself anything which he wanted that i had found. one day i came across some honey, from which he promptly drove me away, and i had to look on while he and mother shared the feast between them. at last we came to a stream where the beavers told us that no man had been seen in the time of any member of their colony then living. the stream, which was here wide enough to be a river, came from the west, and for two or three days we followed it down eastwards, and found no trace or news of man; so we turned back up it again--back past the place where we had first struck it--and on along its course for another day's journey into the mountains. it was, perhaps, too much to hope that we had lighted on a place where man would never come; but at least we knew that for a distance of a week's travelling in all directions he never yet had been, and it might be many years before he came. meanwhile we should have a chance to live our lives in peace. here we stayed, moving about very little, and feeding as much as we could; for winter was coming on, and a bear likes to be fat and well fed before his long sleep. it rained a good deal now, as it always does in the mountains in the late autumn, and as a general rule the woods were full of mist all day, in which we went about tearing the roots out of the soft earth, eating the late blueberries where we could find them, and the cranberries and the elderberries, which were ripe on the bushes, now and then coming across a clump of nut-trees, and once in a while, the greatest of all treats, revelling in a feast of honey. one morning, after a cold and stormy night, we saw that the tops of the highest mountains were covered with snow. it might be a week or two yet before the snow fell over the country as a whole, or it might be only a day or two; for the wind was blowing from the north, biting cold, and making us feel numb and drowsy. so my father decided that it was time to make our homes for the winter. he had already fixed upon a spot where a tree had fallen and torn out its roots, making a cave well shut in on two sides, and blocked on a third by another fallen log; and here, without thinking, i had taken it as a matter of course that we should somehow all make our winter homes together. but when that morning he started out, with mother after him, and i attempted to follow, he drove me away. i followed yet for a while, but he kept turning back and growling at me, and at last told me bluntly that i must go and shift for myself. i took it philosophically, i think, but it was with a heavy heart that i turned away to seek a winter home for myself. it did not take me long to decide on the spot. at the head of a narrow gully, where at some time or other a stream must have run, there was a tree half fallen, and leaning against the hillside. a little digging behind the tree would make as snug and sheltered a den as i could want. so i set to work, and in the course of a few hours i had made a sufficiently large hollow, and into it i scraped all the leaves and pine-needles in the neighborhood, and, by working about inside and turning round and round, i piled them up on all sides until i had a nest where i was perfectly sheltered, with only an opening in front large enough to go in and out of. this opening i would almost close when the time came, but for the present i left it open and lived inside, sleeping much of the time, but still continuing for a week or ten days to go out in the mornings and evenings for food. but it was getting colder and colder, and the woods had become strangely silent. the deer had gone down to the lower ground at the first sign of coming winter, and the coyotes and the wolves had followed to spend the cold months in the foot-hills and on the plains about the haunts of man. the woodchucks were already asleep below-ground, and of the birds only the woodpeckers and the crossbills, and some smaller birds fluttering among the pine-branches, remained. there was a fringe of ice along the edges of the streams, and the kingfishers and the ospreys had both flown to where the waters would remain open throughout the year. the beavers had been very busy for some time, but now, if one went to the nearest dam in the evening, there was not a sign of life. at last the winter came. it had been very cold and gray for a day or two, and i felt dull and torpid. and then, one morning towards mid-day, the white flakes began to fall. there had been a few little flurries of snow before, lasting only for a minute or two; but this was different. the great flakes fell slowly and softly, and soon the whole landscape began to grow white. through the opening in my den i watched the snow falling for some time, but did not venture out; and as the afternoon wore on, and it only fell faster and faster, i saw that it would soon pile up and close the door upon me. there was no danger of its coming in, for i had taken care that the roof overhung far enough to prevent anything falling in from above, and the den was too well sheltered for the wind to drift the snow inside. so i burrowed down into my leaves and pine-needles, and worked them up on both sides till only a narrow slit of an opening remained, and through this slit, sitting back on my haunches against the rear of the little cave i watched the white wall rising outside. all that night and all next day it snowed, and by the second evening there was hardly a ray of light coming in. i remember feeling a certain pride in being all alone, in the warm nest made by myself, for the first time in my life; and i sat back and mumbled at my paw, and grew gradually drowsier and drowsier, till i hardly knew when the morning came, for i was very sleepy and the daylight scarcely pierced the wall of snow outside. and before another night fell i was asleep, while outside the white covering which was to shut me in for the next four months at least, was growing thicker. under it i was as safe and snug up there in the heart of the mountains as ever a man could be in any house that he might build. chapter viii. alone in the world. have you any idea how frightfully stiff one is after nearly five months' consecutive sleep? of course, a bear is not actually asleep for the greater part of the time, but in a deliciously drowsy condition that is halfway between sleeping and waking. it is very good. of course, you lose all count and thought of time; days and weeks and months are all the same. you only know that, having been asleep, you are partly awake again. there is no light, but you can see the wall of your den in front of you, and dimly you know that, while all the world outside is snow-covered and swept with bitter winds, and the earth is gripped solid in the frost, you are very warm and comfortable. changes of temperature do not reach you, and you sit and croon to yourself and mumble your paws, and all sorts of thoughts and tangled scraps of dreams go swimming through your head until, before you know it, you have forgotten everything and are asleep again. then again you find yourself awake. is it hours or days or weeks since you were last awake? you do not know, and it does not matter. so you croon, and mumble, and dream, and sleep again; and wake, and croon, and mumble, and dream. at last a day comes when you wake into something more like complete consciousness than you have known since you shut yourself up. there is a new feeling in the air; a sense of moisture and fresh smells are mingling with the warm dry scent of your den. and you are aware that you have not changed your position for more than a quarter of a year, but have been squatting on your heels, with your back against the wall and your nose folded into your paws across your breast; and you want to stretch your hind-legs dreadfully. but you do not do it. it is still too comfortable where you are. you may move a little, and have a vague idea that it might be rather nice outside. but you do not go to see; you only take the other paw into your mouth, and, still crooning to yourself, you are asleep again. this happens again and again, and each time the change in the feeling of the air is more marked, and the scents of the new year outside grow stronger and more pungent. at last one day comes daylight, where the snow has melted from the opening in front of you, and with the daylight comes the notes of birds and the ringing of the woodpecker--rat-tat-tat-tat! rat-tat-tat-tat!--from a tree near by. but even these signs that the spring is at hand again would not tempt you out if it were not for another feeling that begins to assert itself, and will not let you rest. you find you are hungry, horribly hungry. it is of no use to say to yourself that you are perfectly snug and contented where you are, and that there is all the spring and summer to get up in. you are no longer contented. it is nearly five months since you had your last meal, and you will not have another till you go out for yourself and get it. mumbling your paws will not satisfy you. there is really nothing for it but to get up. but, oh, what a business it is, that getting up! your shoulders are cramped and your back is stiff; and as for your legs underneath you, you wonder if they will really ever get supple and strong again. first you lift your head from your breast and try moving your neck about, and sniff at the walls of your den. then you unfold your arms, and--ooch!--how they crack, first one and then the other! at last you begin to roll from one side to the other, and try to stretch each hind-leg in turn; then cautiously letting yourself drop on all fours, you give a step, and before you know it you have staggered out into the open air. it is very early in the morning, and the day is just breaking, and all the mountain-side is covered with a clinging pearly mist; but to your eyes the light seems very strong, and the smell of the new moist earth and the resinous scent of the pines almost hurt your nostrils. one side of the gully in front of you is brown and bare, but in the bottom, and clinging to the other side, are patches of moist and half-melted snow, and on all sides you hear the drip of falling moisture and the ripple of little streams of water which are running away to swell the creeks and rivers in every valley bottom. you are shockingly unsteady on your feet, and feel very dazed and feeble; but you are also hungrier than ever now, with the keen morning air whetting your appetite, and the immediate business ahead of you is to find food. so you turn to the bank at your side and begin to grub; and as you grub you wander on, eating the roots that you scratch up and the young shoots of plants that are appearing here and there. and all the time the day is growing, and the sensation is coming back to your limbs, and your hunger is getting satisfied, and you are wider and wider awake. and, thoroughly interested in what you are about, before you are aware of it, you are fairly started on another year of life. that is how a bear begins each spring. it may be a few days later or a few days earlier when one comes out; but the sensations are the same. you are always just as stiff, and the smells are as pungent, and the light is as strong, and the hunger as great. for the first few days you really think of nothing but of finding enough to eat. as soon as you have eaten, and eaten until you think you are satisfied, you are hungry again; and so you wander round looking for food, and going back to your den to sleep. that spring when i came out it was very much as it had been the spring before, when i was a little cub. the squirrels were chattering in the trees (i wondered whether old blacky had been burned in the fire), and the woodpecker was as busy as ever--rat-tat-tat-tat! rat-tat-tat-tat!--overhead. there were several woodchucks--fat, waddling things--living in the same gully with me, and they had been abroad for some days when i woke up. on my way down to the stream on that first morning, i found a porcupine in my path, but did not stop to slap it. by the river's bank the little brown-coated minks were hunting among the grass, and by the dam the beavers were hard at work protecting and strengthening their house against the spring floods, which were already rising. it was only a couple of hundred yards or so from my den to the stream, and for the first few days i hardly went farther than that. but it was impossible that i should not all the time--that is, as soon as i could think of anything except my hunger--be contrasting this spring with the spring before, when kahwa and i had played about the rock and the cedar-trees, and i had tumbled down the hill. and the more i thought of it, the less i liked being alone. and my father and mother, i knew, must be somewhere close by me--for i presumed they had spent the winter in the spot that they had chosen--so i made up my mind to go and join them again. it was in the early evening that i went, about a week after i had come out of my winter-quarters, and i had no trouble in finding the place; but when i did find it i also found things that i did not expect. "surely," i said to myself as i came near, "that is little kahwa's voice!" there could be no doubt of it. she was squealing just as she used to do when she tried to pull me away from the rock by my hind-foot. so i hurried on to see what it could mean, and suddenly the truth dawned upon me. my parents had two new children. i had never thought of that possibility. i heard my mother's voice warning the cubs that someone was coming, and as i appeared the young ones ran and smuggled up to her, and stared at me as if i was a stranger and they were afraid of me, as i suppose they were. it made me feel awkward, and almost as if my mother was a stranger, too; but after standing still a little time and watching them i walked up. mother met me kindly and the cubs kept behind her and out of the way. i spoke to mother and rubbed noses with her, and told her that i was glad to see her. she evidently thought well of me, and i was rather surprised, when standing beside her, to find that she was not nearly so much bigger than i as i had supposed. but before i had been there more than a minute mother gave me warning that father was coming, and, turning, i saw him walking down the hillside towards us. he saw me at the same time, and stopped and growled. at first, i think, not knowing who i was, he was astonished to see my mother talking to a strange bear. when he did recognize me, however, i might still have been a stranger, for any friendliness that he showed. he sat up on his haunches and growled, and then came on slowly, swinging his head, and obviously not at all disposed to welcome me. again i was surprised, to see that he was not as big as i had thought, and for a moment wild ideas of fighting him, if that was what he wanted, came into my head. i wished to stay with mother, and even though he was my father, i did not see why i should go away alone and leave her. but, tall though i was getting, i had not anything like my father's weight, and, however bitterly i might wish to rebel, rebellion was useless. besides, my mother, though she was kind to me, would undoubtedly have taken my father's part, as it was right that she should do. so i moved slowly away as my father came up, and as i did so even the little cubs growled at me, siding, of course, with their father against the stranger whom they had never seen. father did not try to attack me, but walked up to mother and began licking her, to show that she belonged to him. i disliked going away, and thought that perhaps he would relent; but when i sat down, as if i was intending to stay, he growled and told me that i was not wanted. i ought by this time to have grown accustomed to being alone, and to have been incapable of letting myself be made miserable by a snub, even from my father. but i was not; i was wretched. i do not think that even on the first night after kahwa was caught, or on that morning when i saw her dead, that i felt as completely forlorn as i did that day when i turned away from my mother, and went down the mountain-side back to my own place alone. the squirrels chattered at me, and the woodpecker rat-tat-tat-ed, and the woodchuck scurried away, and i hated them all. what company were they to me? i was lonely, and i craved the companionship of my own kind. but it was to be a long time before i found it. i was now a solitary bear, with my own life to live and my own way to make in the world, with no one to look to for guidance and no one to help me if i needed help; but many regarded me as an enemy, and would have rejoiced if i were killed. in those first days i thought of the surly solitary bear who had taken our home while we were away, and whom i had vowed some day to punish; and i began to understand in some measure why he was so bad-tempered. if we had met then, i almost believe i would have tried to make friends with him. i have said that many animals would have rejoiced had i been killed. this is not because bears are the enemies of other wild things, for we really kill very little except beetles and other insects, frogs and lizards, and little things like mice and chipmunks. we are not as the wolves, the coyotes, the pumas, or the weasels, which live on the lives of other animals, and which every other thing in the woods regards as its sworn foe. still, smaller animals are mostly afraid of us, and the carcass of a dead bear means a feast for a number of hungry things. if a bear cannot defend his own life, he will have no friends to do it for him; and while, as i have said before, a full-grown bear in the mountains has no need to fear any living thing, man always excepted, in stand-up fight, it is none the less necessary to be always on one's guard. in my case fear had nothing to do with my hatred of loneliness. even the thought of man himself gave me no uneasiness. i was sure that no human beings were as yet within many miles of my home, and i knew that i should always have abundant warning of their coming. moreover, i already knew man. he was not to me the thing of terror and mystery that he had been a year ago, or that he still was to most of the forest folk. i had cause enough, it is true, to know how dangerous and how savagely cruel he was, and for that i hated him. but i had also seen enough of him to have a contempt for his blindness and his lack of the sense of scent. had i not again and again, when in the town, dodged round the corner of a building, and waited while he passed a few yards away, or stood immovable in the dark shadow of a building, and looked straight at him while he went by utterly unconscious that i was near? nothing could live in the forest for a week with no more eyesight, scent, or hearing than a man possesses, and without his thunder-stick he would be as helpless as a lame deer. all this i understood, and was not afraid that, if our paths should cross again, i should not be well able to take care of myself. but while there was no fear added to my loneliness, the loneliness itself was bad enough. having none to provide for except myself, i had no difficulty in finding food. for the first few weeks, i think, i did nothing but wander aimlessly about and sleep, still using my winter den for that purpose. as the summer came on, however, i began to rove, roaming usually along the streams, and sleeping there in the cool herbage by the water's edge during the heat of the day. my chief pleasure, i think, was in fishing, and i was glad my mother had shown me how to do it. no bear, when hungry, could afford to fish for his food, for it takes too long; but i had all my time to myself, and nearly every morning and evening i used to get my trout for breakfast or for supper. at the end of a long, hot day, i know nothing pleasanter than, after lying a while in the cold running water, to stretch one's self out along the river's edge, under the shadow of a bush, and wait, paw in water, till the trout come gliding within striking distance; and then the sudden stroke, and afterwards the comfortable meal off the cool juicy fish in the soft night air. i became very skilful at fishing, and, from days and days of practice, it was seldom indeed that i lost my fish if once i struck. time, too, i had for honey-hunting, but i was never sure that it was worth the trouble and pain. in nine cases out of ten the honey was too deeply buried in a tree for me to be able to reach it, and in trying i was certain to get well stung for my pains. once in a while, however, i came across a comb that was easy to reach, and the chance of one of those occasional finds made me spend, not hours only, but whole days at a time, looking for the bees' nests. along by the streams were many blueberry-patches, though none so large as that which had cost kahwa her life; but during the season i could always find berries enough. and so, fishing and bee-hunting, eating berries and digging for roots, i wandered on all through the summer. i had no one place that i could think of as a home more than any other. i preferred not to stay near my father and mother, and so let myself wander, heading for the most part westward, and farther into the mountains as the summer grew, and then in the autumn turning south again. i must have wandered over many hundred miles of mountain, but when the returning chill in the air told me that winter was not very far away, i worked round so as to get back into somewhat the same neighborhood as i had been in last winter, no more, perhaps, than ten miles away. on the whole, it was an uneventful year. two or three times i met a grizzly, and always got out of the way as fast as i could. once only i found myself in the neighborhood of man, and i gave him a wide berth. many times, of course--in fact, nearly every day--i met other bears like myself, and sometimes i made friends with them, and stayed in their company for the better part of a day, perhaps at a berry-patch or in the wide shallows of a stream. but there was no place for me--a strong, growing he-bear, getting on for two years old--in any of the families that i came across. parents with young cubs did not want me. young bears in their second year were usually in couples. the solitary bears that i met were generally older than i, and, though we were friendly on meeting, neither cared for the other's companionship. again and again in these meetings i was struck by the fact, that i was unusually big and strong for my age, the result, i suppose, as i have already said, of the accident that threw me on my own resources so young. i never met young bears of my own age that did not seem like cubs to me. many times i came across bears who were one and even two years older than myself, but who had certainly no advantage of me in height, and, i think, none in weight. but i had no occasion to test my strength in earnest that summer, and when winter came, and the mountainpeaks in the neighborhood showed white again against the dull gray sky, i was still a solitary animal, and acutely conscious of my loneliness. that year i made my den in a cave which i found high up on a mountain-side, and which had evidently been used by bears at some time or other, though not for the last year or two. there i made my nest with less trouble than the year before, and at the first serious snowfall i shut myself up for another long sleep. chapter ix. i find a companion. the next spring was late. we had a return of cold weather long after winter ought to have been over, and for a month or more after i moved out it was no easy matter to find food enough. the snow had been unusually deep, and had only half melted when the cold returned, so that the remaining half stayed on the ground a long while, and sometimes it took me all my time, grubbing up camas roots, turning over stones and logs, and ripping the bark off fallen trees, to find enough to eat to keep me even moderately satisfied. besides the mice and chipmunks which i caught, i was forced by hunger to dig woodchucks out of their holes, and eat the young ones, though hitherto i had never eaten any animal so large. somehow, in one way and another, i got along, and when spring really came i felt that i was a full-grown bear, and no longer a youngster who had to make way for his elders when he met them in the path. nor was it long before i had an opportunity of seeing that other bears also regarded me no longer as a cub. [illustration: told me bluntly that i must go.] i had found a bees' nest about ten feet up in a big tree, and of course climbed up to it; but it was one of those cases of which i have spoken, when the game was not worth the trouble. the nest was in a cleft in the tree too narrow for me to get my arm into, and i could smell the honey a foot or so away from my nose without being able to reach it--than which i know nothing more tantalizing. and while you are hanging on to a tree with three paws, and trying to squeeze the fourth into a hole, the bees have you most unpleasantly at their mercy. i was horribly stung about my face, both my eyes and my nose were smarting abominably, and at last i could stand it no longer, but slid down to the ground again. when i reached the ground, there was another bear standing a few yards away looking at me. he had a perfect right to look at me, and he was doing me no sort of harm; but the stings of the bees made me furious, and i think i was glad to have anybody or anything to vent my wrath upon. so as soon as i saw the other bear i charged him. he was an older bear than i, and about my size; and, as it was the first real fight that i had ever had, he probably had more experience. but i had the advantage of being thoroughly angry and wanting to hurt someone, without caring whether i was hurt myself or not, while he was feeling entirely peaceable, and not in the least anxious to hurt me or anybody else. the consequence was that the impetuosity of my first rush was more than he could stand. of course he was up to meet me, and i expect that under my coat my skin on the left shoulder still carries the marks of his claws where he caught me as we came together. but i was simply not to be denied, and, while my first blow must have almost broken his neck, in less than a minute i had him rolling over and over and yelling for mercy. i really believe that, if he had not managed to get to his feet, and then taken to his heels as fast as he could, i would have killed him. meanwhile the bees were having fun with us both. it was no use, however angry i might be, to stop to try and fight them; so soon as the other bear had escaped i made my own way as fast as i could out of the reach of their stings, and down to the stream to cool my smarting face. as i lay in the water, i remember looking back with astonishment to the whole proceeding. five minutes before i had had no intention of fighting anybody, and had had no reason whatever for fighting that particular bear. had i met him in the ordinary way, we should have been friendly, and i am not at all sure that, if i had had to make up my mind to it in cold blood, i should have dared to stand up to him, unless something very important depended on it. yet all of a sudden the thing had happened. i had had my first serious fight with a bear older than myself, and had beaten him. moreover, i had learned the enormous advantage of being the aggressor in a fight, and of throwing yourself into it with your whole soul. as it was, though i was astonished at the entire affair and surprised at myself, and although the bee-stings still hurt horribly, i was pretty well satisfied and rather proud. perhaps it was as well that i had that fight then, for the time was not far distant when i was to go through the fight of my life. a bear may have much fighting in the course of his existence, or he may have comparatively little, depending chiefly on his own disposition; but at least once he is sure to have one fight on which almost the whole course of his life depends. and that is when he fights for his wife. of course he may be beaten, and then he has to try again. some bears never succeed in winning a wife at all. some may win one and then have her taken from them, and have to seek another; but i do not believe that any bear chooses to live alone. every one will once at least make an effort to win a companion. the crisis came with me that summer, though many bears, i believe, prefer to run alone until a year, or even two years, later. the summer had passed like the former one, rather uneventfully after the episode of the bees. i wandered abroad, roaming over a wide tract of country, fishing, honey-hunting, and finding my share of roots and beetles and berries, sheltering during the heat of the day, and going wherever i felt inclined in the cool of the night and morning. i think i was disposed to be rather surly and quarrelsome, and more than once took upon myself to dispute the path with other bears; but they always gave way to me, and i felt that i pretty well had the mountains and the forests for my own. but i was still lonely, and that summer i felt it more than ever. the late spring had ruined a large part of the berry crop, and the consequence was that, wherever there was a patch with any fruit on it, bears were sure to find it out. there was one small sheltered patch which i knew, where the fruit had nearly all survived the frosts. i was there one evening, when, not far from me, out of the woods came another bear of about my size. i liked her the moment i obtained a good view of her. she saw me, and sat up and looked at me amicably. i had never tried to make love before, but i knew what was the right thing to do; so i approached her slowly, walking sideways, rubbing my nose on the ground, and mumbling into the grass to tell her how much i admired her. she responded in the correct way, by rolling on the ground. so i continued to approach her, and i cannot have been more than five or six yards away, when out of the bushes behind her, to my astonishment, came a he-bear. he growled at me, and began to sniff around at the bushes, to show that he was entirely ready to fight if i wanted to. and of course i wanted to. i probably should have wanted to in any circumstances, but when the she-bear showed that she liked me better than him, by growling at him, i would not have gone away, without fighting for her, for all the berries and honey in the world. one of the most momentous crisis in my life had come, and, as all such things do, had come quite unexpectedly. he was as much in earnest as i, and for a minute we sidled round growling over our shoulders, and each measuring the other. there was little to choose between us, for, if i was a shade the taller, he was a year older than i, and undoubtedly the heavier and thicker. in fighting all other animals except those of his kind, a bear's natural weapons are his paws, with one blow of which he can crush a small animal, and either stun or break the neck of a larger one. but he cannot do any one of these three things to another bear as big as himself, and only if one bear is markedly bigger than the other can he hope to reach his head, so as either to tear his face or give him such a blow as will daze him and render him incapable of going on fighting. a very much larger bear can beat down the smaller one's arms, and rain such a shower of blows upon him as will convince him at once that he is overmatched, and make him turn tail and run. when two are evenly matched, however, the first interchange of blows with the paws is not likely to have much effect either way, and the fight will have to be settled by closing, by the use of teeth and main strength. but, as i had learned in my fight that day when i had been stung by the bees, the moral effect of the first may be great, and it was in that that my slight advantage in height and reach was likely to be useful, whereas if we came to close quarters slowly the thicker and stockier animal would have the advantage. so i determined to force the fighting with all the fury that i could; and i did. it was he who gave the first blow. as we sidled up close to one another, he let out at me wickedly with his left paw, a blow which, if it had caught me, would undoubtedly have torn off one of my ears. most bears would have replied to that with a similar swinging blow when they got an opening, and the interchange of single blows at arms' length would have gone on indefinitely until one or the other lost his temper and closed. i did not wait for that. the instant the first blow whistled past my head i threw myself on my hindquarters and launched myself bodily at him, hitting as hard as i could and as fast, first with one paw and then with the other, without giving him time to recover his wits or get in a blow himself. i felt him giving way as the other bear had done, and when we closed he was on his back on the ground, and i was on the top of him. the fight, however, had only begun. i had gained a certain moral effect by the ferocity of my attack, but a bear, when he is fighting in earnest, is not beaten by a single rush, nor, indeed, until he is absolutely unable to fight longer. altogether we must have fought for over an hour. two or three times we were compelled to stop and draw apart, because neither of us had strength left to use either claws or jaw. and each time when we closed again i followed the same tactics, rushing in and beating him down and doing my best to cow him before we gripped; and each time, i think, it had some effect--at least to the extent that it gave me a feeling of confidence, as if i was fighting a winning fight. the deadliest grip that one bear can get on another is with his jaws across the other's muzzle, when he can crush the whole face in. once he very nearly got me so, and this scar on the side of my nose is the mark of his tooth; but he just failed to close his jaws in time. and, as it proved then, it is a dangerous game to play, for it leaves you exposed if you miss your grip, and in this case it gave me the opportunity that i wanted, to get my teeth into his right paw just above the wrist. my teeth sank through the flesh and tendons and closed upon the bone. in time, if i could hold my grip, i would crush it. his only hope lay in being able to compel me to let go, by getting his teeth in behind my ear; and this we both knew, and it was my business with my right paw to keep his muzzle away. a moment like that is terrible--and splendid. i have never found myself in his position, but i can imagine what it must be. we swayed and fell together, and rolled over and over--now he uppermost, and now i; but never for a second did i relax my hold. whatever position we were in, my teeth were slowly grinding into the bone of his arm, and again and again i felt his teeth grating and slipping on my skull as i clawed and pushed blindly at his face to keep him away. more and more desperate he grew, and still i hung on; and while i clung to him in dead silence he was growling and snarling frantically, and i could hear his tone getting higher and higher till, just as i felt the bone giving between my teeth, the growling broke and changed to a whine, and i knew that i had won. one more wrench with my teeth, and i felt his arm limp and useless in my mouth. then i let go, and as he cowered back on three legs i reared up and fell upon him again, hitting blow after blow with my paws, buffeting, biting, beating, driving him before me. even now he had fight left in him; but with all his pluck he was helpless with his crippled limb, and slowly i bore him back out of the open patch, where we had been fighting into the woods, and yard by yard up the hill, until at last it was useless for him to pretend to fight any longer, and he turned and, as best he could, limping on three legs, ran. during the whole of the fight the she-bear had not said a word, but sat on the ground watching and awaiting the result. while the battle was going on i had no time to look at her; but in the intervals when we were taking breath, whenever i turned in her direction, she avoided my eye and pretended not to know that i was there or that anything that interested her was passing. she looked at the sky and the trees, and washed herself, or did whatever would best show her indifference. all of which only told me that she was not indifferent at all. now, when i came back to her, she still pretended not to see me until i was close up to her, and when i held out my nose to hers she growled as if a stranger had no right to behave in that way. but i knew she did not mean it; and i was very tired and sore, with blood running from me in a dozen places. so i walked a few yards away from her and lay down. in a minute she came over to me and rubbed her nose against mine, and told me how sorry she was for having snubbed me, and then began to lick my wounds. as soon as i was fairly rested, we got up and made our way in the bright moonlight down to the river, so that i could wash the blood off myself and get the water into my wounds. we stayed there for a while, and then returned to the patch and made a supper off the berries, and later wandered into the woods side by side. she was very kind to me, and every caress and every loving thing she did or said was a delight. it was all so wonderfully new. and when at last we lay down under the stars, so that i could sleep after the strain that i had been through, and i knew that she was by me, and that when i woke up i should not be lonely any more, it all seemed almost too good to be true. it was as if i had suddenly come into a new world and i was a new bear. the end. transcriber's notes: page 11: 'we bears comes out' left as printed. page 18: 'impetus was so terriffic' changed to 'terrific'. page 20: 'for a hunch of the' left as printed. page 27: 'slaping the surface' changed to 'slapping'. page 35: 'man smell by the first whiff' changed to 'man-smell'. page 40: 'knocked a wooff' changed to 'woof'. page 45: 'a strong winds' left as printed. page 50: 'intolerably hot.' changed to 'hot,'. page 51: hyphen removed from 'brush-wood was completely'. page 57: 'at a little dis-stance' changed to 'distance'. page 59: "beaver's pool which" changed to "beavers'". page 62: 'just the blue-berry bushes' changed to 'blueberry'. page 75: hyphen added to 'round my father's foreleg'. page 94: 'range throught the buildings' changed to 'through'. page 104: 'thicker under it' changed to 'thicker. under it'. page 109: 'wookpecker was as busy as' changed to 'woodpecker'. page 113: 'wookpecker scurried away' changed to 'woodpecker'. page 110: 'ran and smuggled up' left as printed. page 124: 'was that, whereever' changed to 'wherever'. page 130: 'close up to her. and' changed to 'up to her, and'. the pioneers, by r.m. ballantyne. preface. sir alexander mackenzie was one of the most energetic and successful of the discoverers who have traversed the vast wilderness of british america. he did his work single-handed, with slender means, and slight encouragement, at a time when discovery was rare and the country almost _terra incognita_. the long and difficult route, so recently traversed by the red river expedition, was, to sir alexander, but the small beginning of his far-reaching travels. he traced the great river which bears his name to its outlet in the polar sea, and was the first to cross the rocky mountains in those latitudes and descend to the pacific ocean. being a man of action, and not particularly enamoured of the pen, his journal [for a sight of which apply to the british museum, london, or the advocates' library, edinburgh]--full though it be of important and most interesting facts--is a bare and unadorned though valuable record of progress made, of work done, which is unsuited to juvenile minds, besides being bulky and scarce. having spent some years in rupert's land, and seen something of red indian and fur-trading life, i have ventured to weave the incidents of sir alexander's narratives into a story which, it is hoped, may prove interesting to the young--perchance, also, to the old. i take this opportunity of acknowledging myself deeply indebted to sir alexander's daughter, miss mackenzie, and to his two sons, for kindly placing at my disposal all the information in their possession. r.m.b. edinburgh, 1872. chapter one. shows how it began. "the world is round," said somebody in ancient times to somebody else. "not at all; it is flat--flat as a pancake," replied somebody else to somebody; "and if you were to travel far enough you might get to the end of it and tumble over the edge, if so disposed." ever since the commencement of this early geographical controversy, men have been labouring with more or less energy and success to ascertain the form and character of the earth; a grand, glorious labour it has been; resulting in blessings innumerable to mankind--blessings both spiritual and temporal. we have heard some people object to geographical discovery, especially in the inclement parts of the earth, on the ground that it could be of no use, and involved great risk to life and limb. "of no use!" who can tell what discoveries shall be useful and what useless? "the works of god are great, sought out of all those that have pleasure therein," saith the scripture. there is no reference here to usefulness, but the searching out of god's works, without limitation, is authorised; and those who "take pleasure therein," will be content to leave the result of their labours in the hands of him who sent them forth. as to "risk,"--why, a carpenter cannot ascend to the top of a house to put the rafters thereon without risk; a chemist cannot investigate the properties of certain fumes without risk; you cannot even eat your dinner without risk. only this are we sure of--that, if man had never undertaken labour except when such was _obviously_ useful and devoid of risk, the world would still be in the darkness of the middle ages. reuben guff held these sentiments, or something like them; and reuben was a man who had seen a great deal of life in his day, although at the time we introduce him to public notice he had not lived more than six-and-thirty summers. he was a bronzed, stalwart canadian. his father had been scotch, his mother of french extraction; and reuben possessed the dogged resolution of the scot with the vivacity of the frenchman. in regard to his tastes and occupation we shall let him speak for himself. sitting under a pine-tree, in the wild wilderness that lies to the north of canada with the drumstick of a goose in one hand and a scalping-knife in the other; with a log-fire in front of him, and his son, a stripling of sixteen, by his side, he delivered himself of the following sentiments:-"i tell 'ee what it is, lawrence," (the lad was named after the great river on the banks of which he had been reared), "i was born to be a pioneer. ever since i was the height of a three-fut rule i've had a skunner at the settlements and a love for the wilderness that i couldn't overcome nohow. moreover, i wouldn't overcome it if i could, for it's my opinion that he who made us knows what he wants us to do, an' has given us sitch feelin's and inclinations as will lead us to do it, if we don't run mad after _notions_ of our own, as the folk in the settlements are raither apt to do." here some of the "notions" referred to appeared to tickle the fancy of the backwoodsman, for he paused to indulge in a quiet chuckle which wrinkled up all the lines of good-humour and fun in his rough countenance. after applying himself for a few seconds with much energy to the drumstick,--he resumed his discourse in a slow, deliberate style of speech which was peculiar to him:-"yes, lawrence, my lad, i've made it my business ever since i was fifteen to explore this here wilderness, livin' by my gun and guidin' the fur-traders on their v'yages, or consorting with the injins, as you know very well; and, now that we've come to the big lake it is needful to tell 'ee that i'm still bent on followin' out my callin'. i'm goin' away to the nor'ard to explore, and you'll have to make up your mind to-night whether _you_ will be my steersman or whether i'm to lay that dooty on swiftarrow. i needn't say which i'd like best." the hunter finished the drumstick at this point, threw the bone into the fire, lighted his pipe, and awaited his son's answer in silence. but the son appeared to be in no hurry to reply; for, after giving his father a glance and nod, which were meant to say, "i hear and i'll consider, but i'm too much engaged just now to speak," he continued his occupation of devouring venison steaks, the sauce to which was evidently hunger. having finished his supper and lighted his pipe he became more communicative. "father," he said, "you have always advised me to think well before speaking." "i have, lad; it's the natur' of our forefathers an' a very good natur' too. i'd be sorry to see it go out of the family." "well, then; i've thought my best about goin' with 'ee on this trip," returned the youth, "an' i've resolved to go on one condition--that swiftarrow goes with us." "why so, my son? we don't need him." "perhaps not, but i like him; for he has taught me all that i know of woodcraft, and i'm certain that if you and i both leave him he'll be sure to return to the new settlement at the south end of ontario, and you know what the end of that would be." "death by drinkin'," replied reuben guff shaking his head slowly, while he watched the upward flight of a ring of white smoke that had just issued from his lips. "well, i won't leave him to _that_," continued the youth, with sudden energy of manner and look, "as long as my name is lawrence. you know that nothin' would please me more than goin' to explore the wilderness with you, father; but if swiftarrow is to be left behind, there shall be no pioneering for me. besides, three are better than two on such a trip, and the injin will be sure to keep the pot full, no matter what sort o' country we may have to pass through, for he's a dead shot wi' the gun as well as wi' the bow." "i daresay you're right, lad," replied reuben, in a tone of one who muses. "there's room in the canoe for three, and it's not unlikely that the injin would go south to the settlement, for he is a lonely man since his poor mother died. i do believe that it was nothin' but his extraor'nar' love for that old 'ooman that kep' him from goin' to the dogs. leastwise it was that kep' him from goin' to the settlement, which is much the same thing, for swiftarrow can't resist fire-water. yes, lad, you're right--so we'll take him with us. as you say, three are better than two on such a v'yage." some weeks after the foregoing conversation the pioneers arrived at the northern end of that great inland sea, lake superior, which, being upwards of four hundred miles long, and one hundred and seventy-five miles broad, presents many of the features of ocean itself. this end of the lake was, at the time we write of, and still is, an absolute wilderness, inhabited only by scattered tribes of indians, and almost untouched by the hand of the white man, save at one spot, where the fur-traders had planted an isolated establishment. at this point in the wild woods the representatives of the fur-traders of canada were wont to congregate for the settlement of their affairs in the spring of every year, and from this point also trading-parties were despatched in canoes into the still more remote parts of the great northern wilderness, whence they returned with rich cargoes of furs received from the "red men" in exchange for powder and shot, guns, hatchets, knives, cloth, twine, fish-hooks, and such articles as were suited to the tastes and wants of a primitive and wandering people. here reuben guff and his son found swiftarrow, as they had expected, and proposed to him that he should accompany them on their voyage north,--a proposal which he accepted with pleasure,--for the strong-boned indian had an adventurous spirit as well as a healthy frame. swiftarrow was a brave and powerful indian, and was esteemed one of the best hunters of his tribe; but no one seeing him in camp in a quiescent state would have thought him to be possessed of much energy, for he was slow and deliberate in his movements, and withal had a lazy look about his eyes. but the sight of a bear or moose-deer had the effect of waking him up in a way that caused his dark eyes to flash and his large frame to move with cat-like activity. when reuben guff discovered him on the shore of lake superior, he was seated at the door of his skin lodge, anointing his hair, which was long and black, with bear's grease--the "genuine article," without even the admixture of a drop of scent!--so pure, in fact, that the indian basted his steaks and anointed his hair with grease from the same box. "hallo! swiftarrow," exclaimed reuben, as he sauntered up to the savage, with his gun on his shoulder, "ye seem to be beautifyin' yerself to-day--not goin' to get married, eh?" swiftarrow, whose long hair hung over his face like a glossy curtain, tossed aside his locks and gazed earnestly at the hunter. a slight smile and a pleasant gleam lighted up his dark countenance as he wiped his greasy right hand on his legging and extended it, exclaiming, "watchee!" by which he meant, what cheer? "what cheer? what cheer?" replied reuben, with a broad but quiet grin, as he shook his friend's hand heartily. each man understood the other's language perfectly; but each appeared to prefer to talk in his own tongue; for while reuben addressed the red man in english, swiftarrow replied in indian. this had been an understood arrangement between them ever since the time when, as lads, they had first met and formed a close friendship, on the shores of lake huron. "is my brother's trail to be through the woods or on the waters? does he go hunting or trading?" inquired the indian, after the first salutations were over. "well, i may say that i'm neither goin' a-huntin' or tradin'--here, fill yer pipe wi' baccy from my pouch; it's better than yours, i'll be bound. in a manner, too, i'm goin' both to hunt an' trade in a small way; but my main business on this trip is to be diskivery." the indian uttered a sound, which meant that he did not understand. "i'm goin' to sarch out new lands," explained reuben, "away to the far north. i've heard it said by injins that have wandered to the nor'ard that they've met in with red-skins, who said that there is a big river flowin' out o' a great lake in the direction o' the north pole, an' that it runs into the sea there. they may be tellin' truth, or they may be tellin' lies; i dun know; anyhow, i'm koorious to know somethin' about it, so i'm goin' north to see for myself, and i've comed to ask if swiftarrow will go with me." the hunter paused, but the indian remained silently smoking his long stone-headed pipe, or calumet, with a countenance so grave and expressionless, that no idea of his sentiments could be gathered from it. after a brief pause, reuben continued-"it won't be altogether a trip of diskivery neither, for i've got some bales of goods with me, and as we go in a small birch canoe, we'll travel light; but i hope to come back sunk to the gunwale with furs, for the red-skins of the far north are like enough to have plenty of pelts, and they won't ask much for them. as to grub, you and i could manage to supply ourselves wi' lots o' that anywheres, and i've got plenty of powder and lead. moreover, my boy lawrence is goin' with me." during the foregoing remarks, the indian's countenance betrayed no sign of feeling until the name of lawrence was mentioned, when a gleam of satisfaction shot from his eyes. removing the pipe from his lips, he puffed a volume of smoke through his nostrils, and said:-"swiftarrow will go." backwoodsmen seldom take long to mature their plans, and are generally prompt to carry them into execution. two days after the brief conversation above narrated, the three friends pushed off in their little birch-bark canoe and paddled up the stream which leads to the kakabeka falls on the kamenistaquoia river. surmounting this obstacle by the simple process of carrying the canoe and her lading past the falls by land, and relaunching on the still water above, they continued their voyage day by day, encamping under the trees by night, until they had penetrated far and deep into the heart of the northern wilderness, and had even passed beyond the most distant establishments of the adventurous fur-traders. the world of forest, swamp, lake, and river, that still, however, lay between them and the land which they sought to reach, was very wide. weeks, and even months, would certainly elapse before they could hope to approach it; one day, therefore, they buried their goods and stores in a convenient place, intending to dig them up on their return, and meanwhile turned aside into a country which promised to afford them a good supply of fresh provisions for the voyage north. here an adventure befell them which brought their voyage of discovery, at that time, to an abrupt close. chapter two. terrible discoveries and altered plans. "ho!" ejaculated swiftarrow. "smoke!" exclaimed reuben guff. both men spoke at the same moment,--their discovery having been simultaneous. at the same time lawrence pointed with the blade of his paddle to a thin line of smoke which rose above the tree-tops into the blue sky, and was faithfully mirrored in the lake on which they floated. "injins!" said reuben, resting his steering paddle across the canoe for a few seconds. swiftarrow assented with another "ho," and lawrence moved his gun into a handy position to be ready for an emergency; but there was no other sign of man's presence than the wreath of smoke. all was perfectly silent. the air too was quite still, and the surface of the lake resembled a sheet of glass. "strange," observed reuben, "red-skins ain't usually so shy. if they mean mischief they don't ever let smoke be seen, an' when they don't mean mischief they generally show themselves. come, push on, lads; we'll go see what's i' the wind." "i'll show them the muzzle, father," said lawrence, laying down his paddle and taking up his gun: "it may be well to let 'em see that we have arms." "no need for that, boy. if they know anything at all, they know that white men don't go about in the wilderness empty-handed. put down the piece, and use your paddle." thus reproved, lawrence flushed slightly, but obeyed the order and resumed paddling. in a few minutes they were on shore. still all was silent as the grave. hauling the bow of the canoe on the beach to keep it fast, the three men took their weapons, and, entering the woods in single file, walked cautiously but swiftly in the direction of the smoke. they soon reached the spot, and the scene which met their eyes was one which, while it accounted for the silence that reigned around, filled their minds with sadness and horror. in an open space, where a number of trees had been cut down, stood about a dozen skin tents or indian lodges, some with the curtain-doors closed, others open, exposing the interiors, on the floors of which the dead bodies of indian men, women, and children, lay in every attitude and in all stages of decomposition. outside of the tents other corpses lay strewn on the ground, and most of these bore evidence of having been more or less torn by wolves. the travellers knew at a glance that these unfortunate people had fallen before that terrible disease, small-pox, which had recently attacked and almost depopulated several districts of the indian country. how the disease was introduced among the indians at the time of which we write, it is impossible to say and useless to conjecture. the fact of its desolating effects is unquestionable. one who dwelt in the country at the time writes: [see sir alexander mackenzie's _voyages_, page 14.] "the fatal infection spread around with a baneful rapidity which no flight could escape, and with a fatal effect that nothing could resist. it destroyed with its pestilential breath whole families and tribes; and the horrid scene presented, to those who had the melancholy opportunity of beholding it, a combination of the dead, the dying, and such as, to avoid the fate of their friends around them, prepared to disappoint the plague of its prey by terminating their own existence. to aggravate the picture, if aggravation were possible, the carcases were dragged forth from the huts by the wolves, or were mangled within them by the dogs, which thus sought to satisfy their hunger with the putrid remains of their masters. it was not uncommon at this time for the father of a family, whom the infection had not reached, to call his household around him, represent the terrible sufferings and fate that awaited them, which he believed was owing to the influence of an evil spirit who desired to extirpate the race, and incited them to baffle death with all its horrors by at once killing themselves--at the same time offering to perform the deed of mercy with his own hand if their hearts should fail them." that some of the dead before our pioneers had acted in this way was evident, for while most of the corpses bore marks of having been smitten with the disease, others were there which showed nothing to account for death save a knife wound over the region of the heart. it was a sad and sickening sight, and drew forth one or two low-toned sorrowful remarks from reuben, as he moved slowly towards the tent from which smoke still issued. the three men paused before it because a sound came from within, and they felt reluctant to disturb the awful silence. the pause, however, was but momentary. reuben lifted the covering and opened it wide. a small fire still burned on the hearth in the centre of the lodge; around it lay the bodies of dead men, women, and children. only one figure, that of an old woman, remained in a half-reclining position, but she was motionless, and they thought her dead also. this, however, was not the case. the flood of light which streamed in on her appeared to rouse her, for she raised her grey head, and, gazing anxiously at the figures which darkened the entrance of the lodge, asked in a tremulous voice: "is that you, my son?" "no, mother, but it is a friend," said swiftarrow, who understood her language. "a friend," repeated the old woman, shaking her head slowly, "i don't want a friend. the master of life is my friend. my people said that an evil spirit was slaying them; but i know better. it was the great spirit who came to us. we have been very wicked. we needed punishment. but why has he spared me? i was the worst of them all." there was something terrible in the tone and manner in which this was uttered, as if the breast of the speaker were torn with conflicting feelings. "she must have met wi' the missionaries some time or other," whispered reuben. "is the old woman the only one of all the tribe left alive?" asked swiftarrow. "ay, the only one--no, not the _only_ one; my son is yet alive. he went to set a bear-trap not _very_ long since; but he should have come back before now. he will be back soon." the deep sigh which followed proved that the poor old woman was hoping against hope. "how long is't since he left you, mother?" asked lawrence eagerly. "two suns have risen and set since he left, and he had not far to go." "father, i'll go seek for this man," said lawrence; "something may have befallen him." reuben made no objection, and the youth set off immediately in a direction which was pointed out by the old woman. after he was gone his father and the indian shifted one of the cleanest looking of the empty tents to a considerable distance from the spot where the terrible work of death had been done, and removing the old woman from the neighbourhood of the pestilential atmosphere, placed her therein, kindled a fire and cooked her a little food, of which she evidently stood much in need. meanwhile lawrence sped through the pathless forest with the light step of a strong youth and the precision of a practised hunter. about four miles from the indian camp he came upon the track of a bear, the footprints of which proved that it was an unusually large one. he followed it up closely, and was led by it to a spot where some trees had been cut down, and not far from which he saw what appeared to him to be the remains of a trap. almost at the same moment of his making this discovery he heard a growl, and saw the bear itself--a monster of the brown species, which differs from the ordinary black bear of america in being more carnivorous and much larger, as well as more savage and bold. no sooner did it see the youth than it rushed upon him with great fury. a piece of broken line was drawn tight round its neck, and another piece round its fore-leg, while four arrows stuck in its shoulder and side, showing plainly that it had broken loose from a snare and had been attacked by man. but lawrence had no time to think on these things. he had barely time to throw forward and cock his gun when the bear was upon him. it rose on its hind-legs, and in doing so towered high above the youth, who, whatever his feelings might have been, looked undismayed. with an unflinching eye he took aim at the monster's heart, and shot it dead. so close was it to him that he singed the hair on its breast and had to leap to one side to avoid being struck as it fell. reloading quickly, the young hunter advanced towards the trap, where his worst fears were realised, for near to it he found the body of an indian torn limb from limb, and mostly eaten, except the head, which remained entire. it was evident that the poor man, having set several snares for bears, had gone to visit them, and found this brown bear caught by the head and leg. he seemed to have tried to kill it with arrows, but must have been afraid to go near enough to use his weapons with effect, and the enraged animal, having broken the snare, flew upon him and tore him to pieces. brown bears of this kind are very powerful. one traveller in these regions saw the footprints of a large one, which, having seized a moose-deer in a river, dragged it for a quarter of a mile along the sandy banks, and afterwards devoured it all except part of the hind-quarters; and the moose which had been treated in this unceremonious way, judging from the size and hardness of the bones, must have been upwards of a year old, when it would weigh as much as an ox of the same age. collecting the scattered remnants of the unfortunate indian, who was no other than the old woman's son, lawrence covered them over with leaves and sticks. he then skinned the bear and cut off its claws, which he carried away as trophies, along with one or two choice steaks cut from the creature's flank. he also collected the weapons and part of the dress of the indian, with which he returned to the camp. "heyday! lawrence, what have you got there, lad?" said reuben, as his son came up and threw the bundle on the ground. "a brown bear, father." "well done!" exclaimed reuben, with a look of pride, for although his son had shot many a black bear in the forest, he had never before stood face to face with such a monster as that whose skin and claws now lay at his feet. "it would have been well, father," said lawrence gravely, "if the man who first saw this had owned a gun. his arrows were no better than needles in such a hide. see here!" he drew from his breast the bloody portions of dress which had belonged to the slaughtered indian. "the son of the old woman has gone to the happy hunting-grounds," said swiftarrow, referring to the heaven of the indian, as he lifted and examined the dress. "ay, ay," said reuben sadly, "'tis the chances of the wilderness. you'd better tell the poor old creetur', swiftarrow; you understand her ways and lingo better than me." silently the indian went to the old woman, and laid the bloody garments before her. at first she did not understand what had happened. suddenly the truth flashed upon her, and she looked quickly up into the grave countenance of the indian, but death and sorrow appeared to have already done their worst on her, for she neither spoke nor wept for some time. she took up the shreds of cloth and turned them over tenderly; but neither sign nor groan escaped her. evidently she had been already so stunned by the horrors which had surrounded her for some time, that this additional blow did not tell--at least, not at first--but reuben observed, while trying to comfort her some time afterwards, that a few tears were coursing slowly down her withered cheeks. that night, round the camp-fire, the pioneers held earnest counsel, and resolved, sadly but firmly, that their projected journey must be given up for that season. "it's a hard thing to do," said reuben, as he lay at full length before the fire after supper, "to give up our plans after comin' so far; but it ain't possible to carry that old 'ooman along with us an' it's not to be thought of to leave her behind to starve, so there's nothin' for it but to go back an' take her wi' us to the settlements. i would feel like a murderer if i was to leave one o' god's creeturs to perish in the wilderness. what think you, lawrence?" "i think you are right, father," replied the youth, with a deep sigh. "an' what says swiftarrow?" "go back," was the indian's prompt and laconic answer. "well, then, we're all agreed, so we'll turn back on our trail to-morrow; but i shall try again next year if i'm above ground. i once know'd a yankee who had what he called a motto, an' it was this, `never give in, 'xcept w'en yer wrong.' i think i'll take to that motto. it seems to me a good 'un." in proof, we presume, of his sincerity, reuben guff rolled himself in his blanket, stretched his feet towards the fire, pillowed his head on a bundle of moss, and at once _gave in_ to the seductive influences of sleep; an example which was so irresistible that his companions followed it without delay. chapter three. introduces the king of pioneers. discarding space and ignoring time, we seize you by the hand, reader, and bound away with you still deeper into the northern wilderness, away into that remote region which, at the time we write of, was the _ultima thule_ of the fur-traders of canada,--beyond which lay the great unknown world, stretching to the pole. here, amid the grand scenery of the rocky mountains, lies the athabasca lake, also styled the lake of the hills. we prefer the latter name, as being more romantic. this is no pretty pond such as we in england are wont to visit and delight in during our summer holidays. it is a great sheet of water; a grand fresh-water sea, 200 miles long and 15 miles broad--a fitting gem for the bosom of the mighty region on which it glitters. a year has fled since the period of our last chapter, and here, in a birch-bark canoe on the waters of the lake of the hills, we find our pioneers--reuben guff, his son lawrence, and his indian friend swiftarrow. there is also a young indian woman in the canoe-swiftarrow's wife. the kind-hearted red man adopted the old woman who had been rescued on their previous trip, but, not finding her a good substitute for his own mother, he bethought him of adding a young squaw to his establishment. while he meditated on this step, the old woman died. about the same time reuben guff made proposals to him to join him on a second "v'yage of diskivery." the indian agreed; got married off-hand, and took his bride along with him. we now find them all four at the lake of the hills. it may be as well to observe, in passing, that indian brides are usually more robust than those of civilised communities. they are quite competent to follow their lords on the most arduous canoe voyages, and, besides being able to wield the paddle with great dexterity, are exceedingly useful in managing what may be styled the domestic matters of the camp. they also keep up a constant supply of the indian's indispensable foot-gear--moccasins--which are so slender in their nature that a pair may be completely worn-out in a single day of hard hunting. the brown bride, therefore, was not a hindrance to the party, but a useful member of it, as well as a pleasant companion. true, her companionship consisted chiefly in answering "yes" and "no" when spoken to, and in smiling pleasantly at all times; but this was sufficient to satisfy the moderate demands of her male friends upon her intellectual resources. "fort chipewyan at _last_," said reuben, resting his paddle across the canoe and looking earnestly towards the horizon; "i hope we ain't too late after all our pushin' on. it would be hard to find that monsieur mackenzie had started." "too much ice in the lake," said swiftarrow. "he has not gone yet." "i'm not so sure o' that," observed lawrence. "if reports be true, monsieur mackenzie is not the man to wait until the ice is all off the lakes and nothin' but plain sailin' lies before him." "that's true, lad," replied reuben, resuming his paddle. "i wonder," he murmured to himself, as he gazed wistfully towards the unknown north, "i wonder if the big river is really there, an' if it _do_ jine the sea?" that same question was put to himself that same evening--though not for the first time--by one of the inhabitants of fort chipewyan. the fort was a mere group of two or three log-huts. in the largest of these huts sat a man whose strongly-marked handsome countenance gave evidence of a bold enterprising spirit and a resolute will. he pored over a map for some time, carefully tracing a few pencil-lines into the blank spaces on the paper, and then murmured, in words which were almost identical with those of reuben guff, "i wonder if it joins the polar sea?" this man was the true pioneer, or, rather, the king of pioneers, to whom guff gave place without a murmur, for reuben was a modest man; and the moment he heard that one of the gentlemen of the canadian fur-trading company had taken up his favourite hobby, and meant to work out the problem, he resolved, as he said, "to play second fiddle," all the more that the man who thus unwittingly supplanted him was a mountaineer of the scottish highlands. "it's of no manner of use, you see," he said to swiftarrow, when conversing on the subject, "for me to go off on a v'yage o' diskivery w'en a gentleman like monsieur mackenzie, with a good edication an' scienteefic knowledge and the wealth of a fur company at his back, is goin' to take it in hand. no; the right thing for reuben guff to do in the circumstances is to jine him an' play second fiddle--or third, if need be." alexander mackenzie--while seated in the lowly hut of that solitary outpost poring over his map, trying to penetrate mentally into those mysterious and unknown lands which lay just beyond him--saw, in imagination, a great river winding its course among majestic mountains towards the shores of the ice-laden polar seas. he also saw the lofty peaks and snow-clad ridges of that mighty range which forms the back-bone of the american continent, and--again in imagination--passed beyond it and penetrated the vast wilderness to the pacific, thus adding new lands to the british crown, and opening up new sources of wealth to the fur company of which he was one of the most energetic members. he saw all this in imagination, we say, but he did _not_, at that time, see his name attached to one of the largest american rivers, classed with the names of the most noted discoverers of the world, and himself knighted. still less, if possible, did he see, even in his wildest flights of fancy, that the book of travels which he was destined to write, would be translated into french by the order of napoleon the first, for the express purpose of being studied by marshal bernadotte, with the view of enabling that warrior to devise a roundabout and unlooked-for attack on canada--in rear, as it were--from the region of the northern wilderness--a fact which is well worthy of record! [see appendix for an interesting letter on the subject.] none of these things loomed on the mind of the modest though romantic and enterprising man, for at that time he was only at the beginning of his career of discovery. it may not be out of place here to say a word or two as to the early career of the hero whose footsteps we are about to follow. he was a highlander, to begin with; and possessed all the fire and determination peculiar to that race. at an early period of life he was led to engage in commercial enterprises in the country north-west of lake superior, joined the north-west fur company of canada in 1784, and went into the indian country the following spring. it is not necessary to say more than that alexander mackenzie proved himself to be a first-rate fur-trader at a time when the fur-trade was carried on under great difficulties and amid severe privations. for many years he was in charge of fort chipewyan, the remote establishment to which we have just conducted our reader. seven years before his coming on the scene, the lake of the hills had not been visited by white men, and was known only through indian report. when mackenzie became ruler of the district, all beyond the lake was _terra incognita_. his spirit was one which thirsted to explore the unknown. he was eminently fitted both to hold an advanced post and to invade new regions, being robust in constitution, powerful in frame, inquisitive in mind, and enterprising in spirit. frequently had he arrived at fort chipewyan with ninety or a hundred men without any provision for their sustenance for the winter save their fishing-nets and guns. he was therefore accustomed to live from hand to mouth, and to depend on his own exertions and resources in a country where the winter is upwards of eight months long and the severity of the climate extreme. it was in june 1789 that he made preparations to start on his first voyage of discovery. rising from the table at which he had been studying his projected route, mackenzie turned, with the air of a man who has made up his mind, and said to a clerk who was smoking beside the fireplace-"le roux, if we cannot prevail on these indians to accompany us, i have determined to start without them. has the small canoe been gummed?" "it has," answered le roux, "but i would advise delay for a day or two. if we give them time, the indians may change their minds; besides, the ice has not yet sufficiently cleared away." mackenzie paced the room impatiently, and his eyes flashed for one moment with impatience. they were deep blue eyes that could beam with melting tenderness or sparkle with suppressed passion--it is but just to add that passion in his case was usually suppressed, for he was a lover of peace, as most truly great and powerful men usually are: "let us see now," he said, sitting down in front of le roux, "how our resources stand. in my canoe there will be the four canadians and the german. then there's our indian friend, english chief and his two wives, who will embark in the second-sized canoe. the two young indians whom we want to accompany us with their wives must make up their minds to-night, else i will start without them. your own canoe with goods for trade and provisions, will not be fully loaded; i shall therefore place in it the provisions that we can't carry, and when we come to the place where you are to stop and trade, and where i shall bid you farewell, we shall doubtless have eaten our lading down sufficiently to take the whole on board. see, by the way, that the goods and trinkets to be given in presents as we go along are not placed in the wrong canoe." "they are already laid with the other goods, and also the nets and ammunition by themselves," said le roux, rising and laying down his pipe. at that moment reuben guff entered with his friends. the surprise of mackenzie was great on beholding them, but greater still was his delight when he learned their errand. the young indians were forthwith told that their services would not now be required, and our friends-including swiftarrow's wife, darkeye--were at once added to the exploring party. next day the expedition set forth from fort chipewyan and swept over the broad breast of the lake of the hills. we will not trace their course over known ground. suffice it to say that their troubles began at once. soon after leaving the lake they came to a rapid part of the river which flows out of it, where they were obliged to land and carry canoes and goods to the still water further down, but here the ice was still unthawed on the banks, rendering the process of reloading difficult. soon after they came to a place called the _portage_ _d'embarras_, which is occasioned by driftwood filling up the channel of the river. there they entered the slave river, where there is a portage or carrying-place named the mountain, the landing at which is very steep and close to the fall. below this fall there is a mile of dangerous rapids--and here they met with their first disaster. reuben and swiftarrow having landed with part of the cargo of the small canoe, had left it in charge of darkeye,--so named because of her large and lustrous eyes, which, however, were the only good points about her, for she was ill-favoured and clumsy, though strong of frame and a diligent worker. while she was moving from one point of rock to another that appeared to her more convenient for landing, the canoe was caught by an eddy and swept in a moment out into the strong current, down which it sped with fearful velocity towards the falls. darkeye was quite collected and cool, but she happened to dip her paddle on the edge of a sunk rock with such vigour that the canoe overturned. upon the heights above her husband saw the accident, and stood rooted for a moment in helpless dismay to the spot. it chanced that lawrence guff was at the time the only man near the unfortunate woman, who, although she swam like an otter, could not gain the bank. seeing this, the youth sprang towards a jutting rock that almost overhung the fall, and entering the rushing stream so deeply that he could barely retain his foothold, caught the woman by the hair of the head as she was sweeping towards the edge of the fall. the two swayed for a few seconds on the verge of destruction; then swiftarrow came bounding down the bank like a deer, and, catching lawrence by the hand, dragged them both out of danger; but before they were fairly landed the canoe was carried over the falls, dashed to pieces, and in a few seconds its shreds were tossed wildly on the surging rapids far down the river. this accident caused them little loss beyond the canoe, which was soon replaced by another, purchased from a party of indians, with whom they fell in that same evening. passing through slave river, they swept out on the bright waters of great slave lake. over these they sped during several days. this lake is one of the largest fresh-water oceans of the continent, about 250 miles long and 50 broad. and here the work of exploration fairly began. great slave lake was at that time imperfectly known from indian report; and the river of which they were in search flowed, it was supposed, out of its western extremity. here also monsieur le roux was to be left behind with a party of men to prosecute the fur-trade. chapter four. vicissitudes of the voyage--indians met with, etcetera. we have passed over the first three weeks of the voyage rapidly, but it must not be supposed that therefore it was all plain sailing. on the contrary, the travellers were delayed by thunderstorms, and heavy rains, and gales, and impeded by ice, which, even in the middle of june lay thick on the waters in some parts. they were also tormented by hosts of mosquitoes, and at times they found difficulty in procuring food-despite the ability of our friends reuben, swiftarrow, and lawrence, who were constituted hunters to the expedition. at other times, however, the supply of food was abundant and varied. on one occasion the hunters brought in seven geese, a beaver, and four ducks, besides which a large supply of excellent trout and other fish was obtained from the nets; and on another occasion they procured two swans, ten beavers, and a goose. but sometimes they returned empty-handed, or with a single bird or so, while the nets produced nothing at all. deer were also shot occasionally, and they found immense numbers of wild cranberries, strawberries, rasps, and other berries, besides small spring onions; so that, upon the whole, they fared well, and days of abstinence were more than compensated by days of superabundance. one evening while they were coasting along this great lake, some indians were discovered on the shore, and the travellers landed to make inquiries of them as to the nature of the country beyond. there were three lodges belonging to the red-knife indians, who were so named because their knifes were made of the copper found in that region. to the leading man of these, english chief, being interpreter, addressed himself. english chief, we may remark in passing, was one of the followers of the chief who conducted hearne on his expedition to the coppermine river; since which event he had been a principal leader of his countrymen who were in the habit of carrying furs to the english fur-traders at churchill, on hudson's bay, and was much attached to the interest of the hudson bay company, which, at that time, was in opposition to the canadian or nor'-west company. these circumstances procured him the title of the english chief. an able, active, but self-sufficient and somewhat obstinate chief he was, and caused mackenzie a good deal of anxiety and much trouble to keep him with the party. in answer to his queries, the principal man of the red-knife indians said that there were many more of his tribe a short distance off, and that he would send a man to fetch them. he also said that the explorers should see no more of them at that time, because the slave and beaver indians, as well as others of the tribe, were about to depart, and would not be in that region again till the time when the swans cast their feathers. "ask him," said mackenzie, "if he and his friends have many furs to dispose of." to this the indian replied by at once producing upwards of eight large packs of good beaver and marten skins; and added the information that his friends had plenty more. "now, then, le roux," said mackenzie, turning to his clerk, "here you and i shall part. this seems a good spot and a good opportunity for opening up the trade with these indians. when the rest of them arrive we shall have a palaver, and then you shall remain to look after them, so, open up your packs, and get ready a few small presents without delay." that day was spent in considerable bustle and excitement; the indians being overjoyed that the white traders had at last penetrated into their country; and their joy being increased by the distribution of such trifling, but much-prized, gifts as glass beads, knives, small looking-glasses, etcetera. it rained in torrents all the time but this did not damp their spirits; and as for their bodies--they were used to it! in the afternoon mackenzie assembled the whole tribe, and made them the following speech, which was translated by english chief in a very pompous manner, for that excellent red-skin was fully alive to the dignity of his position. "my friends," began our explorer, "i am glad to meet with you. the white man and the indians are always glad to meet--they can benefit each other mutually. each has got what the other requires. i have come for the purpose of opening up trade with you. it is true that i myself will take my departure to-morrow, because i am in search of new lands; but some of my people will remain on the spot, and if you bring in a sufficient quantity of furs to make it answer, my men will return to fort chipewyan for more goods, and will spend the winter here. they will build a fort and continue to dwell among you as long as you shall be found to deserve it." at this point the speaker paused, and the dark-skinned audience gave vent to a loud "ho!" which was equivalent to the british "hear, hear!" "in regard to my own work," continued mackenzie, "i intend to search for, and find the great river, which, it is said, flows out of this lake, and follow its current to the sea--or, as you call it, the great salt lake. do my brothers know anything about this river? if so, let them speak." hereupon an old chief, with hair like small iron wire, and a skin like shoe-leather, got up, and delivered himself as follows-"we are glad to hear what our white brother says. it encourages us to know that you will make a trading fort in our country, for we have need of one. hitherto we have had to travel far--very far--with our furs; or if, to save trouble, we intrusted our furs to the chipewyans, they often pillaged us, or, at most, gave us very little for the fruits of our toil. for a long time we have been so discouraged that we had no motive to pursue the beaver, except to obtain a sufficiency of food and clothing. now if you come to us, we shall be happy--wauch!" the last word was equivalent to the expression--"there, think o' that!" the old man paused as if to give his audience time for reflection. "as to the great river," he continued sententiously, "we know of its existence; but none of our tribe has ever followed its course down to the great salt lake. we earnestly advise our brother not to go there, for it is a dreadful river. it is said that there are two impassable falls in its course; and it is so long that old age will come upon you before the time of your return. you will also encounter monsters of horrid shapes and awful strength on the land and in the water--wauch!" the old chief began to glare solemnly at this point, and the whole tribe followed his example. "it is said," he continued, "that there are bears which eat the trees as if they were grass; whose cubs, even at their birth, are strong enough to kill the stoutest man. there are monsters in the river so big that a canoe full of men would be but a mouthful to them. there are so few animals or fish fit for food, that you will all certainly be starved. and, besides all this, evil spirits dwell there, whose chief delight lies in attacking, killing, roasting, and devouring men--wauch!" here the indian sat down with the decision of a man who has given unanswerable arguments for the overturning of foolish plans; nevertheless, mackenzie's plans remained unaltered. not so, however, those of a young indian, who had been engaged to guide the explorers to the other end of the lake, in order to save them from the loss of time which would be occasioned by the necessity of coasting round its numerous bays. the imagination of this youth--coppernose, as lawrence guff facetiously styled him--was so wrought upon by the dreadful description of the great river, that he manifested a strong desire to draw back; but by the timely addition of a small kettle, an axe, a knife, and a few beads to the gifts already bestowed on him, he was eventually persuaded to venture. before departing, poor coppernose took a ceremonious leave of his family. he cut off a lock of his hair, and divided it into three parts. one of these he fastened to the top of his wife's head, and blew on it three times with the utmost violence, at the same time uttering certain cabalistic words. the other two portions he fastened with the same formalities to the heads of his two children. even at the last he hesitated, and was finally made to enter the canoe more by force than by persuasion! a few days later, and our pioneers were fairly embarked on the great river, whose course to the mouth it was their object to explore. the expedition was now somewhat reduced, owing to monsieur le roux having been left behind. it consisted of three canoes--the large one with mackenzie and five men; a small one, with english chief and his two wives, and coppernose; and another small one, containing reuben, his son, swiftarrow, and darkeye. two of the canadians were also attended by their wives; so that the party numbered sixteen souls, five of whom were women. they all kept company as much as possible, but english chief was frequently left behind by the large canoe; while reuben and his friends, being the hunters as we have said, were necessarily absent for considerable periods in search of game. one evening as they were descending a beautiful sweep of the river under sail in grand style, the english chief--leaning composedly back in his canoe, while his right hand slightly moved the steering paddle, and his teeth grasped his beloved pipe--said quietly to coppernose, of course in the indian tongue-"a pretty guide you are, not to know something more about a river so near to your own wigwam." coppernose, who was a humble-minded man, smiled slightly, and shook his head as he said-"all red men are not so adventurous as the english chief. i never had occasion to travel in this direction, and do not know the way." "boo!" ejaculated english chief; meaning, no doubt, fiddlededee! "but i know of a river," continued coppernose, "which falls into this one from the north, and comes from the horn mountain that we passed at the end of great slave lake; it is the country of the beaver indians. my relations meet me frequently on that river. there are great plains on both sides of that river, which abound in buffaloes and moose-deer." "i don't believe it--wauch!" said english chief. as this was a discouraging reception of his remarks, coppernose relapsed into silence. soon afterwards the large canoe was observed to make for a low grassy point; and as it was about the usual camping time, english chief made for the same place. the hunters reached it about ten minutes later, and bore into camp two reindeer, four geese, and a swan, besides a large quantity of berries gathered by the fair (or brown) hands of darkeye. "there is plenty of game everywhere," said reuben, in answer to a query from his leader, "we might have killed much more if we'd had more time-but enough is as good as a feast, as the sayin' goes in my country." "in _your_ country?" said mackenzie, with a smile. "ay, i claim to be a scotchman--though i was born and raised in canada-my father hailed from the land o' cakes." "does lawrence claim the same nationality on the same ground, reuben?" "he does not!" answered lawrence for himself, while busy cleaning his father's gun. "the lad loves the canadians," replied reuben, with a chuckle; "besides, he couldn't claim it on the same ground, seein' that i am fully half a scot, while he is at least three-quarters a canadian." "more the better luck for him," said one of the canadians, who had already kindled a fire, before which one of his comrades was busily engaged setting up juicy venison steaks to roast. "oui," observed another; "vraiment, canada beats scottish land altogeder." "ha! faderland ees more best, den all ze vorld," said the german, quaffing a can of water with as much zest as if it had been his own native rhine wine. "i warrant me," said mackenzie with a laugh, "that our trusty guide, coppernose, would not give the wilderness here for canada, scotland, and faderland put together. what say you, lad?" coppernose looked gravely at his questioner, but made no reply. "boo!" said english chief; regarding his countryman with a look of contempt; "hims no onerstan' eengleesh." "he understands how to eat a rumpsteak of venison, however," said mackenzie, with a laugh, as coppernose at that moment coolly appropriated a mass of half-roasted meat, and began to devour it. "you'd better follow his example, lads." the men were not slow to take this advice. in a short time all were more or less busily engaged with venison steaks, marrow-bones, goose drum-sticks, and fish; and comparative silence prevailed while the cravings of nature were being appeased. after supper, pipes were lighted, and conversation became animated for some time; but they were all too much fatigued to prolong this period, interesting though it was. one after another they spread their blankets under a convenient bush or tree, and, ere long, the whole party was in the land of nod. chapter five. describes a literal wild-goose chase and other matters. time sped on its proverbially rapid wing; the summer advanced, and still mackenzie and his men continued to descend the mighty river of the far north, encountering dangers and vicissitudes enough undoubtedly, but happily escaping those terrified monsters of the forest and the flood, which had been described by the copper indians of great slave lake, and the thought of which caused poor coppernose himself to grow terrified and desperate by turns. fain would that unhappy son of the forest have bid the party farewell, and returned to his own wigwam alone; but this might not be, for his services were of some importance, and the leader of the expedition kept on him constantly an eye, which excelled in intense watchfulness the glare of the fiercest of those creatures which filled his imagination. he submitted, therefore, with the best grace he could assume; but, what between being watched by mackenzie, haunted by ghosts, and bullied by english chief, poor coppernose had a sad time of it. he possessed, however, a naturally elastic and jovial spirit, which tended greatly to ameliorate his condition; and as time passed by without any serious mishap, or the appearance of any unusually dreadful creature, he became gradually reconciled to his position. one day--perhaps we should rather say one night, for it was approaching midnight, although the sun was still above the horizon, owing to the high northern latitude to which they had attained, rendering the whole twenty-four hours round a continuous day--one day (or night) as the canoes were sweeping down a reach of the broad river, they saw a few wreaths of smoke rising above the tree-tops. the spot was very beautiful, being thickly wooded and backed by high land, on the slopes of which the trees and bushes hung like delicate fringes of green among masses of silvery grey rock. "that looks like the smoke of an indian wigwam, louis," said mackenzie to his bowman. "no, monsieur, it is the wood burning," replied louis, dipping his vermilion-painted paddle with great vigour. louis was right, for soon afterwards they turned a point which disclosed to their view a considerable tract of woodland which had been recently destroyed by fire. several tracts of this kind had been already passed, some of which had been consumed long before, and forests of young poplars had grown up in their places--a curious circumstance this, which mackenzie remarks on, namely, "that wherever land covered with spruce, pine, and white birch had been laid waste with fire, there poplars, and nothing else, were found to grow, even though none of that species of tree had existed there before." passing this desolated tract they came to a part of the river which was studded with several islands, on one of which reindeer were seen. "there's your chance," said mackenzie to his hunters, who happened to range up alongside in their small canoe at that moment. "we've seed 'em, monsieur," said reuben, "but we must have some more ammunition afore startin' after them, for the powder-horns of lawrence and swiftarrow are both empty." as soon as the horns were replenished, reuben and his friends pushed out into the stream and made for the island. the other canoes continued to advance. they seldom waited for the hunters, for the latter being comparatively light, could act as a sort of flying artillery, falling behind, turning aside, or pushing ahead, as the case might require, in pursuit of game, and almost always returning to the main body about the camping hour, or soon after it. on this evening, however, the canoes reached a snug camping-ground before the usual time; they therefore determined to stop there and set the nets, as well as to overhaul the canoes, which stood much in need of repair. the cold of the ice-laden waters, through which they had recently passed, had cracked the gum off the seams, and collisions with the ice itself had made some ugly slits in the birch-bark of which the canoes were made. that evening the nets, which were set in four fathoms water, produced an abundant supply of carp, whitefish, and trout. "now, lads," said mackenzie, when the canoe brought ashore the welcome provisions, "set the women to work to make pemmican, for we must leave a supply concealed here against our return." louis blanc superintended the making of this pemmican, which consisted of fish dried in the sun and pounded between two stones. pemmican is also made of meat, in which case the pounded meat is put into a bag made of the raw hide of the animal; the bag is then filled with melted fat and the mouth sewed up with raw sinews. this style of pemmican will keep fresh for years. "where did english chief go when we landed?" asked mackenzie. "don't know, monsieur," replied louis. "after game, probably," observed the leader, as he sat down on the stump of a fallen tree and began to make notes in his journal. some time thereafter, reuben's canoe returned laden with two deer, besides two swans, a number of ducks and hares, and several brace of ptarmigan, which latter were quite grey at that season, with the exception of one or two pure white feathers in the tail. they said that wild-fowl were innumerable among the islands; but this, indeed, was obvious to all, for everywhere their plaintive and peculiar cries, and the whirring or flapping of their wings, were heard even when the leafy screen over the encampment hid themselves from view. darkeye also contributed her share to the general supplies, in the shape of several large birch-baskets full of gooseberries, cranberries, juniper-berries, rasps, and other wild berries, which, she said, grew luxuriantly in many places. meanwhile, the night (as regards _time_) advanced, although the daylight did not disappear, or even much diminish, but english chief, with coppernose and his two squaws, did not return, and their prolonged absence became at length a cause of no little anxiety to the leader of the expedition. the fact was that english chief was fond of a little fun, and despite the dignified position which he held, and the maturity of his years, he could not resist availing himself of any little chance that came in his way of having what is more pithily than elegantly styled "a spree." it happened to be the particular period at which the wild-fowl of those regions begin to cast their feathers. knowing this, english chief quietly slipped off with his canoe when mackenzie landed, and soon found a colony of swans afflicted with that humiliating lack of natural clothing, which is the cause, doubtless, of their periodically betaking themselves to the uttermost ends of the earth in order to hide in deep solitude their poverty, and there renew their garments. judge then, reader, if you can, the consternation with which these once graceful creatures discovered that their retreat had been found out by that inquisitive biped, man--that they were actually caught in the act of moulting! uttering a terrific "hoozoo!" or some such equally wild red-indian hunting cry, english chief dashed his paddle into the water; squaws and comrade followed suit; the canoe shot in among the rushes, and the whole party leaped on shore. thus taken by surprise the swans bounced up, extended their miserable wings, uttered a trumpet-blast of alarm, and sought to fly. of course they failed, but although they could not fly, they fled on the wings of terror, and with straight necks, heads low, legs doing double duty, and remnants of wings doing what they could, they made for the interior of the island at a pace which at first defied pursuit. the higher part of the island was level and open, with here and there a few stunted bushes. arrived here the trumpeting crew scattered, like wise troops when pursued. english chief set his heart and eyes on a particularly large bird, and dashed after it with upraised paddle. the swan made a desperate _detour_, apparently bent on gaining the water; it ran round a bush, and was almost caught in the arms of the younger squaw, who, leaving her senior in the canoe, had joined in the pursuit. a shriek from the squaw sent it off at a tangent to the left, pinions aloft, and terror depicted on its visage. english chief also doubled, but a crooked stump caught his foot and sent him headlong into the bush. at that instant, coppernose, having foiled a swan with a well-directed sweep of his paddle, came up and gave chase. english chief, nettled at the interference, sprung up, followed and overtook him just as the hard-pushed swan turned at bay. both men came upon it at the same moment, stumbled over it, and turned their wrath upon each other. the swan, recovering, ran wildly and blindly back towards the young squaw, who was so much alarmed by its look that she fairly turned and fled; but hearing the shouts of the indians as they struggled, she turned towards them. meanwhile, the elder squaw having landed, met the retreating swan just as it gained the rushes. stooping down she allowed it to approach to within a yard of her--like a true heroine--and then, rising, hit it a neat blow on the back of the head and laid it low for ever. after this she joined her sister-wife (if we may be allowed the expression) in trying to tear the indians asunder. this was accomplished after a few seconds, but the two men still glared at each other. fortunately they could do little more, having left their knives in the canoe. while they were still in a state of indecision, an unfortunate swan, which had taken refuge behind a bush, so far recovered its breath as to think it advisable to get still further away from such company. it was observed and followed as wildly as before by english chief. this time coppernose had the sense to confine his attentions to another part of the field, where, while prosecuting the chase, he suddenly came upon a flock of geese in the same helpless circumstances as the swans. soon the swans were routed out of their places of concealment, and the cries of men, women, and birds again resounded in the air. the way in which those swans behaved was quite marvellous. they dodged the blows aimed at them, and "jinked" round the bushes as if they had been trained to such work in a regular public school for human bipeds, and they struck out with their pinions, too, so deftly and with such force that the pursuers had to become extremely cautious as well as bold in their approaches. at last, when the indians were thoroughly exhausted, they gave up the chase. on conveying the fruits of their exertions to the canoe, they found that they had killed five swans and a like number of geese. with these they returned in triumph to camp, to the great relief of mackenzie, who had began to fear either that an accident had befallen them, or that they had deserted him. at this place two bags of pemmican were concealed on an island, and here one of their leads was lost in taking soundings. the current of the river also was so violent that mackenzie concluded they must be approaching the rapids, of which some of the natives had made mention. the strength of the current may be estimated from the fact that, when the lead just referred to caught on the bottom and held on, they attempted to clear it by paddling up stream; yet although they had eight paddles, and were held by the line, the strength of which was equal to four paddles, they were borne down with such force that the line snapped asunder. here the weather became very bad. they had frequent thunderstorms accompanied with violent rain, and, although it was at that time the beginning of july, ice lay in great quantities all along the banks of the river. on shore, the earth was thawed only to a depth of about fourteen inches. indeed, the soil of those regions _never_ thaws completely. at the hottest season of the year, if you were to dig down a few feet, you would come to a subsoil which is locked in the embrace of _perpetual_ frost. some signs of natives were discovered here, and, from the appearance of the cut trees, it was evident that they possessed no iron tools. "push forward," was mackenzie's watchword more perhaps than it had been of any previous discoverer in rupert's land. the indians began ere long to complain bitterly of his perseverance. they were not accustomed to such constant and severe exertion, and it was with great difficulty that he prevailed on them to continue the voyage. as they advanced, fresh signs of natives were observed, and at last, one evening, they came in sight of an encampment of them. it was at a place where the current of the great river was so strong that it was in actual ebullition, and produced a hissing noise like a kettle of water in a moderate boiling state. the region was mountainous, and just before them they perceived a high ridge covered with snow. "they're evidently not much used to visitors," said mackenzie, on observing that the natives were running about in great confusion, some making for the woods, and others hurrying to the canoes. "they is used to be 'tacked by inimis," said english chief, who was rather proud of his knowledge of the english language. "hail them in the chipewyan tongue," said mackenzie, as the canoes touched the beach. english chief and the hunters landed first, and addressed the few natives who had ventured to remain, but they were so terrified as to be unable to reply. seeing this, mackenzie quietly landed, and gave orders for the pitching of the tents. while this was being done, the natives grew calm; they found that they understood chipewyan; a few words relieved them of their apprehensions, and soon they not only came down to the tents, but were so gratified with their reception that they sent for those members of their tribe who had fled. thus friendly relations were established. there were five families, consisting of about thirty persons of two different tribes--the slave and the dog-rib indians. chapter six. indians met with, and the mouth of the great river reached. heroes are not perfect. we deem it necessary to make this observation, because many modern biographers seem to imagine that their heroes _are_ perfect, and even attempt to prove them to be so. we therefore feel it necessary to disclaim any such imagination or intention in regard to _our_ hero. alexander mackenzie was indeed a hero, and a very fine specimen of a man--mentally as well as physically--if we are to credit the report of those who knew him best; but he was not perfect. for instance, he evidently acted sometimes on the fallacious notion that whatever gave pleasure to himself must necessarily give pleasure to all other men. acting on this idea in the present instance, he sought to delight the hearts of these slave and dog-rib indians by presenting them with pipes and tobacco, and inducing them to smoke. to the credit of humanity be it recorded that they received the gift with marked dislike, although they were too polite to absolutely refuse it. slaves though one section of them were in name, they were not slaves to tobacco; and the other section being dog-ribs, had, we presume, too little of adam's rib in them to find pleasure in smoke. of course, they knew _something_ about smoke, but it was chiefly as a nuisance, which was very troublesome to the eyes, and which usually issued from the tops of their wigwams--not from human lips. it must also be recorded that those estimable savages entertained a strong antipathy to grog when it was produced. their hearts were reached, however, and their souls gladdened, when knives, beads, awls, firesteels, flints, and hatchets were presented to them; and we can fancy how animated and earnest would be their converse over the wigwam fires, for weeks and months, if not for years, afterwards, when they brought out, for the thousandth time, and feasted their wondering eyes on, those delightfully useful implements, which had been left by the mysterious white beings who had dropped upon them so suddenly, as if from the skies, and whom they felt half inclined at first to reverence as gods. having won their confidence and esteem, mackenzie proceeded to question them as to that portion of the great river which yet lay before him. their account was an exaggerated echo of that previously obtained from the indians of great slave lake. being, therefore, of little or no value, our hero was obliged to advance, and solve the question for himself. as before, the effect of the indian stories on the indians of his party was very marked and discouraging. with great difficulty mackenzie overcame their objections to proceed, and even succeeded in persuading one of the dog-rib indians to accompany him by the potent influence of a small kettle, an axe, a knife, and a few other gifts. this man was a stout young fellow, in a very dirty deerskin coat and leggings, with a double blue line tattooed on his cheeks from the ears to the nose, on the bridge of which it met in a blue spot. hence lawrence, following the natural bent of his mind, which he had already displayed in naming coppernose, immediately addressed this new recruit as bluenose. these poor savages, although exemplary in the matters of grog and tobacco, were, we are constrained to admit, a very filthy set of creatures; very poor also, because utterly destitute of such wealth as the fur-traders had carried to many of the less remote tribes of indians. nevertheless they possessed a considerable number of implements of their own manufacture, some of wood and others of bone, etcetera, which proved them to be possessed of much ingenuity and taste. the description of their weapons reminds one of those remains of prehistoric man which we find treasured in our museums, for they had arrows barbed with horn, flint, iron, and copper, spears shod with bone, daggers of horn and bone, and axes made of brown or grey stone. the latter were from six to eight inches long and two thick, having the inside flat and the outside round, and tapering to an edge, and were fastened by the middle to wooden handles with a cord of raw skin. they kindled fires by striking together a piece of white or yellow pyrites and a flint stone over a piece of touch-wood, and boiled water in water-tight baskets, by putting a succession of red-hot stones into them. from these indians the explorers learned that they had passed, on their voyage down the river, large bodies of indians who inhabit the mountains. "he'll never make up his mind to go," observed reuben, as, when about to set forth again, he looked at the pale countenance of the dog-rib who had agreed to join the party. mackenzie had already had a severe argument with him in order to induce him to fulfil his engagement, and had left him under the impression that he had been successful; but when the poor man had said farewell to the tribe, and was on the point of entering the canoe, his courage failed, and he drew back. seeing this, lawrence suddenly seized him by the nape of the neck, and exclaiming, "come, look sharp, bluenose, get in with 'ee," gave him a lift that put the matter at rest by sending him sprawling on board. next moment they were off, and shooting down the rapid current of the river. that night they encamped, amid heavy squalls of wind and rain, at the foot of a rocky hill, on the top of which their new guide said that it blew a gale every day of the year! here the dog-rib became very unhappy, and pretended to be ill, but a strict watch was kept on him so that he could not escape. the country around them was very wild and rugged, and they were informed by their guide that great numbers of bears and small white buffaloes (musk-oxen?) frequented the mountains; also some tribes of indians. here some of the party attempted to ascend a steep hill, but were almost suffocated and fairly driven back by clouds of mosquitoes. natives were sometimes seen and spoken with, although their first impulse on beholding the voyagers was almost invariably to flee. on one occasion a whole tribe fled save one old man, who came boldly forward and said that he was too old to run or to care much about the short time that yet remained to him of this life. at the same time he pulled out his grey hair by handfuls, and distributed them among the party, imploring their favour for himself and his relations. his mind was quickly relieved by swiftarrow, who seemed to have a special desire, as well as talent, for comforting aged persons of both sexes. some of these tribes were named the hare indians--hares and fish being their principal means of support. while spending a night with these people a storm of thunder and rain came on, in the midst of which the dog-rib, bluenose, managed to make his escape. as it was important to have a guide, mackenzie compelled a hare indian to fill his place; and, after carrying him off, took great pains to conciliate him--in which efforts he was happily successful. next day they observed natives on the east shore of the river, and directed their course towards them. their new guide began to call to them in an incomprehensible manner, and said that the natives did not belong to his tribe, but were a very wicked people, who would beat them cruelly, and pull out their hair, and maltreat them in various ways. despite this warning mackenzie advanced, and soon found them to be quite as willing to accept of gifts as other tribes. he found that they understood their guide, and that english chief clearly comprehended one of themselves, although he could not make himself understood. here the joyful information was obtained that in three days more they should meet with the esquimaux, and in ten days at furthest reach the great salt lake--or the sea. these natives were very superior to those whom the travellers had last met with, and one of them was engaged to take the place of bluenose. this man, who was clad in a shirt made of the skins of the musk-rat, after which he was named, was a very lively individual. he sang the songs not only of his own tribe, but also those of the esquimaux, with whom his tribe had been formerly at war, but were now at peace. he also undertook to perform an esquimaux dance in mackenzie's canoe, and would infallibly have upset that conveyance had he not been violently restrained. he commented on the tribe to which bluenose belonged with great contempt, calling them by the strong names of cowards and liars. during these brief visits to the natives our discoverer was not only troubled by the thievish propensities of the natives, but had to guard against the same tendencies in his own men, some of whom were much confused as to the true course of rectitude in regard to "mine and thine"; in addition to which he had to contend with a general propensity on the part of his men to quarrel not only with each other, but with the weather, the journey, and the decrees of fate generally. by a judicious mixture, however, of firmness and suavity, severity and kindness, he managed to keep the several parts of his discordant band together; and, in so doing, proved himself an able general for the highest generalship consists in making the most of existing circumstances and materials. the river here ran through various channels formed by islands, some of which were without a tree, while others were covered with spruce, fir, and other trees. the banks, which were about six feet above the surface of the river, displayed a face of solid ice intermixed with veins of black earth, and as the heat of the sun melted the ice, the trees frequently fell into the river. the variety of channels in the river rendered it difficult to decide which should be followed. muskrat, the new guide, recommended that which ran to the east; but his leader, not feeling sure of his wisdom or knowledge, preferred the middle channel. here mackenzie put ashore and proceeded to engage in some cabalistic pursuits which utterly confounded muskrat. "what is he doing?" asked the savage of english chief. "taking the sun," replied the interpreter, with immense pomposity. "what does that mean?" asked the savage. english chief tried to explain, but failed for this good reason--that he himself was totally ignorant of the subject beyond the phrase, which he had picked up after the manner of a parrot. it was found that the latitude was 67 degrees 47 minutes north. this was further north than mackenzie had expected to make it, but the difference was owing to the variation of the compass. from this it became evident that the river emptied itself into the polar sea. not satisfied, however, with the apparent certainty of this, our pioneer resolved to have ocular demonstration--to push on to the mouth of the river, even although, by so doing, he should risk not being able to return to fort chipewyan for want of provisions. but now his men became so much discouraged that they did their utmost to induce him to turn back, and he felt convinced that if they had had it in their power, some of them would have left him to his fate. as columbus did of old, in somewhat similar circumstances, he assured them that he would now advance only a specified number of days--seven, adding that if he did not then reach the sea he would return. indeed the low state of their provisions alone formed a sufficient security for the maintenance of his engagement. that evening (the 11th july) they pitched their tents near to a spot where there had been three encampments of the esquimaux, and here mackenzie sat up all night to observe the sun, being now in that realm of bright unchanging day, which in winter becomes a region of continuous night. at half-past twelve he called up reuben guff and his son and swiftarrow, who were the most intelligent members of his party, to view a spectacle which they had never before seen. they thought, on observing the sun so high, that it was the signal to embark, and were about to rouse their comrades, when mackenzie checked them, and it was with difficulty he persuaded them that the sun had not descended nearer to the horizon, and that it was then but a short time past midnight! it is but justice to reuben and his party to say that they offered no opposition to their leader during the whole voyage. in regard to this, one speech made by reuben will suffice to describe the spirit that animated him. "it don't do, lawrence," said he, "to go for to interfere wi' them as leads. be they wise or be they foolish it on'y makes matters wus to interfere wi' leaders, my lad; therefore it's best _always_ to hold your tongue an' do yer dooty. what monsieur mackenzie is, it ain't for the likes of you and me to pretend for to judge. he _seems_ to me an able, brave, and wise man, so my colours is nailed to the mast, d'ye see--as was said by the immortal lord nelson--an' i've made up my mind to follow him to the end, through thick and thin. it's little right i would have to claim to be a pioneer if i didn't hold them sentiments." "them sentiments," we need scarcely add, were heartily echoed by his indian friend and his son. the appearance of deserted native encampments still further confirmed mackenzie in his belief that he had at length reached the land of the esquimaux. round their fireplaces were found scattered pieces of whalebone, and spots were observed where train-oil had been spilt. the deserted huts also corresponded in construction with those which were known to be built elsewhere by the denizens of the far north. several runners of sledges were also found, and the skulls of a large animal, which was conjectured to be the walrus. here the land was covered with short grass and flowers, though the earth was not thawed above four inches from the surface; beneath that all was frozen hard. the pioneers had now at last reached the entrance of what appeared to be a lake, which was in the neighbourhood of the polar sea, if not that sea itself; but the variety of channels, the strength of currents, the shallowness of the water and quantity of ice with which it was beset, with the ignorance of their guide, rendered it impossible to make any further advance that season. the object of the expedition, however, had been accomplished. the largest northern river of america, estimated at 2000 miles in length, had been traced from its source to its outlet in the polar sea; the nature of the country and its inhabitants had been ascertained; coal and copper ore had been discovered; the region had been wrenched from the realms of _terra incognita_, and the energetic pioneer fixed the position of his most northerly discoveries in 69 degrees 7 minutes north latitude. another fact which proved that they were within the influence of the sea was the rise and fall of the water, which could be nothing else than the tide. they caught a fish, also, resembling a herring, which none of the party had ever seen except english chief who declared it to be of a kind that abounds in hudson's bay, and finally they beheld what settled the question, a shoal of white whales, which their indian guide said was the principal food of the esquimaux. it was no wonder that the discoverers found the navigation very intricate, because that great river, now named the mackenzie, is known to empty its waters into the polar sea by innumerable mouths which form a delta of about forty miles in width. storms, rain, and fogs, threw additional hindrances in their way. there was, therefore, nothing left for it but to erect a post and take possession of the land in the name of the king. homeward! after that, was the order of the day. but what a mighty distance off that home was! and, after all, when reached it was but a log-hut or two in a part of the vast wilderness which, regarded from a civilised-land point of view, was itself the very confines of the known world. our space forbids us to follow mackenzie and his men on their arduous and interesting return voyage. suffice it to say that they dragged the canoes by means of lines against the strong current for a large portion of the way; and, after incurring innumerable dangers from natives, rapids, storms, and starvation, they reached the lake of the hills and landed at fort chipewyan on the 12th of september 1789, having been absent for the long period of one hundred and two days. that our hero was not content to rest upon the laurels thus gathered in the far north, but longed to act the part of pioneer over the rocky mountains into the far west, shall be made plain in our next chapter. chapter seven. a voyage of discovery to the far west planned and begun. three years passed away, during which period mackenzie, being busily occupied with his arduous duties as a fur-trader, could not carry out the more noble purposes of discovery on which his heart was set. but a time at length arrived when circumstances permitted him to turn his eyes once more with a set purpose on the unknown wilderness of the west. seated one fine morning about the beginning of spring, in his wooden residence at fort chipewyan, he observed reuben guff passing the window with an axe on his shoulder, that worthy, with his son and swiftarrow, having engaged in the service of the fur-traders at the end of the late expedition. opening the door, mackenzie called him in. "where are you bound for just now, reuben?" "to dinner, monsieur." "reuben," said mackenzie, with a peculiar look, "has all your pioneering enthusiasm oozed out at your finger ends?" "no, monsieur," replied the man, with a slight smile, "but lawrence and i have bin thinkin' of late that as monsieur mackenzie seems to have lost heart, we must undertake a v'yage o' diskivery on our own account!" "good. then you are both ready, doubtless, to begin your discoveries with a canoe journey of some extent on short notice?" "at once, monsieur, if it please you." "nay, reuben, not quite so fast as that," said mackenzie, with a laugh; "you may have your dinner first. but to-morrow you shall become a genuine pioneer by preceding me towards the far west. you know the position of our most distant settlements on the peace river?" "perfectly," said reuben, whose eye kindled as he began to see that his master was in earnest. "well, i intend to visit these settlements this fall, and push on towards the rocky mountains. it will take me to the end of the season to accomplish this, so that our real voyage of discovery will not begin until the following spring. now, there is a certain locality beyond our most distant outpost, which i shall describe to you afterwards, where i intend to build a fort and spend next winter, so as to be on the spot ready to begin the moment the ice breaks up. preparations must be made there for the building of the fort. timber must be felled, cut, and squared for the houses and palisades, and two able and willing, as well as experienced men, must go there to begin this work without delay. it occurs to me that the two best men i have for such work are reuben guff and his son. are they prepared for this duty, think you?" "say the word, monsieur," was reuben's laconic but significant reply. "well, then, it is said. come back here after dinner with lawrence, and i will give you instructions: you shall start to-morrow at daybreak." reuben bowed and left the hall with a light step. next day he and his son started on their journey in a small birch-bark canoe; on the 10th of october mackenzie followed in a canoe of larger dimensions. he visited several establishments of the district of which he had charge; ascended the peace river towards its unknown sources, gave good advice to the several bands of indians whom he met with by the way, and generally strengthened the hearts and hands of his agents. passing the last outpost on the river, he pushed on, until, finally, he reached his intended winter-quarters on the 1st of november--not a day too soon, for the river was already being covered with its winter coat of ice. here he found reuben and lawrence, bronzed and hardened with toil and exposure. they had done good service during the previous summer, for all the timber was prepared, a space marked out for the fort, and a deep trench dug for the palisades. here also were found a band of natives, amounting to about seventy men, anxiously awaiting the arrival of the chief, as they styled mackenzie, and thirsting especially for tobacco and rum, both of which--unlike the natives of the far north--they were particularly fond of. to build a fort in a few weeks, consisting of a dwelling-house and several stores, with palisades eighteen feet high, in the midst of frost so intense that their axes sometimes became as brittle as glass, and living in tents the while, exposed to the storms of wind and snow peculiar to a hyperborean clime, was a feat which, if detailed, would fill a volume. we are constrained to dismiss the subject in a line. thus curtly, also, must we treat the winter. yet some points we cannot forbear to touch on, illustrative as they are of some curious experiences of the fur-traders. the indians there were unusually ignorant of medical science, and when ill applied to mackenzie, believing, with childlike simplicity, that he certainly knew everything and could do anything! one woman came to him with a swelled breast, which her friends had lacerated with flints in order to cure it; this failing, they had blown on it, but with similar want of success. mackenzie knew not what to do, but, bringing common sense to bear on the case, he made the poor creature keep it clean (she was naturally dirty), poulticed it several times, and anointed it with healing salve. in a short time a perfect cure was effected. after that an indian while at work in the woods was attacked with a sudden pain near the first joint of his thumb, which disabled him. he appealed to mackenzie, who, to his surprise, found a narrow red inflamed stripe about an inch wide, extending from the man's thumb to his shoulder. the pain was very violent, and accompanied with chilliness and shivering. mackenzie admits that the case was quite beyond his skill; but as it was necessary to relieve the indian's mind, he attempted a cure. he prepared a kind of volatile liniment of rum and soap, with which he ordered the arm to be rubbed. the success of this treatment was doubtful, because at first it drove the man mad, and the red stripe not only increased but extended in the form of several blotches on the body, and was accompanied by pains in the stomach. seeing this, our amateur doctor fell back on the old plan of bleeding, an operation which he had never before performed. the result was marvellous. the following night the man was much better, and ere long was restored to his former health, and filled with gratitude. again, on another occasion, a young indian's gun burst and maimed his hand so that the thumb hung by a mere strip of flesh. when he came to the fort his wound was in a very offensive state. his friends had done their best for him, but as their panacea for everything consisted in singing or howling, and blowing on the affected part, he was not perceptibly the better for their exertions. the youth's life being in danger, mackenzie once more tried his skill. he applied to it a poultice of bark stripped from the roots of the spruce fir, having first washed the wound with the juice of the bark. this proved to be a very painful dressing, but it cleaned the wound effectually. he then cut off the pendent thumb, and applied a dressing of salve composed of canadian balsam, wax, and tallow dropped from a burning candle into the water. as before, the treatment was successful, insomuch that the young red-skin was soon in the hunting-field again, and brought an elk's tongue as a fee to his benefactor. during the winter he was visited by a few rocky mountain indians, who gave him some important information; namely, that the peace river in the mountain districts was interrupted by numerous bad rapids and falls, and that, towards the mid-day sun, there was another great river whose current _ran in an opposite direction_, the distance between the sources of the two rivers being short. the winter, with its dreary storms and bitter colds, at length passed away, and genial spring returned. as soon as the ice broke up, preparations were made for an immediate start. their large birch-bark canoe had been overhauled and repaired. her dimensions were twenty-five feet long inside, two feet two inches deep, and four feet nine inches wide. she carried goods for presents, provisions, arms, ammunition, baggage, etcetera, to the extent of three thousand pounds weight, with a crew of ten men, including their chief; yet she was so light that two men could carry her when empty for three or four miles without resting. they had no small canoe on this voyage. their hopes, and, it may be truly said, their lives, were dependent on this solitary and frail conveyance. as we have said, mackenzie took nine men with him on this occasion, our friends reuben, lawrence, and swiftarrow being among the number, and two of them being young indian hunters of that region, who were supposed to be acquainted with at least part of the route they were about to pursue, and who were to act as interpreters. english chief had long before left his former master, and no women were allowed to go with the party--even darkeye was left behind! there was one other member of the party whom we must not omit to mention--namely, a large dog named wolf. on the 9th of may 1793, mackenzie left the fort in charge of his interpreter, pushed off into the waters of the peace river, turned the canoe's bow westward, and the voyage of discovery began. a few days afterwards they passed through scenery which all confessed was the most beautiful they had ever beheld. "'tis like a glimpse o' paradise," exclaimed reuben, as the whole party rested on their paddles for a few minutes to gaze upon it. "ho!" exclaimed swiftarrow, with a nod to his friend, which evidently was meant for assent. "betterer nor the hudson," said ducette, one of the canadians, with a look of admiration. "does it beat scottisland, monsieur?" asked lawrence, with a somewhat sly expression. "well, ahem," replied mackenzie with hesitation, "it's not exactly--that is, it is vastly different and truly magnificent--they won't compare, lawrence; they won't compare!" the region did indeed merit all that could be said in its praise. the ground on the west side of the river--which was wide and full of lovely wooded islets--rose at intervals to a considerable height, and stretched inwards to a great distance; at the foot of every slope there was a soft, grassy lawn, broken here and there by abrupt precipices, which were fringed with exuberant verdure. shrubs and trees of every kind, in clumps and in groves, crested the heights or nestled in the hollows: among them were groves of poplar, with the white spruce and soft birch, and other trees; while the banks abounded with alders and willows. those that bore blossom were just opening their bright buds, and the setting sun cast a rich golden light over all, as though the glory of the beneficent creator were shining on his gorgeous handiwork. but that beautiful wilderness did not blossom and bloom in solitude. it was tenanted and enjoyed by countless numbers of living creatures. wherever the travellers turned their eyes, vast herds of elk and buffaloes were to be seen, the latter sporting with their young ones on the plains, the former preferring to browse on the slopes and uplands; and innumerable birds of all shapes and sizes enlivened the scene with their varied gyrations, and filled the air with melody. it seemed, indeed, a species of paradise; but not far from it the travellers were painfully reminded of its terrestrial nature by the sight of a wide-spread conflagration, which carried fierce destruction over the whole plain, and left black ruin behind; and still further on mackenzie was robbed of the pleasurable feelings due to the influence of sweet scenery, by the baleful influence of man in the shape of a chief of the beaver indians with a hunting-party. he tried to push on past these indians, but they kept up with the canoe, running along shore, and when night approached he was compelled to encamp with them. the consequence was, as he had feared, that these people attempted to terrify his young indian interpreters with dreadful accounts of the land beyond, and succeeded so far that it was with the utmost difficulty that they could be persuaded to remain with the expedition. next night they encamped at a spot where a stream fell into the peace river from the north. "voila! w'at is dis?" exclaimed ducette, as he leaped on shore. "the fut-print of a grizzly bar," said reuben, stooping to examine and measure the mark; "an oncommon big 'un, too--full nine inches wide. i wouldn't like to embrace that bar." the den, or place where this monster or some of its kindred had spent the winter, was also found not far-off. it was ten feet deep, horizontally, five feet high, and six feet wide. "i wish we could find him," said lawrence as he kindled the camp-fire. "ha! swiftarrow has found something better," said mackenzie, as the indian strode into camp laden with the tongue, marrow-bones, and other choice portions of an elk which he had killed a short distance down the river. lawrence had his wish next day, for they found a grizzly bear so fierce-looking and large that it was well for him he was in the canoe struggling with rapids at the time, for he was reckless enough to have attacked it single-handed--a very dangerous proceeding, and a thing that the indians never do. they appear to think that at least three men are necessary to the destruction of this much and justly feared monster of the mountains. lawrence looked at bruin with a feeling of bloodthirsty desire; bruin looked at lawrence with an expression of stupid curiosity; and then slowly, not to say sulkily, retired into his native forest. next day they beheld a more gratifying sight,--namely, the snow-capped rocky mountains themselves, within the rugged portals of which their canoe passed not long afterwards. here, as was to be expected, the river became narrower and more turbulent, and ere long the explorers had to face dangers and difficulties which tested their courage and endurance to the uttermost. chapter eight. difficulties and dangers faced and overcome. their entrance on the difficult navigation of the mountains was inaugurated by an accident to the canoe. it was a slight one, however,--a rub against a rock which cracked the bark, and compelled them to land and spend an hour or so in mending it. the current here was very strong, and creeping up along the banks was dangerous, owing to the masses of rock that frequently fell from the cliffs. at one turn of the river in particular, a loud noise was heard, "look out!" cried mackenzie. before any one could well understand what danger threatened them, an enormous mass of rock was seen to bound down the banks right abreast of them, crashing through trees and bushes, and sending down showers of smaller stones. the men paddled with all their might, but the rock came straight at them, struck a flat piece of the cliff; and bursting like a bombshell, descended round them in a shower of small pieces, none of which, however, touched them, although many fell very near. coming one afternoon to a place where the current was stronger than usual, mackenzie landed with reuben, lawrence, and ducette, in order to lighten the canoe. they ascended the hills, which were covered with cypress, and but little encumbered with underwood. here they found a beaten path, made either by indians or wild animals. after walking a mile along it, they fell in with a herd of buffaloes with their young ones. "hist!" whispered reuben, throwing forward the muzzle of his gun with the instinct of a hunter. "don't fire," said mackenzie, arresting his arm; "it may alarm the natives, if any should chance to be within earshot. send wolf at them, ducette." wolf, who belonged to ducette, and had followed his master, was a splendid fellow,--not unlike the animal after which he had been named. he was well trained too, and kept foot and tongue equally under command, until his master's wishes were made known. hearing his name mentioned, he cocked his ears and gazed up in ducette's face. "allons donc, wolf," said ducette. instantly the dog made a magnificent rush into the midst of the herd, which scattered right and left, and seized a young calf by the nose! the creature, though young, was powerful, and for some time struggled bravely; but the hound held on with deadly firmness, and worried the calf--to such an extent that in a short time ducette was able to run in and despatch it. to skin and dismember the carcase was a matter of little difficulty to these hunters, who were all expert butchers. they had just completed the work, and were congratulating each other on this accession of veal to the larder when a shot was heard in the direction of the canoe. it was immediately followed by another. "the signal to recall us," said mackenzie. "gather up the meat, lads; come, be smart. give them a couple of shots, reuben, in reply." the shots were fired, and, pushing down the hill through very close underwood, they soon came upon the canoe at the foot of a rapid which it was deemed impossible to ascend. what seemed impossible to some of his men, however, was by no means impossible to mackenzie himself. he surveyed their position, saw that the succession of rapids above were indeed impracticable on that side of the river, but observed that on the other side it seemed possible to continue the ascent. the chief danger lay in attempting to cross with a heavily-laden canoe; but the attempt was made, and proved successful. the dangers and mishaps which now assailed them in succession were enough to have damped the ardour of the most resolute pioneer; but there are some natures which cannot be quelled, whose motto in all circumstances seem to be "victory or death!" of such a spirit was alexander mackenzie, although some of his men would fain have turned back. indeed, the overcoming of their objection to proceed sometimes cost him more trouble than overcoming the difficulties of the navigation. on reaching the other side of the river, they towed the canoe along an island, and advanced well enough till they reached the extremity of it, when the line had to be exchanged for the paddles. in attempting to clear the point of the island, they were driven with great violence on a stony shore, and the frail canoe received considerable injury. to land and unload was the work of a few minutes; but it took a long time to repair the damage, by fitting in new pieces of bark and re-gumming the exposed seams. part of the cargo, also, had to be opened and dried. this accomplished, they carried the whole across the point which had damaged them, reloaded and embarked. but it was now seen that it was not possible to advance farther up that side of the river either by paddling, hauling with the line, or pushing with poles. there remained only the alternative, therefore, of returning by the way they had come, or recrossing the river despite the strength of the current and the fact that there were several cascades just below them, to get into which would have involved canoe and men in certain destruction. "ve can nevair do it. monsieur dare not!" whispered ducette to reuben, as they floated for a few moments in an eddy. reuben glanced at his leader, who stood up in the canoe surveying the boiling rapids with a stern, intent gaze, and said quietly, "he'll try." "now, my lads, shove out with a will--ho!" said mackenzie, sitting down. lawrence, who was steering, dipped his paddle vigorously, the men followed suit, the canoe shot into the stream, and in a moment gained the sheltering eddy below an island, which was shaped somewhat like a table with a thick centre leg--or a mushroom. there were several such islands of solid rock in the river. they had been formed apparently by the action of the current--doubtless also of ice--cutting away their lower part, and leaving the mushroom-like tops, on which numbers of geese found a convenient breeding-place. from one to another of these islands the canoe shot in this way, thus decreasing the width of the final traverse. they paused a little longer at the last island, then shot into the stream, and, with a splendid sweep, gained the other side. but here their case was little improved, for the current was almost as violent as that from which they had escaped. the craggy banks being low enough, however, to admit of the tracking-line being used, the men landed and towed the canoe till they came to the foot of the most rapid cascade they had yet seen. to ascend being impossible, they unloaded and carried everything over a rocky point; relaunched, reloaded, and continued to track with the line: but the dangers attending this operation had now seriously increased, for stones both small and great came continually rolling down the bank, and the steepness of the ground was such that the risk of the men slipping and falling into the water became imminent; besides which they had frequently to pass outside of trees which overhung the precipices; at such times a false step or a slip might have proved fatal. presently they came to a sheer impassable precipice, where the men had to embark and take to poling up the stream; but ere long they got into water too deep for the poles, and recourse was again had to the tracking-line. coming to another precipice, they were again checked; but mackenzie, finding that the rock was soft, cut steps in it for the distance of about twenty feet, and thus passing along, leaped, at the risk of his life, on a small rock below, where he received those who followed him on his shoulders. thus four of them passed, and managed to drag up the canoe, though they damaged her in doing so. they had now reached a spot where the canoe could be repaired, and fortunately found a dead tree which had fallen from the cliffs above. but for this, fire could not have been kindled there, as no wood was to be procured within a mile of the place; in which case the repairs could not have been accomplished. thus yard by yard these hardy pioneers advanced by means of the line, the paddle, or the pole, sometimes carrying the lading, sometimes the canoe as well, and often within a hairbreadth of destruction. indeed, nothing but the coolness, courage, and skill of all concerned could, under god, have brought them safely through the fatigues and dangers of that tremendous day. but they had not yet done with it. having surmounted these and many other difficulties, they reached a place where it became absolutely necessary to make a traverse across an unusually strong current. here the men silently showed their estimate of the danger by stripping themselves to their shirts, that they might be the better prepared to swim for their lives, in case of accident to the canoe! fortunately the traverse was made successfully, and then at noon mackenzie stopped and went ashore to take an altitude. while he was thus engaged, the men fastened the canoe and left it; but so insecure was the fastening that the current sheered her off, and if it had not happened that one of the men had remained in her and held on to the line, they would then and there have been deprived of every means of advancing or returning, as well as of present subsistence! despite the alarming nature of this incident, and the interference of a cloud that sought to neutralise the sun, our persevering traveller completed his observations, and proved the luckless spot to be situated in 56 degrees north latitude. the rapidity of the current increased so much here, that in the distance of two miles they were compelled to unload four times and carry everything except the canoe; and even when thus light they found it difficult to prevent her being dashed to pieces against the rocks by the violence of the eddies. the last danger they encountered was the worst. they came to a place where the river was nothing less than one continuous rapid, and they took everything out of the canoe, intending to tow her up with the line, only a few of the men being left in her. at length, however, the tumultuous heaving of the water was so great that a wave struck the canoe's bow and broke the line. the dismay of those on shore may be imagined, for now it seemed as if nothing could save their comrades from destruction; and certainly no human power did save them on that occasion; for, while they grasped the sides of the canoe helplessly, another wave drove them with a wild surge out of the tumbling water; so that the men were enabled to thrust her ashore; and, strange to say, though the frail vessel had been carried by tossing swells over rocks which were left naked a moment later, she had received no material injury. this last accident, coupled with the fact that the river as far as they could see was a sheet of white foaming water, induced the leader of the band to give up all idea of advancing farther at that point by water. but do not imagine, good reader, that this implied the desertion of the canoe. on the contrary, that accommodating vessel having hitherto carried our pioneers, they now proposed to carry it--as shall be related presently. mackenzie met the grumbling discontent of his men with an order to ascend the hill and encamp there for the night. "vraiment--it all very easy to say go up dere and camp for de noit,-mais i will go not farder!" growled ducette, as he threw a heavy bag of provisions on his back and trudged sulkily up the hill. the two young indians evidently approved of this sentiment, and one or two of the other men seemed inclined to echo it; but reuben and lawrence laughed as they each shouldered a burden,--and the former said it was his firm conviction that nothing would, could, or should stop monsieur mackenzie but the pacific ocean. the precipitous bank of the river, or "hill," up which they were desired to carry the tents, provisions, etcetera, necessary for their encampment, was so steep and encumbered with wood and scrub, that it might of itself have formed a sufficiently disheartening obstacle to men less accustomed to hardships; nevertheless, they braced themselves to it with wonted vigour, pushed through the scrub, felled trees to facilitate their ascent, and climbed like monkeys by the stems, until they gained the summit, where very soon a roaring fire was covered with bubbling kettles and broiling steaks and marrow-bones. meanwhile mackenzie, accompanied by swiftarrow, went off on foot to survey the river ahead. he walked as long as daylight permitted, but found that there seemed to be no end to the rapids and cascades, and returned to camp with worn-out moccasins and wounded feet. during the excursion he came on several old encampments of the knisteneaux indians, which must have been formed during war expeditions, a decided proof, he thought, of the savage and bloodthirsty nature of that people, seeing that their natural hunting-grounds were very far removed from those almost inaccessible regions. it now became too apparent to the leader of the expedition that the mountain at this place must be crossed on foot, with the canoe and its heavy lading on the shoulders of himself and his men; but before deciding on this course, he resolved to despatch reuben and three men with the two indian interpreters to proceed along the line of the river until they should reach a navigable part of it. accordingly, next day this party set out. mackenzie remained in camp to superintend the repairing of the canoe and take observations. he was successful in obtaining correct time, and found the latitude to be 56 degrees 8 minutes. at sunset the exploring party returned. they had penetrated the thick woods, ascended hills, descended valleys, and had finally got above the rapids, a distance of about three leagues; but their account of the difficulties in the way of advancing was very discouraging indeed. mackenzie had foreseen this, and had made suitable preparations to counteract the evil effects thereof. in their absence he had prepared for them an enormous kettle of wild rice highly sweetened with sugar. when the tired, hungry, and footsore men sat down to this they became quite willing to listen to their leader's arguments in favour of a bold advance, and when the hearty supper was washed down with a liberal allowance of rum, and finished off with a pipe, they avowed themselves ready to face _anything_! in this satisfactory state of mind they retired to rest, while their leader sat up in the hope of obtaining an observation of jupiter and his first satellite, which laudable aim was frustrated by cloudy weather. chapter nine. deeper and deeper into the unknown wilderness. next day the arduous work of cutting a road through the forest and up the mountainside was begun. at daybreak their leader assembled the men. "now, my lads," said he, "the work before us for the next two or three days will be very stiff, but it would be a disgrace to us if after having come so far, we were so soon--only a little beyond the middle of may--to give in because of a few difficulties. besides, i am strongly of opinion that we cannot now be far from the height of land, and you know well enough that the moment we set foot on the other side of the topmost ridge of the mountains it will be all down stream. let us set to work, then, with a will. take your axes and cut your way through everything. the trees here are, as you see, of small growth. cut those of them that stand conveniently in such a way as that they shall fall parallel with the intended road, but don't sever them quite through so that they make a sort of railing on each side. come, lawrence, i'm glad to see that you are ready to begin, like a good pioneer--show them an example." lawrence, who was the only one of the listening band who chanced to have his axe on his shoulder, smiled when thus addressed, and, turning round, exclaimed "voila!" as he swayed the axe aloft and sent it sweeping at one stroke through a young tree, which fell with a crash and covered half of the party with its branches. a general laugh followed, and immediately the whole band set to work with their axes, headed by mackenzie himself. from early morning till sunset they toiled during the next three days, almost without cessation, except for meals. they cut their way from the margin of the river, where the rocks and ground shelved so steeply that one false step of any of the men would have been followed by a headlong plunge into the water. over the ridge, and down into a hollow beyond, and up the mountain farther on, they hewed a broad track, by which they conveyed the baggage and then carried up the canoe. this latter was an extremely difficult operation at the first part of the road, requiring the united efforts of the whole party. being lifted on the shoulders of some of the men, the tracking-rope was fastened to the bow, and others of the party went in advance and took a couple of turns of the rope round a stump. the bearers then advanced steadily up the steep side of the mountain till they reached those who, by holding on to the rope, relieved them of any downward weight. the rope was then shifted to a stump farther up, and the advance was continued. thus they may be said to have warped the canoe up the mountain! by two in the afternoon everything was got to the summit. then mackenzie, axe in hand, led the way forward. the progress was slow, the work exhausting. through every species of country they cut their way. here the trees were large and the ground encumbered with little underwood; there, the land was strewn with the trunks of fallen timber, where fire had passed with desolating power years before, and in its place had sprung up extensive copses of so close a growth, and so choked up with briars, that it was all but impossible to cut through them. poplar, birch, cypress, red-pine, spruce, willow, alder, arrow-wood, red-wood, hard, and other trees,--all fell before the bright axes of the _voyageurs_, with gooseberry-bushes, currant-bushes, briars, and other shrubs innumerable. it must not be supposed that they did this heavy work with absolute impunity. no, there was many a bruise and blow from falling trees, and even the shrubs were successful not only in tearing trousers and leggings, but also in doing considerable damage to skin and flesh. so toilsome was the labour, that at the close of one of the days they had advanced only three miles. on the afternoon of the third day they finally came out in triumph on the banks of the river above the cascades, having cut a road of about nine miles in extent. once again, then, behold them afloat and paddling up stream--still westward--with hopes animated and fortune smiling, or, as reuben put it, with "a gale of luck blowin' right astarn." reuben, be it observed, had consorted with sailors in his day down the gulf of st. lawrence, and had picked up a little of their slang. but their good fortune never lasted long at a time. their progress being very slow, it was found advisable to send the young indian interpreters on shore to lighten the canoe and to hunt as they advanced. they frequently killed elk and other game. on one of these occasions swiftarrow was nearly killed. he had been sent to fetch the choice parts of an elk which they had shot, when a big rock fell from the cliffs above, and was dashed to pieces at his very feet. just after this incident a violent fall of rain took place, obliging them to remain in camp for a day. then driftwood barred the river, and an opening had to be forced through it. then more cascades appeared to check their advance; and, worst of all, just as they began to hope that the height of land was gained, an opening in the hills revealed a range of blue mountains far ahead of them, running south and north as far as the eye could reach. to add to their perplexities, they came to a fork in the river, one branch running due west, the other in a southerly direction. "follow the westerly branch," said one; "that must be the right one." "not so sure o' that," observed reuben; "the end of a track don't needsesarly p'int out the gin'ral run of it." "you are right, reuben," said mackenzie; "besides, i have been warned of this very branch by an old indian whom i met last winter, and who said he had been up here in his youth. therefore, though appearances are against it, i shall follow the southern branch." mackenzie was right in this determination, as it afterwards proved, but most of his men grumbled very much at the time, because the southerly branch, besides appearing to be the wrong one, was a very rapid and dangerous stream. they knew by that time, however, that nothing could bend their leader's will, so they submitted, though with a bad grace. here an immense number of beaver were seen, and a gladsome sight it was to the fur-trader, because beaver skins at that time were in great repute--silk hats not having, as yet, beaten them off the field and reduced their value to almost nothing. in some places these sagacious and busy animals had cut down several acres of large poplars. at this place, too, they had an alarm, some of the men declaring that they had heard shots fired by indians in the woods. a whole night was therefore spent on the _qui vive_, although it turned out to be a false alarm. one morning, the weather being fine and the river more manageable than usual, mackenzie landed with reuben and the two indians, to ascend an adjacent mountain, telling his men to proceed in the canoe diligently, and directing them to fire two shots if they should require his return, agreeing that he would do the same if he should wish them to wait for him. nothing was gained by this attempt to obtain a better prospect. on descending to the river they fired two shots, as agreed on, but no answer was received. again they tried it, but the deep silence was only broken by an echo and by the rushing of the river. "they're behind us," suggested reuben. "they've overshot us," said the indians. again two shots were fired, but still no reply came. mackenzie's mind was at once filled with anxious fears lest some accident should have befallen his canoe, while he reproached himself for having left them even for a brief period in such dangerous navigation. in these circumstances he turned to consult with his men. "it's my opinion," said reuben, "that they've diskivered more rapids than they bargained for, and are out of earshot behind us; so we'd better make tracks down stream till we find 'em." "not so," said the elder of the indians; "without doubt the canoe is dashed to pieces, and our comrades are even now with their forefathers. we shall see them no more; and my advice is that we construct a raft and try to return on it to the lands whence we came." anxious though he was, mackenzie could scarce refrain from laughing at the prompt way in which the red man had consigned his comrades to destruction. "come," said he, "we won't give them up quite so readily as you seem inclined to. we shall make at least one effort to find them." it was now arranged that reuben and one of the indians should remain at the spot where they then were, kindle a large fire, and send branches down the stream from time to time, as a signal to their comrades if they chanced to be below, and that mackenzie with the other indian should walk up the bank of the river several miles. this was done; but they returned after some hours to the fire, having seen nothing of the canoe. as evening was now approaching, they became thoroughly alarmed, and a more rigorous plan of search was instituted. reuben was sent off with one indian to proceed down the river as far as he could go before night came on, with directions to continue the journey in the morning as far as to the place where they had encamped the preceding evening. mackenzie with the other indian again went off up the river, intending to make a thorough search in that direction. they had no food with them, but, having their guns and the means of making fire, they had no anxiety on that score, except in regard to an immediate meal, for game was scarcer than usual at that particular spot. it was agreed that if both should fail of success, they were to return to the place where they then separated. but their anxieties were brought to an end sooner than they had hoped for. not very long after parting, mackenzie heard a very far-off shot, and then another, and in a few minutes an answering double shot at a still greater distance. these being the concerted signals, he knew that the canoe party must have been discovered by reuben; he therefore retraced his steps with a light heart, despite the fact that he had worn the moccasins off his feet, and was completely drenched with rain. it turned out that the delay had been occasioned by the breaking of the canoe, and the consequent necessity of landing to repair damages. indeed, the sorely-battered craft had become almost a wreck. as a fitting climax to this disastrous day, the night finished off with thunder, lightning, and rain. while thus forcing their way to the head-waters of the river, they met with a small party of miserable-looking natives, who received them at first with violent demonstrations of an intention to immolate them on the spot if they should dare to land. it was evident that the poor creatures had been subjected to bad treatment and deception by other and more powerful tribes, because they remained in a state of great suspicion and anxiety even after the interpreter had stated earnestly that the intentions of the white men were friendly, and after gifts had been presented to them. by degrees, however, they became more confident, and as their anxieties diminished their curiosity increased. "i do believe," said lawrence, "that the critters have never seen white folk before." to most people it might have seemed ridiculous to have heard that bronzed _voyageur_ calling himself and his brown-faced, smoke-dried, weather-worn companions, by the title of white people; but lawrence referred to the natural colour of the race to which he belonged. "they do seem rather koorious," observed reuben, as one of the indians timidly touched his arm and looked wonderingly up into his blue eyes. it was found, however, that these natives had heard of white people, though they had not seen them; moreover, they displayed a number of knives and iron implements which they said had been procured from people inhabiting the banks of a river which might be reached over a carrying-place of "eleven days in length," and which river flowed in an _opposite direction_ from the peace river. these people, they said, travelled during a moon to get to the country of another tribe who dwelt in houses, and these again extended their journeys to the sea, or, as they called it, the "stinking lake," where they exchanged their furs with white people, like our pioneers, who came to the coast of that lake in canoes as big as islands! here, then, at last, was definite information, and the enterprising discoverer was not long in availing himself of it. after gratifying his new friends with sundry little gifts, a feed of pemmican, which they relished amazingly, and a taste of sugar to tickle their palates, he gained their confidence so much as to induce one of them to be his guide, and immediately pushed forward. in the course of the following week they gained the much-longed-for height of land, and found two lakelets within a quarter of a mile of each other, from one of which the waters find their way through peace river, on the east side of the mountains, into the arctic sea, while from the other the waters flow south and west through the great river columbia to the pacific ocean. but the succession of disasters that befell them here, and the difficulties of the route--for it could not be called navigation--threw all their previous experiences into the shade. one day, having made a portage, they relaunched the canoe and began the well-nigh forgotten process of _descending_ stream. they had not gone far when they struck a rock and were driven down sideways with great violence, mackenzie, followed by his men, jumped into the shallow to turn the canoe straight, but in a moment the water deepened and they had to scramble inboard again hurriedly. swiftarrow by some mischance was left behind to struggle on shore as best he might. before they could resume their paddles they struck again; the stem of the canoe was shattered like an egg-shell and hung only by the gunwales, so that lawrence, who was steering, had to quit his place. the violence of the stroke drove them to the opposite side of the river, where the bow met with the same fate. at that moment reuben seized the branches of a small overhanging tree in a desperate hope of checking the canoe, but the tree proved so elastic that he was jerked on shore in an instant as if by magic, and the canoe swept over a cascade, where several holes were broken in her bottom and nearly all the bars started. at the same moment the wreck fell flat on the water; all the men jumped out, and ducette, whose courage forsook him, shouted, "save yourselves!" "not so! hold on to the canoe, men," cried mackenzie sternly. the men obeyed, and thus prevented the total loss of everything. yard by yard, on the verge of destruction they waded down the rapid, and guided the wreck into shallow water, where some held her fast while the others, who were quickly joined by reuben and swiftarrow, carried the lading safely ashore. on this occasion several things were lost, the chief of these being their whole stock of bullets, but they had plenty of shot left from which ball could be made. one might have thought this was at last sufficient to have turned them back--so at least thought most of the men, who began to look rebellious--but mackenzie partly compelled, partly encouraged them to advance. the canoe was dragged ashore and repaired, or rather reconstructed, and eventually through indescribable difficulties he reached the navigable stream which forms the head-waters of the columbia river. this he descended a considerable distance, and met with many of the natives, who told him that the country below abounded with game and the river with fish; but as the course of the latter ran towards the south, and the distance by it to the sea was described as being extremely great, he deemed it advisable to retrace his course a short way and then strike westward overland to the pacific. the old canoe being now little better than a wreck, birch-bark was procured and a new canoe built, after which the stream was ascended until a spot was reached where the natives were in the habit of starting overland for the sea coast. here the canoe was hidden, an indian guide procured, and then these indomitable pioneers prepared to cross the wilderness on foot. chapter ten. the last. we follow our travellers now over the last portion of their trying journey. well would it have been for them if they could have followed their route as easily as you and i, reader, follow them in imagination. over mountain and swamp, through forest and brake, in heat and in cold, sunshine and rain, they plodded wearily but resolutely on towards the far west, until they reached the farthest west of all, where the great continent dips into the greater pacific. at starting on this overland route they buried some provisions, and putting in a place of security their canoe and such stores as they did not require or could not carry, they set out, each man laden with a burden varying from forty-five to ninety pounds weight, besides arms and ammunition. they were led by an indian guide with several of his relations, and followed by their dog wolf. this guide was deemed necessary, not so much to show the way as to introduce them to the various tribes through whose territory they should have to pass. it takes a large portion of a quarto volume to recount their interesting adventures by the way. how then, can we presume to attempt a fair narrative in a few pages? the thing is impossible. we can but refer our readers to mackenzie's ponderous journal, in which, embedded amongst a mass of important details, will be found a record of one of the most interesting voyages ever undertaken. as a matter of course difficulties assailed them at the outset. this would seem to be the universal experience of pioneers. game latterly had begun to grow scarce, so that, their provisions being low, they were obliged to go on short allowance--two meals a day. their food, being pemmican, required no cooking. mingled heat, mosquitoes, sandflies, and a rugged country, with short commons, and danger, as well as worry from savages, was the beginning--and pretty much the middle and end--of their experience. they were soon joined by an elderly man and three other natives, and not only did these three indians, but all the others along the route, harass them by their caprice, unfaithfulness, and childish petulance, and self-will. one day their guide resolved to leave them; then, without being solicited to stay, he changed his mind and went on with them. again, one night, at a time when they were anxious not to lose him, mackenzie, who knew he meant to take leave quietly, asked him to sleep with him. he willingly consented, the white man's cloak being a snug covering, and thus was he guarded! but his guardian suffered severe consequences owing to the filthy state of the indian, whose garments were indescribable, his body being smeared with red earth, and his hair with fish-oil! coming to a lake they observed the sky grow very black. "a thunder-storm brewin'," suggested reuben. "encamp, and up with the tent, boys," said mackenzie. the tent! it was a misnomer, their only shelter being a sheet of thin oiled cloth and the overhanging trees. down came a deluge that kept them very close for a time; then, on resuming the march, the guide was requested to go in advance and brush the water off the bushes, but he coolly declined. mackenzie himself therefore undertook the duty. during this storm the ground was rendered white with hailstones as large as a musket ball. the third day they met natives who received them well. these were going to the great river to fish, and seemed--unlike many other tribes--to venerate age, for they carried on their backs by turns a poor old woman who was quite blind and infirm. farther on they met other indians on their way to the same great river, which abounded with salmon. these told them that they would soon reach a river, neither large nor long, which entered an arm of the sea, and where a great wooden canoe with white people was said to be frequently seen! "here is encouragement for us; let us push on," said mackenzie. "push on," echoed reuben and lawrence and some of the other men; but some grumbled at the hardships they had to endure, and the short allowance of provisions, while the indians threatened to desert them. mackenzie must have had something very peculiar in his look and manner, for he seemed to possess the faculty of saying little in reply to his men, and yet of constraining them to follow him. doubtless, had some one else written his journal we should have learned the secret. it seems as if, when rebellion was looking blackest and the storm about to burst, instead of commanding or disputing, he calmly held his tongue and went off to take an observation of the sun, and on that process being completed, he almost invariably found his men in a more tractable condition! occasionally we read of quiet remonstrance or grave reasoning, and frequently of hearty encouragement and wise counsel, but _never_ of violence, although he was sorely tried. perchance they knew that he was dangerous to trifle with! we cannot tell, but certainly he seems to have been a splendid manager of men. at last they reached an indian village where they were hospitably entertained, and presented with as much roasted salmon as they required. these people lived almost exclusively on fish and berries; were more cleanly than other tribes, and apparently less addicted to war or hunting. here two new guides were obtained, and the people conciliated with gifts of beads, knives, and other trinkets. leaving them they spent a wretched night on the shores of a lake, deluged with rain and tormented with sandflies and mosquitoes--the former being perhaps the greatest pests of the country. soon the guides grew tired of their mode of travelling, and the allowance of provisions had to be still further reduced. fearing that they might run short altogether, mackenzie ordered reuben and his son to fall behind, bury some pemmican in reserve for their return, and make a fire over the spot to conceal the fact that it had been dug into. they were now on two-thirds of their regular allowance. soon afterwards they came to a river too deep to ford, but one of their guides swam across and brought over a raft that lay on the other side. this ferried most of them over, but swiftarrow and some of the others preferred to swim across. at length, after many days of suffering and toil they crossed the last range of mountains and began to descend. here magnificent cedars and other trees were seen, some of the former being fully eighteen feet in circumference. the natives whom they met with were sometimes stern, sometimes kind, but always suspicious at first. the soothing effects of gifts, however, were pretty much the same in all. still the party had several narrow escapes. on one occasion mackenzie, when alone, was surrounded and seized, but he soon freed himself, and just at that moment when his life seemed to hang on a hair, reuben guff happened to come up, and the natives took to flight. some of these natives were very expert canoe-men, caught salmon by means of weirs, dwelt in wooden houses elevated on poles, boiled their food in water-tight baskets by putting red-hot stones into them, made cakes of the inner rind of the hemlock sprinkled with oil, and seemed to have a rooted antipathy to flesh of every kind. some of the salmon they caught were fully forty pounds' weight. the chief of one tribe said that, ten years before, he had gone down to the sea in a large canoe, and there had met with two large vessels full of white men who treated him very kindly. these, mackenzie concluded, must have been the ships of captain cook, an opinion which was strengthened by the discovery that the chief's canoe was ornamented with sea-otters' teeth, which bear some resemblance to human teeth, for which they had been mistaken by the great navigator. at last, on the 20th of july, the heroic perseverance of mackenzie met with its reward. on that day he obtained a canoe, and descending a river, entered an arm of the pacific! he did not himself, indeed, deem the object of the expedition attained until he had battled on for a couple of days longer--in the face of the opposition of his own men and hostility of the natives--and had obtained reliable observations which settled beyond all dispute, his exact position on the globe. but to all intents and purposes he had accomplished his great object on that day,--namely, the crossing of the american wilderness to the pacific ocean. even in the midst of his triumph this long-enduring man was worried by petty trials, for one of the indian guides took it into his head to desert. as he was the son of a chief, and, it was to be feared, might prejudice the natives against them, reuben guff was directed to pursue him. that worthy took with him swiftarrow, and exerting his long sinewy legs to the utmost, soon overtook the fugitive and brought him back. but it was no part of mackenzie's plan to tyrannise over men. he received the deserter kindly, gave him a pair of moccasins, some provisions, a silk handkerchief, and some good advice, and then sent him back to his friends. the other indian who remained with them succeeded about the same time in killing a large porcupine, which was very acceptable to all--especially to its captor, who ate so largely of it as to be obliged to undergo a prolonged period of repose in order to sleep it off. at length, being in a state of semi-starvation, with a leaky canoe, and unfriendly natives around, mackenzie took a last observation, which gave 52 degrees 20 minutes 48 second north latitude and 128 degrres 2 minutes west longitude. then he turned his face eastward. before quitting the coast, however, a smooth rock was selected and thereon was written, in large letters, with a mixture of melted grease and vermilion, this brief memorial--"alexander mackenzie, from canada, by land, the twenty-second of july, one thousand seven hundred and ninety-three." the return journey was scarcely less arduous than the outward, but they undertook it with the knowledge that every step carried them nearer home, and with the exhilarating consciousness that their labours had been crowned with success. besides this, they now knew what lay before them each day--as far as the route was concerned--and at the various places where provisions had been secreted the party was strengthened and enabled to advance with greater vigour. on arriving at the great river they found their canoe, goods, and provisions just as they had left them about five weeks before. here they made preparations for proceeding to the head-waters of the columbia river, crossing over to those of the peace river, and so returning by the way they had come. in order to mark this happy point in the expedition, mackenzie treated himself and men to a dram, "but,"--observe that i quote his words, reader,--"we had been so long without tasting any spirituous liquor, that we had _lost all relish for it_!" rejoice in _that_ testimony, ye teetotallers. think of it, ye topers. put it in your pipes, ye smokers--and make the most of it! "nearing home at last, boys," said mackenzie many weeks afterwards, as, having descended the turbulent peace river, they rounded a point of land and came in sight of their old winter-quarters; "shake out the flag, and give them a volley and a cheer." the men obeyed, and were in such high spirits, and made such active use of their paddles, that they reached the landing-place before the two men who had been left there in the spring, could recover their senses sufficiently to answer their questions! but _this_ was not home yet. some days had still to elapse ere these toil-worn men could lay aside their paddles and rest their wearied limbs. at last, after an absence of eleven months, they reached fort chipewyan, where their leader resumed the duties of the fur-trade, and swiftarrow once more kissed the brown cheek of darkeye, who filled his heart with grim delight by placing in his paternal arms a soft, round, fat, little brown female baby, with eyes as dark and bright as her own, and a nose which was a miniature facsimile of its father's. one week after their arrival, reuben and lawrence, swiftarrow and darkeye, entered mackenzie's room to bid him farewell. "i'm sorry you are bent on leaving me," said their former leader; "but you have the satisfaction of knowing that you have contributed greatly to the success of our two expeditions. you have indeed proved yourselves able pioneers." "thank'ee, sir," said reuben, while a quiet smile of satisfaction lighted up his grave features. "it was all along a hobby o' mine, an' of lawrence too, to do a bit o' diskivery; an' now we're content--for it ain't possible, i fancy, to do much more in that line than push your canoe into the frozen sea on the one hand, or the pacific on the other. it's harder work than i thowt it would be--though i didn't expect child's play neither; an' it's our opinion, sir, that you are the only man in the country as could have done it at all. we intend now to go back to the settlements. as for the red-skin," he added, glancing at swiftarrow, "he ha'n't got no ambition one way or another as to diskivery; but he's a good and true man, nevertheless, you'll allow. and now, sir, farewell. may a blessing from above rest on you and yours." saying this the bold backwoodsman shook mackenzie by the hand and left the room. every one in the fort was on the bank to bid them farewell. silently they stepped into their canoe, and in a few minutes had paddled out of sight into the great wilderness of wood and water. reader, our tale, if such it may be styled, _is_ told. as for the hero whose steps for a time we have so closely followed, he became one of the most noted traders, as he was now one of the most celebrated discoverers, in north america. he afterwards became for a time the travelling companion in america of the duke of kent, father of queen victoria; was knighted in acknowledgment of his great and important achievements; married one of scotland's fair daughters; and finally died in the midst of his native highland hills, leaving behind him a volume which--as we said at the beginning--proves him to have been one of the most vigorous, persevering, manly, and successful pioneers that ever traversed the continent of north america. the end. chapter eleven. extract of letter referred to on page 85. from william mackenzie, esquire, of gairloch, to george mackenzie, esquire, of avoch, dated leamington, 24th may 1856. when in stockholm in 1824, lord blomfield, our minister there, did me the honour of presenting me to the king, _bernadotte_, father of the present king of sweden. at the king's special request, the audience was a private one, and i was further especially requested to oblige by coming in my full highland dress. the audience lasted fully an hour. such an interest did napoleon's first and most fortunate marshal take in everything that was highland, not even the skiandhu escaped him. i now come to _your_ family portion of the audience. as we chatted on, old bernadotte (leaning familiarly upon my o'keachan claymore) was pleased to say in that _suaviter in modo_ for which his eagle eye so fitted him, "yes, i repeat it, you highlanders are deservedly proud of your country. your forefathers and your people are a race apart, distinct from all the rest of britain in high moral as well as martial bearing, and long, i hope, may you feel and show it outwardly by this noble distinction in dress. but allow me to observe, sir, that in your family name, in the name of mackenzie, there is a very predominant lustre, which shall never be obliterated from my mind. pray, are you connected in any way with sir alexander mackenzie, the celebrated north american traveller, whose name and researches are immortalised by his discoveries in the arctic ocean, and of the river which since then does honour to his name?" i informed his majesty that as a boy i had known him well, and that our family and his were nearly connected. this seemed to give me still greater favour with him, for, familiarly putting his hand on my shoulder-brooch, he replied that _on that account alone_ his making my acquaintance gave him greater satisfaction. he then proceeded to tell lord blomfield and me how your father's name had become familiar to him, and so much valued in his eyes. he said that at one time napoleon had arranged to distract the affairs of britain by attacking her in her canadian possessions--not by a direct descent upon them, but by a route which men expected would take england quite by surprise and prove infallible. that route was to be up the mississippi, ohio, etcetera, up to our canadian border lakes. for this arrangements were to be made with america, new orleans occupied as a _pied a terre_ by france, etcetera, etcetera. the organisation and command of this gigantic enterprise, as bernadotte said, "was given to me by the emperor, with instructions to make myself master of every work which could bear upon it, and the facilities the nature of the country afforded. foremost amongst these the work of your namesake (sir alexander mackenzie) was recommended, but how to get at it, with all communications with england interdicted, all knowledge of english unknown to me, seemed a difficulty not easily to be got over. however, as every one knows, my _then_ master, l'empereur, was not the man to be overcome by such small difficulties. the _book_, a huge quarto, was procured through the smugglers, and in an inconceivably short space of time most admirably translated into french for my especial use. [a copy of this translation was found in napoleon's library at st. helena.] i need hardly say with what interest i perused and reperused that admirable work, till i had made myself so thoroughly master of it that i could almost fancy myself," this he said laughing heartily, "taking your canadas _en revers_ from the upper waters; and ever since i have never ceased to look upon the name and think of the author with more than ordinary respect and esteem." after a short pause and a long-drawn breath, almost amounting to a sigh, accompanied by a look at blomfield and a most expressive "ah, milord, que de changes depuis ces jours-la," bernadotte concluded by saying that the russian campaign had knocked that of canada on the head until russia was crushed! but it had pleased god to ordain it otherwise, "et maintenant me voila roi de suede"--his exact words as he concluded these compliments to your father. the bear family at home [illustration: what do you suppose that ant-bear did?] the bear family at home and how the circus came to visit them by curtis d. wilbur illustrated by w. r. lohse [illustration: decoration] indianapolis the bobbs-merrill company publishers copyright, 1908, 1923 by curtis d. wilbur _printed in the united states of america_ press of braunworth & co. book manufacturers brooklyn, n. y. dedicated to the memory of ralph gordon wilbur contents page how the little cub bear got back into the woods again 2 how the monkey went to school 6 the coming of the great big animal and how he helped the bear family 12 the "little-cub-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa" and how he took an unexpected bath 22 how the "little-cub-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa" was nearly drowned among the logs 29 the "little-cub-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa" 36 the story of the "little-split-nosed-bear-that-would-not -mind-his-papa" 42 the "one-eared-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa" 48 the lion's story of his narrow escape 55 the true story of how ten men did not kill club-foot 58 the "club-foot-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa"--a great smash-up 68 the parrot's most narrow escape 73 the "little-club-foot-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa" and the dynamite 80 the coming of the animal with the long nose 89 the monkey's story of his most narrow escape 97 the story of the little bird's escape from the alligator 101 how the raccoon was caught 105 the animals plan how they will defend themselves against the circus men 112 jimmie bear's story 116 how the circus crossed the ocean 124 out all alone 131 the papa bear's lullaby 139 the bear family at home and how the circus came to visit them once a little cub bear was caught in a big log trap, and taken on a train to a circus. he lived in the circus a long, long while, and every day a great many people came to see the bear, and the lions, and the tigers, and the leopards, and the elephants, and the camels, and the other animals. every night the animals would all be put in the wagons made for them, then the wagons would be rolled on the flat-cars of a railroad train. the train would go all night to another town, where a great many people would come to see the animals and the men and women in the circus. the cub bear saw a great many wonderful and strange things while he was in the circus and while traveling on the trains. once he crossed the ocean in a great ship, and came back again in another ship. this story tells: how the little cub bear got back into the woods again one night, after the wagons and the animals had all been put on board the cars, the fireman rang the bell, and the engineer started the train, and away it went, whistling and coughing down the track. the animals were so used to the train going rattle-te-bang, rattle-te-bang, all night long, that they all went to sleep, and remained asleep a long while. while the animals and every one on the train, except the engineer and the fireman, were asleep, the engineer looked ahead and suddenly saw a big rock on the track. he blew the whistle, "toot-toot," to call the brakemen, and the brakemen ran as fast as they could and began to put on the brakes to stop the train, but the train came nearer and nearer to the big rock. the poor engineer couldn't stop the train, and the brakemen couldn't stop the train, so the engine ran into the rock, and was knocked off the track, and turned a somersault, and was smashed all to pieces, and all the cars ran off the track into a ditch, and the wagons were all broken, so that the animals got out of their cages and found they were free in the dark woods. they were all so glad to be free that they ran away as fast as they could and hid in the woods; all except the cub bear and a friend of his, a monkey named jim. they ran a little way, and then the cub bear stopped and looked around. he saw a path, then he looked at the trees and the mountain and he thought he would wait there until morning. as soon as it was light the cub bear looked way up on the mountain side and saw a cave, and where do you suppose they were? in the very same forest where the cub bear was born. they walked a little way, and the cub bear said: "why, here is the path where little brother jimmie bear lost his foot in a trap." they ran up that path as fast as they could to the cave in the mountains. the cub bear's heart was beating very fast, pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, because he knew that this was his old home, and he wondered whether his papa bear and mamma bear and his little susie bear and little brother jimmie bear were still there. they went in very quietly, and found a great big brown bear asleep. when the big brown bear heard them come in, he jumped up quickly and looked at little cub bear, and little cub bear looked at him. it was the papa bear! he ran to the cub bear and put his arms around him and gave him a great bear hug. you know bears can hug awfully tight. papa bear hugged the cub bear, and the cub bear hugged the papa bear, and they were very, very glad to see each other. the papa bear woke up the mamma bear, and then the mamma bear gave the cub bear a great bear hug, because she was so glad to see him. susie bear waked up and gave the little cub bear a big bear hug. but jimmie bear was not there. did you ever give your papa a bear hug? after the papa bear and the mamma bear had talked a little while to the cub bear, they said, "we have something to show you," and they took the cub bear away back into the back part of the cave and showed him the sweetest, cutest little baby bear you ever saw in your life, and the papa bear said: "we call this little baby bear 'cub bear' now. so we will have to call you 'circus bear' after this," for the little cub bear had told his papa and mamma that he had been in the circus while away. all this time the monkey jim had been sitting off by himself in the cave, watching the big bears. they were so big and strong that he was frightened, so he climbed up to the top of the cave, and there he stayed until the little cub bear waked up; and the circus bear didn't know where he had gone. after a while the little wee cub bear waked up and saw the monkey, and said: "oh, see that funny little man up there on the root. he has hair all over him, and he has a long tail, and he is making faces at me." he asked the circus bear what it was, and the circus bear said: "it is a monkey, named jim, a very dear friend of mine. would you like to shake hands with him?" and the little cub bear said, "yes." so the circus bear told the monkey not to be afraid, and the monkey came down and shook hands with the little wee cub bear and they said they would always be good friends. the very first thing this little cub bear did was to ask the monkey to tell him a story, for he was the greatest bear for stories you ever saw. he was always teasing his papa and his mamma and everybody that came to the den, to tell him a story. the monkey said: "all right, i will tell you a story about the time that i went to school." so that morning when the papa and the mamma bear and the circus bear and the little cub bear were sitting in the den, the monkey told his story. how the monkey went to school "now, little cub bear, i am going to tell you about the time i went to school, the only time in my whole life that i went to school." the little cub bear said he had never been to school in his life, and he would like to hear the story. the monkey jim said: "well, one night when we were riding on the train, going from one town where the circus had been, to another where they were going to give a show, i was riding in a wagon on one of the cars with a lot of other monkeys. the man who took care of the monkeys forgot and left a door open. a monkey named joe and i climbed out through the open door and got on top of the wagon, and we just had a lot of fun, jumping around and playing with each other, and pulling each other's hair and climbing down on the car. "after we had played a long while, the train went into a covered bridge, and i said to joe, 'let's jump up and see if we can catch hold of one of those iron rods.' he said, 'all right,' and we gave a great jump, and we caught hold of an iron rod overhead. the train was going so fast that we almost missed the rod, but we hung on, and in a moment when we looked down, what do you suppose had happened? the train had run out from under us, and there was nothing under us except the railway track and ties, and, away down below them a deep, dark river. we were frightened, because it was very dark and very cold. we climbed down as fast as we could, and walked across the ties, until we came to the ground. "there were a lot of trees near the track, and we ran over as quickly as we could and climbed a tree, but it was very, very cold. we hugged each other very tight and tried to keep warm, but it grew colder, and colder, and colder, until it seemed as though we would freeze, for you know we had always lived in a very warm country, until we came to the circus. by and by, though, it commenced to get light, and when we looked over in the woods a little farther, we saw a little red school house. by and by a man, who took care of the little red school house, came and opened the door and went inside. pretty soon we saw the smoke coming out of the chimney, for the man had built a fire. "joe said to me, 'let's go down as quickly as we can and run over there, and see if we can get warm by the fire.' so we climbed down the tree, and ran as fast as we could to the little red school house. there we found a window open a little way, and we climbed up and went inside the school house. the man wasn't looking, so we hurried over near the stove, and joe climbed into one desk where a boy kept his books, and i climbed into another desk where a girl kept her books. the man looked around quickly, for he thought he heard something, but we kept so quiet that he didn't see us. by and by he closed the window, went out and shut the door, and there we were locked up in that little red school house! but the fire was so nice and warm that we were glad to be there. "pretty soon joe said, 'let's go out and see if we can find something to eat;' so we got out and looked all over the building. we opened the drawer in the teacher's desk, and in it we found an apple that he had taken away from a little boy in school the day before, for you know that little boys are not allowed to have apples in school. i gave joe the biggest part of the apple, and we ate it all up; and just as we had eaten it up, a great big boy came to the door and made such a noise that we scampered back and got into the desks. we stayed there very quietly. "pretty soon another boy came, and then another, and then another, and then a girl came, and by and by all the scholars had come. some of them were playing in the yard, and some of them in the room, and just then the teacher came. he rang the bell, 'ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong,' and the pupils came into the school room and took their seats. then the teacher struck a small bell, and the pupils sat up very straight and sang a song. just then i reached out and grabbed the ear of the boy who was sitting in my seat, and pulled it very hard. he screamed, 'ouch, ouch!' and just then joe reached out and pulled the hair of the girl that was sitting in his seat, and she screamed, 'ouch, ouch!' the teacher pounded the desk and cried, 'order, order!' the little boy thought it was the boy behind him that pulled his ear, and the little girl thought it was the girl behind her that pulled her hair. "when everything was still again, the teacher told the boys and girls to take out their books. the boy reached in to get his book and i bit his finger, and he yelled 'ouch!' just as loud as he could, and jumped out of his seat. and the little girl reached in to get her book, and joe bit her finger, and she yelled 'ouch!' just as loud as she could, and jumped out. all the pupils looked over to see what was the trouble; but we kept very still, and the teacher came down quickly to find out what caused the trouble. he reached his hand into the desk quickly, and i grabbed hold of his hand and hung on. then he jerked his hand out, and i came out with it, and i jumped on his shoulders and began to pull his hair; and joe jumped out of his desk, and he jumped on the teacher's shoulders, and the teacher yelled and tried to hit us with a stick, and we jumped over on to the teacher's desk, and then we jumped over the pupils' heads. i jumped out of the window, and joe ran out of the door, and as he ran out he took one of the boys' dinner pails with him. they all screamed and yelled and ran after us as fast as they could. "we ran over to a tree, and a couple of dogs saw us, and they barked and barked, and ran after us. the boys threw stones, but none of them could hit us, and pretty soon we got to a tree. we scampered up as fast as we could, and all the pupils, and the teacher, and the dogs, came to the foot of the tree, and the dogs barked, and the boys yelled and threw stones, and the girls danced and shouted. the teacher had something that looked like a gun, but i think it was only a stick, because he didn't shoot at all. just then joe reached into the dinner pail, and he found a soft boiled egg. he threw this down at the teacher and hit him right on top of his bald head. "then we scampered out on the branches, and jumped into another tree, and then into another tree, and then into another tree, and pretty soon we had gone so far that they couldn't find us. then we opened the dinner pail, and we found a fine dinner, some apples, and nuts, and bread and butter, and a piece of pie. when we had eaten everything there was in the pail, we left the pail up in the tree, and climbed down to the ground. then we walked and we ran, until we came to a town, and there was the circus tent. for this was the _very_ town where the circus was going to show! we ran as fast as we could, and a lot of dogs got after us. they barked and barked, but we got away from all the dogs but one, because he could run faster than the others. he was a very little dog, and when he came close to us, joe ran to one side of the road and i ran to the other, and just as he got between us, we grabbed the dog by his tail and his ears, and pulled so hard that he just yelled, 'ki-yi, ki-yi, ki-yi!' and ran toward the tent as fast as he could; so we both jumped on his back and rode until we came to the tent. then we jumped off and scampered into the tent under the canvas and found our wagon. the door was still open, and we got into the wagon, and there we went to sleep, for we had been up all night. "that is the way i went to school," said the monkey. and the little cub bear said, "i will be glad when i am big enough to go to school." the coming of the great big animal and how he helped the bear family after the monkey had finished his story, papa bear and mamma bear and the little cub bear were talking about the animals in the circus, and the little cub bear said, "i wonder where all those animals are?" and the circus bear said, "why, i think they are somewhere in the woods." then the little cub bear said, "maybe these animals will come to see us. i think it would be fine if we had a nice large cave, big enough for all the animals." the mamma bear said, "i think that _would_ be nice," and the papa bear said, "that would be nice," and the little circus bear said, "i think that would be nice, too," and the cub bear said, "maybe we can have a bigger cave, and have all the animals come and live with us." and just as he said it they heard a rustling sound, as though something was coming up the path. the little cub bear ran to the mouth of the cave and said: "there is a very strange looking animal coming up the path. it is the biggest animal i ever saw. it has a nose that reaches clear to the ground, and it has a thumb and finger on the end of its nose, and every once in a while it stops and picks up a piece of straw with the thumb and finger and puts it into its great mouth. it has teeth that are so long that they stick way out of its mouth. the teeth are as large as a small tree, and look like great sharp horns growing out of its mouth, and its legs are as big around as a large stump. its ears are as large as the mouth of this cave. it can move its nose around and scratch its back with the thumb and finger on the end of its nose. it has no hair at all except on the end of its tail." just then the animal made a tremendous noise, a sort of a blowing and trumpeting sound. the circus bear said, "i know who that is; it is jumbo, the elephant from our show. ask him to come into the cave." jumbo came to the mouth of the cave, and the little cub bear said to him very politely, "come in, mr. jumbo!" but of course jumbo could not come into the cave; it was too small. mr. jumbo said: "i would like to come into the cave and see the circus bear, because he was very good to me when we were in the circus together." so the little cub bear said, "try and see if you can not make the mouth of the cave larger." mr. jumbo said, "i will try." so mr. jumbo commenced to dig with his great tusks and pull with his great trunk at the dirt and stones and the roots that were in the way, until the mouth of the cave was ever so much larger than it had been, but it was still too small for the elephant to get in; so the circus bear came to the mouth of the cave and told jumbo how glad he was to see him. mr. jumbo took hold of the circus bear's foot with his trunk and shook it, just like two people shaking hands. he was so glad to see the bear that had been so good to get things for him when he was in the circus, for there he was tied to a stake by a great chain. (that is the way they keep elephants with the circus, you know.) when mr. jumbo found that he could not get into the cave, he said to the circus bear and to all of the bears, "you know that the other animals are trying to find this cave, and as soon as they find it they will want to live here, and we ought to get the cave ready for them." then the papa bear said, "what do you think that we ought to do? do you think that we could make the cave larger for all of the animals?" mr. jumbo said, "well, i think the first thing we ought to do is to go down to the wreck of the train and get some of the things that we want from the wreck, before the men come back and take everything away." all of the bears, and the monkey, thought that was the best thing they could do. they went down right away, and found that all of the animals had gone, but there were lots of things that they wanted to take up to the cave. mr. jumbo found the beautiful howdah that the circus man used to place on his back. a howdah, you know, is that big saddle they put on an elephant's back for the people to ride in. it was painted with red and yellow paint, and had beautiful red plush cushions in it. it had a top to keep the sun off of any one that was riding in the howdah, on the elephant's back. the bears said that they could put the howdah on the elephant's back, but that they could not fasten it there, for they had no hands to buckle the straps with. then the monkey said, "i can fasten the buckles with my hands, for you know that i have fingers just like a man, and a man buckles the straps by using his fingers." the papa bear and the mamma bear, susie bear, the circus bear, and the little cub bear lifted as hard as they could, but of course they could not lift the heavy howdah way up on mr. jumbo's back, for they were not tall enough, so mr. jumbo said, "i will kneel down, and then you will not have to lift so far, and i can help you with my trunk." so he knelt, and the bears all lifted at once, and mr. jumbo helped them with his trunk, and finally they got the howdah in the right place on his back. then the monkey buckled the straps, and everything was ready to take the howdah up to the cave, where the bears live. the papa bear said, "let us fill the howdah with the things we want to take up to the cave." and they commenced to hunt for the things that they wanted, and what do you think they found? a great bass drum, so big that a little bear could get into it; and they also found a smaller drum, and a fife and some big brass horns that belonged to the band. then they found some harness that was used for the beautiful black and white horses that ran the chariot races. they put all of these things into the howdah. when the howdah was nearly full, the little cub bear asked his papa if he couldn't ride in the howdah. mr. jumbo heard the little cub bear ask, and he said it would be all right, because he was very strong and could carry a great deal more than they had put on his back. when the little cub bear climbed into the howdah, mr. jumbo straightened out his front legs to get up, and the little cub bear nearly tipped out of the rear end of the howdah; and then he straightened his hind legs and stood up, and the little cub bear nearly fell out again. just as they started up the hill, the monkey said, "you need a driver;" and he grasped mr. jumbo's tail and climbed up the tail just as if he were going up a tree; then he scampered along mr. jumbo's back, clear over the top of the howdah, until he sat right on top of mr. jumbo's head, just as the drivers do, when they drive elephants. then the monkey asked mr. jumbo to hand him a stick with a sharp hook in the end of it, that the drivers used to guide the elephants with. mr. jumbo reached over with his long nose that had a thumb and finger on the end of it, and picked up the stick and handed it up to the monkey, for he knew the monkey was not strong enough to hurt him much. [illustration: mr. jumbo reached over and picked up the stick.] the monkey said very proudly, "get up, mr. jumbo," and away they went to the bears' cave. when they got there, mr. jumbo knelt down, and the little bear nearly tumbled out again, but he jumped out all right, and they took the howdah off mr. jumbo's back. the bears and monkey took everything out of the howdah and carried it into the cave. then the animals all went back again to the place where the train was wrecked, to see if there was anything else they could get. this time they found a chariot, that had two wheels, and it was all covered with gilt and with angels made of gold, and it was very, very beautiful. mr. jumbo said that if the bears and the monkey could hitch him to the chariot, they could fill it with things and take them up to the den. so they looked and looked, and finally found a harness, that was used for the elephant. the monkey and the bears harnessed mr. jumbo to the chariot, and then they looked for things to put into the chariot. the monkey found the clothes that he used to wear in the circus--a pair of red trousers, with a green coat, and a little red hat with a black feather in it, and he put them in the chariot. mr. jumbo found a bale of hay, but they all said that would have to wait until the next time, because there would not be room in the chariot for this bale of hay and the other things they wanted to take up. they found the little drum that the monkey used to play on in the circus, and put that in the chariot. then they found a lot of biscuits that the dog in the circus had to eat, and they put these in the chariot, too. and soon the chariot was full. the little cub bear thought there was just room enough for him to ride in the chariot, and he asked mr. jumbo if he could ride; and as soon as mr. jumbo said "yes," he climbed in on top of the things in the chariot, and they all started up to the cave. they had not gone very far before the monkey got hold of mr. jumbo's tail and scampered up to his place on top of mr. jumbo's head. they soon reached the cave, and there they unhitched mr. jumbo and left the chariot and all the things in it, and went back to the train wreck, because they knew that there was another chariot there even more beautiful than this one; and when they reached the wreck again, mr. jumbo went over to where the big bale of hay was; and how do you suppose he carried the bale of hay? he knelt down, and he ran his great teeth, called tusks, under the bale of hay, then he wrapped his long nose, or trunk, as it is called, around the bale, and stood up and carried the hay over and put it in the chariot. then he went for two more bales in the same way, and placed them in the chariot. the monkey then hitched mr. jumbo to the chariot, and they again started up the hill. in this way they hauled two or three loads of hay, and then they unhitched mr. jumbo and left the chariot up near the bears' cave. then the bears, the monkey, and the elephant went back to the wreck, and each one carried everything he could. the bears got their arms full, and walked all the way up to the den on their hind legs. the monkey got his little arms full--of what do you suppose? bags of roasted peanuts. the elephant carried up three great sacks filled with barley. they worked so hard that it took them nearly all day. that night as they were wondering whether any of the animals would find the cave in the dark, they suddenly heard the flapping of wings. the little cub bear ran at once to the mouth of the cave to see what it was. "oh! circus bear," he said, "here is a great bird. he has great big eyes as large as marbles. he has the funniest pointed ears. he has a hook nose; he has great claws, and he is as big as half a dozen doves." the circus bear said, "that is mr. owl. ask him to come in." so the little cub bear said to the owl very politely, "come in, mr. owl," and the owl came into the den. he blinked his great eyes, and looked solemn and wise, and the little cub bear said, "mr. owl, we are going to build a house, so that all the animals can come to live with us if they want to, and we want to know if you can help us to build the house." and mr. owl said, very solemnly, "i would be very glad to help you, because when we lived in the circus, your brother was very good to me, and i should like to do anything i can to help you." the little cub bear said, "what can you do?" and the owl said, "if you want me to i can be door-keeper, and when any one comes i can ask who he is, because, you know, i can say, 'who-o-o? who-o-o?'" the little cub bear danced up and down, and said that would be very fine. and he said, "i am very glad that my brother was kind to you when you were in the circus." so the owl went out to the mouth of the den, and there was a great big tree, and away up near the top of the tree was a long limb sticking out like an arm, and the owl flew up to this limb and sat there, looking very solemn and very wise, as all owls do, blinking his great eyes. and there he sat day and night, winking and blinking his great eyes, so solemn and wise, keeping watch for the bears and the animals, just like a soldier sentry standing guard at the general's tent. now the little cub bear, like all little cubs, was very fond of stories, and was always teasing the papa bear to tell him stories about little bears, and all sorts of things. the little bear liked the stories that his papa told him about the "little-cub-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa." that night after the owl had flown up to the limb of the dead tree, the little fellow said, "papa, please tell me another story about the 'little-cub-bear-that-would-not-mind-his papa.'" the papa bear said, "little one, you are always asking me to tell you stories; it is hard for me to think of so many, but if you want me to do so, i will tell you of: the "little-cub-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa" and how he took an unexpected bath "this 'little-cub-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa' was a tame little bear that lived with his papa near a great saw-mill. you know what a saw-mill is? it is a place where they take great pine trees that have been chopped down and cut up into logs, and saw the logs into boards, and shingles and lumber, to make houses for men to live in, with their little cubs, that they call 'boys' and 'girls' and their little wee cubs they call 'babies.' this saw-mill was on a great river, and near the saw-mill was a place where the water fell straight down from a place higher than this house, and of course the stream ran very swiftly above the falls and below the falls. these falls were not so large as the niagara falls, but they were so large that the water poured over with a great roaring sound, and the water whirled about, after it reached the bottom of the falls, and great waves dashed up against the banks of the river. "above the falls, the water ran so swiftly that no one could swim in it. the papa bear knew this, but the 'little-cub-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa' didn't know that the water ran so swiftly. the papa bear had told his little son many, many times not to go too near the river, and never to try to drink out of the river, above the falls. "but one day the little fellow was very, very thirsty, and he ran up to the bank of the river, and saw the beautiful, cool water, and thought how nice it would be to have a drink. he was so thirsty he didn't want to go away down below the falls, where he and his papa usually took a drink of water, so he thought he would see if he couldn't get a drink right where he was, there above the falls. he went down to the very edge and reached way over and began to lap up the water, and, oh! how good it was. just then he heard a noise, and as he looked up quickly, his foot slipped, and into the river he went, _kersplash_! "now, this little bear could swim. that is one reason he wasn't afraid to drink from the river, because he thought if he fell in, he could swim out very easily and very quickly, so he started to swim as hard as he could for the shore, but he soon found that the water was so swift, that instead of getting nearer the shore, he was getting farther and farther away all the time. and then he looked around to see where he was going. he found that he was going nearer and nearer to the falls, where the water went over with such a great roar, so he swam harder and harder and harder, and faster and faster and faster, but all the time he was going closer and closer to the terrible falls! finally the little bear gave up trying to swim out, and just kept his nose out of the water, so that he could breathe, and down the stream he went faster than you could run. sometimes great waves would cover him up completely, and when his nose would come up above the water, he would blow almost like a whale, to get the water out of his nose. almost before you could think, that little bear came to the edge of the falls, and over he went! "do you think that was the last of him? well, if he had been a little boy, i suppose he would have been drowned; but this little cub bear was so light and so strong, that after a long, long while, he came up to the surface of the water, right in the middle of a great whirlpool. he went round and round and round in the water, and it seemed as though he never would stop. but finally, he found a big log that had come over the falls, and he got one foreleg over the log, and swam as hard as he could toward the bank, and finally succeeded in getting ashore. "there he lay on the grass, all wet and tired out, and all he could think was, 'i am so glad i wasn't drowned. i will never again disobey my papa.' and he thought this over and over in his mind. soon the 'little-cub-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa' went to sleep right where he was, for he was too tired to go home. "after a long while, his papa began to look for him, and finally found him lying there all wet, and sound asleep. his papa knew what had happened, but he felt so bad he didn't waken the little bear, but picked him up in his great arms and carried him back to the den and laid down close beside him to keep him warm. and the little fellow slept all that night, and all the next day, until four o'clock in the afternoon. "then he wakened and put his arm around his papa and said, 'oh, i had the most terrible dream in the whole world. i thought i was nearly drowned, and i was too tired to get home.' "and the papa bear said, 'i guess that wasn't a dream, but i am so glad that you are alive, that i am not going to scold you for disobeying me.'" when this story about the "little-cub-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa" was finished, _our_ little cub bear, who lived away up in the cave in the mountain, said, "i should think that every little bear ought to mind his papa and do just as he says, else they might get drowned, you know." then the little bear went off to bed and to sleep. the next morning early the little cub bear got up and rubbed his eyes with his paws, instead of washing them as little boys do. just then he heard a noise as if some animal was coming, and he ran to the mouth of the den and looked out, and said: "i see the queerest looking animal coming up the path. it has long ears and a great big mouth, and a queer looking tail, and looks something like a horse, but still it looks different from a horse." and just then the owl saw the animal and said, "who-o-o? who-o-o?" and the animal answered, "hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw." and the circus bear said, "i know who that is. that is a mule. her name is jenny." just then jenny came to the mouth of the den, and the little cub bear said, very politely, "come in, mrs. jenny." and she came into the den, and the little cub bear said, "mrs. jenny, we are going to try to build a house big enough for all the animals, so if they come to see us we will have a place for them to stay. can you help us?" then mrs. jenny said, "i would be very glad to, because your brother was very good to me when we were in the circus." and the little cub bear said, "what can you do?" and jenny said, "i haven't worked for a long while, but i can kick like everything." the little cub bear said, "well, here is a soft place in the rock. perhaps if you will kick, it will fall down and make more room." and jenny turned around and kicked the rock, and it fell down, and she kicked and she kicked, and more rocks fell down; and she kicked, and more rocks fell down; and she kept on kicking, and more rocks fell down, and the bears picked up the rocks and carried them out, and when she got through there was a nice large room. and the little cub bear said, "we will call this jenny's room. i am very glad that my brother was good to mrs. jenny when she was in the circus, because if he hadn't been, maybe she would have kicked me instead of the rocks." that day the bears worked hard all day trying to find enough to eat for themselves and for all of the animals that were coming to see them from the circus. the circus bear told them just what things the animals liked to eat; so the papa bear and susie bear went one way and the mamma bear went another. the elephant looked all over the mountain, to see if he could find some grass to eat. that night, when the animals came to the cave, the elephant told them that he thought he had found a fine place for the animals that liked to eat grass. he said there were a great many horses where he found the grass, but that they said they were not going to come with him because they did not want to live in a cave. they said they wanted to live out in the open air; and that if any one came to take them back to the circus, they would run away as fast as they could. the bears were very tired that night, but the little cub bear teased his papa for a story about the "little-cub-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa." finally the papa bear said that he would tell just one story, if the cub bear would promise that he would not ask for another one, and would go to bed as soon as the story was finished. so the little cub bear and susie bear came as close as they could to the papa bear, and he told this story: how "little-cub-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa" was nearly drowned among the logs "just on the edge of the stream which flowed by the saw-mill where the 'little-cub-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa' lived, there was a pond of still water, and in this pond there were a great many logs that floated down from the forest away up the river. these logs were in this pond waiting to be sawed up into boards and timber, to be used in building houses. now, this was a very dangerous place for little boys, and for little bears. the papa bear had told his little son never to go out on the logs, and the little fellow had promised that he never would go out on the logs. but, day after day, the little cub bear saw men going out on the logs with long sticks that had big spikes in the end of them, and long sticks with hooks on the end of them; and they pushed the logs here and there, to bring them over to the saw-mill, where they were hoisted into the mills by great chains, and then were moved over in front of a great saw to be sawed into lumber. "as the little cub bear watched these men every day he would think how easy it was, and how nice it was to ride around on those logs, and to step from one log to another, and how foolish his papa was to tell him not to go down on the logs, when it was so easy. "one day after watching the men for a long while, the little cub bear thought he would go down very, very carefully and walk out on one of the logs, and this he did. there he waited for a long while, sitting on the log. it was great fun, and didn't hurt at all, so finally he stepped over on to another log, and then on to another. my! how he enjoyed it. the little bear felt sure that his papa had make a great mistake in telling him to keep off the logs. "just then, as the little bear stepped from one log to another, both logs rolled, and down he went into the water. but he didn't mind that much because he could swim very well. the little bear swam to the surface as quickly as he could, but instead of getting his head out of the water, he bumped his head into the logs, for the surface of the water was all covered with floating logs. "then the little bear saw why his papa had told him never to play on the logs, because if he once fell into the river, he was very apt to be drowned. the little cub bear didn't give up and drown like that. he began to swim as hard as he could, and held his breath as long as he could, and after he had swum just as far as he possibly could, he came up to the surface again, and this time his nose came out between two logs, and there was just room enough for his nose to get up out of the water, so he had a chance to breath again. and oh, how good it seemed. and he took such long, deep breaths, and it seemed as though he could never get enough air. then he thought he would see if he couldn't find a way out, and he tried and tried, but there wasn't room between the logs for his head to come up out of the water. he couldn't even get his eyes above the surface of the water, and so he couldn't see where he was. pretty soon the logs began to move closer and closer together, and then he knew if he stayed where he was he would surely be killed. so he took a long breath, just as deep a breath as he could. "can you take a long, deep breath, little cub bear?" (and the little cub bear said, "yes, papa," and he took a long, deep breath to show his papa how the little bear breathed when he just had his nose above the water.) "then the little bear dropped down again under the water, and he swam as hard and fast as he could, hoping that the next time he came up he might possibly find another place where he could breathe. he knew that if he did not, he surely would be drowned and would never see his papa again. "when the little cub bear came up, he found a place just big enough for his nose, and again he took a very long breath, and waited until the logs began to come together again, then he dropped down and swam under the logs. and as he was swimming he could feel the logs scrape his back, and he knew that he was still underneath the great log raft. "finally, just as he had to breathe anyway, whether he breathed water and drowned, or breathed air and lived, he saw a little light place under the water where the light shone down between the logs and he swam to the surface, and this time his whole head came out of the water, and he got a deep breath of fresh air, and another and another, but he couldn't get out. he stayed there, and pretty soon he found that the logs were moving apart just a little bit at a time, so that his head could come up farther and farther. and finally he got his whole back out of the water. then the logs moved so that the little bear was able to crawl clear out of the water; and there he lay on the logs, tired out, and it was a long, long time before he could move or walk or do a thing. he was terribly frightened. but after a while, he managed to walk clear to the shore on the logs, and he was very careful not to fall in the water again. he walked home and lay down and went to sleep. his papa came home after a while with something to eat for supper. he shook the little bear, but the little bear was so tired he didn't wake up. and so his papa let him sleep all night." when the papa bear had finished telling his little cub the story about the "little-cub-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa," he said: "little cub bear, what do you think of this story?" and _our_ little cub bear scratched his head, and thought quite a long while, and then he said, "i think it is best to try, try again, and not to give up too easily, or you might get drowned." the papa bear said, "i think so, too, little cub bear. now, run to bed and go to sleep." so the little bear went to bed, and went to sleep. during the night he seemed to be dreaming. he moved his paws just as though he was swimming, and then he snorted like a whale, and took long, deep breaths, and then he moved his paws again, and then he breathed deep breaths again, and finally he sighed a great sigh, and slept quietly. the little bear was dreaming about something? can you guess what it was? the next morning the little cub bear waked up early and wondered if any other animal would come from the circus. he rubbed his eyes and listened. just then he heard a sound of small hoofs pattering along the path. the little cub bear ran to the mouth of the cave and looked down to see what it was, and he saw something white. he said: "i see something coming up the path. it looks something like a sheep, but has long, straight horns, and it has a beard, and long, straight hair." just then the owl saw the animal, and said, "who-o-o? who-o-o?" and the animal answered, "ba-a-a, ba-a-a." and the circus bear said, "i know who that is; that is billy the goat;" and just then the goat came to the mouth of the den, and the little cub bear said, very politely, "come in, mr. goat," and the goat came in, and he looked around and saw the circus bear and the big bears. the little cub bear said to him, "mr. goat, we are going to try to build a house large enough for all the animals, so if they come to see us we will have a place for them to stay." and the goat said, "i will be very glad to help you in any way i can, because your brother was very good to me when we were in the circus." and the little cub bear said, "what can you do?" and the goat said, "i don't know. i can butt like everything." and then the little cub bear said, "well, there is a very soft place in the ground, perhaps you can knock some of the dirt and rocks down, so we can carry it out and make more room." and then the goat said, "all right;" and he butted, and he butted, and he butted, and knocked down more dirt, and they carried it out, and he kept on and butted and butted and butted, and when he got through butting, there was a fine large room. and the cub bear said, "thank you. we will call this room billy's room. i am very glad that my brother was good to billy when he was in the circus, because if he hadn't been, maybe billy would have butted me instead of the rocks." the animals worked hard all that day trying to make the cave bigger. they scratched and dug the dirt, and the rocks, and worked as hard as they possibly could, for they were sure that soon the animals would be there and the cave would not be large enough. at night they all sat down and rested, and just as soon as the papa bear was seated, the little cub bear ran over to him and asked for another story about the "little-cub-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa." the papa bear was very tired, but he loved the dear little cub, and so he began the story: the "little-cub-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa" "a saw-mill, you know, is a very dangerous place for any little bear to play, because there are so many saws and knives and wheels, whirling around in every direction. this little bear, you remember, lived near a saw-mill, and belonged to his papa, who belonged to the man that owned the mill. "the papa bear told the little bear not to touch anything in the saw-mill, for if he did he would be sure to be hurt. the little bear said that he would not touch a single thing, for he didn't want to be hurt any more than his papa wanted him to be hurt. so the papa bear said that he would rather that his little bear would stay away from the mill; but the little bear teased so hard, that finally the papa bear told him he could go into the mill if he would be sure _not to touch a single thing_. the little bear said that he would be very careful, so papa bear let him go into the saw-mill, where all of the wheels were going around and around. my! how the little bear did enjoy the mill. "the great wheels and saws were going around so fast, with a whir-r-r-r, whir-r-r-r, and buz-z-z-z, buz-z-z-z. the great saws looked like shining wheels, and they went around so quickly that you could not see their teeth at all. a big log would come up to the saw on a sort of a carriage, and then buz-z-z-z, buz-z-z-z the saw would go clear through the big log from one end to the other, and before the little bear could think, the log would be made into boards. at first the little bear was very careful, for he remembered what his papa had told him, but after a while the little bear went close to the biggest saw in the whole mill and watched it go through the logs. "now, you know that bears always smell of a thing when they want to know what it is, so this little bear said to himself, 'papa didn't tell me not to smell of the saw; he told me not to _touch_ it. i think that i will smell of this wonderful thing that eats through the logs and makes them into boards.' he went closer and closer. he was a little afraid even to smell of the saw after all that his papa had told him, but he went closer and closer to the saw, until finally he reached out as far as he could with his nose to smell. ouch! ouch! ouch!! the awfullest howling and squealing that you ever heard from a little bear. "the papa bear ran in as fast as he could, and what do you think he saw? the poor little bear's face was all covered with blood, and he was howling and screaming as hard as he could. you see, the little bear could not see the teeth of the great saw, for they were going around so fast, and he had put his nose too close, and the saw had sawed the end of his nose right in two. "well, the poor papa bear was very, very sorry. he licked the blood off the little bear's face, and took him over to the house that the man had made for them. after a long time the little bear went to sleep. but his nose hurt so badly that he awoke in the night many times. "the next morning the little bear said to his papa, 'papa, i am sorry that i didn't obey you; you knew best; you always do, and i'll try not to be a bad little bear again.' the papa bear said, 'that's right, my little one, i am sorry that you were so badly hurt; i will not scold you, for i am sure that you have learned it is really best to do what papa tells you to do, and not to do the things that your papa tells you not to do.' the little bear said, 'i have, papa.' what do you suppose they called the little bear after that. they called him the 'split-nosed bear.'" when the papa bear had finished the story, he said to the cub bear, "what do you think of that story?" and the little cub bear answered, "i think that it is best to do what papa says." then the papa bear said, "that is right. now you must run back into the cave and go to sleep." that night the little cub bear dreamed a bad dream. i do not know what it was, but he spoke aloud in his sleep and said, "i am always going to mind my papa," and then he felt the end of his nose with his paw. can you guess what he was dreaming about? the next morning the little cub bear wakened very early and rubbed his eyes and wondered whether any of the animals would come from the circus. he listened and listened. pretty soon he heard a very faint little patter, as if made by very small feet, and the cub bear listened and listened, and then he went to the door and looked out, and he said: "i see a very strange animal coming. he has the shortest little legs. he is smaller than a very small dog, about as large as two cats, and he has a funny little sharp nose, and he has black and white stripes down his back." just then the owl saw the animal, and he said, "who-o-o? who-o-o?" but the animal didn't answer him. he came right along to the mouth of the den. just as he reached there, the circus bear said, "i know who that is. that is mr. badger. ask him to come in." so the little cub bear said very politely, "come in, mr. badger;" and the badger came in. the cub bear said, "we are going to try to build a house large enough for all the animals, so if they come to see us we will have a place for them to stay. can you help us?" and the badger said, "i would be very glad to help you if i could, because your brother was very good to me when we were in the circus." and the little cub bear said, "what can you do?" and the badger said, "i can dig a round hole, just as big around as i am, and dig very fast." and the little cub bear said, "that is nice. perhaps you can make us a chimney. here is a place in the side of the den where there is nothing but earth and dirt." he took the badger over and showed him, and the badger said, "yes, i can make you a fine chimney." so he commenced to scratch, and he scratched and he scratched very fast, digging up, instead of down; and he scratched and scratched, and the first thing you know, when the little cub bear looked, he didn't see any badger, but he saw the dirt falling out of the hole where the badger was; and the badger scratched and scratched, and more dirt came down. first thing you knew, no more dirt came down, but the little cub bear went and looked up the hole, and he could see clear out to the blue sky. just then they heard a patter at the door, and there was mr. badger. he had made a hole clear out into the open air, a nice chimney, and he came in and sat down with the other animals. that day the animals all worked as hard as ever, and at night when the papa bear sat down to rest, the little cub bear ran over to him and said, "papa, please tell me another story about the 'little-split-nosed-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa.'" "all right," said the papa bear, "i will, if you will promise me to go to bed as soon as i have finished." the little cub bear said, "i will, papa." so the papa bear told: the story of the "little-split-nosed-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa" "you remember that the little bear that had his nose split by the great circular saw lived with a man who owned a large saw-mill. for a long time after the little bear had his nose sawed in two, he kept away from the mill. "he said to himself, 'i will never go in that mill to be hurt again, and i will mind my papa.' for his papa had told him to keep out of the saw-mill. "but one day the little split-nosed bear was playing with a dog that belonged to the man who owned the saw-mill. they were having a fine time, playing bear hunt. the little split-nosed bear was playing the bear, and the little dog was playing that he was a big bloodhound dog running after the bear. the dog was really a very small dog, white, with brown ears, and a stub tail. you see he lived in a saw-mill, too. the little split-nosed bear would growl, g-r-o-w-l, g-r-o-w-l, and the little dog would run away as if he was terribly frightened. then the dog would run after the little split-nosed-bear and bark, and he could bark very, very loud for so small a dog. bow! wow! wow! bow! wow! wow! then the little split-nosed-bear would run away just as if he was terribly frightened. then the little split-nosed-bear would hide, and it would take the dog a long time to find him. "they were having a splendid time jumping around and running in and out of the dark places, when the little split-nosed-bear ran into the saw-mill, for he was playing so hard that he forgot all about the saw and what his papa had told him. the little dog was so close to the little split-nosed-bear that the little bear ran as fast as he could, and jumped up on to an iron platform that looked just as if it were made on purpose for a little bear to jump up on, and there the little split-nosed-bear stood looking down at the dog and g-r-o-w-l-i-n-g, g-r-o-w-l-i-n-g, at him. the little dog jumped up as far as he could and bit the split-nosed-bear on his heel. then the little split-nosed-bear whirled around like a flash, and what do you suppose happened? "ouch! ouch! ouch! "and such growling and howling and squealing you never heard. the little dog ran away as fast as he could, for he was really frightened this time. 'k-i-yi! k-i-yi! k-i-yi!' he howled, as he ran out of the door. "the papa bear heard the noise. he was afraid that the split-nosed-bear was really killed this time, so he ran as fast as he could to the little bear, and--what do you suppose he saw? there was the little split-nosed-bear rolling about on the floor, and up on the iron platform where he had been playing was a little brown bear's ear. oh! how sorry the papa bear felt to think his poor little bear had lost his ear, just because he had forgotten to do as his papa had told him to do. you see the little split-nosed-bear had been standing on the iron platform of a band saw. what he thought was a strap whirling around two wheels was really a saw. when the split-nosed-bear had turned around quickly, his ear had come against the saw, and it was sawed off quicker than you could think, with a zip-p-p and a buz-z-z. "the papa bear licked the stump of the ear and said, 'i am so sorry, dear little split-nosed-bear, that you forgot and did not mind your papa.' "as soon as he could talk the little split-nosed-bear said, 'i'll always mind my papa after this.' "the papa bear put him to bed, but his ear hurt so that he wakened several times in the night. after the little split-nosed-bear got well they always called him the little 'one-eared-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa.' "this is the end of my story about the little split-nosed-bear," said the papa bear, as he finished. "now, little cub bear, run to bed in the back of the cave, and go to sleep as quickly as you can." the little cub bear ran quickly to bed, and went to sleep in the dark alone, for he wanted to be a brave little bear. but after he had been sleeping a while, he talked in his sleep and said, "i am always going to mind my papa." then he felt of his ear and m-o-a-n-e-d. can you guess what the little cub bear was dreaming about? the next morning the little cub bear wakened very early, and as soon as he had rubbed his eyes, he wondered if any of the animals would come that day. he listened, the circus bear listened, and susie bear listened. pretty soon they heard something coming up the path, and little cub bear rushed to the mouth of the den to see what it was, and he said: "i see a very strange animal coming up the path. it has the most beautiful fur i ever saw, ever so much finer than bear's fur, and the animal looks something like mr. badger, only its fur is all one color, and it has the funniest tail, almost as big as a shovel, flat and broad." just then the owl saw the animal and said, "who-o-o? who-o-o?" but the animal didn't answer at all, except he gave two slaps with his broad flat tail on the ground. and the circus bear said, "i know who that is. that is mr. beaver. ask him to come in." mr. beaver came to the door, and the little cub bear said very politely, "come in, mr. beaver." the beaver came in, and the little cub bear said, "we are going to try to build a house big enough for all the animals, so if they come to see us we will have a place for them to stay. can you help us?" and the beaver said, "i will be very glad to, because your brother was very good to me when we were in the circus." the little cub bear said, "what can you do?" and the beaver said, "i can build dams across streams so as to make beautiful lakes, such as they have in parks, and i can build a nice, round house in the lake to live in and large enough for a little bear to live in, if he can only get inside without getting wet." and the cub bear said, "that would be fine, because we could have a park for the animals to play in, and some of the animals would rather live in the water, anyway, than live in a cave." so the beaver said, "all right; i will make you a dam and a beautiful lake." so they all went down to the stream, and the beaver went up to a tree, and he commenced to bite it. he bit, and he bit, and he bit, and the chips just flew, and he bit, and he bit, and he bit, and the chips just flew, and the first thing they knew, the tree fell over. then he went to another tree, not a very large tree, only about so thick (three inches). then he went to another tree, and he bit, and he bit, and bit, and the first thing they knew, that tree fell over. so he kept on until he had cut down a great many trees, and then he took them down and put them in the stream, and he put in leaves; and then the water began to rise higher and higher, and the beaver kept piling in and piling in leaves and trees, and soon he had a high dam clear across the stream. the next morning when they looked, the water had filled up above the dam and made a beautiful lake. soon the beaver went to work, and made a house out of mud. he used his fore feet like hands, walking on his hind feet, and he used his flat tail to make a beautiful mud house, big enough to live in himself, and big enough for little cub bear to get in, if he could only get in without getting wet. could you make so nice a mud house? and the little cub bear said, "thank you, mr. beaver," very politely. "i am very glad my brother was good to mr. beaver in the circus." as soon as they had seen the dam built by the beaver, all of the animals began to work again as hard as they could work to make the cave larger, because it was much too small for the animals that were already there, and the elephant could not get in at all. at night they were all very tired, but as soon as the papa bear sat down, the little cub bear ran over and got as close as he could to his papa and asked him to tell another story about the "little-one-eared-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa." so although he was very tired, the papa bear began the story of: the "one-eared-bear-that-would-not mind-his-papa" "you remember that the little bear had promised that he would not go into the saw-mill at all; but one day the little one-eared-bear was very lonesome. he wanted to go into the mill, but he remembered that his papa had told him again, that very morning, that he must be sure to keep away from the saw-mill. he thought a while, and then he said to himself, 'papa didn't tell me to keep out of the _planing-mill_. i think that i will go in there.' "now the planing-mill was just as bad a place for little bears as the saw-mill itself, and the little one-eared-bear knew this, but you see he _wanted_ to go in, and so he went in any way. what do you suppose happened to the one-eared-bear this time? "he played for a while, and had a very fine time. he enjoyed it so much that he said he would come again; he liked to see the wheels go round and round with a whiz-z-z-z-z-z and whir-r-r-r. just then the little one-eared-bear saw a funny machine with a thing buzzing around that looked like a roller such as a cook uses to roll out cookies with. "the little bear said, 'i want to feel the wind that must be made by this roller going so fast, but i'll not get close enough to touch the thing, for i might get hurt, and i don't want to get hurt again.' "so the little one-eared-bear reached out his paw very carefully, closer and closer. ouch! ouch! ouch! such howling and squealing you never heard. what do you think had happened? the little one-eared-bear had touched the sharp knives or planes that whirl round and round in a planer. you see they go around so fast that you can not see them at all, for they look just like a solid roller. well, the poor little one-eared-bear's foot was bleeding and looked terrible. "the papa bear heard the little one-eared-bear's howling, and ran in to the mill as fast as he could, and there he saw that the little one had lost all the toes of one foot. the papa bear licked the little one's foot, and did everything that he could to make his little bear feel better, but he could not put back those poor little toes. the little one-eared-bear was very, very sorry, too. once he whimpered, and told his papa that he was ever so sorry that he had not done as his papa had told him to do, and said that he would never, never again do anything that his papa told him not to do. but that didn't make his toes grow again. "the little one-eared-bear went to bed that night, but he didn't sleep very well, because his foot hurt him so much. after a long while the foot healed, so that the little bear could walk around, but he always limped as long as he lived. he said that he could never again forget to do as his papa told him to do, because every step that he took he remembered that foot, and how he had lost all his toes by not doing as his papa told him. after that they didn't call the little bear the little one-eared-bear any more. they always called him--what do you suppose? the club-foot bear." when the little cub bear's papa had finished telling the story of the little one-eared-bear, the little cub bear said, "i think that it is best to do what papa says." and the papa bear said, "that's right, dear little cub. now run back into the cave and go to sleep." the little cub bear ran quickly to the back part of the cave, where it was all dark, and went to bed on some roots and brush and was soon asleep. when he was fast asleep, he talked in his sleep and said, "i am always going to do what my papa tells me to do." and then he felt of one of his paws and moaned, m-o-a-n-e-d, a sad little moan. can you guess what the little cub bear was dreaming about? the next morning the beaver and the owl and the monkey were talking together, and the beaver said: "i am going down to live in that beautiful mud house that i made yesterday in the lake. the house has several rooms inside, and the door is under the water. i can swim out there, and then dive under the water and come up inside the house. no one could find me in there. when i am swimming around in the lake, or working on the dam, if i see any one coming, i will jump into the water and hit the water two great slaps with my tail." and the monkey said, "yes, i know how that sounds. that sounds just like a gun." the owl said as soon as he saw any one coming he would say, "who-o-o? who-o-o?" and the monkey said that he thought he would go out every morning and see if he couldn't find some of the animals and bring them up to the cave, and see if they would like to live there in the cave, if it could be made big enough for them. so the beaver went down to the dam to work, and the monkey went out to see if he could find any of the animals, and the old owl flew up into the tree, and sat out on the end of a dead limb and waited. before very long the little cub bear heard, "bang! bang!" he knew the beaver had seen some animal coming, and had struck the water with his tail, so he ran to the mouth of the cave to see what it was. soon he heard a rustling noise and looked down the path. "i see a large animal coming," he said. "he looks very fierce. he is as large as a large bear, but he is yellow all over, and has long, shaggy hair all over his head, and beautiful, large eyes, and a long tail, with a tassel on the end of it." just then the owl saw this animal and said, "who-o-o? who-o-o?" the animal opened his mouth and gave the most awful, "roar!! roar!! roar!!! roar!!!!" you ever heard. it frightened the little cub bear so that he didn't stop to hear what the circus bear said, or find out what kind of an animal it was at all, but he ran clear back in the very back of the cave, into jenny's room, and there he waited, almost frightened to death. as soon as the little cub bear got over his fright, he noticed the air blowing through a crack. it seemed to come right out of the mountain. he did not understand, and thought he would ask his brother about it. just then the circus bear said, "come out, come out, little cub bear; don't be afraid; the animal is a lion, and he won't hurt you, because he is a tame lion, and is a very good friend of mine." so the little cub bear came out and went to the mouth of the cave, just in time to meet the lion and the monkey, and he said very politely, "come in, mr. lion." and the lion came in, and the little cub bear said, "we are going to try to build a house big enough for all the animals, so if they come to see us, we will have a place for them to stay. can you help us?" and the lion said, "i would be very glad to help you if i could, because your brother was very good to me when we were in the circus." and little cub bear said, "what can you do?" and the lion said, "i don't know. i never built a house, because i always lived in the jungle, where there are lots of trees and grass, and we found our houses already built, just like your den. but i will do anything you want me to. i can jump ever so far." and the little cub bear said, "that is nice. let's see how far you can jump." then the papa bear and the mamma bear, and the little cub bear, and the monkey all went out to see how far the lion could jump. the owl flapped his great wings and said, "to-whit! to-whit! to-whit!" the lion crept away, then he said: "now, i will show you how i catch things to eat." and he pointed to a log of wood ten or fifteen feet away, and he said, "i will show you what i would do if that log were a deer." the lion crouched and lay as still as a little mouse, and the bears were all still, waiting to see what the lion would do. there was not a sound in the forest. suddenly, little cub bear saw a yellow flash through the air and heard a thud. then he looked at the log of wood, and there was the lion on the log with his claws stuck into it. and the little cub bear said, "my! i am glad i am not a deer, and that the lion does not want me for his dinner." the animals worked all morning, trying to make the cave larger, but the papa bear went off with little susie bear to see what they could find to eat. when dinner time came, the animals all rested for a while. as they were sitting there talking, little cub bear said to the lion, "mr. lion, i wish you would tell me a story about the most narrow escape you ever had in your life." the lion's story of his most narrow escape "well," said the lion, "you know i used to live in africa, and used to eat deer and other animals. you remember i showed you this morning how i would catch deer? "well, one night it was very dark, and i climbed up on a bank, and there i waited. i could not hear a sound. everything was just as still as could be. suddenly, a long way off, i heard a sound as if an animal was moving. below the bank there was a path that the animals took when they went to get water, and it seemed to me that this animal was coming along the path, and would soon be right under the place where i was waiting. i watched and watched, and the animal came nearer and nearer and nearer; but it was very dark, and i couldn't see a thing, and i was very sure, any way, that it was a deer, and that i could have him for my supper. the animal came nearer and nearer, and, finally, i gave a great leap; and what do you suppose i landed upon? the back of a rhinoceros. "you know a rhinoceros has a skin almost as hard as iron, and right on the end of his nose two horns, very sharp. if i had landed on those horns, it surely would have killed me. the rhinoceros was terribly frightened, and so was i. he snorted and roared almost like a locomotive. i tried to dig my claws into his back, but i couldn't get through his tough hide at all. it was just like trying to scratch a locomotive. he jumped and rolled over and hurt my foot, and i found i couldn't move, because he had one of his great feet on my claws." then the lion pointed to his claw and showed how it was all bent and twisted and scarred, and said, "that is where the rhinoceros stepped on my foot. "finally the rhinoceros grew so angry that he put his tongue out. i reached up and bit a hole clear through his tongue, and then he ran away as fast as he could, and i ran away as fast as i could, but i had to run on three feet. and that is the end of my story." the little cub bear looked at the lion, then he looked at the lion's lame foot, and then he scratched his head and said, "i think it is a good plan to 'look before you leap.'" and the lion said, "i wish somebody had told me that a long time ago." after the lion had finished his story, and the animals had eaten their dinner, they commenced to work again, and worked all afternoon. late that night the papa bear came home with a lot of strawberries that he had found, and all of the bears had a fine supper. the elephant ate hay and grass and the other animals found something they liked to eat. after the lion had finished the story, the little cub bear commenced to tease his papa for a story about the "little-club-foot-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa," but the papa bear said that he was tired of telling stories about the "little-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa," but would tell a story about a club-foot grizzly bear, if the little cub bear wanted to hear it. the little cub bear said that he did, and snuggled up as close as he could to his papa, for grizzly bears are as large as four or five grown-up brown bears all put together, and they have great teeth and claws. they like to eat little pigs, and little calves, and such things instead of berries and honey. when the little cub bear had snuggled up as close to his papa as he could the papa bear commenced. the true story of how ten men did not kill club-foot "when i was a little cub bear, long before i met your mother, and long before you were born, i lived in a small cave near a store, where men used to meet and talk about the bears that they had killed, and mountain lions that they had seen, and all sorts of stories of that kind. well, i used to come down in the dark sometimes, and put my ear up to the crack between the logs, and listen to what the men said. "one evening, while the men were telling stories, one of them said, 'did you ever hear of the big grizzly, called club-foot?' "and all the men said that they had heard of club-foot, except one of the men that had not lived there very long. he said that he had never heard of this grizzly. the men told this newcomer that club-foot was a very large bear, one of the largest that had ever been seen. the men said that a great many men had tried to kill this giant grizzly, because he would kill their little pigs and their little calves and colts. then, too, they wanted to get his great skin to make a carriage robe. but they had never been able to get the bear. for even if they hit him with bullets from their guns, it did not seem to hurt him much, but made him very angry. this grizzly, instead of running away from a man with a gun, would run right up to him and knock the gun out of his hand. no one could kill this bear. "they said that the bear lived in the san bernardino mountains, and that his great tracks had often been seen, and that all of his toes were missing from one foot. that was the reason they called him 'club-foot.' probably when he was a little bear he had been caught in a trap and lost his toes. they said that the bear made regular trips from mount san bernardino to the antelope valley, sixty miles away. he had made the trips so often, that he had made a sort of trail through the mountains. this trail, the men said, was only a mile or so back of the store. "while the men were talking, another man came in and said, 'old club-foot has started from his den, in the side of mount san bernardino, and is coming this way. he ought to be along here some time to-night.' "then one of the men that they called 'alex' said, 'it is a fine moonlight night to-night. let's all get our guns and go up to the old grizzly's trail, and see if we can't kill him. there is a pig-pen right near the trail, with little pigs in it, so that the grizzly will be sure to stop there long enough for us to shoot him.' "then the man that came in last and told about the club-foot's coming, said, 'there are two irishmen that live a little farther on along the trail that are going to do the same thing. they are going to watch near another pig-pen that is farther on, and they think that they will kill club-foot.' "'well,' alex said, 'there will be ten of us with guns of all sorts, and i think that those irishmen will never see old club-foot, for he will never get as far as they are. we will have his skin by that time.' "all the men said, 'we'll do it. it will be lots of fun, and club-foot will not bother the farmer's little pigs and calves, and colts any more.' "all the men got their guns and rifles, and some lunch to eat while they were waiting for old club-foot to come along. i was very curious to see what the men would do and how they would kill the grizzly, and then, too, i wanted to see a great grizzly bear; so i followed the men, but i kept so far behind that they did not see me at all. as the men walked along they talked about how they would kill old club-foot, as they called the great grizzly bear. the men said they thought they would climb trees, and wait in the tops of them, where they would be safer, and where the bear could not get at them before they had had a chance to kill him. two men, though, said that they were going to stay on the ground, and that the other men ought not to be afraid and climb in the tops of the trees; they ought to stay down on the ground and shoot the bear there, and they laughed at the men who said they were going to stay up in the trees. "finally they came to the path that old club-foot usually traveled, and there was the pig-pen with the little pigs in it. all the men but two climbed up into the trees, and there they waited. i went around and hid behind a rock, to see what would happen. "very soon there came a great crashing noise, and as i looked up along the path i saw old club-foot coming very fast. he didn't stop for anything. he went right through the bushes, and jumped over the tops of the small trees, and as he came out into the moonlight he seemed to be as big as jumbo. i waited and thought i would hear the men shooting; but suddenly i heard the men who were on the ground crying out to the men who had gone up in the trees, 'don't shoot; don't shoot. if you shoot the old club-foot and don't kill him, he will surely kill us.' "and they dropped their guns and ran as fast as they could and commenced to climb trees. they climbed up a little way, but they were so frightened, and so hurried, that they would slip back. "old club-foot came right along, but he didn't notice the men at all, or pay any attention to them. he went right up to the pig-pen, and he hit it one blow and knocked it all to pieces. he took up two pigs, one in each of his two great forepaws, and off he went down the path, and not one of the men fired a single shot. "pretty soon the men came down from the trees, and then they all began to scold one another. one man said to alex, 'why didn't you shoot?' "'well,' he said, 'the old club-foot looked as big as an elephant, and i thought if i shot him and didn't kill him, that he would come and shake the tree down and eat me up.' "and the other men said that was the reason that they didn't shoot. then they said to the brave fellows who stayed on the ground, 'why didn't you shoot?' "'well,' they said, 'we didn't know the bear was so big.' "after the men had got nearly home, they sat down and talked it all over, and one of them said, 'what will you say to the two irishmen that were going to kill club-foot? you know we thought we would kill him, and he would never get as far as the irishmen?' "and they all agreed that they would not say a thing about it to any one, but would wait and see what the irishmen said when they came into the store the next evening. "well, the next evening, i went down and hid behind the house to hear what the men would say. and sure enough, very soon in came the two irishmen. one irishmen was named mike, and the other, pat. the men all said, 'hello, mike,' and 'hello, pat.' but no one said anything about old club-foot. "after a while alex said, 'well, mike, where is the bear skin you were going to bring us?' for mike had said that he would have a bear skin for them that night. 'didn't you see old club-foot?' "'yes,' mike said, 'we saw club-foot. he came right by us, and we were sitting on the roof of the pig-pen. he knocked the pig-pen right out from under us, and took a little pig and ran off with it.' "'well,' alex said, 'why didn't you shoot him?' "and mike said, 'well--well, we couldn't find our guns.' "and so that was the way that the ten men didn't kill old club-foot. and it is said that he is still living in the san bernardino mountains, and still goes over the same old trail every year. for some reason, no one has ever succeeded in getting him." after papa bear had finished the story, little cub bear said, "i wish i were a great big grizzly bear, so that i would not be afraid of a gun." but the papa bear said, "it is always a good thing to be afraid of a gun, no matter how big you may be." the little cub bear ran off to bed in the dark, and was soon fast asleep. in his sleep he reached out with his paw and gave a great slap, then a moment after he reached out again and gave another slap. can you guess what he was dreaming about? the next morning the little cub bear woke up very early, and rubbed his eyes, and wondered if any animal would come that day. he listened and listened, but he heard nothing. suddenly there was a loud "bang! bang!" and he knew that some animal was coming. the little cub bear ran to the mouth of the den, where he could hear a rustling sound. he looked down the path, but could see nothing. he looked again and this time he looked up among the branches of the trees, because he thought it might be a bird coming. and what do you think he saw? away up among the branches of the trees he could see an animal's head. he said: "i see an animal's head moving among the trees. his head has large ears and very large eyes, and two horns different from any horns i ever saw. they are blunt on the end, and stick straight up, and seem to have hair on the end of the horns. i can't see the animal, but i see a long, long neck, covered with big yellow spots. as the animal comes nearer, i can see more of his neck. and now i can see his legs and his body. his body looks something like a horse, only the hind legs are much shorter than the front legs. if you tried to ride on his back you would slip off behind, because it is slanting, like a hill, and all covered with those yellow spots." just then the owl saw this animal, and he said, "who-o-o-o? who-o-o-o?" the animal did not answer a word, but came right along. just as he got to the mouth of the den, the circus bear said, "i know who that is. that is mr. giraffe. ask him to come in." so the little cub bear said very politely, "come in, mr. giraffe." [illustration: "come in, mr. giraffe."] but, of course, the giraffe could not come in. finally, he knelt down and stuck his long neck into the cave, and the cub bear said to him, "we are going to try to build a house big enough for all the animals, so if they come to see us we will have a place for them to stay. can you help us?" and the giraffe said, "i would be very glad to help you if i could, because your brother was very good to me when we were in the circus." and the little cub bear said, "what can you do?" and the giraffe answered, "i don't know. i never built a house in my life. i eat the leaves off the trees and live out-of-doors, just like horses and zebras and cows. i never had a home. but, i have the longest neck of any animal in the whole world, and if there is anything up in the air you want me to look for, or if there is anything a long way off that you would like to have me see, i think i can look for it for you." and the little cub bear suddenly thought of the hole way back in the back part of the cave where the wind came from, and he said, "i wish you would come in and see if you can put your head through a hole in the back part of the cave. maybe you will find something." and the giraffe said, "i will be very glad to try." and so he wriggled, and twisted, and got into the den, and got away back in the back part, and he found a hole, and it was just large enough for his head and his long neck. he stuck his head farther and farther into the hole, and stayed there so long that the little cub bear was afraid something was wrong, so, he and the monkey took hold of the giraffe's tail and pulled just as hard as they could. the giraffe finally pulled his head out of the hole, and the cub bear said, "what did you see?" and the giraffe said, "i found it very dark, and i had to keep my head in a long time so that my eyes would get used to the darkness, but i could see that there was a large room--a large cave back of this cave. i couldn't see the end of it at all. i think if we could only get into this room, we would have a place large enough for all the animals in the circus, if they wanted to come here to live." and the little cub bear said, "my! wouldn't that be nice? i wonder, if all the animals would help, if we couldn't break down the rock and get into this room?" that night, after all the animals had done all they could to get things to eat and to make the cave large enough, the lion and some of the other animals came into the cave. the giraffe was still out trying to get enough leaves to eat, and the elephant was eating the last of the baled hay that had been brought from the train wreck. "papa, please tell me another story about the 'little-club-foot-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa'." the papa bear sighed a great sigh, because he was very tired, but he wanted to please the little fellow so he told the story of: the "club-foot-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa"--a great smash-up "after the 'little-club-foot-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa' had had his nose split, had lost an ear, had nearly drowned three times, and all of the toes had been cut off of one foot, the papa bear thought he had better move away to some place where there were not so many things to hurt little bears. so he moved a long, long way to a place where there was a great coal mine. "there the men would go down in the ground and dig coal from away under the ground. the coal was to be burned in stoves to keep little boys and girls warm in the winter time, for they do not sleep all winter as little bears do. the coal was used also to cook what the little boys and girls and their papas and their mammas ate--bread, and meat, and pies, and cakes, and everything nice. the coal was used to make the railway monsters go back and forth on the tracks, hauling men, and circus trains, and freight trains. a railway monster could not go, 't-o-o-t, t-o-o-t!' or 'c-h-u, c-h-u, c--h--u!' move, or do anything without coal or coal-oil. "the 'little-club-foot-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa' thought that the coal mine was very fine. he liked to watch the men as they went down into the ground in the cages or elevators, and to watch them come up at night with their little coffee-pot-like lamps, hanging in the front of their caps to show them where to go in the dark. (you see that it was always dark way down in the mine.) "he liked to watch the engine as it went, 'puff, puff, puff!' but this engine did not move back and forth, like a locomotive. it was called a stationary engine, because it stood in one place, and how do you suppose it moved the men? one part of the engine was called a drum, because it was round like a drum, and on this was a great steel rope, like a thread on a great spool. as the drum or spool turned around and round, the rope would be wound up or unwound, and the rope went up over a great wheel and then hung down in the hole and the cage with the men in it was on the end of the rope, and as the rope unwound, the cage went down into the hole in the ground, and as it wound up the cage came up to the top of the ground. but the man had to be very careful to stop in time, or the men and cage and all would be wound around the drum and smashed and killed. "now the papa bear was very careful to tell the little bear never, never to touch the engine, or anything about it; but one day the 'little club-foot-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa' went into the engine room, when every one else had gone away to dinner. the engineer had just stepped out. it was a cold day, and the little bear enjoyed the warm room. the machinery was all so bright, some looked like gold, and some looked like silver, and some parts were a beautiful bright red, and others were a pretty green. after the 'little-club-foot-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa' had been there a while, he saw a sort of handle, and before he stopped to think, he reached up and gave it a strong pull, to see if it would move. and what do you think happened? "the engine went 'puff, puff, puff!' the wheels went around and around, and the drums commenced to wind the rope up very, very fast. my! how frightened the little club-foot-bear was. he ran away as fast as he could run, but he was scarcely out of the door before the cage came to the top of the ground. but there was no one to stop the engine, and so the cage went on up to the wheel, and there was a great crash, and down came the wheel and cage. and on and on to the great drum, and then there was the greatest tearing, and smashing, and breaking you ever heard--'bang! bang! smash! smash! crack! crack! crash! crash!' and then the noise stopped, for the beautiful engine was broken all to pieces, and the 'little-club-foot-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa' ran and ran, and he didn't go home that night, nor the next night, for he was ashamed to meet his papa. "and all the time he was saying, 'oh, why didn't i mind my papa? the beautiful engine is all smashed, and the poor little donkeys that haul the coal cars way down in the mine will starve to death because no one can take them anything to eat.' but finally the 'little-club-foot-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa' went home. he found his papa feeling very sad, because he thought his little cub was killed. the papa kissed him, and gave him a great bear hug, but he felt very sorry, and so did the little cub." when the papa bear had finished telling the story to his little cub, the little bear said very sweetly, "good night, papa dear; i am always going to do just what you tell me to do." and the papa bear said, "i hope so, little cub." that night the little cub bear got up in his sleep and ran as fast as he could, but he soon ran against his papa, who was sleeping there in the cave. the papa bear saw that he had been running in his sleep, so he took him and put him back in his bed. he must have been dreaming. can you guess what he was dreaming about? the next morning, after the animals had their breakfast, the little cub bear told them that the giraffe had said that there was a fine cave back of the one where the bears lived. so the animals all agreed that they would do the best they could, and all work together, to see if they could not succeed in making a hole large enough for all the animals to get through into the next cave, for you remember that the hole was only large enough for the long-necked giraffe to get his head through. they went to work to make the hole larger. the mule kicked down rocks; the goat butted down more rocks; the monkey, the bears, the mamma bear, the papa bear, susie bear, the circus bear, and the little cub bear all carried the rocks out of the cave. the elephant helped as well as he could with his trunk, but the mouth of the cave was so small that he could not get in to work. they all worked until they were tired, but they could not get through into the cave although the hole was made much larger. that night, before they went to sleep, the little cub bear teased his papa for a story about the "little-club-foot-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa," but the papa bear was so tired, that he asked if some of the animals would not be willing to tell the little cub bear a story. the parrot said that she had heard the story told by the lion about his most narrow escape, and that she would be willing to tell the story of her most narrow escape, if little cub bear would promise not to ask his papa for another story that night. of course, the little cub bear promised, and so the parrot told the story of her most narrow escape from death. the parrot's most narrow escape "well," said the parrot, "i lived in south america, where there were many beautiful trees and many strange animals, and some of the largest snakes in the whole world. the very largest snake that lives there is called the boa constrictor. he is so large that he can swallow a deer whole, and, of course, a poor little parrot, or a chicken, or a rabbit, would not make a meal for him. it would hardly make a dessert. "one day i was seated on the end of a long limb, nearly asleep, when suddenly i looked up and saw a man pointing a gun at me, and all ready to shoot me. i was so frightened that i could not move, and i expected him to shoot any minute, but i thought that before i was killed, i would take one last look at the blue sky that i was never to see again--and what do you think i saw? a great snake, a boa constrictor, coiled around the limb above me, and looking at me as though he wanted to eat me. i was more frightened than ever. it seemed that his look made me weak, sick and dizzy. before i could move, the snake darted at me like a flash, seized me and began to swallow me. in a moment i was just like poor jonah, only i was inside a snake instead of a whale. everything was dark and i could not think, except that i knew i would die in a minute. "suddenly i heard a great 'bang! bang!' and the old snake began to squirm and twist. then in a moment i felt something cut through the snake, and i was out in the bright sunshine, and the sun almost blinded my eyes. you see, the man had shot the snake instead of shooting me, as he had intended. he took me out and put me in a bag that he had with him. "then he sent me to the circus, and i was there until the wreck of the train. there i learned to talk like the men. i could say, 'polly wants a cracker,' 'come right in, ladies and gentlemen,' and many other things. i learned to sneeze like a man, 'ker-chou-ou-ou, ker-chou-ou-ou,' and to snore like a man, 'aw-hu, aw-h--u, a--w-h--u,' and to cough, 'h-u-h, h-u-h,' and to whistle so that i could call a dog, '-----------,' and to cluck so that i could make the horses go, and i learned to ride on a dog's back without sticking my claws in so that it hurt him. but that is all my story." "my," said the little cub bear, "what a narrow escape. we should never lose hope. i'm glad that you escaped." after the parrot had finished the story, the little cub bear went to sleep. when he was sound asleep he suddenly began to breathe hard, as though he could not get enough air, and he twisted around and seemed to be smothering. soon, though, he breathed a great, deep breath, and then he was still and quiet. i think that he must have been dreaming? can you guess what he was dreaming about? the little cub bear slept very late next morning, and when he got up all of the animals were up, and were talking about the cave and wondering whether any more of the animals would come that day. while the animals were talking they heard two great noises, "bang! bang!" and they knew that the beaver was telling them that some animal was coming. the cub bear rushed to the mouth of the cave to see who it was, and he said: "i see two rats coming up the path. they are perfectly white. with the two rats is a rat that is bigger than both of them. it has beautiful fur." just then the cub bear looked up at the owl, to see why the owl did not say "who-o-o? who-o-o-o?" and just as he looked, he saw the old owl start from his perch, with a great fluttering of wings, and pounce like a flash down on the rats, and he caught one of the white rats in his claws and flew back to his perch, and there he began to eat this poor little white rat. but the other white rat and the muskrat came into the cave. the little cub bear said very politely, "come in, mr. rat." but the little white rat was trembling so that he couldn't say a thing. and the cub bear said, "i am very glad i am not a little rat, to be eaten up by a wicked old owl." but the circus bear said, "you know that owls eat rats, and mice, and little birds, and things of that kind; but this owl is a very good, kind owl, and i am surprised that he would harm one of the white rats from the circus; but i guess he is very hungry, because he has been sitting up there a long while with nothing to eat." then the cub bear said, "we are going to try to build a house big enough for all the animals, so if they come to see us, we will have a place for them to stay. we think there is a large cave, large enough for us all, back of this cave, but we don't know. can you help us?" then the muskrat said, "i should be very glad to help you if i can, because your brother was very good to me when we were in the circus." and the little cub bear said, "what can you do?" and the muskrat said, "i can climb through this round hole here and see what there is in there." so he scampered through the hole where the giraffe had looked, and was gone a long, long while, and they all waited and wondered why he didn't come back. finally the muskrat did come back, but he was all wet, and all the animals wondered why. the little cub bear said, "what did you find?" the muskrat said: "i found the most beautiful cave in the whole world. it has a level, smooth floor, and is nice and clean, and there are beautiful columns that come down from the roof to the floor of the cave, just like the pillars in a great palace, and away back in the back part of the cave there is a beautiful stream of clear, cold water. i had a fine swim in it. this cave is large enough for all the animals in the circus. there is one place back in the cave that is big enough for all the circus tents of the circus we used to be in." and the circus bear said, "my! that is grand," because he knew how large the tents were. and the little cub bear said, "my! that is grand," because his brother had said the same thing, and he knew it must be so. then the animals began to plan how they could get into this cave. finally they all agreed that if they could make the opening of the den large enough for the elephant to get in, and if the rhinoceros should come with his great horn, and some more of the animals would come, that they surely could get into this cave. so that night the elephant worked as hard as he could with his tusks and his trunk, and all the bears worked carrying out rock and stones, and digging out roots with their claws; and the monkey scampered around and carried out small rocks, and pulled out small roots, and helped some; but he kept pulling the elephant's tail every once in a while, and was more bother than he was help; just like some boys that you know. but finally they got the mouth of the den large enough so the elephant could come in. he came in and sat down, and then there was hardly room enough for any other animal. the poor little cub bear and the circus bear were squeezed up tight against the wall, and papa and mamma bear had to get way back, in the back part of the cave; and the monkey had to hang to a root way up on the top of the cave. but by turning around slowly, the elephant found that he could use his tusks and trunk to move some of the rocks. they all worked hard until they were tired, and were nearly through into the cave, and had made the room so much larger, that they all had room to sit down and talk. the next morning early the little cub bear heard the "bang, bang!" of the beaver's tail, and rushed to the mouth of the cave, and there he saw a very large animal, with two horns on the end of his nose, and a funny looking skin, hard and horny. he knew at once that the animal was the rhinoceros the lion had told about the night before. the owl said, "who-o-o? who-o-o-o?" and the animal answered with a terrible snort and r-o-a-r. then the rhinoceros came to the mouth of the cave, and the little bear said: "i am very glad that you came, because we are trying to build a house that will be large enough to hold all of the animals that used to live in the circus, and the giraffe tells us that there is a large cave back of this cave, and if we can only break through, we will have a house that will be big enough for us all." then the rhinoceros said, "what can i do? for i would like to help. your brother was very good to me when we were in the circus, and i would be very glad to do anything that i can." the little cub bear said, "i think that with that great horn of yours you could help to tear out some of the dirt and rocks, and the monkeys and the bears could then carry them out. perhaps the elephant could be hitched to the chariot, and we could carry out some of the dirt and rocks in it." the rhinoceros said that he would be very glad to do this. that night, after the animals were through with their work, the little cub bear, who was the greatest fellow for stories that you ever saw, began to tease his papa for another story about the "little-club-foot-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa." finally, the papa bear said that he would tell a story, if the little cub bear would promise to go right to bed as soon as he was through with the story. of course the little cub bear said that he would, so papa bear told him the story of: the "little-club-foot-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa" and the dynamite "you know that little cub bears like to eat," said the papa bear to his little cub bear. "but the 'little-club-foot-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa' once found a tallow candle, and he ate it all up, and it tasted as good to him as a stick of candy does to a little boy, and so always after that he was looking for tallow candles. "not far from where the little bear lived, there was a mine, where miners were digging in the rock to see if they couldn't get out some gold; and the miners had candles to use, so that when they were away in the mine, where it was dark, they could light a candle and see to work. one time the little club-foot-bear found a whole box of candles, and he took eight or ten candles out, and carried them home and ate them. and when his papa found it out, he told him not to go there any more, because he might get hurt. the 'little-club-foot-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa' stayed away from the mine for a long time. "but one day, after he had eaten all the candles up, he thought he would like to go back again and see if he could not find some more. so he went and he found another box of candles, as he thought. they looked almost like the other candles, but they were not so white; they were yellow and covered with paper. if the little club-foot-bear could have read as little boys can, he would have seen these letters on the box: 'd-y-n-a-m-i-t-e.' just as he got his arms full of these candles, as he thought, he heard the men coming, and he ran over to a tree and climbed the tree as fast as he could, with his arms full of these yellow candles. he got nearly to the top of the tree on a big limb, and there he sat and waited. the men came out, but they went back into the mine. the little club-foot-bear took a big bite, but the very first chew he took, he found that it did not taste right at all. so he spit it out, and then he thought he would throw the rest down, because he did not like them, and wanted to get home as fast as he could. so he threw the whole armful of yellow sticks right down on to a rock. and when it struck the rock, what do you suppose happened? "'bang!' "a bigger noise than all the firecrackers in the world put together would make, and the rocks began to fly through the air, and the tree jumped right out of the ground and began to fall down, down, down, the side of the mountain. the bear hugged the tree as tightly as he could, but it kept falling. and finally it fell 'kersplash!' right into the river. "the little bear was terribly frightened, and was nearly drowned, but he scrambled out on to the tree as fast as he could and you never saw a little bear run so fast in your life. he could not have run faster, if all the dogs you ever saw had been running after him. and when he got home to his den, he ran to the very darkest part, and there he covered his eyes and his ears with his paws, but all the time he could hear a great ringing in his ears, and the terrible, 'bang! bang! bang!' that night, after the little club-foot-bear finally went to sleep, he suddenly made a great jump, and jumped clear over his papa bear, and pretty nearly out of the den. after that you never could get that 'little-club-foot-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa' to eat candles." after the papa bear had finished the story of the "little-club-foot-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa," he said, "little cub bear, what do you think of that story?" and the little cub bear scratched his head and said, "i am glad the little bear wasn't killed." and the little cub bear ran off and went to sleep. during the night he dreamed, and several times he gave a jump, just as though he were going to jump out of bed. can you guess what he was dreaming about? the next morning the little cub bear said to his papa that he had noticed a box marked just like the box from which the "little-club-foot-bear-that-would-not-mind-his-papa" had eaten the things that looked like candles. the box had been left by some miners away back in the woods, and had in big letters on it the word "d-y-n-a-m-i-t-e." when the papa bear heard this, he began to think and to scratch his head. he was thinking that if the stuff in the box had knocked the big tree down, perhaps it would help them to knock the rocks down, so that they could get into the beautiful cave. the papa bear was wondering about it, when he saw the old owl looking so solemn and wise. then he said to himself, "i will ask the wise old owl. he can't help much digging into the cave, but as he is the wisest bird in the world, maybe he can tell me what to do with this stuff that knocks great trees down." so the papa bear said to little susie bear, "run and tell the old owl that i want to ask him a question." so susie bear ran out as fast as she could and said to the owl, "papa wants you to come into the cave, so that he can ask a question of you." and the old owl looked wise and said, "who-o-o-o? who-o-o-o?" and susie bear said, "you-ou-ou-ou, you-ou-ou-ou-ou." the old owl solemnly winked his great eyes, and slowly flapped his great wings, and flew to the cave. "well, we-l-l, w-e-l-l," said the owl; "i am very glad to come into the cave, for you know that the light hurts my eyes, and i usually go out only at night. what can i do for you?" the papa bear then told the owl what he had been thinking about. the owl said very wisely, "i am sure that the stuff will knock down the rocks, for i have seen miners use it, and it makes the rocks fly so that they have to run a great way off, to keep from getting hurt. i think if you could get some of the stuff, you would find you could soon get into the beautiful cave that we all want to see." the papa bear asked the elephant if he was willing to go with the little cub bear to find the box. the elephant jumbo said that he would be glad to go, because the animals had all been so good to him in the circus. jumbo got down on his knees, and the little cub bear climbed up on his back, and away they went to find the box that had in it such wonderful stuff. they went a long, long way, and finally the little cub bear saw the box and pointed it out to jumbo, who carefully picked it up with his trunk and with his tusks, just as he had the bales of hay, and carried it back toward the den. when they were coming back, what do you suppose they saw? the funniest little animal that the little cub bear had ever seen. it was nearly as big as a pig, but it looked like a great mouse. its front legs were very short, like small arms, while its hind legs were very long. its tail was as large around as a man's arm. and then it had a pocket, only the pocket was in front, as the animal stood up, instead of on the sides as boys' pockets are. and what in the world do you suppose was in this pocket? another little baby animal just like the big one. all you could see of the little fellow was his head peering out of the pocket. as they stopped to watch the animals, the little fellow hopped out of the pocket, and took two little hops, and then when he saw the elephant, scampered back as fast as he could. the elephant told the little cub bear that this animal was the greatest jumper in the whole world. and while the elephant was telling this to the little cub bear, the animal saw the elephant, and was so glad to see his old friend jumbo, that with two great jumps it reached jumbo, and with the third, jumped clear over the elephant, bear and all. jumbo said, "how do you do, madam kangaroo and the little baby kangaroo?" and the kangaroo said, "very well, thank you." jumbo then told the kangaroo where they were going and what they were going to do. madam kangaroo said, "it is very fortunate that you found me, for when you drop a rock on the stuff to make it go off, you will want some one that can jump out of the way quicker than scat, and no one can jump as well or as fast as i can." they hurried back to the cave, and here they found all the animals waiting for them. while they were away the alligator had come, but he had gone down to the beaver's dam to stay, because he liked the water so well, and he had not had much to play and to live in while he was in the circus. the papa bear told the elephant to hurry up and put the stuff in the cave, where they were trying to knock the rocks down. the circus bear and the monkey rolled the box over and over to the place, and then the elephant reached in with his trunk and put the box just where it should be. then they found that there was no way to drop a stone on the box so that it would go off and make the rocks come down. the badger said that he would dig a hole straight up and down like a well, right over the box, so that they could drop a stone straight down on the box and make it go off. so he scratched away just as he had scratched when he made the chimney, and before you knew it, the hole was dug and all was ready. the kangaroo took a great stone in her forepaws, and stood over the hole ready to drop it on the box. the owl told them all that they must get as far away as they could, for the rocks would be sure to fly, and might hurt them. then he told the beaver that as soon as all were ready, he must strike the water with his tail, and the kangaroo would then drop the rock on the box. so the little cub bear hid behind a tree, and every one got ready. then there was a "bang! bang!" the kangaroo dropped the rock on the box, and gave three great jumps out of the way; and there was the greatest "bang!" you ever heard. it made more noise than all of the firecrackers you ever saw would make, if they should all go off together. my! how the little cub bear did jump! and when he looked around, there was the mule, jenny, kicking and kicking and kicking. she had been hit by a rock. it did not hurt much, but, of course, she had to kick anyway. as soon as it was safe, all of the animals that were there ran down to the cave. the elephant went in, and instead of his tail sticking out of the cave as it had before the stuff went off, he disappeared entirely. the little cub bear then ran to the cave, for he thought that the elephant had fallen into a great hole. he could not see the elephant at all, so he called, "jumbo, jumbo, where are you?" "here i am," said jumbo, and his voice sounded far away, for the explosion had opened the way into the great cave, and the elephant was already far back in it. all of the animals came running up, and how glad they were to think they had such a beautiful home. the floor was almost as level as the floor is in your house. it was a long way up to the ceiling or roof. there were great pillars coming down from the roof to the floor, and everything was so clean and nice that almost any little boy or little girl would like to have lived there. then there was ever so much room in the beautiful new cave. there was room for the great tent, that they all used to live in at the circus, to be put up without touching the roof. there was that little stream of water that the muskrat told them of, where all could drink. the animals went out to get their things, and when they had put them all in the cave, it was dark and time for little bears to go to sleep. the little cub bear soon went to sleep, and what do you think he dreamed about? i do not know. perhaps it was about heaven, whose streets are paved with gold, and whose gates are of pearl. perhaps, who can tell? the coming of the animal with the long nose the next morning the animals got up early, and the elephant said he thought that they ought to go down where the circus train had been wrecked, and see if there was anything more that they could bring up and put in the cave, as they had plenty of room now. but while they were talking about the way they would do the work, they heard the beaver's tail go "b-a-n-g, b-a-n-g!" and they all looked up, and what do you think they saw? the queerest kind of an animal. he looked like a small bear, but he had very long hair on his back and hind legs, and his front legs were much shorter than his hind legs. but that was not the queerest thing. the little cub bear said, "oh, see his nose! it looks as if he had caught the end of his nose in a trap, and had pulled and pulled until he had stretched his nose like a piece of taffy, and had made it as long as my leg. did you ever see such a long nose in the whole world?" the elephant said that he had a very long nose. but the little cub bear said that he wasn't talking about trunks that had fingers and thumbs on the end of them, but that he was talking about real noses. then the papa bear and mamma bear said they never, never in the world thought that any animal would have such a nose. the papa bear asked the circus bear what the animal was? the circus bear said, "that is a bear. he is called an ant-bear." "oh!" said the cub bear, "i have two aunt-bears, and they don't look a bit like that." "please don't interrupt me when i am talking," said the circus bear. "this is an 'a-n-t'-bear, not an 'a-u-n-t'-bear. he is called an ant-bear because he eats ants." "oh, i want to see him eat some of these ants that got into the honey, that papa brought home the other day." as soon as the ant-bear came near, the little cub bear ran to him and asked him to show how he ate the ants. the ant-bear said that he would be very glad to do so, because he had not had a good meal of ants for the longest while. in the circus he said they fed him on meat. the ant-bear said that he liked the taste of ants ever so much better. i would not, would you? well, the little cub bear showed the ant-bear where the ants lived in a hole in the ground. then he saw why the ant-bear had such strong claws, for he dug into the ground very quickly. then what do you suppose that ant-bear did? he ran the point of his long nose into the hole where the ants lived, and then stuck out the longest tongue you ever saw, way, way down in the hole, until it was covered with ants that had stuck to it. then the little cub bear saw why the ant-bear had such a long nose, and a long tongue that looked like a pink rope. do you see why? as soon as the ant-bear had eaten all of the ants, the little cub bear said, "the ants are such little things, i should think you would not get enough to eat." but the ant-bear said, "down in south america, where i came from, the ants are larger; they are as big as the big red and black ants, and they live in houses that are as large as a haycock. i dig into these with my strong claws, and eat up bushels and bushels of ants at a time." while they were talking they heard the beaver go "b-a-n-g, b-a-n-g!" several times, and each time the solemn old owl would say, "w-h-o? w-h-o-o-o-o? w-h-o-o-o-o?" the little cub bear counted four times, and thought that there must be four animals coming, and sure enough, when they came to the den, there were four new animals. there was the raccoon with his striped tail. he was always washing his face. there was a great striped tiger almost as large as a lion, and quite as fierce looking. there was a leopard, that looked something like the tiger, but was not quite so large, and instead of stripes, he was covered with black spots. [illustration: the raccoon was always washing his face.] then, over in a corner, was a little thing that looked like a soft and beautiful round ball. it looked so nice that the little cub bear ran right over to play with it, and before the circus bear could stop him, the little cub bear had given the little ball quite a hard slap. "ouch! ouch!!" how the little bear did scream and cry. and his poor little foot was full of stickers. the circus bear scolded the cub bear. "didn't you know that that was a porcupine, and that he was covered with quills, on purpose to stick into people that touched him? you ought to have known better." but the little cub bear did not see how he could have known better, for no one had ever told him before, and he had never seen a porcupine before, and it looked like a nice ball for little cub bear to play with. so the little cub bear thought to himself, "i hope my papa will tell me about all of the things that hurt little bears, so that i will not get hurt so badly again. i am afraid that papas sometimes forget to tell their little cubs about the things that hurt. how am i going to get these awful quills out, anyway? i've tried as hard as i can, and i can not get hold of the little slippery things with my clumsy claws." the papa bear came and tried, and he could not get the quills out. then the mamma bear tried, and she worked ever so much longer than the papa bear, but she could not get the quills out of the little cub bear's foot. the mamma bear was very angry with the "miserable little porcupine," and wanted to give him a hard slap; but she knew that she would get her foot full of the quills, and that would be worse than ever. the porcupine did not care at all, for he said to himself, "if they don't want to get hurt, let them leave me alone." but i do not think that was right, do you? of course, they did not want to get hurt. not long after, the monkey came and said, "what is the matter?" the little cub bear then told the monkey how he had just touched that mean old porcupine and had got his foot full of quills, that no one in the whole world could ever get out. but the monkey said, "i can get them out all right, for you know that i have two hands with fingers on them, just like a little boy." so the monkey pulled out all of the quills, and after that the little cub bear could walk all right. but he said to himself, "after this i will let other people alone, until i get acquainted with them." i think that is a good rule, don't you? that evening, after dark, the little cub bear heard the beaver go "bang, bang!" and he rushed to the mouth of the cave to see who was coming. he saw a very strange looking animal coming up the path. he said, "i see an animal that is about the size of a rhinoceros, only he has no horns on the end of his nose, and he has the biggest nose i ever saw. it is not a long nose, but it is a short, stubby nose, about the size of the seat of a chair; the two big nostrils in the nose are almost as big around as a base ball. i can't see why the nose is so big. oh, yes, i can, too, for he has just yawned, and he has the longest and largest teeth of any animal in the whole world, i guess. they are as big around as the leg of a chair. his mouth is so large that a little bear could sit inside of it. his legs are almost as big around as an elephant's legs, only they are very short." just then the owl said, "who-o-o-o? who-o-o-o?" the animal did not say a thing, but he gave a great snort. the circus bear said, "i know who that is. that is mr. hippopotamus. in the circus they called him sam." just then the hippopotamus came up to the door of the cave, and the little cub bear said very politely, "come in, mr. hittopotamus." you see, it was such a long word he could not pronounce it right. so mr. hippopotamus came into the cave, and as he did so, he gave a great yawn, which frightened the little cub bear so that he ran way back to the back part of the cave. the hippopotamus said, "don't be afraid, little cub bear, because your brother was very good to me when we were in the circus, and i wouldn't hurt you for anything." so the little cub bear came back, and he looked the hippopotamus over, and saw that he did not have any hair on his body at all, and that he was about the color of an old slate, and that he had a very fierce looking mouth. after a little while the little cub bear plucked up courage, and he said: "mr. hittopotamus, we are going to fix up the cave for all the animals, and we want to know if you can help us?" the hippopotamus said, "i would be very glad to help you if i can, because your brother was very good to me when we were in the circus." and the little cub bear said, "what can you do?" "well," he said, "i don't know. i can't dig in the dirt, because when i am at home i live in the water. sometimes i stay all day in the water, with nothing but the end of my nose above the surface, and then i can stay under the water a long while without coming to the surface at all." the cub bear said, "that is just like the whale." and the hippopotamus said, "yes, just like the whale; only when i come to the surface, i don't make such a big blowing sound as the whale does." well, the little cub bear thought a long while, and he couldn't think of anything the hippopotamus could do. so he said to his papa, "papa, can you tell me what the hittopotamus can do to help us in building our house?" and the papa bear said, "i don't know. i think if he would go down and live in the lake above the dam that the beaver built, that would be the best place for him, and he could help the beaver to make the dam higher, and then when the beaver went to sleep the hippopotamus could make some kind of a noise to warn us when people were coming." so the hippopotamus agreed that he would do this, and he went down to the lake. just before he left he said, "i am very hungry, and i would like something to eat." the little cub bear said, "we have plenty of meat here, if you would like some meat." the hippopotamus said, "i don't eat meat. i eat grass like a horse, only the grass i eat i get way down under the water." the little cub bear said, "then you will find plenty to eat down in the lake." and the hippopotamus went away to the lake, where he got acquainted with the beaver, and planned to live there as long as the animals were living in the forest. the monkey's story of his most narrow escape the next evening the cub bear and all the animals were sitting in the cave, just before the little cub bear was to go to bed, and the little cub bear teased his papa for a story, but his papa said he was too tired to tell a story, for he had hunted all day, trying to find a honey tree, and had not found one. the little cub bear kept on teasing for a story, but his papa said he was so tired he could not think of a story to tell. then the monkey said, "i will tell you a story, little cub bear, if you wish me to." and the cub bear said, "yes, tell me a story of your most narrow escape from death." "well," said the monkey, "i once belonged to a man who owned a drug store, in a large city. he had another monkey, named jim, and a parrot. the parrot was a large, green bird, and he had learned to talk like a man. he could say, 'good-by,' 'good-day,' 'good-night,' 'polly wants a cracker,' and 'see what you did.' "one day jim and the parrot and i were all down in the cellar, and the druggist forgot and shut the door, so that we had to stay down there. but we had a fine time, running about and jumping over everything that came in the way. we jumped up to the ceiling, and jumped from one beam to another, and then down to the floor. i pulled jim's tail and ran away. he would run after me and pull mine, and jump away quickly. and once or twice the parrot got hold of us, but he really hurt us with his great bill and his claws, so that we kept out of his way most of the time. in fact, he hurt me so badly once, that i pulled a couple of his tail feathers out, just to show him how it felt. "jim and i were scampering across the floor, when we struck a great carboy--a great bottle--larger than a pail, and knocked it over on the cement floor, where it broke. the stuff that was in it ran out on the floor. and the parrot said, 'see what you did! see what you did!' "this big bottle had on it in large letters 's-u-l-p-h-u-r-i-c a-c-i-d.' we were sorry that we had tipped over the bottle, but we didn't feel very bad until jim found that he had some of the stuff on the end of his tail, and it was burning him terribly. it burned so much that he tried to run away from the end of his tail. but he was so careless in jumping about, that he struck another big carboy sitting on the floor, and he knocked that over, too, and spilled the stuff that was in it. "and the parrot said, 'see what you did! see what you did!' "this bottle had on it in big letters, 'n-i-t-r-i-c a-c-i-d.' this stuff ran out all over the floor, and ran into a hole in the center of the floor, that was shaped something like a bowl. i got some of it on my foot, and it didn't feel very good. so i commenced to run around, too, and jump up to the ceiling, and thought i would keep off the floor. "there we found a great big can filled with glycerine. do you know what glycerine is? it tastes sweet, like honey. i dipped my foot in the glycerine, to see if it would stop the smarting, and jim put the end of his tail in it, too. but we were so excited, that the first thing we knew, we tipped over the entire can of glycerine on the floor, and that went into the same hole where the other stuff was. "and the parrot said, 'see what you did! see what you did!!' "after we tipped over the glycerine, we noticed a horrible smell, so jim and i and the parrot all went back in the corner, as far away as we could get, and stayed there about two hours. but after a while, jim's tail hurt him so badly, and the smell was so awful, that he commenced to run around in the most reckless way. he jumped all over the cellar, and finally, just as he was over this hole, where all the stuff had been spilled, he knocked down a great stone jug, and that dropped right into the stuff, and there was the most awful explosion that you can imagine. the drug store and everything in it was blown away up into the air, and poor jim flew up so high that we never saw him again. "the parrot was terribly frightened, but when he looked up and saw jim go up out of sight in the air, he said, 'good-by, good-by.' and then he looked over at me, and saw that nearly all of my hair was burned off, and he looked at himself, and saw that his feathers were nearly all gone. he said: 'see what you did! see what you did! see what you did!'" when the monkey had finished his story, the little cub bear said: "well, what was it that made such a terrible explosion?" the monkey said, "i don't know; but afterward i saw some men walking around the ruins of the drug store, and they saw a broken carboy and an empty can of glycerine, and they said the stuff must have become mixed, and made nitro-glycerine." then the little cub bear said, "that stuff must be a good deal like the stuff we found in the box that opened the way into the beautiful cave for us." and the monkey said, "yes, i heard one man say that nitro-glycerine and dynamite were the same; that dynamite was just nitro-glycerine mixed with a kind of clay." the next night, just before bedtime, little cub bear said he wanted to hear the story the little bird had promised to tell them. all of the animals said they wanted to hear it, too, so the little bird began: the story of the little bird's escape from the alligator "you see, i am a very small bird, and i live in a very peculiar way. almost all day i spend my time in the open mouth of the great alligators as they lie on the shore of the river, basking in the sun. you see, they keep their mouths open for me, so that i can pick up the little flies and bugs that torment them very much. these i eat, and so both the alligator and i are pleased. the alligator is very careful not to hurt me, for, you see, if he should close that great mouth it would kill me. "well, one day the alligator went to sleep as i was hopping about on his great tongue, and he dreamed that he was in the water swimming after a big fish. in his dream he thought he was near the fish and just going to catch it, and 'snap!' down came his great upper jaw right on top of the poor little bird in his mouth. i expect you wonder why i was not killed. well, the alligator had a hole in the roof of his mouth just large enough for me to get through, and it happened that i was right under it, when his mouth closed, so i got out through the hole." "how did he happen to have such a hole in his mouth? do all alligators have such holes in the roof of their mouths?" said the little cub bear. "no," replied the bird, "but a man once tried to catch this alligator. he took a stick that was sharp at both ends, and nearly as big around and as long as his forearm, and when the great alligator swam after him to catch and eat him up, the man turned around and thrust his arm with the pointed stick into the alligator's mouth. as the alligator's jaws came together with a snap, the stick went clear through his upper jaw, and although the alligator got away, and got the stick out, the hole was always there, and that hole saved my life." "well," said the cub bear, "i think i'd rather live in a safer place than an alligator's mouth." that night the little cub bear slept very soundly, and was out early next morning, wondering whether any more animals would come. soon he heard a noise, as if some kind of an animal was coming up the path, but he could not see what it was. suddenly he said, "i see the strangest thing; it looks like a bird's head on a long pole. the eyes are as big as large marbles; the long pole-like neck seems to have hair on it. the bill is much bigger than a goose's bill." just then its body came into sight. "it has a beautiful tail of black and white feathers, and small wings with beautiful feathers. its neck is as long as a yard stick, and its legs are covered with great scales, and are as long as its neck." just then this strange bird or animal saw an ear of corn lying in the path, and lowered its queer head to the ground, and began to swallow it. the ear of corn was larger around than the animal's neck, but it swallowed the ear whole without chewing it. the little cub bear was too much surprised to say anything, so he watched and could see the ear of corn going down the throat of this queer animal. the skin of the neck stretched so that the ear of corn could go down. it started down in the front of the neck, and then twisted around to the back of the neck and disappeared into the top of its body. the owl called out, "who-o-o-o? who-o-o-o?" but this strange animal did not reply. the little cub bear told the circus bear about the corn, and he said: "oh, i know who that is; that is the ostrich." so the little cub bear said to him very politely, "come in, mr. ostrich. we have a beautiful cave, and we would like to have you live with us." but the ostrich said that he would stay a while, but that he liked to lie out-of-doors, and that if any one came to capture him he would hide his head behind a bush, or in the sand, and he would be all right. "but," said the little cub bear, "they could see your great body, and so could capture you." but the ostrich said, "never mind; that's my way." so the ostrich stayed many days. there was not corn enough for him to eat, but the bears found that he could eat apples, or oranges, or hay, or grass; in fact, one day the little cub bear found the ostrich at the scene of the train wreck, picking up all sorts of things to eat, and, strange to say, eating broken window glass and pieces of iron and stone. what a strange dinner that was! when the little cub bear returned to the cave that night, he noticed the striped tail of the raccoon, and at once asked the raccoon to tell how he was caught and put into the circus. so the raccoon stopped washing his face long enough to tell the true story of: how the raccoon was caught "well," said the raccoon, "i don't remember when i lived in the forest, or any time before i was caught. when i opened my eyes, i found that i was living in a house where there were a man and woman, several little girls, and a boy named ray; and the only thing i know about the way i was caught is what i heard the boy say. "the boy said that one time he was hunting through the woods, and he saw a nest, way up on the top of a tree. he climbed up the tree, and there he found two little coons, myself and my little brother. we had just been born, and neither of us had opened our eyes yet. he carried us home to his house; and we were crying for something to eat. we cried and cried and cried. and the little boy didn't know what to do with us or how to feed us. but, finally, he left us with an old cat that had just had some little kittens. very soon we found that the old cat was willing to give us something to eat, and she nursed us, just as she did her own little baby kittens. the first thing i saw, when i opened my eyes, was this dear old cat who had been a mother to me and to my little brother. but we grew so fast that we were soon nearly as big as the cat. "i remember one time my brother ran after the old cat for his breakfast, and she didn't want him to have any, but he was so big and strong that he rolled her over and thought he was surely going to get his breakfast. the old cat began to spit and scratch and bite at him, and my brother ran away as fast as he could. "after that neither one of us ever got another meal from that old cat, because when we came near her, she would box our ears, and if we tried to get anything to eat, she would scratch and bite us. after that we got very hungry, but finally the boy bought a rubber nipple at the store and put it on an old bottle he found in the house; then he filled the bottle with milk and gave it to my brother; and you would have laughed to see that little coon sit up, just like a little boy, and hold the bottle up to his mouth and suck, and suck, and suck, until all the milk in the bottle was gone. and then when the bottle was empty, the boy ray filled it again and gave it to me, and i did the same thing. after that, two or three times every day, this boy would give us a bottle of milk, just as he would feed a little baby. and we ate and ate and grew and grew, until the first thing we knew, we were full grown, almost as large as a dog. "one day, my brother and i saw some chickens out in the back yard. we never had eaten anything in our lives but milk, but the first thing we knew, we found ourselves running after a chicken, and we caught it and killed it, and ate it all up, and the boy came out and found us all covered with feathers. he scolded us like everything. he said that that was his little pet chicken that he wanted to keep always--a beautiful white bantam. and after that, he put us in a cage until he got a chain, and ever since that time, we have either been in a cage or had a chain around us, to keep us from killing chickens, or doing things that people did not want us to do. "finally, a man came along and saw us and said he wanted to put us in the circus. and the boy sold us to the man, and that is how we got acquainted with all the other animals. we have been very happy and contented all our lives, because men have always given us all we wanted to eat, and taken good care of us, and while we are glad now that we can climb trees and run around in the woods, still we remember that the men were very kind to us." as the little cub bear went off to bed he said, "well, i guess that is the best way, to be caught before you are big enough to know anything about the woods and the mountains and the hills;" and the coon said, "that is true." the next day the monkey was telling the little cub bear about the chariot races they had in the circus--how the men would hitch up four beautiful snow-white horses to one chariot, and four coal-black horses to another chariot, and then race around and around the track in the circus; and how everybody in the circus would be as excited as could be. the little cub bear said, "why can't we have a race? you know the four beautiful black horses are down at the foot of the mountain, in a little valley, and the four snow-white horses are down at the foot of the mountain, in another valley. perhaps we can get them up here and run a race. i will drive one chariot." and then the monkey said, "you never learned how to drive horses. i learned how in the circus." but the little cub bear was a very brave little bear, and he said he would try anyway. so the next morning, they went down to see if they could get the horses to come up and run the chariot race. jumbo saw them, and asked where they were going. the monkey told him, and jumbo said that was fine. he would be very glad to act as judge of the race, and that he would go half way down the mountain and draw a line, and that the first one to get over the line would win the race. so the monkey went down and told the black horses and the white horses what they wanted, and they all agreed that it would be great fun to come up and run a race, just as they used to in the circus. so they all came up to the den; and they were the most beautiful horses you ever saw. it took the monkey a long while to hitch up the horses. the bears helped him all they could. all four of the white horses were hitched to one of the red and gold chariots, and the four black horses were hitched to the other red and gold chariot; and the monkey chose the white horses, and the little bear chose the black horses. the monkey got into his chariot and took the reins, and little cub bear climbed into his chariot and took the reins, and looked over to see how the monkey held them, and he tried to hold them the same way. then the monkey said, "how are we going to know how to start, so we can both start together?" and the circus bear said, "i will tell you what to do. we will get the beaver to slap his tail on the water, and that will be just as good as firing a pistol. when you hear the noise, you both start at the same time." so the muskrat ran down and told the beaver what to do. and little cub bear and the monkey waited, all ready to start the moment they heard the noise. soon there was a sharp "bang!" and the horses all started, just as though they had been shot out of a gun. the cub bear let go the reins the very first thing, and just hung on to the chariot for dear life. the monkey looked over and laughed. the black horses were getting ahead of the white ones, for they were running down hill at a terrible rate. papa bear came out of the cave just then, and he was dreadfully frightened, because he felt that his little cub bear would surely be killed. but the horses had run so many times that they were not afraid at all. they were going like the wind. first the white horses would be a little ahead, and then the black horses would be a little ahead. the little cub bear hung on as tight as he could, and he looked straight ahead of him. suddenly he saw a stump right in the way ahead. the horses saw it at the same time, and two of the horses went on one side of the stump and two on the other, and the chariot ran right into the stump with a terrible smash and crash, and broke the chariot all to pieces. one wheel rolled down hill one way, and the other wheel rolled down the hill the other way, and two of the black horses went in one direction and two of the black horses went in the other direction, and the bear went right up in the air. when his papa looked to see what had happened, he saw him come down just like a rubber ball, all rolled up; and he rolled on down the hill. and just when the monkey thought he surely would win the race, he saw a great stone ahead of him, and two white horses went on one side of the stone and two white horses on the other, and the chariot ran "smash!" right into the stone, and two white horses ran in one direction and two white horses ran in the other direction, and one chariot wheel rolled down the mountain one way and the other chariot wheel rolled down the mountain the other way, and the monkey went right up in the air, just as though he had been shot out of a gun. the elephant was standing at the line, and just as the monkey flew past him in the air, he reached out and caught hold of the monkey's tail with the thumb and finger on the end of his trunk, and swung him on top of his back. and just as he caught the monkey by the tail, the bear rolled across the line like a great big rubber ball. and that was the end of the race. the elephant never could make up his mind which won the race, the monkey or the bear. which one do you think won the race? the animals plan how they will defend themselves against the circus men one night the animals were all seated around in the beautiful cave, wondering why the men had not come to take them back to the circus. and they all said that if the men came they never would go. and the lion said that if a man came to get him, he would just hit him one terrible blow with his paw, and if that didn't kill him, he would just take the man's head in his mouth and bite as hard as he could, and that would be the end of the man. and then the tiger said that he would hide in the old dead tree where the owl sat, and when the man came, he would jump on him, and bite him, and scratch him until there was nothing left of him. and then the leopard said that if the man came, he would hide in another tree farther down, and he would wait and wait, and when the man got right under the limb, he would jump on him and bite him, and scratch him until nothing was left of him. then the kangaroo spoke up and said, "if the man gets after me, i will run as fast as i can, and if he is on horseback, and gets near to me, i will take my little kangaroo by the tail and throw him away out in the weeds, where they can't find him at all. and then i will go faster and faster." the little cub bear said, "suppose he should catch you in a corner, where you couldn't get away, what would you do?" the kangaroo said, "i would stand on my hind legs, and i would wait until he came right up close, and when he got close to me, i would just strike out with my sharp three-cornered claws, and if he got too near they would cut him just like a knife, and i guess that man would think that he didn't want any more kangaroo." then the rhinoceros said that if he saw a man coming, and couldn't run away, he would get right up close to him and stamp on him and bite him, and that he might use that long horn on the end of his nose to toss him up in the air. old jumbo said, "i would just take that man by one leg and throw him up in the air so high that when he came down there wouldn't be anything left of him; and if there was anything left, i would step on him and run my tusks into him, and i guess he wouldn't want any more elephant." then the beaver said he would swim under the water so that nobody could see him, and he would get right under his house, and come up through the little hole that was in the bottom of his house under the water, and hide, and they wouldn't know where he was. and the badger said he would get in a hole and hide. and all the other animals told what terrible things they would do to this man, when he came to try to take them back to the circus, because they all said they would rather live out in the open air under the trees, and in the beautiful cave, than to be taken back to the circus. and when they had all finished, the little bear said, "well, i am glad i am not the man, because i wouldn't want to be killed in so many different ways." while they were talking, they heard a "bang! bang!" and the little cub bear ran to the mouth of the cave; and what do you think he saw? a three-legged bear. he called the papa bear, and when he came to the mouth of the cave, he saw that the poor bear looked tired out and very thin, but soon he saw that it was jimmie bear, his own son that had been away for so long a time from home. so he called the mamma bear and the circus bear and said: "come quick! come quick! here is little jimmie bear, and he is coming back home." the old owl said, "who-o-o? who-o-o?" just as if he had not heard that it was little jimmie bear, but no one paid the slightest attention to the owl, they were all so glad that jimmie bear was home again. as soon as he came to the mouth of the cave, the papa bear gave him a great big bear hug, and the mamma bear gave him a great big bear hug, and the dear little cub bear gave him a great big bear hug, at least as big a hug as a little bear could give, and that was much harder than you can hug, you know. of course, the papa bear wanted to know all about jimmie bear, and jimmie said that he would tell him how he happened to go away from home and to be gone so long. jimmie bear's story "you remember that when i was a little bear, one day i disobeyed my papa. papa told me that he did not want me to go far away from home that day, because there were some great grizzly bears coming, and they might want to take a little brown bear away with them, if they should happen to see him playing away from his home. i thought that i would be very careful, for i loved my papa and my mamma very much, and i did not want to be taken away by a great grizzly bear. but i was interested in running around, and i thought i would try to see how far i could run without getting tired, so i ran and ran, on and on, for a long time, and before i knew it i was several miles from home, and i began to grow tired. "of course, i remembered at once what my papa had told me, and so started home without waiting for anything. before i had gone very far i looked at the ground, and i saw that some very large animal had come that way. the tracks looked like great bear tracks, and though i had never seen the tracks of a grizzly bear, i thought that these had been made by the great grizzly that papa had told me about. of course i was sorry that i had been so careless and forgetful. i wanted to get home without seeing the great grizzly, and just as quickly as i could. i went another way; but before i had gone far, i heard a sound that made my heart go pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, for it sounded like a great grizzly bear, and before i could think what to do, the grizzly had caught me and told me that he was going to take me a long, long way into the woods. i asked him to let me go back to the cave to say good-by to papa and mamma, but the grizzly said that he had not time to let me go, and besides that, if both the papa bear and the mamma bear should try to keep me, he might have trouble in getting me, even if he were bigger than both of the bears put together. "so he took me into the far-away land that i am going to tell you about. it is a beautiful land, and there are the most beautiful trees there, and many, many caves where bears could live. i learned to love the land very much, and when i grew up, i married the most beautiful brown bear in the whole world. and we have four of the dearest cubs that you ever saw; but i always wanted to see papa bear, and mamma bear, and little cub bear, and johnnie bear, so i have come back, and it is a dreadful journey across a desert. there is no water to drink, and nothing to eat, and, as you see, i nearly died." the animals all wanted to go and see the beautiful land that the three-legged jimmie bear told them of, but they were afraid to go for fear that they might die of thirst. while they were wondering how they would cross the desert, they suddenly heard a loud "bang! bang!" and the little cub bear ran to the mouth of the cave. he said, "i see some very strange animals. they have the funniest necks--almost as long as the giraffe's, but curved instead of straight, and their heads are very different from the giraffe. the animals have long hair on their necks, and on their backs they have two hills--small ones of course; and they walk very quietly; you can scarcely hear the animals when they place their feet on the ground." just then the old owl said, "who-o-o-o? who-o-o?" but the animals did not answer. the circus bear said that he knew what the animals were; they were camels. "how many of them are there?" asked the circus bear. and the little cub bear began to count, "one, two, three, four," and so on, until he had counted twelve camels. when the camels came to the cave, the circus bear told the little cub bear to tell them to come in. the camels came in, but they said they were not in the habit of living in caves. they lived on the desert. "how can you live on the desert, when there is no water to drink, and nothing to eat there?" asked the little cub bear. the oldest of the camels replied that the camel was a very strange and peculiar animal, and they were made so that they could live on the desert, where there was nothing to drink and nothing to eat. of course, the little cub bear wanted to know how it was possible for an animal to live without anything to eat, and with nothing to drink. but the camel told him that they had a place to carry water and a place to carry food. he had ten stomachs for water, and four stomachs for food. the little cub bear thought a while, and then said that it seemed to him that if the camels could live so long on the desert, it would be easy for them to get to that new place where the jimmie bear lived. the old camel said that it would be very easy, and that the camels could take not only themselves, but that they could carry some of the other animals, for they were used to carrying big loads. that was why the men wanted them. they used the camels instead of the freight trains. so it was agreed that the little cub bear, and some of the other animals, should ride on the camels' backs, and that they would take turns riding. they would start at once, as soon as the camels had a good chance to take a big drink of water, and fill all four of their stomachs with food. but the camels said, "you must be sure that you do not stick your sharp claws into our backs." the bears all agreed with the animals that they would be very careful, and not dig their claws into the camels. so they soon started. all of the animals ate and drank all that they could hold. the little cub bear was to ride all of the time, for he was so small and so weak. the three-legged bear, too, was to have a ride most of the way, for he was very tired, and had come so long a journey with only three legs. the lion said that he thought he could walk most of the way. he was used to the desert. and the camel said he was very glad that the lion was going to walk, for his claws were very sharp, and he was afraid that the lion might forget and stick his sharp claws into his back. well, you would have laughed to see the little cub bear try to get on the camel. the sly old camel knew that the little cub bear could not climb up, but the little fellow was in such a hurry to start, that the camel let him try to get on the best way he could. finally, the little fellow said, "dear old camel, please tell me how to get on your back." then the camel said, "why didn't you ask me before? there is only one way that you can get on the back of a camel. i will kneel down and show you." but as soon as the camel knelt down, the little bear saw at once that he could get on his back, and he scrambled up and said: "get up, get up, mr. camel." the camel got up, but it was a very funny way that he did it. when the camel straightened out his hind legs, the little cub bear nearly fell off; then the camel gave his hind legs another hump, to get them real straight, and what do you suppose happened to the cub bear? he fell off, and got a great bump on the ground, but it did not hurt him very much, and the camel tried it again. this time the little cub bear managed to stick on. the tiger, the kangaroo, the two rats, the ant-bear, and the leopard all got on the camels. the hippopotamus tried to get on a camel, and he looked so odd that all of the animals laughed, and told him that he would have to walk anyway, because he was too big to ride on the back of a camel. the hippopotamus said that he thought he would stay in the lake the beaver had made; that he could not go far from water, for he liked to live in the water all of the time. the beaver said that he was going to stay, too, and that if any of the men came, the hippopotamus could hide under the water, and he could go into his little house and stay there out of sight until the men had gone away. so they had to leave the beaver and the hippopotamus behind. but they all said that some time they would come again, to see the hippopotamus and the beaver. the badger, the giraffe, and all of the other animals started on their long journey to that land where the wife and the little cubs of jimmie bear lived. that night they were all very tired, and they had to lie down to sleep without anything to eat or any water to drink. all except the little cub bear, who had some berries in a pail that he had carried on the camel's back. little cub bear wanted them all, but he thought, "poor papa has walked all day, and has had nothing to eat or to drink, and the way was very hard." the little cub bear was very hungry and very thirsty--hungrier and thirstier than you have ever been; but he said, very sweetly and very politely, "papa, you may have some of my berries." but the papa bear said that he would not take any of them. then the little cub bear offered some of the berries to the mamma bear, but she would not take any of the berries. he offered some to the circus bear, and the circus bear would not take any. then he offered some to jimmie bear, and jimmie bear took just one. then the little cub bear offered some to all of the animals, but no one would take any, except the baby kangaroo. i rather think that the baby kangaroo would have taken all of them, but his mamma would let him have only three. so the little cub bear had all the rest of the berries, and they tasted ever so much better than they would have tasted if he had not been willing to share them with the other animals. don't you think they did? the next morning the animals started and traveled all day. that night, just as it was getting dark, they came to the edge of the terrible desert, and they saw a little stream of water and plenty of things to eat, and there they stayed that night. in the morning they started again, and soon came to the most beautiful trees, and grass, and flowers that they had ever seen, and jimmie bear pointed up to a cave on the mountain side where his wife and little bears were. and right there were three of the cutest little bears that you ever saw playing in the sun. what a noise they made when they saw their papa and all of the other animals. the mamma bear ran to the mouth of the cave, and how happy she was to see jimmie. the animals were all as happy as could be in the beautiful forest, and what do you think the little bears of jimmie bear called the little cub bear? they called him "uncle cub." that night the cub bear teased the circus bear to tell him stories. "i want you to tell me a story about the time you took a ride in a great boat." and the circus bear said, "i will tell you a story about the time we crossed the great ocean and went over to another land." how the circus crossed the ocean "you may not believe it, little cub bear, because there is so much land, so many trees and rocks, and so little water where we are, but three-fourths of the whole world is covered with water; and i am going to tell you about the time that i crossed the ocean. "the circus was in a great city. the men said it was new york. and one day, without our knowing anything about it, they rolled the big wagons down on the wharf where there was a great ship lying. this ship was as large as a dozen houses all put together--as large as the circus tents all put together, but a different shape, of course. and then we saw that all the men that belonged to the circus were on board the ship. they began to wheel the wagons on board, and took the animals out, one at a time, and put them in great cages on board the ship. "when it came time to put jumbo on the ship, he didn't want to go. and how do you suppose they got him on board? they put great straps under him, and then they lowered a great rope from one of the masts and fastened it into the strap, and they started the engine going, and the first thing jumbo knew, he was hanging in the air like a little toy elephant, and he waved his trunk around wildly and kicked his legs, but it didn't do him a bit of good. and then they hoisted him way up in the air as high as a house, and then they swung him right over, and lowered him clear through two or three decks, way down to the bottom of the ship. and there they found a place for him. "then they brought back the straps, and put them around the hippopotamus, and lifted him way up in the air and swung him over, and lowered him way down into the bottom of the ship. and then they raised the camel and the rhinoceros, in the same way. but the lions they brought aboard, cages and all. after all the animals were on board, and all the people belonging to the circus were on board, we heard a great gong ring, and then the big engines began to turn, and the ship began to move. the engine didn't go, 'chu-chu,' like a locomotive, and there was no sound, except, 'throb! throb! throb! throb!' which kept up until we were clear across the ocean, all day and all night, and the great ship quivered as the engine throbbed. "but this wasn't the worst of it. we hadn't gone very far, until everything began to move. the cages went up and down, and up and down, and up and down, until i got dizzy, and all the other animals seemed to be dizzy. then i felt so dreadfully, dreadfully sick, that i didn't want to move or say anything to anybody, or look at anybody, or think of anything. "once i opened one eye and looked out, and i saw that the men were lying around just in the same way that the animals were, and they looked awfully white and sick, and they didn't say anything to anybody, and they didn't want anything to eat, and we didn't want anything to eat, and i spent all my time wishing that the old boat would stop rocking, and pitching, and turning, and twisting all the time. and the old ship would go down, down, down, and just as soon as we would get used to its going down, down, down, it would turn and go up, up, up, and just as soon as we got used to its going up, up, up, it would turn and go down, down, down again. and when the ship started up, my stomach wanted to stay down, and when the ship would start down, it seemed as though my stomach wanted to stay up. and so i got terribly sore on the inside, and all the other animals seemed to be terribly sore. i hugged myself as hard as i could to keep from coming to pieces. and i saw all of the other bears hugging themselves. all the animals were lying down looking sleepy. everybody seemed to be sleepy, except some of the men who were dressed in blue. "they ran about, and whistled, and sang, and blew tobacco smoke in our faces, and this made us feel terribly sick. but they seemed to be having a splendid time. after a while i learned that these were the sailors, and that they didn't mind the ship going up and down, and up and down, all the time. "after a while we all got so that we didn't mind it much. and then we began to eat. it seemed as though we never would get enough. we ate, and ate, and ate. we ate more than enough to make up for all the time when we didn't eat anything. and some people who looked so pale, and so sick, and so weak, seemed to eat and eat and eat, and some of them got so fat, before we got to the other side of the water, that you would hardly have known them. "one day the ship pitched and tossed and rolled worse than it ever had, and for some reason the engine stopped. i heard a man say that something was broken, and as soon as the engine stopped, it just seemed as though that old ship would go to pieces. she rose higher and went lower. and one time there was a great splash, and the biggest lot of water you ever saw came right down where the animals were. "the hippopotamus thought it was fine, until he tasted the water, and then he made up the most awful face that you ever saw; and you can imagine what kind of a face it was, for he is homely enough anyway. his nose is bigger than his face, and his mouth is right on the end of his nose. i asked him what the trouble was, and he said it wasn't the kind of water he liked; it tasted of salt and was bitter. it made him feel as though he never wanted to eat anything again as long as he lived. "i noticed, though, that the seal and the walrus seemed to enjoy it ever so much. i asked them why, and they said that was the kind of water they liked; that was the kind of water they had always lived in--salt water. "it seemed a long time, but after a while the engine started up again. then the ship was more quiet, but it kept going up and down, and up and down, until we got clear across the water, and then we noticed that the deck we were on became as quiet and steady as a floor. i heard one of the sailor men say that we were coming into a harbor. and sure enough, we soon stopped, and the men began to take the animals out again. "they hung the elephant on the end of a long rope, with straps around him, just as they had before, and the camel, and the hippopotamus, and the rhinoceros, and they took us all out and put us on a train. everything looked so green and nice. how glad we were to be on shore! but we couldn't understand anything the men said, because they all talked a different language. it sounded like, 'jabber, jabber, jabber, mum-mum-mum.' "i asked the lion, who had been in the circus longest, what it meant. he said we were in a new country, where everybody talked a different language, and that there were lots of other countries, where they talked other languages. "we stayed in this new country a long while, but finally came back. and that is the end of my story." the little cub bear said, "i would like to see the ocean, but i don't think i would ride on a ship, if it makes you feel so terribly bad inside." and the circus bear said, "you would soon forget all about that and just remember the beautiful things there are to see. i am glad i went across." then the little cub bear went to bed and went to sleep, and that night he dreamed so hard that--what do you think happened to him? he rolled clear out of bed and fell into a stream in the cave--_kersplash!_ the papa bear asked him what the trouble was, and he said he dreamed that he was on board ship and was nearly drowned. some dreams, you see, come true. when morning came, the papa bear called the little cub bear to him and said: "now, my little cub, it is time for you to go out alone, to see if you can not find something to eat for yourself. i think if you go and search carefully, you will be able to find some strawberries, and if you can not find strawberries, you may be able to find some blackberries. don't try to eat any of the gooseberries that you will see, because the wild gooseberries you will find are all covered with stickers, and they will stick in your tongue. if you find a tree filled with honey, come back and tell papa bear, because i think you had better not try yet to get the honey out of the tree, for the bees might sting you. and if you find any bumble-bees, be sure to let them alone, for they have holes in the ground, where they make their honey, and they have very long stingers, and they would sting you very hard, so you better come home at once and tell papa. but if you find the berries, you can eat all you want. and if you find a _big_ patch of berries, you better come home and tell mamma bear, and then we will all go and get all the berries we want to eat." out all alone so the little cub bear started out for the very first time in his life all alone, and he did enjoy everything so much. he finally found a patch of berries, and there he ate all he wanted, and then he went over behind a log and lay down and went to sleep. when he awoke, it was nearly dark, and he knew that he must hurry home. he started, but had gone only a few steps when a little animal scampered across the path and ran up a tree. the cub bear thought he would like to see this animal, and so he climbed up the tree after it, and there he found a strange looking animal. it had a tail something like a rat, but it was a great deal bigger than a rat, and bigger than a cat. it had long soft fur; but as soon as the little cub bear touched it, it rolled itself into a ball, and fell to the ground. cub bear clambered down the tree as fast as he could, and there at the foot of the tree he found this strange animal all rolled up like a ball. the cub bear smelt of it, and rolled it over very carefully, and looked it all over, but it seemed to be dead, and he felt so sorry to think that this little animal was dead. and when he went home, the first thing he told his papa was, "papa bear, i saw the strangest little animal to-day, and i am very sorry that i killed it." [illustration: "i saw the strangest little animal to-day."] then he told the papa bear how the little animal scampered up the tree, and how it rolled up into a furry ball, and how it dropped from the tree and seemed to be dead. the papa bear said: "my dear little cub bear, the animal was not dead at all. that was just his way of fooling you, and making you think that he was dead, so that you would not bother him any more. the animal was an opossum. that is the way they always do when they are frightened, or when they think some one is going to take them and hurt them." then the little cub bear told his papa what a fine time he had had, and how he had found the berries and had eaten all he could, and that he was nearly ready to go to sleep. next morning, bright and early, the papa bear called the little cub bear again, for he wanted to teach him that he must work for himself, and find his own living, and he said: "little cub bear, do you want to go again into the woods to-day, and see if you can find some more berries?" and the little cub bear said, "yes, papa, i want to go, because i want to learn to work for myself, and take care of myself." so the papa bear again told him to be very careful, and if he saw any men or any large animals, he was to come home as quickly as possible. the little cub bear said that he would do this, and then he started out joyously in the early morning light, while dew was on the ground, to see if he could not find another berry patch. and sure enough, before he had gone very far, he found a patch full of beautiful blackberries. he ate all he could of these, but he got scratched many times on his nose and on his paws. it did not hurt him any on his paws, because they were thick, but on the end of his nose, where the skin was very thin, sometimes the little cub bear was so badly scratched that he felt like crying. but he was a brave little fellow, and did not cry, and thought that as soon as he had enough to eat, he would go back and tell the papa and mamma bear where they could find all they wanted to eat. pretty soon he left the berry patch, thinking he would go home a new way, and so he started, and very soon came to a beautiful lake, larger than the lake that the beaver had made near the den where they used to live. it was so wide at some places that he could hardly see across the lake. it was one of the most beautiful lakes in the world, and the most beautiful lake that this little cub bear had ever seen. the little cub bear sat down near a log to look at this lake, for it made him very happy and contented to see such a beautiful sight. while he was waiting, he saw in the air a very large bird, larger than a hawk and larger than an eagle. this bird seemed to be flying about over the water, and around, and around; and the little cub bear wondered what this bird was trying to do. the most peculiar thing he noticed about the bird was that he had such a long bill. the bill was over a foot long, much larger than the bill of the ostrich, and larger than the bill of a goose, or any bird that the little cub bear had ever seen. all of a sudden, this peculiar bird turned a sort of somersault and fell head downward into the water. while falling, the bird's wings were outstretched, and when it struck the water, there was a great splash and the bird disappeared, but soon reappeared floating on the surface, and shaking his head in a most peculiar way. the little cub bear wondered and wondered what the bird was doing. he waited until this strange bird began flying again, and then he noticed that there were a number of other birds which looked just like this one, and that they were flying about, and every once in a while one of these birds would turn a sort of a somersault and fall with outstretched wings into the water with a great splash, and then come up, and always bob his head in just that peculiar way, as though he were nodding at some one. the little cub bear thought that when he got home he would tell the papa bear about it, and try to find out what kind of a bird it was. so he hurried and got home just as the sun set. and when his papa asked him how he got along that day, he told him about the blackberry patch, and said that he hoped they would all go the next day and get something to eat, for there were plenty of berries for all the bears, and for any of the other animals who wanted to eat the berries. the lion and the tiger both said that they did not care for berries, and the hippopotamus, too, said that he did not want any berries; the rhinoceros did not care for berries, but all the birds and the monkey thought it would be fine to go and get some of the berries the next day. then the little cub bear said: "oh, papa, i almost forgot. i want to tell you about the strange bird that i saw to-day, at a big lake in the mountains; it was bigger than a hawk, or an eagle. the bird had a long bill, and circled around, and around, and then turned a somersault, and fell with outstretched wings _ker-splash_ into the water; and then the bird came up and shook his head as though he were nodding to a friend." the papa bear said, "why, i know what that was; that was a pelican, and if you had been nearer to him, you would have seen a strange bag under his bill." the little cub bear said, "well, what was he nodding his head about when he came up out of the water?" and the papa bear said, "you see, the pelican dived into the water to get a fish, which he saw when he was flying about above the water, and he dove down into the water so straight, that he caught the little fish in his bill; and put it in the pouch under the bill, before the little fish could get away. and then when he came to the surface, he was nodding his head, so he could throw his bill up into the air, and try to get the fish down his throat." then the papa bear said that one time he saw a pelican swallow the head of a fish that he had found on the beach at the seashore, and this head was larger than two baseballs, and when the pelican got the head half way down his throat, it stuck there, and the poor pelican was in great distress, for he could not get the fish's head up or down. the papa bear said he did not know what happened to the pelican, for at that time two men came up, and the papa bear had to leave as fast as he could; but he thought perhaps these men might have helped the pelican to get the fish's head in his throat either up or down. the little cub bear said, "i think it was very foolish of the pelican to try to swallow something so big without knowing whether he could get it down or not." the papa bear said, "you see, we never can tell what we can do, until we try, and that is a good way to learn, if we are careful enough about our trying." again, the next morning, the papa bear called the little cub bear very early, and told him that he would like to have him go out again that day, and that if he would be very careful he could go farther than he had ever gone before. so this time the little cub bear went a long, long way, and came to a place he had never been before, either with his papa or without him, and there was a great oak tree, and he saw high up in this tree little squirrels running about on the limbs of the trees, with their bushy tails over their backs. and the little cub bear, after he had found something to eat, came back and watched the squirrels, and he saw that they were gathering nuts and carrying them in their little paws into holes in the top of the tree. he noticed, too, that sometimes these little squirrels would sit on the end of the limb, just as the 'coon did, and take in their little forepaws a nut and bite through the shell of the nut very quickly, and get out the meat and eat it. he thought this was very, very nice, but he wondered why they did not eat all the nuts, and why they took some of them in the hole of the tree. so that night, when he returned home, he talked to his papa about the little squirrels he had seen that day, with their beautiful bushy tails curling up over their backs, and their bright little eyes, and their sharp little teeth and soft fur; then he said: "papa, why do the little squirrels take some of the nuts into the hole in the tree?" papa bear told him that it was because they were saving the nuts for the winter, when the snow was on the ground and there were no nuts to be had, and that the little squirrels spent all the winter time inside the tree, where it was warm and cozy; and that whenever they were hungry, they had this store of nuts to eat, and that the little squirrels seemed to know whether it was going to be a long, hard winter, or whether the winter was going to be mild, and that they knew just how many nuts to put away for the winter, whether it was short or long. when it was night time, the little cub bear cuddled up in a ball and said: "papa, i want you to tell me a story before i go to sleep, about the inside of a nice warm tree, where the squirrels live." and so the papa bear told this story: the papa bear's lullaby "once there was a big black papa bear, and he had a little black cub bear. they lived in the woods a long way from any one. the mamma bear had gone to the bear heaven, and so they lived alone. "one night, as it was getting very, very cold, the papa bear went a long, long way to find something to eat for the little bear, and he walked and walked until he was very tired; but he could not find anything to eat, for the snow had come and covered the ground, and all the berries were gone. "the papa bear grew more and more tired; he was so tired that as he walked his eyes would close, and he could not keep them open, and his head would nod so sleepily, but he kept on, hoping that he would soon find something to eat for his little cub bear. "so he walked and he walked. his eyes closed--he was so sleepy, sleepy, sleepy. soon he started home, and walked, and walked, and walked, until he met the little cub bear, who had come out to meet him; and he said: "'dear little cub bear, i am so sleepy that i can not keep my eyes open at all.' "and the little cub bear said, 'i am so sleepy that i can not keep my eyes open at all.' "then the papa bear said, 'i am going to find you a nice place to sleep.' "so they walked, and walked, and got sleepier, and sleepier, until they came to a great hollow tree. way up at the top of the tree was a hole large enough for the little cub bear to get in. the papa bear told the little cub to climb up the tree and go in the hole, and see if there was a good place in the tree to sleep. "the little cub did as his papa told him to; he climbed up and up until he came to the hole in the top of the tree, and then he looked into the hole to see if there was a good place in the tree for him to climb down on the inside. the little cub bear turned around and backed into the hole, and soon the papa bear could see nothing of the little cub bear, for he was inside the tree. but he could hear him scratch as he slid down on the inside of the tree. "the papa bear listened, as he stood outside of the tree on the ground, and he could hear the little cub's claws scratch, scratch, scratch. and he listened again, and he could hear the little cub bear's claws scratch, scratch, scratch. and he listened again, but he couldn't hear anything. and he listened, and he couldn't hear anything. and he wondered, and wondered, where the little cub was. "so he listened again. this time he heard a faint sound, just inside the tree, and he knew that the little cub bear was clear down inside the tree at the bottom. "the papa bear said, 'go to sleep, dear little cub.' "the little cub lay down in the bottom of the hollow tree, and curled up into a little ball and closed his eyes. it was a nice, warm, soft, sleepy place. and the papa on the outside heard the little bear lie down, and so he listened and listened. and soon he heard the softest little snore. just the softest snore. "and then the papa bear went a little farther, and found another hollow tree, and he climbed up, and up, until he came to a big hole in the top of the big tree, and he backed into the hole and scratched his way down and down inside the hollow tree, until he came to the bottom, and then he rolled himself up into a big, black ball, so snug and warm, and went to sleep. "he snored so quietly, and the little cub bear and the papa bear slept all winter long in the cozy warm hollow trees, but once in a while the papa bear would climb up, and up, out of the tree and go over to the little cub's tree, and listen, and he would hear the faintest little snore, so gentle. "and then the papa bear would say, 'dear little cub, i love you,' and pat the tree. "then he would go back to his own hollow tree, up and up he would climb outside, and down and down inside, until he came to the nice warm place where his bed was. "there he would curl up into a ball, and shut his eyes, and go to sleep, and snore and snore and snore all night, and all day, and all night, and all day, the whole winter long." and the little cub was asleep before the story was ended, for, you see, the story has no end. afterward many wonderful stories were told in the cave of jimmie bear, and many wonderful things happened to the animals there; but i think that we must say "good-by" now to the dear little cub and to all of the animals. the end [frontispiece: black bruin's first acquaintance with a panther] black bruin the biography of a bear by clarence hawkes author of shaggycoat, the biography of a beaver the trail to the woods tenants of the trees the little foresters etc. illustrated by charles copeland philadelphia george w. jacobs & co. publishers copyright, 1908, by george w. jacobs and company _all rights reserved_ printed in u. s. a. dedicated to my illustrator and friend mr. charles copeland whose clever brush has caught so perfectly each whim of nature in field and forest, and called from hiding the furtive furred and feathered folk, who come and go like shadows in the ancient woods. the great bear of the mountains he had stolen the belt of wampum from the neck of mishe-mokwa, from the great bear of the mountains, from the terror of the nations, as he lay asleep and cumbrous, on the summit of the mountains, like a rock with mosses on it, spotted brown and gray with mosses. --longfellow. contents ursus, the droll. introductory i. a thief in the night ii. the chase iii. a wilderness baby iv. the cubhood of black bruin v. a rollicking rogue vi. the life of a dancing-bear vii. the vagabonds viii. the beast and the man ix. life in the wild x. the great bear-hunt xi. a pleasant companion xii. the king of the mountain xiii. the bear with a collar xiv. the wreck illustrations black bruin's first acquaintance with a panther . . . _frontispiece_ the bear hurried in hot pursuit black bruin dealt the porcupine a crushing blow growler sprang at black bruin's throat he discovered another bear, watching the stream ursus, the droll introductory with the possible exception of the deer family, the bear is the most widely disseminated big game, known to hunters. he makes his home within the arctic circle, often living upon the great ice-floe, or dwells within a tropical jungle, and both climates are agreeable to him, while longitudinally he has girdled the world. of course bruin varies much, according to the climate in which he lives, and the conditions of his life, but all the way from the poles to the tropics he retains certain characteristics that always proclaim him a bear. he is a plantigrade, walking like a man upon the soles of his feet. there is more truth than poetry in kipling's poem, "the man who walks like a bear," for some men do walk like a bear. bruin's four-footed gait is a shuffle and a shamble, rather clumsy and ludicrous, but it takes him over the ground at a surprising pace. queer, also, is the fact that the bear combines great dexterity with his seeming clumsiness, as many a hunter has found to his cost. his tree-climbing accomplishments are likewise remarkable, when we consider his great size and weight. the grizzlies, and some other large varieties, do not do tree-climbing, except when they are young. a grizzly cub can climb a tree, but his wrists soon become too stiff to permit of their bending about the trunk. bruin's disposition also varies with the climate he inhabits. this in turn is because his diet varies in differing latitudes. the farther south he ranges, the more of a vegetarian he becomes. consequently, he is not so ferocious. the great white polar bear is largely carnivorous, so he is a creature not to be trifled with; while on the other hand, the little african sun bear is a rollicking, social, good-natured little chap, weighing many times less than his fierce cousin. formerly, it has been supposed that the numidian lion and the bengal tiger were the largest carnivorous animals in existence, but more recent discoveries show that our alaskan brown bear, found upon the peninsulas of lower alaska and kodiak island, is easily the master of either, in size or strength. some of the splendid skins taken from these, the largest of all the bears, measure fourteen feet in length. alaska also gives us the smallest north american bear, the glacial bear. californians are wont to tell us that the only true grizzly is that found upon the cover of the _overland monthly_, but they overlook the fact that the name was given to bears found along the missouri river by lewis and clarke, years before california, with all its wealth, was discovered. in russia, a fine specimen of the family is found in the ural mountains. his peculiarity is a white collar about the neck, so his latin name, _ursus collaris_, means the bear with a collar. all through the himalayas, this restless plantigrade has wandered, and even far down upon the low-lying plains of india and china; but all the way he shuffles and shambles and is the same droll fellow. the bear's vegetable diet consists of berries, nuts and many kinds of roots. he will not refuse sweet apples and pears when he can find them. in the tropics he eats nearly all the fruits that the natives eat and leads altogether a lazy, luxurious life. since food is plentiful in these warm climates, he does not have to cross the path of man to get it, or be forced to steal, as the bear living in colder climes often does; so he is a good-natured, easy-going fellow, who will let you alone if you do not pick a quarrel with him. this is much more true of bears in general, than is usually supposed. in the tropics, the bear does not have to hibernate to keep the fat that he has gained in the time of plenty upon his ribs. so his period of sleeping is very short and in many cases he does not hibernate at all; while, on the other hand, the bear of the cold northland sleeps nearly half of the year. hibernation seems to be a wise provision of nature by means of which the bear conserves his flesh and strength during extreme weather. when the ground is covered several feet deep with snow, it will readily be seen that berry-picking would be difficult, and nuts and roots would be hard to find, as would the ants and grubs under logs and stones, with which the bear varies his diet in fine weather. the chipmunks and mice have also denned up, so there is not much for bruin to do but sleep. there is one weakness that i believe the bear always indulges whenever he can, no matter in what clime he be found, and that is a love for sweets, especially honey. he will dare the sharp bayonets of the most angry swarm of bees or climb the worst tree, if he feels at all certain that there will be honey after his pains. in some countries, he damages a great many telephone and telegraph poles and wires by climbing the poles in search of that swarm of bees, which he imagines he hears humming, inside the pole. in the temperate zone bears mate in the summer months and the young are born late in january, during hibernation. bear-cubs are very small babies for such large parents, weighing much less in proportion to their dams than most other mammals. they are blind, helpless and almost hairless. as the old bear is very fat when they are born and they do nothing but sleep in the dark den, they grow rapidly, so that when they are finally brought forth at the age of perhaps four months, they have developed wonderfully and would hardly be recognized as the tiny blind cubs of a few weeks before. when the old bears first come forth from hibernation they eat very little for two or three weeks. their long fast and the inactivity of the vital organs have greatly weakened the digestive parts, so they must have time in which to recover, before they are made to do the hard work of digesting flesh and bone. the bear, therefore, wisely contents himself with grass and browse, living very much as a deer would, until his digestive organs have regained their usual tone, when he will gorge himself upon the first victim that he is lucky enough to catch. if bruin lives in the vicinity of civilization, he would prefer to break his fast with tender young pig. pig, to the bear, is what 'possum is to the negro. he will travel for miles and take risks that he does not often expose himself to, if thereby he can secure a squealing porker. the sire and dam do not hibernate together and they are seen together only during a few weeks of their honeymoon. winter quarters are usually found under a fallen tree-top, or in some natural den in the rocks. if a suitable place cannot be secured, the bear will even do some excavating on his own account, but they generally choose a den that nature has provided. the smaller bears which are usually known as the black bear, are found to be both black and brown. cubs of both colors will often be discovered with the same mother, but the brown variety is not found east of the mississippi river. the really black bear also varies in color with the seasons, being darker and glossier in the cold months. to see a bear really enjoy himself is to discover him in the blueberry lot, standing upon his hind legs, swooping the berries into his mouth with ravenous delight. at such a time his grin of benevolence is very apparent. the cubs den up with the old bear the first fall, but usually shift for themselves when the new cubs come, although it is not an infrequent sight to see an old bear with two sizes of cubs following her. as a rule, the different varieties of black bear are not dangerous. while they will occasionally charge the hunter when wounded, they usually flee away at their best pace when danger appears. even when interested with berry-picking or hunting, the bear is watchful and wary and as his scent and hearing are of the keenest, he is hard to surprise. it is probably true that his eyesight is not as keen as his other senses. the black bear is hunted both on the still hunt, and with dogs. when dogs are employed, a large pack is used, and they merely run the bear until it is treed or brought to bay, when it is shot by the hunter. dogs are of little, if any, use in hunting grizzlies. there are several varieties of large bears, probably all variations of grizzlies, which are differentiated locally. some of these are the roachback, the silver tip, the california grizzly, the plains bear, the smut-face, etc. in the olden days before the grizzly became wise, he would charge anything that walked either on two or four feet. but he has now learned all about firearms, and is as willing to run from the hunter, as is his cousin, the black bear. the bear's manner of hunting large game is usually by ambush. as most of his victims are more fleet of foot than he, he does not undertake to run them down in the open, but if he can get them at disadvantage in thick cover, or at the lick, this is his opportunity. in the adirondack country and in northern maine, it is a common sight to see a young bear about a farmhouse, where he is as much at home as the farm-dog. many of the summer hotels, in this region, keep a tame bear to amuse the visitors. these bears are obtained as cubs from any one who is fortunate enough to discover a bear's den and who has the good luck to find the old bear away from home and the cubs at his mercy. a likely cub can usually be obtained in either maine or northern new york for five or ten dollars. bears occasionally stray down the green mountains into western massachusetts, where they inhabit the hoosac mountains, which are a continuation of this range. very recently a bear was killed near october mountain, upon mr. whitney's extensive game-preserve. he had been hanging about the mountain all summer and had given two belated pedestrians a lively sprint only the night before his waterloo. being emboldened by the seeming servility of the neighborhood, bruin finally went to a farmhouse and, forcing the kitchen door, marched boldly into the well-ordered room to see what they were going to have for dinner. while waiting for this meal, he amused himself by tumbling the pots and pans about. this enraged the thrifty housewife, who seized a double-barreled shotgun standing in the corner and discharged both barrels simultaneously at the intruder. when the smoke cleared away, it was discovered that she had bagged a bear weighing three hundred pounds. the dancing bear of song and story, as well as of real life, has long been the delight of children, but he is not now seen as frequently as of yore. bears in the circus to-day play a minor part in the performance. this short introductory chapter is the pedigree and characteristics in brief, of ursus, the bear, whose varieties, like those of reynard, the fox, are legion. i have tried to give the reader some idea of the bear in general, but these facts about bruin must be varied as the climate varies between the arctic regions and the tropics. if a meat diet makes man cross and brutal, and a fruit and vegetable diet makes him amiable and indolent, they affect bruin in the same manner. but wherever you find a bear, be he a grizzly, black, or polar, basking in the tropical sun, or freezing upon the ice-floe, he will still be the same droll old chap, shuffling and shambling, sniffing and inquiring with his keen nose. if he be the smaller black or brown bear, he will often be found in the company of man, conducting himself with dignity, and generally showing much good behavior for a wild beast. black bruin chapter i a thief in the night outside, the fitful early april wind howled dismally, swaying the leafless branches of the old elm, and causing them to rub complainingly against the gable end of the farmhouse. two or three inches of fine snow had fallen the day before and the wind tossed it about gleefully, festooning the window-sashes and piling it high upon window-sills. it was one of old winter's last kicks and made it seem even more wintry than it really was. although the wind moaned and the snow danced fitfully, within a certain quaint farmhouse in northern new york was warmth and comfort, all the more apparent by the touch of winter outside. a cheerful fire was crackling in a large kitchen range, suggesting, by its brightness and snapping, pine-knots full of pitch and resin. the front doors of the stove were open and the firelight danced across the room, filling it with cheer. it was one of those homelike kitchens where everything is spick and span, and the nickel on the stove shines like silver. a young farmer of perhaps thirty years was sitting with his shoes off and his heels toasting upon the hearth, while his wife, a pretty, rosy-cheeked country girl, of about his own age, sat in a large splint-bottom chair, sewing. if it needed one more thing to complete the cozy picture of simple, wholesome country life, it was not wanting, for just at the wife's elbow was a cradle, which she occasionally jogged with her foot, giving it just enough motion to keep it swaying gently. in the cradle slumbered the heir of the household and the link of pure gold that bound these two lives together. everything in the room breathed contentment. the kettle hummed and sputtered, sending forth its white cloud of steam, while the kitchen clock ticked off the pleasant moments. the man was deeply interested in the weekly paper for which he had just driven to the office, but he occasionally stopped to take a bite out of a large red baldwin apple that he found in a dish on the table near by. he was so engrossed in local items that he did not hear his wife's excited question until it was repeated for the second time. "john, what is that?" she asked. "what is what?" he replied, laying down his paper that he might give his full attention to her inquiry. "that noise on the piazza," she answered in a low tone. "i don't hear any noise," returned the man; but almost as he spoke a slow shambling step made the floor-boards of the old piazza creak and a heavy hand was laid upon the door. "hello, who's there?" asked the man, for he could think of no one who would be calling at the hour of nine, which is really late in a farming community. but there was no reply to his inquiry, only the sound of a heavy step moving up and down in front of the door. "who are you, and what do you want?" repeated the young farmer in an irritated tone, for he was both surprised and annoyed by the intrusion. for answer, the kitchen door began creaking and straining as though great force was being exerted on it from the outside, and before the astonished couple could exchange glances of amazement and incredulity, with a mighty crash it tumbled in upon them, bringing one door-jamb with it, and fell with a bang upon the floor. but the most astonishing thing of all was the figure that stood drawn up to its full height in the doorway. the man and woman sat as though petrified, amazement and fear written upon their pale faces, for there in the doorway, eyeing them intently, and with no thought of retreat, was a large black bear. as the bear stood there, arms akimbo, bear fashion, her great white teeth showing through half-parted lips, and the strong claws suggesting what execution could be done by a well-directed blow, she was anything but a reassuring visitor. the young farmer, feeling that something must be done to scare off this hair-raising intruder, leaped to his feet in sudden desperation, and, shouting at the top of his voice, seized the door and slammed it back into the casing with all his strength, bumping the bear's nose severely. then he set his shoulder against it, and braced with all his might. but his move was a bad one, for there was a short angry growl on the outside and the next instant the door, farmer and all went spinning across the room, the man falling heavily and striking against the stove in the fall, and the great shaggy monster at once followed up her advantage by shambling awkwardly into the room. the woman screamed and fainted, and then a gust of wind from the open doorway blew out the light, leaving the kitchen in darkness. for a few moments the only sounds heard in the room were the ticking of the clock, the humming of the teakettle, and the shambling steps of the bear as she prowled about. but both of the figures on the floor were unconscious of what was going on, while a bright stream of blood trickled from a deep cut in the man's forehead. finally he was aroused by a cold draft of air upon his head. he put his hand to his forehead and saw that it was dripping with a warm fluid. he then put his fingers into his mouth and tasted and knew that it was blood. then full consciousness surged into his throbbing head and he remembered. there was no animate sound in the room and a terrible foreboding chilled his heart. he listened for his wife's breathing, but no such sound reached his ears. "mary," he called in a whisper, "are you here?" but there was only the ticking of the clock and the hum of the kettle. with an unspeakable fear he sprang to his feet, throwing off all caution and cried, "mary," in a loud voice, but with no better results. then with a trembling hand he struck a match and by its feeble light saw his wife lying on the floor like one dead. kneeling beside her he felt her pulse. it fluttered feebly and he knew she had only swooned. a dash of cold water soon revived her and she sat up and looked bewilderingly about. there upon the floor lay the door with the shattered jamb beside it and in front of the stove was a bright pool of blood, but no bear was visible. then the match went out and they were again in darkness. suddenly, with a paroxysm of fear, the woman sprang forward and clutched in the darkness for the cradle; then with a wild, pitiful, heartbroken cry, she fell to the floor. "mary, mary, what is the matter?" cried the bewildered husband, trying with trembling fingers to strike another match. a moment it sputtered and then burned bright, and by the fitful light the man beheld that which turned his blood to ice and his heart to stone. the cradle was empty, and the baby was gone. chapter ii the chase when the sudden gust of wind from the open door blew out the light and left the room in darkness, the great she-bear was not as much inconvenienced as one might imagine, for the bear is something of a prowler at night, doing much thieving and hunting when the darkness screens its deeds, as he has a very good pair of night-eyes. being thus left in darkness, the great brute stepped gingerly about, taking care not to tread upon the two prostrate forms on the floor, until she came to the cradle. there she stooped and investigated, passing her tongue caressingly over the little sleeper's face. then with her great clumsy paws she drew the blanket in which the baby had been wrapped about the sleeping child, and taking the loose ends in her teeth, swung it clear of the cradle and held it as though in a hammock. still standing erect, the bear edged carefully to the doorway, but once on the piazza, where she felt sure that the way was clear, she dropped on all fours, and started for the woods at a clumsy, shuffling trot. but clumsy as the gait was, it took her over the ground rapidly, and she was soon far into the forest. the heartbroken mother, after being brought back to consciousness, could only sit and wring her hands and moan, "o john, john, my baby, my darling, i shall never see it again." for a few moments the strong young man sat as though stunned by the suddenness of the blow. his brawny arms were nerveless; the heart had gone out of him, leaving him helpless as a little child. but presently his strong manhood asserted itself, and a bright glitter came into his keen, gray eyes. "mary," he said, almost roughly, "stop taking on so and listen to me. i am going after our child and with god's help i will bring him back." the realization of the hopelessness of it all nearly choked him, but he had to say something to quiet the look of misery and terror in his wife's eyes. "i want you to stay right here until i come back. i am a strong man and a good shot and no harm will come to me. no matter how long i am gone, or how lonely you get, you are not to stir from the house. do you hear?" the young mother looked at him in a dazed manner as though she but half comprehended, but at last a look of understanding and eagerness came into her eyes. "i am going too," she said. the man had foreseen and feared this and had tried to forestall it. "no," he said, roughly, "you cannot go. stay right in this room until i return." as he spoke he took down an old double-barreled gun, and drawing the shot in one barrel, rammed home a minie ball that just fitted the bore. this was a rude makeshift for a rifle, but it was the best he could do. hastily slipping on his overcoat and cap, and tenderly kissing his wife, he passed out into the darkness, on his hazardous and almost hopeless mission. but before taking the trail, he went to the shed and aroused an old hound who was sleeping upon a door-mat inside. "here, hecla," he called. "come along. you may be of some help to me to-night." then tying a long piece of rope to the hound's collar, that she might not follow too fast, he said, "here, hecla, good dog," indicating the beast's track in the snow. "sic, si-c-c-c-c." as the strong bear scent fumed into the old hound's nostrils, the hair rose upon her neck and she stood uncertain. "si-c-c-c-c," repeated the man sternly. reluctantly the hound took the trail, the man following close behind. across the mowing and into the pasture, and straight for the deep woods, the track led. the man groaned as he thought of the hopelessness of his task;--to follow a full-grown bear into the deep woods at night, and recover safely from its clutches a little child. this was his only hope, though, so setting his teeth, and remembering the pale face of his wife, the terror in her eyes, and his promise to bring their boy back safely, he kept on swiftly and bravely. fifteen minutes brought man and dog to the woods, and without hesitation they plunged into its depths. it was not so easy going here as it had been in the open. the rope was always getting tangled in the underbrush, and a stop every few minutes to unloose it had to be made. sometimes the man plunged up to his waist in the snow where it lay deep in some hollow. sometimes it was a dead limb lying across his path that sent him sprawling. occasionally the underbrush lashed his face and tore his skin. but these were little things. somewhere in the interminable woods a great brute of a bear was perhaps at this very moment--he dared not finish the thought, he could only groan. for half an hour they floundered forward, now slipping and sliding, and now falling, but always up and on again. at last, when the man was almost winded, and his breath was coming in quick gasps, a faint, far-off cry floated down to him through the ghostly aisles of the naked wind-swept forest. at first it was so faint as to be almost unintelligible, but as they pressed on, it grew louder and clearer, until the man recognized the pitiful wailing of a baby. "thank god!" he gasped, "my boy is still alive." by this time the old hound had fairly warmed up to the chase and was tugging on the rope and whining eagerly. to let the dog go on now might frighten the bear and thus defeat the whole undertaking, so the man tied her to a sapling, and, bidding her keep quiet, crept cautiously forward. a hundred feet farther on, the cries from the child grew louder. a moment more and he caught sight of the bear leaning up against a large beech, holding the baby in her strong arms. to the agonized father's great surprise the bear's attitude looked almost maternal; she seemed indeed to be trying in her brute way to soothe the infant. she caressed its face with her nose, and lapped it with her long, soft red tongue. if it had been one of her own cubs she could not have shown more concern. so much the frantic father noted, while he stood irresolute, uncertain what to do next. the bear would have been an easy shot by daylight, if there had been no baby to consider. but there was that little bundle of humanity, the man's own flesh and blood, and a bullet in order to pierce the bear's heart must strike within a few inches of the baby's head. the task that king gessler set william tell, was child's play compared with this. to shoot might mean to kill his own child, and not to shoot might mean a still more terrible death for the infant. the child's wails now grew louder and more frequent. the old bear became uneasy; in another moment she might flee farther into the woods, or worse than that, might silence the little one with a blow or a crunch of her powerful jaws. the desperate man raised his gun. the fitful moonlight shimmered and danced upon the barrel, and the shadows from the tree-tops alternated with the dancing moonbeams. he could see the sight but dimly and, added to all this, was the thought that the gun was not a rifle, with an accurate bullet, but an old shotgun loaded with a minie ball. at first, his arms shook so that he could not hold the gun steady, but by a mighty effort he nerved himself. for a second the moon favored him; a moment the sight glinted just in front of the bear's left shoulder, frightfully close to his child's head, and then he pressed the trigger. a bright flame leaped from the muzzle of the old gun; its roar resounded frightfully through the aisles of the naked woods, and its last echo was followed by the startled cry of the infant. dropping the gun in the snow, the man bounded forward, drawing a long knife from his belt as he ran. four or five frantic bounds carried him to the foot of the beech, where the bear had stood when he fired. there in the snow lay the enormous black form, and close beside it in a snowdrift, still nicely wrapped in its blanket, was the child, apparently without a scratch upon it. chapter iii a wilderness baby when the young farmer beheld the great hulk of the black bear lying motionless at the foot of the beech, and saw his child lying unharmed in the snow, his eye, that had been so keen at the moment of peril, grew dim and his senses swam, like one upon a high pinnacle, about to fall. but it was only for a second. his strong nerves soon restored him, and he stooped and picked up the baby, although he was so blinded with glad tears that he had to grope for the precious bundle. what a miracle it was, he thought; only the watchful care of a special providence could have steadied his hand for that desperate shot. the more he considered, the more miraculous it seemed, and with a heart welling up with praise and gratitude, he silently thanked god for the deliverance, then woke the leafless forest with a glad, "halloo." this was intended for the old hound, and she at once responded with a quick succession of joyous barks. the man had been a little uncertain of the direction home, as he had followed the trail feverishly, but the dog's greeting at once set him right. shielding the baby in his arms, and picking out as good footing as he could in the uncertain light, he made all haste back to his faithful canine, whose whines and barks guided him from time to time. "it's all right, hecla, old girl, i've got him," he cried as soon as he came within speaking distance of the dog. the father's joy was so great that he had to impart it to some one. he lost no time in untying the dog and with her as a guide they were able to follow the homeward trail through the darkest places in safety. he must make all possible haste, for he remembered the look of mute agony in his wife's eyes, as she stood at the door watching his departure. "home, home, hecla!" he cried, each time they plunged into deeper gloom than usual. "we must hurry." but the good dog needed no urging. out and in, unerringly, she led him, until the open pasture lot was reached. then with a glad bark she bounded over the stone wall and started across the fields at a pace that her master could not keep. he did not call her back, for he felt sure that she could impart the glad news to her mistress before his coming, and anything to relieve the suspense at home was desirable. while the two had been floundering through the deep woods upon their seemingly hopeless quest, the grief-stricken mother had paced the kitchen floor, wringing her hands and moaning. occasionally, as the moments dragged slowly by, she would go to the piazza and listen until it seemed that her ear-drums would burst with the intensity of her effort, but only the moaning of the wind, and the usual night sounds came to her ears. at last, in one of these anxious periods of listening, she thought she detected the barking of old hecla, but was not certain. perhaps it was only the wind playing pranks upon her overwrought nerves, or the hooting of an owl. she waited expectantly and a few seconds later, hearing the old hound's glad bark as she bounded over the wall between the pasture and the mowing, knew that john had sent her with a message for the mistress of clover-hill farm. there was something in the dog's bark that put hope into her heart, and she ran to meet her. "hecla, hecla, old friend, what is it?" cried the mother, as the faithful canine, panting from the hard run, capered breathlessly about her mistress, wagging her tail and quivering with excitement. "can't you tell me, hecla? is my baby safe?" for answer the dog gave several glad barks, and barking and capering, plainly invited her mistress to follow her and see that she brought good news. the mother, whose arms seemed so empty, was only too glad to do this. it had only been because of her husband's stern command and for fear that her presence might defeat the enterprise, that she had stayed at home at all. with the trained sight of a woodsman, john saw them coming long before his wife saw him, and he hallooed to them at the top of his voice. "it's all right, mother," he cried, "i've got little john." a few seconds later he placed the baby in its mother's arms and sank down in the snow exhausted from his long, hard run. when he had recovered his breath and had gasped out a few words of explanation, all hurried back to the farmhouse, the old dog leading the way. in half an hour's time the cozy kitchen was righted. the door had been rehung and the accustomed warmth and good cheer had returned to the room, where the kettle hummed and the clock ticked just as though nothing had happened. but to the young couple, who sat by the fireside talking it over, that last half hour seemed like a nightmare. the following morning, when the first faint streak of daylight was whitening the east, the young farmer and his faithful dog again took the trail for the woods. how different was their going now, from that of the night before! then, an awful fear had gripped the man's heart, and the sympathetic dog had felt her master's misery; but now, the man's step was quick and joyous, and the dog bounded about him with barks of delight. the tracks made the night before were still quite plain, and they soon came to the beech where the bear had stood when the hair-raising shot was made. there lay the great carcass in the snow just as it had the night before. the coat was long and glossy, of a deep black on the outside, and rather lighter on the under side. her forearms were strong and her claws were most ample. her jaw was massive, and altogether she was a beast that one would not care for a close acquaintance with, especially if she thought her young were in danger. it was useless to think of moving the prize without a team, so the exultant farmer went home for a horse and a sled, and in half an hour's time the huge bear was lying upon the porch of the farmhouse. news of the startling event spread rapidly and half a dozen neighbors gathered to see the bear weighed. to the astonishment of all, she tipped the beam at three hundred pounds, which is a few pounds short of the record for the largest she-bear ever weighed. two of the neighbors helped remove the fine skin and received some bear-steak in return for their labor. late in the afternoon, the now famous hunter again shouldered his gun and set off for the woods, followed by old hecla. he was not satisfied in his own mind, that they had found out all there was to know about the strange appearance of the bear at the farmhouse. if there should be more "goods in the case," as he expressed it, so much the better; but if not, he would keep his own counsel and no one would suspect that he had been upon a second bear-hunt. he went directly to the tree where the dead bear had lain, and examined the snow carefully. he soon found a well-defined trail that led farther back into the woods. this he followed easily, and it brought him to an old fallen hemlock, which was partly covered with snow. the tracks led into the deepest, thickest portion of the top and there ended at the mouth of a burrow that had been tunneled down underneath. the hunter got a long pole and prodded about in the tree-top until he satisfied himself that there was nothing formidable inside. then setting his gun against a tree trunk, he crawled into the burrow. he had entered only three or four feet, when a weak, pitiful whine greeted his ears. "just as i thought," he muttered. "there are cubs here." a few feet farther down he found them,--two astonishingly small bear-cubs. one whined pitifully and struggled to his feet as though in anticipation of supper, but the other was cold and stiff. it had evidently been dead for some time. the excited bear-hunter took them both in his arms and clambered out of the den, feeling well repaid for his search. holding the cub that was still alive under his coat for warmth and protection from the wind, he hurried home, while the hound leaped about him and sniffed suspiciously at his coat. his wife was sitting in the cozy kitchen sewing, and occasionally jogging the cradle, when he entered and, without a word of explanation, dropped the live cub in her lap. "o john," she cried, "what a dear little dog he is. where did you get him?" "under an old tree-top in the woods," he replied. "it isn't a puppy, it is a bear-cub. "here is his brother," and he held up the dead cub for her inspection. "i guess the old bear came round and stole your baby to take the place of her dead cub. there are tracks behind the house where she came up to the window and stood upon her hind legs and looked in. sort of taking inventory, as you might say." the woman went to the north kitchen window and to her great astonishment saw that her husband had not been joking. there were bear-tracks, and also two large paw-prints upon the window-sill that told of a silent watcher of their domestic fireside. a box was brought from the wood-shed and lined with an old blanket, and milk was warmed for the little wilderness baby, that had found its way so strangely into the farmhouse. it was ravenously hungry and the man held it, while the wife poured warm milk, a few drops at a time, into its mouth. at first the process was rather laborious, but after a few hours the young bear would gulp down the warm milk gladly. thus the bear-cub began his life at the farmhouse, lying in a warm box behind the stove and drinking milk from a saucer. most of his days and nights he spent in sleeping, as is the wont of young animals, and this was nature's sure way of making him strong and sleek. the following saturday the farmer went to town, where he was much lionized as a bear-hunter and the whole story had to be told over and over to each one he met. that night at the supper-table he remarked to his wife that he had seen dave holcome, a famous trapper and bear-hunter in his day, and had asked him what he thought about the bear's stealing the baby. "what did he say?" inquired the wife, all interest. "wal," drawled her husband, in exact imitation of dave, "bars are durned curus critters, almost as curus as women. you can hunt and trap 'um all your life an' think you know all about 'um, then along will come a bar that will teach you difrunt. there ain't no use in makin' rules about bar ettyket, cuz ef you do, some miserable pig-headed bar will break 'um all ter smash, jest like this 'ere one did. but i think there is a good deal surer way uv accountin' for the critter's action than what you say. it's my idee that he mistook the baby for a young pig." "the wretch," exclaimed the indignant wife, but her husband only laughed until the tears ran down his cheeks. "you didn't get any mail, did you?" she asked, when his mirth had subsided. "yes, i did," he answered. "here is a letter. i had forgotten all about it." the letter proved to be from a town thirty or forty miles to the north, and was as follows: "dear sir: i have been much interested in reading in our local paper the account of a strange visitor that you had at your house early in the week. i think i may be able to shed some light on that extraordinary event. "about eight years ago i secured a bear-cub when it was still small and brought it up in my household. there was at the same time in my family a baby to which the cub became much attached. no dog was ever more devoted to a child, than was the bear-cub as the two grew up together. they were constant companions and were inseparable. "finally the bear became so strong a partisan of the child that she was really jealous of the rest of the family. she seemed to think that the child belonged to her. the second summer on several occasions the two strayed far from home. the bear seemed to like to toll the child away, where she could have it all to herself. "one day when the boy refused to follow where its shaggy companion led, the bear fastened her teeth in the man-cub's clothes and carried her small master, kicking and protesting, to the woods, where both were found some hours later. "i interfered at this point and shipped the bear away to a summer hotel, where they wanted something to amuse the visitors. she soon tired of the company and escaped to the wild. "now i am confident that our old blackie and your bear are one and the same, but the matter is easily settled. our bear had lost a toe on her left hind leg, the consequence of getting in front of the mowing machine in the tall grass when she was small. please examine your specimen in this particular and let me hear from you." "the riddle is solved," exclaimed the husband excitedly tossing the letter across the table to his wife. "i noticed the missing toe when i removed the skin. it is a great relief to have the matter cleared up." chapter iv the cubhood of black bruin for several weeks the furry, fuzzy little bear in the box behind the kitchen stove did little but drink milk and sleep. if he did crawl out of his box on to the floor, it was simply to investigate the surroundings, and he would go about the room, poking his nose into all the corners, and sniffing suspiciously. but by degrees as he grew stronger and sturdier he evinced much curiosity, playfulness and drollery, and to these characteristics would have to be added, when he became partly grown, a kind of bear sense of humor which was quite ludicrous. his first playfellow was the pillow which he tumbled off the sofa one day. having discovered that it was detachable, he always made for it as soon as the spirit of play seized him. he would toss and tumble it about, now standing it upon end and batting it over with his paw and then rolling it over and over on the floor. the second object in the room that claimed his lasting attention was pussy, but she was much more animated than the sofa-pillow. the first time that the fuzzy little cub went up and smelted of her, she gave him a savage cuff on the nose, which sent him whining to his box, and he did not seek further acquaintance with pussy for several days. he would stand and look at her for five minutes at a time. this made the cat very uneasy, and she would go about from place to place, trying to get away from those small, bright, inquiring eyes. at last the cub again got up courage to sniff at the old cat, and this time she did not cuff him. as long as he was respectful, she did not mind him, but when he got too playful or subjected her to indignities, pussy retaliated with that sharp cuff on the nose, which always had the desired effect. black bruin, or whiney, as he was sometimes called when he was a small cub, soon learned to make his wants known. when he wished either milk or water, he would set up the most comical little whine, which was always effectual in getting it for him. one day he was given a saucer which had a little maple syrup in it, and his delight knew no bounds. after that he whined so long and frequently for syrup that he received his nickname of whiney. in the cool april evenings as they sat about the fire, the master would often lift the small bear upon his knee, and let him sniff about his clothing, and lick his hand with his long, narrow red tongue. then he would roll and tumble him about and black bruin would make believe to bite at his master and chew at his sleeves. finally, these evening romps got to be a regular part of the farm-life, as much enjoyed by the master, as by the cub. when may came, and it was warmer, so that the doors leading to the wood-shed and the porch were left open, the little bear's world grew apace. before, his horizon had been the four walls of the kitchen; now he could go and come as he pleased, about the yard and in the outbuildings. he made the acquaintance of hecla, the old hound, while he was still a prisoner in the kitchen, but they came to know each other better when the cub got out of doors. at first, the dog was inclined to attack the small bundle of bear-meat, but her master calmed her anger, and explained to her, as best he could, that black bruin was one of the family and should be treated with respect and consideration. so finally she became reconciled to his presence, but she never could get over his scent, which always filled her with suspicion. when the cub got out of doors where he could run about and exercise, he began to grow very rapidly in stature. before, he had been a football or a bundle of fur, but now he began to put on the semblance of a bear. he also developed a great genius for mischief. if i should tell of all the things he overturned or upset, this chapter would be endless. a naturalist, who has reared several bear-cubs, says, "if you have an enemy, give him a bear-cub. his punishment will be adequate, no matter what his offense." but the young farmer and his wife did not think so, and as for the baby who was now learning to walk, "bar-bar," as he called the young bruin, was a never-ending source of delight. he would bury his wee hands in the fuzzy hair of the cub and pull with all his might, and the cub would growl with make-believe fury, but it seemed to know that the baby did not intend to hurt it, and did not offer to bite. when the baby pulled its ears too hard, it would simply run away. outside, in the farmyard, among the chickens, turkeys, ducks, and geese, at first the cub was rather shy, for the gobbler turkey, the gander and the rooster all set upon him and drove him whining into the woodshed; but he soon learned that all were afraid of his paws, when he stood upon his hind legs and really hit out with them, so after that discovery, he was master of all the feathered folk about the farmhouse. all about the farm-buildings the little bear followed his master. but best of all he liked to go to the stable and watch the milking, for in one corner was a small dish, into which he knew a pint of warm milk would be poured as soon as milking was done. one morning the farmer heard a great noise in the hen-house. the hens were kedacuting for dear life and he hastened to the scene of the disturbance. what he discovered was both ludicrous and annoying, for there by one of the nests was his small bear in the act of pawing out an egg, while the empty shell of another upon the ground told only too plainly that he had discovered the use of eggs. after that the hen-house was never quite safe from him. whenever he was caught inside, he was punished, but hens' nests that he found out-of-doors were considered his natural plunder. june came, and the latter part of the month the bear-shadow followed its master into the hayfield. here it made a discovery that was much to its liking. the bear was sniffing about as usual, poking his nose into all the holes and bushes, when a low humming in the grass near by caught his ear. it was a sound that has made bears smile ever since the first bear licked up his first taste of honey. so black bruin crept cautiously forward to investigate. as he advanced, the humming grew louder and presently a small fury darted out at him. it was not much larger than a fly, but it gave him such a pin-prick in the nose that he was angry, and so struck it down into the grass, and crushed the life out of it with his swift paw. then he crept closer to the humming and buzzing, which was now quite ominous. soon more of the little furies came buzzing out, all of which he killed as he had the first. when the bee-hunter had crushed the dozen bees comprising the nest, he dug down to the secret hidden in the roots of the grass and found that it was much sweeter than the maple syrup which they had given him at the farmhouse. the nest was also full of white eggs or grubs which were quite palatable. after that day, black bruin was a persistent hunter for bumblebees' nests. from the bumblebees' nest to the hives of the honeybees in the orchard back of the house was a very natural step, but the farmer had not dreamed that the bear would discover the secret of the small white houses. one afternoon he heard a great humming of the bees in the orchard, and, thinking they were swarming, put on his bee-veil and went to investigate. the sight that met his eyes filled him with both mirth and wrath. there upon the ground was one of the hives overturned and pulled apart. many of the partly filled sections were thus exposed, while others were empty of both comb and honey. the thief, who was none other than black bruin, was holding up a section between his paws, while with his supple red tongue he licked out the contents. although the bees were swarming about him in a black cloud and doing their best to punish the thief, he paid little attention to them but licked away for dear life. upon his droll countenance was a look of such supreme delight, that the angry farmer ended by laughing heartily; but after that experience he surrounded the beehives with a stout barbed wire fence. about the middle of july, or perhaps a little later, a neighbor's children took black bruin to the blueberry lot. they had often romped and played with him, and he was glad to go, although he could not be coaxed to follow a stranger. he shuffled along in his droll bear manner, often stopping to sniff under a stone or in some corner, where his wild instinct told him that there might be something interesting. arrived at the berry-field, the children began picking and for a time bruin sat upon his haunches and watched them, his red tongue lolling out, for it was a hot mid-summer day. finally, one of the children picked a handful of berries and offered them to their four-footed companion, thinking it would be a good joke upon him. to their surprise, he not only lapped up the berries with keen satisfaction, but asked in plain bear language for more. he was so much pleased with the flavor of the new food that he finally put his long red tongue into their pails, and they had to box his ears severely. then he went and sat down a little way off, seemingly much abused. soon the children heard a noise in a bush near by, as if some one was picking, so they went to investigate. they found black bruin standing upon his hind legs, while with both paws and his long tongue he scooped the blueberries into his wide-open mouth. he was bending and thrashing the bush about to get it where he wanted it, and did not see that he was observed. upon his droll bear face was written deep delight, for another of earth's riches had yielded to his inquisitive nose and paws. after that he was often one of the party when the children went berrying, but if the berries were scarce they preferred to leave him at home. he was quite independent, however, and often went berrying by himself. blackberries he managed in the same manner, but when the thorns pricked his tongue, he would growl and look astonished, as much as to say, "now what does that mean? i didn't see a bee about." black bruin also made other interesting discoveries in the pasture. one day, either by chance or design, he turned over a small rotten log and found that on the under side it was swarming with ants and grubs. then how his tongue did fly as he licked them up and how the ants scampered in every direction trying to hide before he should get them! but ants and grubs were not the only game under the logs. one day when he had turned over a larger log than usual, he was astonished to see a tiny four-footed creature run squeaking out. black bruin hopped clumsily after the field-mouse. pat, pat went his heavy paws, but the mouse ran this way and that, dodging and squeaking, and several times he missed, although by this time he was quite expert with his paws. finally he landed fairly upon the poor mouse, and its life was crushed out. then he swooped it into his hungry mouth, and found it much better than grubs and ants. after that, whenever a mouse ran out from under a log or stone that he overturned, he made a desperate effort to get it. one day while sniffing about a hollow log, as was his wont, the bear discovered still a new scent that was neither grubs, ants nor field-mice, so he began tearing the log apart, for it was quite rotten. he had been at work but a few minutes, when with a great chipping a small striped animal, several times larger than the field-mouse, ran between his legs and scurried away in the grass. although much astonished, the bear hurried in hot pursuit. this little creature, like the mouse, ran hither and thither, dodging and twisting. finally after several misses, he landed his paw squarely upon it and the hunter had bagged his first chipmunk. [illustration: the bear hurried in hot pursuit] this game was so much larger than the field-mouse that he thought it well worth while, and after that whenever he scented a chipmunk about a log or stone wall, he would spend an hour, if need be, until he was satisfied that he could not get at it. finally the summer passed and the autumn came, and the bear-cub followed the children to the woods for chestnuts, beech-nuts and walnuts. he, too, learned the secret of the sweet meat under the hard exterior. beechnuts he would discover and eat by himself, but walnuts and butternuts he could not crack, and as for chestnuts, he wanted them taken out of their prickly jackets before he could eat them. here in the deep woods the bear also discovered several roots which were to his liking, so he was always nosing about in the dead leaves, for if he didn't find nuts, he would find roots. thus passed the cubhood of black bruin, and, from a fuzzy mite, whining for his saucer of milk, he grew into a sturdy cub, strong and self-reliant, able to forage and hunt for himself. without training from any parent, he learned some of the things that it was necessary for him to know in the fields and forest. thus the instinct of his bear ancestors asserted its power in the pampered and spoiled pet of the farmhouse, and if he had chosen, he could probably have taken care of himself as a real wild bear. but he did not care to do so, although he had every chance to run away; there was something always calling to him at the farmhouse. the people there had been good to him. in the wood-shed was his nest, and no matter how far away he roamed during the daytime, night always found him back at the house, begging for milk, and taking caresses at the farmer's hands. these good people had been so large a part of his helpless days that he could not leave them now, although the deep green depths of the woods were probably calling to him, as this was his natural home. chapter v a rollicking rogue about thanksgiving time black bruin suddenly disappeared, and although the premises were searched, no trace of him could be found. finally, after two or three days, his master gave up the hunt, concluding that the bear had obeyed the wild instinct in his nature and returned to the woods. he had no doubt that he was snugly curled up in some hollow tree where he would sleep away the winter months. whether he would ever return to them or not, was a matter of conjecture. all the family mourned his loss, especially the baby, who cried half a day for "bar-bar," as he called the bear. one cold december evening when the farmer was bedding down the horse, he imagined he heard a deep, steady breathing under the barn floor, and after listening for some time, was sure of it. his first thought was that some neighbor's dog had gone under the barn to sleep, so he went and lifted up a trap-door that led to the cellar, which was not deep. he whistled for the dog to come out, but no dog appeared. he could still hear the breathing and was much mystified by it, so he got a lantern and went under the barn to settle his doubts. to his great astonishment he found black bruin curled up in one corner, nearly covered with old hay that he had scraped together for the purpose. he was very sleepy, and only grunted when the man touched him with his foot and spoke to him. as he seemed well content with the winter quarters that he had selected, the man left him and went back to his chores. not until the middle of march did he again appear, although different members of the family often went to the trap-door and called for him to come out. he seemed to be obeying a strongly rooted habit in the bear nature, and he doubtless knew what was best for a sturdy cub like himself. one warm march morning the mistress thought she heard some one in the back room, and supposing that a neighbor had come in, opened the door. the intruder was no stranger to the family, for there was black bruin, standing on his hind legs, licking off the sticky outside of a maple-syrup pail. he had remembered his old delight in syrup. perhaps he had even got a whiff of the sweet on the spring air, and his nose had told him what was going on. the bear's scent is very keen, and this and his acute hearing make up for his poor eyesight. black bruin, on his reappearance, was at once taken back into the family's affection, and petted and spoiled, all of which seemed to suit him admirably. for a week or two, however, he would eat very little, and appeared to come to his appetite gradually. at first the good people thought he was sick, but an old woodsman explained to them that the bear was always fastidious after hibernation. in the wild state he will eat only buds and grasses, and perhaps a very few roots. he is wise, after the way of the wild beasts, and knows that his digestive organs are not in condition to do hard work; but when the right hour comes, he will have a meal that will make up for much fasting. the roguishness and capacity for mischief that black bruin had shown during his first year of cubhood, increased tenfold, as he grew older and stronger. tree-climbing, which he had learned late in the summer of his first year, became a passion with him. he climbed the elms and the maples along the road and the fruit trees in the orchard. in the barn, too, he clambered about on the scaffolds and pried into all the corners with his inquisitive nose. a neighbor's boy often came to the farmhouse to romp and wrestle with the bear-cub. nothing pleased him more than a rough-and-tumble, and he was quite an expert wrestler, once he learned how to floor his adversary. whenever two or three boys came into the farmyard, if black bruin was anywhere about, he would shuffle up to them and rearing upon his hind legs, invite them, in the plainest language, "to come on." his master also taught him to hold a broom in his arms in imitation of a gun, and march up and down like a soldier. when this feat was performed by their shaggy friend, the children would shout with delight, at which the cub would loll out his tongue and seem greatly pleased. he appeared to understand clearly that they thought him the smartest bear in the world. his old trick of hunting for hens' nests now recurred to him, and he returned to it with renewed zest. in fact, black bruin seemed not to forget any of his many forms of mischief, but rapidly acquired new ones as well. he not only hunted hens' nests outside, but frequently broke into the hen-house, just like any other chicken thief, and ate eggs freely. he always skulked into a corner when caught and seemed to expect the thrashing that he got for such thieving. he followed the farm-hands into the hay-field, as he had done the year before, to look for bumblebees' nests, but he was not content with lawful plunder. one day the haymakers took their dinner to a distant field where they expected to spend the day. all went well until the dinner-hour came, when it was discovered that black bruin had tipped over the coffee jug, pulled out the cork, and probably licked up the sweetened fluid. he had also opened the dinner-basket, and only a few crumbs and some pickles remained of what would have been dinner for three men. to add insult to injury, the vagabond was lying asleep upon the farmer's coat which he had thrown upon the ground, having a fine nap after his hearty meal. there was nothing to do but for all hands to go back to the farmhouse for dinner. the farmer had surrounded his beehives with a strong, high, barbed wire fence, and had thought them quite safe even from the prying curiosity of his bear-cub, but one day he found out differently. on hearing a great humming about the hives, as though the bees were swarming, he went to investigate. there in the midst of the hives was the old honey thief. he had dug a hole in the ground and had crawled under the barbed wire fence. two of the hives were overturned and pulled to pieces, and the contents of half a dozen sections licked out. this was almost too much to bear, but the good-natured farmer dug a trench under the fence, and placed another barbed wire lower down, and the bees were safe for a time. sweet apples and pears were also to black bruin's liking. this was all right in itself, but it led to other things. one summer morning while the farmer was milking, he was startled by hearing apples coming down in showers from the golden sweet tree back of the barn. thinking that some mischievous boy had climbed the tree and was shaking off apples for sport, he rushed into the back yard, determined to punish the offender severely. "here, you rascal," he shouted as he neared the tree, "what in the world are you trying to do?" the shaking in the tree ceased immediately, but at first the man could not locate the truant. finally he discovered black bruin away up in the top of the tree, where he was well screened by the thick foliage. "come down here," cried the farmer in considerable wrath. "come down here and i'll give you a good drubbing." black bruin clearly understood from the man's tone that he was angry, so he stayed where he was. the man then threw apples at him, but they had no more effect upon the culprit than did the grass upon the bad boy in the fable; so the farmer got a long pole and prodded the apple thief until he whined and came scratching down the tree. black bruin was very fond of the golden sweets, especially when they were baked, and probably thinking that there were not enough on the ground for family use, he had taken matters into his own hands. he seemed very penitent, however, so the family finally forgave him, as they had done so many times before. when the following week he tried the same tactics upon a winter pear-tree, the consequences were more serious. black bruin not only got a good drubbing for the prank, but his master secured a dog-collar and chained him to a maple-tree in the yard. for a while he pulled and sulked, but finally, seeing that it was useless, he yielded to the chain. he would beg so hard, though, to be let loose whenever any one went through the yard, that he was always allowed to be unchained and go free, when the family were about and could watch him. once the chain and collar, together with the bear's uneasiness, nearly cost the cub's life. he would climb up the tree to which he was tied as far as the chain would allow him to go, and, while playing various antics on the lower limbs of the tree, he fell. the chain was on one side of the limb and he was on the other, where he dangled like a culprit on the gallows. he kicked and choked and tried desperately to catch the limb with his fore-paws, but it was just out of reach and there seemed nothing for him to do but strangle. the tighter the collar grew and the shorter became his breath the more he kicked and thrashed, until finally the collar broke, and the half-strangled bear fell to the ground with a great thud. feeling that he had been cruelly treated and insulted, he picked himself up with a groan and a growl, and making for the woods, was not seen again for two days. finally black bruin returned to his friends, having had enough of wild life for that time. he seemed delighted to see them again and wanted to be petted more than ever, and, as if to make amends for his recent bad behavior, was very good for a couple of weeks. one day the farmer took a super of honey from one of the hives in the back yard, and, as a sort of reward of merit, gave black bruin a pound for his share. this was an imprudent act upon the part of the bear's master, for honey to the bear is what whisky is to the drunkard. not that it intoxicated him, but he craved it with an almost insatiate desire. this pound was but a taste, so he fell to watching the hives again and perhaps plotting as to how he might get at their contents. but the hives seemed quite safe. they were surrounded by a barbed wire fence six feet high. they were located under a broad spreading apple-tree, however, and this fact gave black bruin his chance. he waited until the farmer had gone to a distant field to work, then climbed into the tree, and out on a long limb that overhung the hives. the limb bent lower and lower until it nearly touched the barbed wire fence, but it was just strong enough for him to make the spring and land in the midst of the hives. the good housewife heard the humming and buzzing as the bees swarmed out to punish the intruder, and looking out of the back window, discovered the thief. not much damage had been done, as he had been detected almost at the outset; but one thing was now certain; the hives would not be safe from black bruin any longer. so the farmer repaired the broken collar and again secured the bear to the maple, and once more he took up the life of a convict. but it must not be imagined that black bruin led a very lonely life even upon the chain, for the children frequently took him berrying, or to the deep woods for nuts. when the apples had been picked and most of the honey taken from the hives, he was again given the freedom of the place to come and go as he wished. but the very worst of all black bruin's mischief and thieving came about the second week in november, when he had been upon his good behavior for several weeks, and the family hoped that he had reformed. one night the household was awakened by the most violent and persistent squealing of a pig. it did not seem to be any of the pigs at the farm, but the sound came from down the road and it steadily drew nearer to the buildings. what it all meant the farmer could not imagine, so he hurriedly dressed and went out-of-doors to find out. he was just in time to see black bruin come shambling into the yard carrying a pig, of perhaps twelve pounds' weight, in his mouth. he was holding him by one hind leg and the load was so heavy that the culprit could barely keep the poor pig's nose from dragging on the ground. the farmer at once went to his assistance and rescued him, to the great disgust of black bruin, who growled and plainly gave his master to understand that he considered the pig his own property. he had not got him out of the home sty, so that his master had no right to interfere. again black bruin paid the penalty for misbehavior and was chained up, while next morning, the farmer had the humiliation of carrying the pig home. after about a week more of life upon the chain, the culprit slipped his collar and disappeared. this time the farmer remembered his disappearance of the fall before and finally looked under the barn, where he found him curled up for his winter's sleep. chapter vi the life of a dancing-bear about the first of april, the third year of his adventurous life, a sense of something that he craved was borne in upon the deep slumber of black bruin, or perhaps it was only the returning warmth that awakened him. in either event he awoke, yawned, stretched himself and turned about in his nest under the horse-barn. he felt stiff and cramped, as one had a right to, who had been sleeping since about thanksgiving time. finally he got up, and going to a crack in the cellar wall, sniffed the breeze, which came in quite freely. this was always his way when he wanted to find out what was going on. his nose was a much surer guide in most matters than his eyesight. what the fresh spring wind told him was evidently to his liking, for his tongue lolled out, his mouth dripped saliva, and he went at once to the trap-door leading upstairs, and pushed it open with his shoulder. in the cozy farmhouse kitchen, an event that fills the heart of the average country boy or girl with delight, was in progress. upon the kitchen range was placed a large galvanized iron syrup-pan. in it was three or four inches of golden maple syrup, which danced and steamed and broke in little mountains of yellow bubbles, something the color of sunlight. this was the amber toll from the rock-maple, discovered long ago by the indian, whose primitive methods have been so greatly improved upon by the white man. but there are still very remote places in canada, where the old-fashioned slash in the tree, into which a wedge is driven, has not been superseded by spiles and buckets. several of the neighborhood children were gathered at the farmhouse kitchen and jollity ran high. suddenly the door leading to the wood-shed flew open, and there in the doorway stood black bruin. with a shout of delight they rushed upon him, eager to greet and caress their wilderness pet. for a week or two, as usual when coming forth from his long sleep, black bruin was rather inactive, and did not want much to eat; but by degrees his spirits returned, and it was evident from the size and strength now acquired, that he was to be more of a rogue and bother than he had ever been before. but even his warmest admirers, the neighborhood children, who always took his part, no matter what he did, were not prepared for his next antic. of course it was impossible for his friends, who had not been sleeping and going without food for several months, to say just how hungry the culprit was, or how strong the blood lust was upon him. there had been pig-killing at the farmhouse, and the bear had eaten some of the refuse meat. this had only whetted his appetite for more, so he did some pig-killing on his own account. one morning a neighboring farmer, very much excited, rushed into the yard and accused black bruin of stealing a small pig that morning from his sty. although the family protested stoutly that he must be mistaken, a search of the premises showed that their pet was missing. the bear's master thought best to settle for the pig, but even then the neighbor was much put out, and promised to try the effect of a rifle upon the thief the next time he should appear. the marauder did not return to the farmhouse all that day, but came slinking home late in the evening and went at once to his den in the wood-shed. again he was chained to the maple in the front yard, and forced to live the life of a prisoner. but he was now getting so strong that any ordinary collar would not hold, and he soon broke away and again went upon a foraging expedition. this time his choice was mutton, and his master had to pay for a pet sheep that he had taken from a neighbor's back yard. this was getting serious, and the bear's master was thinking of corresponding with the keeper of a zoo or menagerie, to see if he could give his troublesome pet away, when pedro alsandro appeared upon the scene, and the whole tenor of black bruin's life was changed. pedro was an italian peddler, carrying two large packs. he was a small man with a swarthy olive-colored skin, and dark beady eyes, set rather too close together. he appeared one warm april morning, and in the usual lingo of his kind, invited the good people at the farmhouse to "buy something." when his pack had been overhauled and a few small purchases concluded, the peddler noticed black bruin, and he at once took his fancy. his greed was also appealed to by seeing the bear perform his tricks. pedro had once owned a dancing-bear, but it had run away from him to escape harsh treatment. "why should i lug these heavy packs about," he thought, "when i could make twice the money, merely by leading this bear from town to town?" so the italian set to work to gain the confidence of the bear and as he had had considerable experience with his kind, it was not long before he had petted and bribed his way into black bruin's good-will. "you buy someting me, i buy someting, this bear," he finally said to the farmer. this proposition was greeted by some neighbors' children with a chorus of wails and the housewife too objected, but to the farmer, who was much perplexed to know what to do with the bear, it seemed like quite a providential opening. "what you do with him, pedro?" he asked, for he was as much attached to the rogue as he would have been to a dog that he had raised from puppyhood. "i make heem one fine dancing-bear," replied pedro, "i teach heem lots treeks. he jes walk long, eat lots, sleep lots, have good time." "will you be good to him, pedro?" asked the housewife, for she hated to think of the bear's having any but considerate treatment. "y-e-a-r-r--lady," replied pedro. "i feed heem much sugar, much peanut and much banan. he good bar, i keep heem careful and good." so pedro finally left a part of the contents of one of his packs in exchange for the bear, and went upon his way with a lighter pack. in one hand he held a stout rope, the other end of which was fastened in black bruin's collar. the poor bear continually looked back and whined as they went down the road, but pedro coaxed and bribed him with sugar, that he had brought along for the purpose, until he was out of sight of the house. once beyond the reach of interference upon the part of his recent master, the italian cut a stout heavy stick and sharpened one end, and with that as a goad, he drove the bear relentlessly before him. instead of coaxing there were henceforth sharp thrusts with the point of the stick and savage blows upon the head. at first black bruin was furious at such treatment, for had he not been spoiled and petted all his life? he soon saw, however, that this man was a new and terrible creature to be obeyed instantly, and one whose wrath it was not well to provoke by pulling back or sulking. for several hours they journeyed on in this manner, until a small village was reached. here the peddler disposed of the remaining goods in his two packs at a country store, and went into business as the keeper of a dancing-bear. that night the two slept in an old barn, curled down in the hay, and nestled closely together for warmth. when his deep breathing told the bear that his new master was sleeping soundly, he crawled carefully out of their nest and tried to slip away. but with a start pedro awoke and pulled savagely upon his collar, while with his stick he prodded him back into his nest. truly this was a strange and terrible creature into whose hands he had fallen. he knew what was going on when he was asleep, as well as when he was awake. there would be no escape from him. the poor brute did not appreciate the fact that the italian had tied the loose end of the rope about his wrist, so that the slightest tug upon it would awaken him. the following morning, black bruin began his labors as bread-winner for both. at the first farmhouse they came to, pedro stopped and in his broken english, offered to entertain the good country people with his bear in return for breakfast for both man and beast. the offer was promptly accepted and pedro's companion was made to shoulder his make-believe gun and march up and down. then he was given an egg to suck, and he carefully nicked a little piece in one end, and licked out the delicious contents. this was the trick that he liked best of all. finally he got down on all fours and was horse for three children for several minutes. they would sit astride his back, with their small hands tightly clasping the bear's long, glossy hair, while pedro slowly led him up and down. at last the breakfast was set before them and the poor bear, who had done all the work, was glad of his share of hot biscuit and maple syrup. when they were upon the road again, pedro began teaching the bear new tricks, for the few that he already knew were not enough to satisfy his new master, who thought he saw considerable money in him. whenever they came to a tree that was suitable for climbing, he would lead black bruin up to it, and shout "climb," at the same time thrusting his pointed stick viciously into the bear's hinder parts. at first, the bear remonstrated and growled, but he got such a drubbing and jabbing that he went whining up the tree, and when he would not come down pedro threw stones at him, until he was glad to escape the missiles by obeying. much practice of this trick soon made the bear a great tree-climber, and he would scratch up the tree at his best pace, at the slightest sign from the italian. next pedro bought a bottle of ginger pop, which he sweetened considerably to make it even more palatable for the bear, and then slowly turned out a part of the contents for him to lick up. when this had been done, he put in the cork very slightly and held it up for the bear to lick. of course the cork soon came out and more of the contents was spilled for the bear to drink. in this way by degrees he taught the brute that the cork must first come out and then there was sweet within. when the trick was finally mastered, the bear would stand upon his hind legs, take a bottle of ginger pop from a man's hand, hold it between his paws, pull out the cork with his teeth, and deliberately drink the contents. the performance of this trick got pedro and the bear all the soda water and small drinks that they cared for at the country stores and hotels. occasionally pedro would push the cork in very tight to tease the performer, who would sometimes growl and box the bottle with his paw, to the great delight of the children. at first the bear did not like beer, but he soon learned, and would drink it down the same as any toper. peanuts, pop-corn, corn-cake and candy he also learned to like, and his manner of eating these delicacies always amused the children. sometimes when he had been doing tricks in a village for hours he would get very tired and lie down and sulk, when pedro would beat and prod him cruelly. if the passers-by remonstrated with the italian for treating his good bear in this manner, pedro would make the excuse for cruelty so often heard in italy, where very little consideration is shown animals. "huh, lady," he would say, "he no christian, he just brute. pedro, christian, bear, brute, devil." whenever pedro and his companion entered a village, they were always followed by an admiring crowd of children. as many as could, would climb upon black bruin's back, and ride in triumph through the street, while dozens, who were less fortunate, followed behind, shouting approval. although it was quite a hardship for the bear to carry such a load, yet the petting of the children was a great pleasure to him in these days of tribulation. it reminded him of the children at the farmhouse where every one had been so good to him. for, brute that he was, he was still amenable to kindness, and brutalized by brutality. chapter vii the vagabonds pedro and black bruin were vagabonds, going up and down the country as the spirit moved them, living like two tramps without home, shelter or friends, save as they made them by the way. some nights they slept in haystacks, or in old barns. sometimes they crawled into wagon sheds and slept upon loads of grain or produce that had been gotten ready for the morrow's marketing. more frequently they bivouacked in the open, under the blue canopy of heaven, merely sheltered a little by a friendly spruce or pine, with the silver moon for a lamp, and the bright stars for candles. the great shaggy beast and the little dark man slept in one bed, as it were. pedro usually pillowed his head upon black bruin and so the bear had to lie very still and not disturb his master, for he got a pounding if he did. out here in the open all the night sounds came to them with startling distinctness;--the cry of the nighthawk and the chirping of a cricket, the peeping of hylas and the croaking of frogs and the wild, tremulous, mournful cry of the screech-owl. the night winds blew upon their faces and the fragrance of the dew-laden flowers was in their nostrils. theirs was not a cramped, stifling existence, but a full free life, and the sense of living, breathing, growing things was everywhere, and it made them glad. the tan of wind and sun was upon pedro's skin, making it even more swarthy. in the morning, when the first faint gray streak lit the east, and robins and thrushes began to sing, they were up and ready for the day's work. their toilet was very simple,--merely a wash and a drink of water from some neighboring brook, then they were ready for the road. this was just the hour to find all the thrifty farmers' families at breakfast and it was much easier to get something for themselves when the table was spread for others. so black bruin danced and went through all his tricks, to the great delight of the children, that both he and pedro might share the farmer's hospitality later. when they were unlucky and had to go without breakfast, pedro blamed his shaggy companion and swore at him in broken english, or showered blows upon him with the stout stick which he always carried. black bruin soon learned to expect the blows and to cower from them and sometimes even whimper, when his master was unusually harsh; but in his heart, which was that of a wild beast, he was storing up wrath. but there was something about the italian that held him at bay as though with chains of steel. when pedro's small glittering eyes were upon him, his own eyes fell. a kick would send him groveling to earth. in some unexplainable way he felt that this cruel creature was his master. he was subdued and held by a terrible grip. to the bear the man was always a mystery. there was something fearful about him that he could not fathom and his source of strength the poor beast could not understand. there was also an evil-smelling dark bottle in the italian's inside coat-pocket, which was an enigma. it was not ginger pop or beer, or any kind of soda water; black bruin knew all of these drinks himself, and this drink was like none of them. one day pedro had fallen into a strange deep sleep and the bottle had slipped from his pocket. the bear had at once noticed it, picked it up and pulled out the cork, just as he would have done with a ginger pop bottle, and had taken a small swallow. but the strange stuff had burned his tongue and choked him. so he spat it out and broke the bottle with a single blow of his powerful paw. he finally licked up considerable of the whisky, as it was a hot day and he was thirsty. it had made him sleepy, so man and beast had lain down together in a drunken stupor. after this day black bruin hated the bottle, out of which pedro drank so frequently. they were also unlucky in getting meals when his master did this, for the simple country folk did not like to lodge or feed them when the dark, sinister-looking man was half drunk. so in many ways the bottle brought them ill-luck. when black bruin and his companion began their wanderings from town to town, it was early spring-time. the buds were just beginning to redden upon the sugar-maple and the grass along sunny southern slopes, was putting on its first faint touch of green. the days were warm and sunny, promising buds and blossoms, but the nights were still clear and cold. at first they had to lie close together at night for warmth, or rather the man had to cuddle down close to his shaggy warm companion; but spring soon passed and summer came and the two wanderers reveled in the lavish beauty and richness of nature. in many of the pastures blueberries grew in profusion and black bruin needed no teaching to get his share of the palatable fruit. along all the country roads, growing upon the stone walls and fences, were delicious red raspberries, which are much finer flavored than the cultivated kinds. later on, when august laid her golden treasures in the lap of mother earth, the blackberries ripened in wild profusion. first in the open pasture came the low bushberries, and then the high bushberries along the edge of the forest. last of all came autumn with its treasures of harvest, fruits, nuts, melons and grains. wild grapes they found in abundance and all the nut-bearing trees rattled down their treasures for them. the melon-patch, the pound sweeting tree, the peach-orchard and the turnip-field all paid toll to the vagabonds. so, in spite of harsh treatment and hard work, black bruin laid on his usual layers of fat, against the long sleep of the coming winter. what wonderful days these were when they wandered lazily from village to village, through long stretches of flaming red and golden forest, where the roadway was spread with a most gorgeous leaf-carpet. they heard the jay squalling in the corn-field, and the crows gathering in the clan for their annual caucus. the squirrels chattered in the trees above them, but their old friends, the song-birds, had nearly all flown away to the south to escape the oncoming winter. when jack frost and the merry north winds had robbed the trees of the last of their foliage and they stood out grim and gaunt against the bleak november sky; when the last purple asters and the hardiest bright goldenrod had faded, black bruin felt the old winter drowsiness slowly stealing upon him. at last the first snow-storm came and that settled it in both the minds of pedro and the bear. so the italian led his companion far up into a wilderness region, and after searching about for half a day among the ledges found a natural cave which was about the size of a small room, and here left black bruin to sleep away the winter months. he stayed in the region just long enough to make sure that the winter drowsiness had clutched him and also took the precaution to roll against the entrance of the cave, a large stone, which he had to move with a lever, that he might be sure of finding his partner in vagabondia when he returned for him in the early spring. pedro would take the precaution to come back a few days before the bear would naturally awaken. a day or two after black bruin was left alone in his cavern a heavy storm set in, and before it ceased, a foot of snow had fallen. it was now so deep that the passer-by would never have guessed that a bear was soundly sleeping a few feet back of the boulder which pedro had placed at the entrance of the cave. this now merely looked like a white snowdrift that some freak of the wind had piled upon the mountainside. in the dark and the silence of his underground room black bruin slept through the winter blizzards and cold as well as he would have done in warmer and more comfortable quarters. no sound broke the silence of his cave save his own deep breathing. if the sun shone, or the winds howled, or the storms beat, he knew it not. perhaps in dreamland he still wandered up and down the country picking blueberries or poking under the dead leaves for nuts, and always and forever doing tricks until his legs and back ached. as for pedro, he had no idea of hibernating, so he went away to a distant city and worked for a fellow countryman in a fruit store. but work was not to his liking and he longed for spring to come that he and his companion might again be upon the road living the old free life. chapter viii the beast and the man a sense of pain and annoyance penetrated the deep sleep of black bruin, and with a growl and a start he awoke. when he had fallen asleep his mountain cavern had been quite dark. it had always been dark when he awoke and stretched himself, but now the full glory of daylight was streaming in. there before him, dark, sinister and forbidding as ever, stood pedro, and in his hand was the sharpened stick with which he had been prodding him, causing him to awaken. as black bruin arose in response to his blows, he shook himself, and stretched first one cramped leg and then another, which were stiff after his long sleep. pedro could not help but notice how he had grown and what a great brute he was getting to be. "holy saints," he ejaculated, "but he is one pig deevil-bear. i must club heem and prod heem much, or he eat me. he em one deevil." black bruin felt a sense of irritation at the coming of his master and followed him sullenly as he led the way out of the winter quarters into the full day. how sweet and fresh was the air and how bright and beautiful the world. then, for the first time, there came an almost overpowering longing for freedom. he had often felt it slightly, but now it nearly mastered him and he all but broke into open rebellion. the deep woods were calling to him. the wild free life was his by right. he was no dog to be led about upon a chain, and to go and come at the beck of man. he was a wild beast whose home was the wilderness, and this cruel creature, who tyrannized over him, and prodded him, for whom he did tricks day after day, had stolen away his freedom. of course black bruin did not think these thoughts in just this way. to him they were dim and inexpressible; he only felt a wild rage at being restrained and made a captive and a hot desire to be off. so it was with this ill-disguised humor that he followed his master from town to town and did his tricks. pedro, on the other hand, felt that the bear was becoming morose and that his spirit must be broken, so he prodded and beat him until his life was almost unbearable. one evening the two camped near the edge of a spruce woods. along one side of the road ran a turbulent stream, which was at the bottom of a deep gorge. at several points one could look down from fifty to one hundred feet to the water, foaming and lashing and rushing upon its way. for a part of the distance the bank was almost perpendicular, and here the passer-by was protected from falling into the abyss by a railing that was spiked to posts or convenient trees. to-night, pedro was sleeping soundly, his head pillowed upon his great coat, that he carried in the spring and fall against inclement weather. he no longer pillowed his head upon black bruin, who was chained to a near-by tree. the beast now also wore a muzzle and this was one more grievance which he nourished in his heart against the time of vengeance. black bruin was not asleep, but was watching first his master and then the flickering light of their camp-fire. as he watched and pondered, the tyranny of his chain and muzzle grew upon him. the muzzle galled his nose and the chain was a continual reminder of his slavery. pedro had prodded and clubbed him this spring until his body was sore. he no longer had the slightest spark of affection for the man, but instead a fearful hate that burned in his breast like living coals. the sound of pedro's deep breathing also filled him with a terrible rage. it seemed as if he could feel all the prods that he had received from the stick at once, and each stung him with a new pain. his breath came thick and hot and his eyes glowed with all the deep intensity of hate;--hate, that had long smouldered, fed with continual fuel, but always kept in check, only at last to break out in a conflagration, sweeping all before it. at length raging, yet fearful, black bruin backed away to the full length of his chain and began straining upon it with all his might. it choked him until he could no longer breathe. then he stopped for a moment to recover his breath, and went at the chain again. for half an hour he tugged and strained, choking and gagging until at last the ring in his collar pulled out and he was free from the chain. but he was not free as long as that sleeping demon by the fire still had strength to pursue and recapture him. he never would be free until he had killed him. next he lay down and began tugging at his muzzle. that too choked him as he pulled upon it, and he nearly strangled in the process of wrenching it off, but finally the hated thing lay upon the ground, with the strong wires bent and the strap broken. then black bruin crept forward to within three or four feet of where pedro lay heavily sleeping, and stood there, watching his master. he felt sure that with one blow of his paw he could cripple him, but he could not bring himself to strike that blow. the man might have some new and terrible hidden power that he knew not of. he had seen him do strange things and there might be still others that he had not yet tried. could he not make fire out of sticks that really had no warmth in them? there was something fearful about a creature who could do such things. but one thing was certain;--pedro would not strike him again. the growing rage in his brute breast made that impossible. if he would only move and get up and reach for his stick, then the poor enthralled brute might act. this would be a match to the powder. at last pedro stirred uneasily in his sleep and groaned, and with all the stealth of a wild beast black bruin drew nearer to him. he could see drops of sweat upon the man's brow and a tremor shook his body. was this terrible demon really afraid? if so, black bruin himself would no longer be afraid, so he drew still nearer and stood over his master. then with a yell of terror that echoed through the cavernous woods, pedro sprang to his feet, while his hand reached for the stiletto that he always carried. but quick as he was, he was not as quick as the bear, for, with a motion like lightning and a grip like steel, black bruin pinioned his arms to his sides and held him as though in the grip of vulcan. "heii, yii-here, you brute deevil. you let me go i keel you," shrieked pedro. but the words, that would have made the bear cringe and skulk a few hours before, held no terror for him. he was master now, and this man who had clubbed and prodded, sworn at, and outraged him, was a pigmy in his arms. his powerful jaw too was close to the man's neck. one crunch would make him lifeless. then pedro, with more ferocity than judgment, began kicking, hoping to frighten the bear, who had always skulked at his slightest word. but the growl of rage with which black bruin greeted this move fairly froze the blood in pedro's veins, especially when he felt the great brute half open his jaws as though to bite through his neck. then pedro became wise and sought by kind words to persuade the bear into releasing him. "gude freetzie, gude beastie. don't, freetzie, don't." but those platitudes were received as uncompromisingly by black bruin as were the kicks. he evidently would have no parleying of any sort. the man had been weighed in the balance and found entirely wanting. there was still one very slight hope left, however. if pedro could only reach his stiletto, even with his hands pinioned to his sides, he might be able to plunge it into the brute's side down low and inflict a wound that would cause the bear to loose his hold for a second, when he might wrench himself free and deliver a second fatal thrust. the stiletto was in a sheath and pedro could just reach the point. his only hope was to work it loose, then with a quick motion jump it out, and catch it as it fell. it was a desperate chance, but all that was left to him. his slightest movement brought blood-curdling growls from black bruin, who evidently did not intend to take any chances with him. at the same instant that pedro began reaching for his stiletto, black bruin started marching him up the road into the woods. where he was taking him and what new horror awaited him the italian could not imagine. inch by inch he carefully worked the stiletto higher and higher in the sheath. then with a quick upward motion of his hand, he jumped it clear of the leather and clutched for the handle as it fell. but his fingers barely glazed the steel, the weapon fell to the earth, and his last hope was gone. about fifty feet down the road, black bruin wheeled his captive sharply to the right and taking a few steps in that direction, they stood upon the brink of the precipice, at the bottom of which was the foaming, dashing, turbulent stream. as though to make the horror of the situation even more intense, the moon which had been under a cloud, came out and shone peacefully into the yawning depths. in the silver moonlight the white foam on the water looked as soft as wool; but pedro knew that beneath the froth and foam were the jagged and hungry rocks that made it. there they remained for the space of ten seconds, the dark, cruel, sinister little man, held in the inexorable grip of the great shaggy beast. each second the crushing arms of the bear tightened and the man's breath came in gasps and sobs. his tongue protruded from his mouth, and his eyes bulged out of their sockets with fear and pain. blood dripped from his nose and his ribs creaked as the infuriated beast slowly crushed him. when the figure of his tormentor no longer struggled in his arms, black bruin opened his powerful jaws and with a single bite crushed the vertebras of the neck. then, with a grunt of deep satisfaction, he lifted the limp figure in his arms as high as he could, and flung it into the yawning chasm below. he peered over the railing and saw it strike upon the rocks beneath, hang for a moment uncertain and disappear in the dark eddy. then he dropped on all fours and hurried back to camp, where he demolished everything of pedro's meagre outfit, not forgetting to tear his coat to shreds. this done to his evident satisfaction, he obeyed the call from the deep woods, that had been so insistent in his ear all that spring and summer, and shuffled away into the gloom. the dark plumes of fir and pines sighed, "come," and the night wind whispered, "come," and the rustling fronds and grasses said, "come." all nature welcomed the exile to this, his native wilderness. chapter ix life in the wild it was with a wild exultant sense of being free that black bruin shuffled through the underbrush and entered the deep woods on this, his first night of actual freedom. some of the native ferocity of his kind coursed in his veins. had he not within the hour slain his tormentor--the inexplicable creature who had tyrannized over him and bullied and beaten him for more than a year? but mingled with his triumph was a faint sense of fear that caused him to put many miles between himself and the deep gorge before he stopped for food or rest. true, he had seen the limp, lifeless figure fall into the abyss and then disappear in the dark stream. still, he might come to life in some miraculous way and pursue him. it was under most peculiar circumstances that this alien returned to his native wilderness;--circumstances that we shall have to consider briefly to understand why so many mishaps befell him during his first year of freedom. from the first moment that the fuzzy little bear-cubs follow their huge mother from the den into the open world, their lessons of life begin. these lessons are acquired partly through imitation and also through design upon the part of the wise old dam. nearly all small creatures are imitative, so, as the old bear did only those things that were for her good, the cubs soon learned by imitation which of the wild creatures to be upon good terms with and which were to be let alone. the cubs always stay with their mother for a year, usually denning up with her the first fall, and only being deserted when the new cubs come; so it will be seen that this early training and discipline is of the greatest importance. knowledge that is not gained in this way is usually gained by hard knocks. at last, being winded and tired with his long flight, black bruin crawled into a deep thicket and went to sleep. when he awoke, it was very early morning, just the time of day that he and pedro had been in the habit of starting on the road. no more road for him, but if black bruin could not get his breakfast at a farm-house, he must seek it elsewhere, for he was fairly ravenous this balmy summer morning. he remembered his old grub and ant-hunting habit and was soon busy turning over flat stones and pulling to pieces old rotten logs, where there was usually good picking. but it took a great many of these little crawlers and creepers to satisfy a half-famished bear. finally, black bruin scented a chipmunk in a small pile of stones, and hastily began pulling the pile apart to get at the prize. poor chippy, hearing his house tumbling about his head and seeing his retreat rapidly cut off, burrowed deeper and deeper in the stone-heap, but finally the monster was almost upon him. when one more stone had been lifted, he would be at the bear's mercy. so, with a frightened squeak, chippy made a break for freedom, hoping to gain a stone wall that he knew was near by. thump, thump, thump, went the heavy paws all about him as he dodged hither and thither, uttering a quick succession of terrified squeaks. at last one of the great paws fell fairly upon him and his life was crushed out, while black bruin had the keen satisfaction of feeling warm blood in his mouth. this success put new enthusiasm into the hunter and he pulled stones and logs about for an hour or two in a lively manner. he did not find any more chipmunks and was about to give up hunting for that morning and go in search of water, when a small black and white creature with a bushy tail attracted his attention. it was about the size of a cat but the body scent was not that of a cat. whatever it was, it was small and slow, and could be easily caught and killed. whether or not it was good to eat could be determined later, so the hunter hurried after the small black and white creature that looked so harmless. a few quick shuffles carried black bruin alongside the quarry and, within striking distance, his heavy paw went up, but at that moment the wood pussy arched his back and delivered his own best defense full in the bear's nose and eyes. with a loud "ugh," and a grunt and squeal of pain, black bruin retreated into the nearest thicket. it seemed as though liquid fire had been dashed in his eyes, and of all the obnoxious smells that ever disgusted his nostrils, this was the worst. his eyes smarted and burned, and the more he rubbed them the worse they became. he was nearly blinded and so had to go groping and stumbling through the woods to the nearest brook, to which his wild instinct guided him in some miraculous manner. here he plunged in his face up to his ears and was slightly relieved. for an hour he repeated the operation over and over, plunging his head under and keeping it there as long as he could hold his breath. at last the burning, smarting fluid was partly washed from both eyes and nostrils, and black bruin went upon his way a wiser and sorrier beast. it was two or three days before the inflammation entirely left his eyes and his nostrils got back their old sure power of discriminating between the many scents of the forest. he had learned his first lesson in the woods, which was that a well-behaved skunk when taking his morning walk, is not to be disturbed. after this, whenever black bruin even scented a skunk, he kept at a discreet distance and contented himself with chipmunks and mice. one morning he surprised a fox eating a rabbit which it had just caught in a briar-patch, and made such a sudden rush upon reynard that he fled in hot haste, leaving the rabbit for the bear. in this way black bruin learned that rabbit was good to eat, even as palatable as squirrel, and after that he hunted rabbits whenever opportunity offered. sometimes he would find a gray rabbit's hole and with much labor dig the poor rabbit out. more frequently he would watch at the mouth of a rabbit-burrow, where he had seen a rabbit enter, until bunny reappeared, sticking his head out cautiously to reconnoitre, when one swift stroke of the heavy paw bagged the game. it was one day after having watched for several hours at the mouth of a rabbit-burrow, that black bruin discovered a queer creature, three or four times the size of a rabbit, walking leisurely along through the woods, and went in hot pursuit. by this time, the experience with the skunk had lost its old terror, and he was again the curious, keen hunter. whatever it was, the newcomer did not seem to be much afraid of him, and that was strange. most of the wild creatures he knew fled at his first approach, and it was with difficulty that he got near them; but this queer animal ambled along as slowly as if he had not the slightest concern. he did not look or smell like anything that black bruin had ever observed before. the odd thing about him was that he was covered with small sharp points sticking out in every direction, which gave him a very bristling appearance. as the bear came up, he merely squatted upon the ground and drew himself into a rotund shape. what a strange creature! black bruin reached his nose closer to get a better whiff of the body scent, and if possible to discover what the animal was. quick as a flash the porcupine's tail struck upward and three of the longest, sharpest quills in this queer body were firmly planted in the hunter's nose. with a growl of pain and rage the bear dealt this strange enemy a crushing blow. the porcupine's back was broken, but the conqueror carried off four more quills in his paw. [illustration: black bruin dealt the porcupine a crushing blow] it was not much like a conqueror that he went, for he limped off on three legs, and sitting down in a thicket, pulled the quills from his paw as well as he could; but two were broken off and finally worked through the foot, coming out a day or two later on the upper side. the paw was so sore that he could not travel on it, and the afflicted bear either went upon three legs, or kept quiet. two of the quills in his lower jaw he got rid of, but one stayed with him for several days, and finally made its appearance in his cheek, coming out near the ear. the experience was a sorry one, and although several days afterward black bruin saw the dead body of the porcupine lying where he had crushed it, he would not go near it. this creature, like the skunk, had a peculiar way of fighting which the bear could not understand, so he would give the next porcupine that he met the entire road if he wanted it. black bruin's relations with man had been most peculiar up to the time of his killing his cruel master and escape into the wild, and they did not tend to make him wise in regard to this creature, which all normal wild animals shun as their greatest danger. he had been brought up in close companionship with men; had slept and ate with them for the first three or four years of his life. he had wrestled with the men cubs and had found in it nothing but sheer delight. children and their caresses had been his one pleasure during the strenuous year with pedro. now, suddenly all this relationship toward man was changed. black bruin had gone from the pale of civilization into that of savagery. he was now a wild beast, feared by men, although without much cause. little by little this new relationship between himself and the man beast was borne in upon black bruin. at first, he shunned men and their way, fearing that some man might capture him and again claim him for the road. the wild, free life made him glad. to be here to-day and there to-morrow was to his liking, and he did not intend to live again upon a chain. but that black bruin's long companionship with men was a disadvantage to him in his new life was only too apparent, for it led him into indiscretions, which a normal bear would never have committed. in his natural state the bear is a very wary animal, always upon the watch, even when he is feeding; always and forever testing the wind with both ear and nostril. but with the half-domesticated dancing-bear it was different. in his own mind he had nothing to fear from men. he had walked through their villages and along their country roads and seen them by thousands and tens of thousands. they had never harmed him, and he had no reason to think they ever would. one september morning he was digging roots along the edge of the woods. he had found something quite to his liking and was much absorbed, when suddenly a fresh puff of wind blew the strong body scent of a man full into his nostrils. he looked this way and that but could see no man. then a twig snapped in the cover near at hand, and a squirrel hunter stepped into view, not fifty feet away. the hunter was probably much more astonished than was black bruin. the great shaggy brute was so close to him that he looked like a veritable monster. with the hunter's instinct, that acts almost before the mind has time to think, the gun went to his shoulder and both barrels were discharged in such quick succession as to call for merely one echo. the hunter was of course not in search of bears, so the two charges of number four shot did not have a mortal effect upon the quarry, but at such close range they penetrated quite deeply into his flesh and stung him with an excruciating pain. with a loud "hoof," and an agonized grunt of pain, the bear fled precipitately in one direction, and the hunter, thinking that he had jeopardized his life by his rashness in attacking a bear with squirrel shot, fled in another. the man did not stop running until he reached the nearest farmhouse, where he excitedly gasped out his adventure to wide-eyed listeners, while black bruin fled as far as he could into the deep woods, to nurse his many wounds. there was little, however, that he could do. the wounds were not dangerous, but they burned and smarted as though a whole swarm of bees had penetrated his thick coat and found the skin beneath. he spent the better part of the day lying in a cooling stream, waiting for the burning and smarting to cease. he had now added one more to the list of his sad experiences in the wild. the man-scent was dangerous and henceforth he must flee at the slightest suspicion of the proximity of man. the rank sulphurous smell of gunpowder, too, and the roar, like thunder, that echoed away through the cavernous woods, were things that he would remember. man, who he had thought was quite harmless, was a terrible enemy who could sting him in a thousand places at once, and shake the forest with thunder and lightning. even while black bruin lay wallowing in the stream, trying to ease the burning shotgun wounds, there was being planned in the near-by village a bear-hunt that should bring about his destruction, for the excited hunter had described a monster as large as a cow. chapter x the great bear-hunt the hair-raising story that the young squirrel-hunter told, created quite an excitement among villagers near by, but on second consideration the older and wiser heads were inclined to discredit it. the imaginative nimrod had probably seen a black stump or dark moss-covered rock, which, in the excitement of the moment, he did not stop to investigate. he had fired upon the instant and then fled without taking further inventory of the place. it was doubtless one of those hallucinations that are so common in the woods. bears had not been plentiful in the region for several years, so at first the story was discredited. about a week later grandpa hezekiah butterfield, one of the old men of the village, went about a mile into the country to a farmhouse to take supper with an old crony and to talk over old times. as is usual when two grandpas get to talking over old times, grandpa butterfield stayed much later than he intended, starting for home at about eight o'clock. but when he went, he felt well repaid for his visit, because he had completely out-talked his companion and moreover was carrying back a present of five pounds of honey, which, as the old man had a sweet tooth, the only tooth he had, was most acceptable. just after leaving the farmhouse, the way led through a deep woods which overhung the road, making it quite dark in places. it happened that on this same evening black bruin went forth on one of his nightly prowls. it was a moonlight night and the wood-mice were out in force, scampering about and squeaking, having the finest kind of a play. in the course of his stalking this small game, black bruin came to within a few rods of the road. he was sniffing about an old log which smelled strongly of mice when a fresh puff of the wind brought him a strong man-scent. at this dread odor the hair rose upon his neck and fear told him to slip quietly away in the opposite direction from which the scent came. he was about to obey this instinct when the wind again freshened and a new odor filled his nostrils. it was not as strong as the man-scent and it did not fill him with fear, but with delight. it made his mouth drip saliva and filled him with an insatiate craving for something, he could not remember just what. then the old sweet smell, that was to him what whisky is to the drunkard, brought back a familiar picture. it was of a farmhouse with barns and many out-buildings. there were hens, ducks and turkeys in the yard and back of the house was a row of beehives that always emitted this ravishing odor. it was honey, and at the realization black bruin could almost hear the low droning of the hive, or the angry zip, zip of the bees about his ears as he robbed them. again the night-wind brought the man-scent and the smell of honey. the former filled him with fear and the latter with delight. again and again he tested the wind, weighing the two odors, and at last the honey conquered. the man might fill him with thorns and prickers from his thunder and lightning stick, but he must have some of that honey. grandpa butterfield was walking leisurely along humming a psalm tune, as was his wont when well pleased with the world, when he thought he heard something behind him in the road. he stopped and listened, but all was still. only the usual night-sounds came to his ears. but when he moved on, he felt sure that the footsteps again followed. at last he reached a point where the moonlight fell across the road. he now felt quite sure that something was coming after him but what, he could not imagine. feeling curious, and a bit uneasy, for the road was a lonely one, he turned and looked behind and there, in the full moonlight, not forty feet away, he beheld a huge black bear following surely in his footsteps. there was no deceiving his eye. he had seen too many bears in days gone by. grandpa butterfield quickened his walk to a trot, which in a dozen steps he increased to as lively a run as a man of seventy years could muster. black bruin, feeling, now that the man was running, he was afraid of him, and seeing his precious honey rapidly moving away down the road, went in hot pursuit. by the time the old man had covered a hundred feet, his breath came in quick asthmatic gasps. craning his stiff neck to see if he had distanced his pursuer, he saw to his horror that the bear was not twenty feet behind him. terror now lent wings to his rheumatic old legs, and he sprinted another hundred feet in much quicker time than he had the first. but black bruin now felt sure that the honey was his. the man creature was clearly afraid of him, so he too increased his pace. poor grandpa butterfield could almost feel the bear's hot breath upon his back as he ran. ten seconds more, he told himself, and he would be in the clutches of this brute. his obituary and the account of his tragic death would surely be in the county paper next week. suddenly his half-paralyzed brain was electrified by a thought. it was the honey that the bear was after, and not him. who ever heard of a bear wanting to eat an old dried-up man, who was as tough as leather? without a second's delay he pitched the honey into the road behind him, and continued his frantic flight. a few rods farther on, feeling that he was no longer pursued, he glanced back just long enough to see the bear tearing the paper from the package and licking out the honey. that evening at the country grocery the bear-story of the squirrel-hunter was amply corroborated by grandpa butterfield, who was so winded and spent with running that he could barely gasp out his disconnected account of the chase through the woods. the next morning, with grandpa butterfield as a guide, several men went over the ground, where there was plenty of evidence to substantiate the old man's story. the empty honey-frames were there, and the bear-tracks told as plainly as words that a bear, of unusual size, had given the old man the run of his life through the woods. grandpa butterfield was the hero of the village, both for that day and several following, and the long-talked-of bear-hunt was at once organized. there was but one rifle in the village, and that was a 38-55 winchester, the property of the young hunter from the city, who had filled black bruin's coat with squirrel-shot. so old rusty shotguns were got out and cleaned up in readiness for the fray. some of them had not seen service recently, with the exception of once or twice a year, when they were used to scare off the crows or to frighten a woodchuck which was making too free with the beans. boys hunted up old rusty bullet-moulds and ran bullets, and the shotguns were loaded with slugs and buckshot. those who were not fortunate enough even to possess a disreputable old gun, armed themselves with pitchforks, so that altogether it was a motley armed party that started out one early october morning to annihilate black bruin. the dogs comprising the pack were half-breed hounds and beagles, with two or three pure-blood foxhounds. by rare good fortune a farmer, coming into town early, had seen the bear crossing the road ahead of his team, so that the dogs could be shown the trail at once. but when the hunters pointed out the hand-shaped track in the road and said "seek," the hair rose upon the dogs' backs and they stuck their tails between their legs and interpreted "seek," as meaning that they were to seek their own homes by the shortest path. this new rank animal scent had no attraction for them. they had not lost any bear. in other words, they would not follow. here was a difficulty that the hunters had not foreseen, and for a time it looked as though the hunt was doomed to end then and there. finally some one in the party said, "we ought to have taken along ben holcome's growler. growler ain't afraid of the devil himself." growler was a mongrel, half-hound and half-bulldog. he had not nose enough to follow alone, but as had been said, he wasn't afraid of anything. so as there was nothing else to do, a boy was sent cross-lots after growler, while the hunters waited impatiently. growler and the boy at last put in an appearance, and the mongrel was shown the bear-track in the road. growler's hair likewise rose up on his neck, but his lips also parted in a snarl and he started off on the fresh track, uttering excited yelps. growler thought he scented a good fight ahead, and he would rather chew on a good adversary any day than upon a piece of beefsteak. seeing what was expected of them, and made courageous by growler's example, the pack followed at full cry, and the great bear-hunt was on in earnest. black bruin heard them almost at the outset, where he was digging roots in the deep woods, and for some reason the sounds annoyed him. he knew they were made by dogs, for he had often heard the old hound hecla at the farmhouse running rabbits in the near-by swamp. but here, there were half-a-dozen hounds instead of one, and their baying was fairly clamorous. finally, the pack entered the woods not forty rods away, and black bruin began to get uneasy. at last it dawned upon him, as the pack drew still nearer and nearer, that; they were upon his track. this thought filled him with both fear and rage. what did these curs want of him? had he not killed a dog that was worrying him, while with pedro, with a single blow? so he crouched in a thicket and waited expectantly. he had not long to wait, for in fifteen seconds the pack came up. when they discovered the bear so near at hand, however, and saw what menacing game they had been running, the hounds all slunk back to a safe distance, and sat on their tails. but not so growler. here was the scrap of his life with an animal three times as large as the big newfoundland, whom he was in the habit of worrying. so he rushed into the thicket and sprang at black bruin's throat. [illustration: growler sprang at black bruin's throat] but quick as he was, he was not as quick as his adversary, who ripped open the side of his head with a lucky blow, and stretched him gasping upon the ground. black bruin then reached down and biting the kicking dog through the neck, finished his troubles in short order. growler uttered one agonized cry, and stretched out dead. this was enough for the rest of the pack, all of whom stuck their tails between their legs and ran for their respective masters. hearing the cries of men near at hand, black bruin slunk out of the thicket and off into the deep woods, but not soon enough to escape a fusillade of buckshot which whizzed about him as he ran, a few of them biting deep into his flesh. but he was soon lost to sight, and as the pack would not follow, now that growler was no more, the hunt was finally abandoned for that day. the next day a bulldog and a bull terrier were procured to take the place of growler, and the hunt was resumed. but being made wary by this experience, black bruin "laid low" and they could not start him. each morning for three days they scoured the country, beating the woods and loosing the hounds at all points where the bear had been recently seen, but without success. the fourth morning a farmer came to town in great haste. the bear had killed a calf the night before and he had discovered the partly eaten carcass buried in the woods near by. here was the bait that would lure the thief into their hands. so hunters and hounds went at once to the carcass, where a rather fresh trail was found. half an hour's pursuit again routed out the bear. once he took to the open, and the young hunter from the city with the winchester sent a bullet through his paw, laming him considerably. this would never do, so he doubled back to the woods. he did not fear this yelping, baying pack as he did the men that were also following him. he now knew that the thunder and lightning that they carried could bite and sting as nothing else could. for half an hour black bruin ran hither and thither, doubling in and out. finally he remembered his tree-climbing habit and in an evil moment clambered up a tall spruce. in five minutes' time after he scratched up the tree, men and dogs had surrounded his foolish refuge, and his fate seemed sealed. the last of the party to arrive was the young man with the winchester, for whom all had been waiting. one shot from him would end the hunt. they discovered black bruin about thirty feet from the ground in a thick whorl of limbs. the young rifleman was much excited. this would be his first bear. his name would be in the local paper, and he would have a great story to tell when he got back to the city. experience would have taught him to draw his bead finer than he did, and also to have lowered his rear sight, which was set for two hundred yards; but taking careless aim, and thinking he could not miss at such short range, he pressed the trigger. there was a sharp crack from the rifle, and the bullet ploughed a deep wound in black bruin's scalp, but glanced from his thick skull and went singing through the tree-tops. the blow of the bullet upon the skull dazed the bear for a moment, and he loosed his hold and came tumbling down through the interlaced limbs. but the hard bump that he got at the foot of the tree, brought him to his senses with a jerk. right among the yelping, snarling pack he had fallen, and in sheer desperation he struck out right and left. two of the hounds went yelping to the rear. then an excited boy leveled a double-barreled shotgun at the bear and discharged both barrels. at the same instant the best hound in the pack jumped into range and rolled over kicking upon the ground. he had received the full charge. half-blinded and dazed by the blow upon his head, and made frantic by the yelping of the pack, the shouts of the men and the roar of their thunder, black bruin put all his remaining strength into flight. not knowing or seeing which way he went, he fled straight toward the hunter with the winchester with mouth wide open. horrified at the sight, which the hunter interpreted as a desperate charge upon the part of the bear, the city nimrod delivered one wild shot and then fled for his life, as he thought. this stampeded the entire hunt, and the terrified men fled as fast as their legs could carry them until they left the spot far behind. it was a question whether the frantic beast tried harder to get away from the hunters, or they from him. in the village grocery the stories that were told that night made the small boy's hair stand up with fright and his blood run cold with fear. as for black bruin, with his wounded paw upon which he limped painfully, and with his bleeding scalp, he concluded that the part of the country in which he had made his home for several months, was no place for him, so before another sunrise he put many miles between himself and the scene of his narrow escape from the hunters. nor did this one night's journey calm his fear. night after night he fled, always going in the same direction, which, as he fled northward, carried him farther and farther into the wilderness. at last in a wild country of rugged mountains and deep, thickly wooded valleys, where the habitat of man seemed far distant, he ceased his flight. there in the wilderness, where lumbermen alone penetrated, black bruin denned up and slept away his fifth winter. his bed was made deep under the top of a fallen hemlock, where the snow drifted above him and covered him with soft white blankets. the only evidence that the outer world had that a bear was sleeping beneath was a small hole in the snow kept open by the warm breath of the sleeper. chapter xi a pleasant companion when black bruin awoke from his long sleep, stretched himself, and sallied forth into the open world, the first faint touch of red was appearing upon the soft maples. buds upon the other trees had not started and there were yet suggestions of the chill of melting snow-banks upon the air. the tones of the forest were still somber, light gray-green or ash color, suggesting the funeral pile of the last year. if the sun shone brightly for an hour, there might come a dash of hail the next and a chilling blast of wind that seemed to retard the oncoming spring for a whole month. life hung in the balance, the seasons coquetted, gray-haired old winter trifling and flirting with the warm, blushing, sweet-breathed spring. the awakening had not yet come. it might come the next week, or, if the spring was exceptionally late, it might not come until the next month. in accordance with his usual spring custom black bruin fasted for several days, eating only grasses, buds and roots. this satisfied him until the thick layers of fat, with which he had come forth from his winter sleep, disappeared and then he became ravenous, "as ravenous as a wolf," as the proverb says. he hunted mice persistently, but mice seemed not to be as plentiful in the wilderness as they were nearer civilization. squirrels also were not as numerous here as nearer the abode of man. most people, when they go to the great woods, expect to find them teeming with all kinds of life, and are much disappointed to find that song-birds and squirrels are decidedly more plentiful in their home village than in the wilderness. many of the birds and smaller animals are social little creatures and love to be near the abode of man, while others live upon the scatterings which agriculture deigns not to pick up. one day black bruin was following along the banks of a good-sized stream, looking for frogs, or anything, for that matter, which might fit into a bear menu, when to his great astonishment he discovered another bear, not as large as himself, sitting upon a flat rock a few feet from the shore, watching the stream intently. black bruin had never seen any of his kind before and a feeling of curiosity and friendly inquiry came over him. he did not go at once to make the acquaintance of the stranger, but kept very quiet and watched to see what she was doing. [illustration: he discovered another bear watching the stream] he did not have long to wait, for a gust of wind soon dropped a bit of bark upon the stream near the crouching bear. there was a spray of water, and a flash of the silver sides of the salmon as it darted to the surface. then the bear on the rock reached down with her paw and, with a lightning-like motion, batted the fish out of the water and well up on the bank. black bruin, during his year of wild life, had found several dead fish, which he had eaten with great relish. so, without waiting to consider that the prize did not belong to him, he started out of the bushes for it. but the real fisherman rushed at him with such ferocity that he quickly retreated to cover and sat watching while she killed the fish. when it had been dispatched, the lucky fisherman took it in her mouth and went away into the woods with the prize. black bruin followed at a distance, smelling of the bushes, where the fish brushed in passing, leaving a tantalizing scent. finally, the bear with the fish stopped under some spruces and began eating it. soon two fuzzy shuffling little creatures joined her. what they were or where they came from black bruin did not know. they seemed not to care much for the fish which the old bear offered them, but preferred to romp and tumble about in the jolliest kind of frolic. in the old days there had been a litter of puppies at the farmhouse. these queer little creatures were about the size of puppies, but black bruin did not think they were small dogs. when the fish had been eaten, the three went away farther into the woods, the two small creatures following in the footsteps of their mother. then black bruin went up and smelled of their tracks and his good nose told him that they were small bears. after that black bruin saw the old bear and her two cubs often, but she would not let him come near them, and did not evince much friendliness for him. but he had learned one valuable lesson and the following day was upon the flat rock watching for fish. he did not get one that day or the next, but he had patience, which all fishermen must have, and the third day got his fish. it was much larger than the one he had seen the strange bear take and it made him a fine meal. after that he was a tireless fisherman. one morning black bruin discovered a little dappled fawn following its mother gleefully through the fragrant breeze-haunted forest, and remembering his calf-killing episode, just before the bear-hunt, he approached cautiously. this was not a calf, for the habitation of man had been left far behind. calves he had made the acquaintance of when he was the farmhouse pet, in those far-off days. this was a wilderness creature and it belonged to him if he could kill it, as did all the wild creatures that he could master. this is the universal cry of the woods,--food, food, food; and it is the cry of civilization as well. there is no dingle dell, where the harebell and the anemone grow, where the pine and the spruce stand darkling and sweet peace seems to fold her wings and sit brooding, but danger is there. danger that crawls and creeps and runs with great bounds. danger upon velvety paws, that fall on the mosses of the forest carpet as lightly as an autumn leaf; danger that slinks in gray protectively colored forms which pass like shadows; danger upon wings, as sure and speedy as the hunter's arrow,--wings fringed with down, that their coming may be noiseless and fatal. the tiny wood-mouse scampers gleefully in the dead leaves, but above him and about him are a dozen dangers. the nervous cottontail sits erect upon his haunches, his nose twitches and his large trumpet-like ears are turned this way and that to catch the slightest sound. his whole attitude is one of intense watching and listening, and well he may, for his enemies are legion and in every thicket, bush and tree-top a dark danger is lurking. this is the war of the woods. the old, old story of carnage, life that takes life that the breath of life may not go out of the nostrils. cruel as fate is the law of the woods, but it is also the law of the shambles and carnivorous man. black bruin was not as well versed in hunting as most of his wild kindred, so he did not take the precaution to get upon the windward side of his game. the ever-watchful mother scented danger long before he got within striking distance. her white flag went up and she led her offspring at a breakneck pace from the place, but black bruin had marked them for his own and it was only a matter of patience. for several days he watched their coming and going, until at last he discovered where the mother left her offspring while she went to a distant lake to feed upon lily-pads. the little dappled deer was hidden under a fallen tree-top and one day, while the doe was gone, he fell upon the helpless fawn, which, according to the unwritten law of the forest, was his legitimate meat. with a swift sure rush and a savage snarl, he brought the little deer from hiding. there was a short, swift chase, an agonized bleat or two, and black bruin had a breakfast that well repaid him for all his watching and waiting. the same afternoon he saw the mother, wild-eyed and bleating, racing wildly up and down the forest, asking, by terrified looks and actions, "have you seen my little dappled fawn? he is gone and there is strong bear-scent about the tree-top where i hid him." for several days she haunted the region and her anxiety and heedlessness of her own safety nearly caused her to fall a victim to the wary hunter, but she finally disappeared altogether. it was not until the full glory of mid-summer was over the land that black bruin met white nose in a blueberry patch upon a barren hillside. at first she would have nothing to do with him, but he followed her so persistently that she was at last obliged to take notice. for a long time something in earth and air had been calling to black bruin,--something that he craved above all other things; but what it was he never knew until he rubbed muzzles with white nose and felt her warm breath in his face. then he knew that he had found what he wanted and that the old loneliness would not haunt him again. but there was one thing about him that made his mate most suspicious and it took much patient coaxing upon black bruin's part to overcome her misgivings. this was the strong leather collar that the former dancing-bear still wore about his neck. it was the collar into which pedro had fastened the chain during the latter part of the bear's captivity. this white nose could not understand. in all her experience she had never seen a bear wearing such a thing as this. the man-scent about it, too, made it still more alarming. but at last her prejudice was overcome, and the two came and went together during the rest of the summer and the early autumn. from her black bruin learned many of the secrets of the woods that had hitherto been hidden from him. white nose had been reared in the wild, so all her senses were keen and the woods and waters were her hunting-ground. together they caught salmon at a shallow point in the stream where all they had to do was to sit upon a rock and knock them out on the bank as they passed. together, in the early autumn, they raided a beaver colony, breaking into the houses and killing several of the members. black bruin thought he had never tasted anything in his life quite so delicious as beaver-meat. white nose also taught him how to lie in wait for the deer in a clump of bushes by some pathway that they were in the habit of following, or by the lick, or perhaps by a spring where they often came to drink, and then, before they suspected their presence, to make a sudden rush. she showed him a hollow birch-stub, in which a family of raccoons dwelt, and together they set to work to destroy the household of their own smaller brother. they dug and tore at the base of the stub until they had undermined it, and then together pushed it over. at first the raccoon family were much astonished and terrified at the commotion outside their dwelling, and when finally the house came down, three sleek raccoons fled in as many directions. white nose secured one and black bruin another, while the third escaped. the last thing in the autumn, before they denned up, the two bears made a long journey of several days to the nearest settlement, where they killed several sheep, and also carried off two small pigs. in this stealing, black bruin took the lead, for he knew much better the ways of man, and the danger from his thunder and lightning than did his companion. upon this good supply of mutton and pork they laid on the final layers of fat, and then returned to their wilderness and denned up for the winter. chapter xii the king of the mountain the following spring, when black bruin came forth from hibernation, he went one day's journey nearer to the settlements and took up headquarters in a rugged and heavily timbered series of mountains, which were admirably adapted to his purpose. whenever he awoke during his winter nap he still tasted pork and mutton from the autumn raid. henceforth he must have more of that diet. so the reason for his changing his base of operations will be readily seen. one day's journey would carry him back into the wilderness, with its fine resources for fishing and hunting, while a day's travel in the opposite direction would bring him to the outskirts of the settlements, within easy striking distance of plunder. at his first meeting with white nose, he found her most unresponsive to his advances, considering the fact that they had come and gone together all through the autumn. the reason for her indifference was soon discovered, for black bruin saw that she had two little fuzzy cubs in tow;--one with a smutty white nose like her own, and the other with a dark muzzle like black bruin's. if black bruin knew that these were his offspring, he did not evince much interest in them, while white nose would hardly let him go near them. perhaps she was afraid that he might eat them, or maybe it was only maternal jealousy, which is always strong in wild mothers. for several days after taking up his abode in the mountains, black bruin contented himself with a vegetarian diet, varied with fish and small game, but the blood-lust soon came upon him and he began prowling about the settlements. at first, his reconnoitering was unsuccessful; but one day he discovered an animal four or five times as large as a deer, feeding in an open field near the woods. this would not have interested him much had not the large creature been followed by a little animal of the same kind. he never would have thought of attacking the mother, but the calf was easily within his scope and he began shadowing them with the persistence of a good hunter. black bruin knew that these creatures were the property of men. he had often watched the cattle feeding when he lived near the scene of the great bear-hunt, but with the exception of the calf he had killed upon that eventful morning, he had never molested them. even now, he associated the killing of the calf with the baying of hounds and danger, but he was now much wiser and stronger. he felt that he could get away to the mountains long before men would discover their loss. he could even fight if need be. of all the bears in the region he was easily the strongest and heaviest and his life with white nose the fall before had taught him many things. one morning the young heifer hid her little red calf in a thicket just as the doe had her fawn and went to feed in the open near by. this was black bruin's opportunity, and swift and sure like the good hunter he had now become, he approached. the deer mother had not offered to attack him and he did not think this one would, so he did not pay much attention to her. he crept as near as he could without scaring the game and then with a swift pounce was upon it. he struck the calf a blow that should have broken its neck, but the calf moved at just the critical moment and received a glancing stroke. with a bleat of pain and fear it sprang up and fled toward its mother. it took only two jumps, for a second blow laid it low, with just enough life left to kick. black bruin seized the prize by the head and began dragging it into the bushes. but he had not gone far when the heifer was upon him like a whirlwind. he aimed a blow at her head which deprived her of one horn, but this did not stop her charge. she caught him fairly in the chest and sent him sprawling. her remaining horn ploughed a deep wound in his shoulder and the force of the contact knocked the breath out of him, but it also aroused his fighting blood and put him upon his guard. when the heifer came for him the second time, he ripped open her nose and eluded her charge, but in no way dampened her fighting ardor. ordinarily she would have fled from the bear like the wind, but her maternal affection had been aroused and wounded and no matter how timid the wild mother, it will usually fight desperately when its young are assailed. now that the bear was upon his guard, the heifer was hardly a match for him, for he could usually elude her charges and punish her sorely at each rush; but one thing was certain: it would be no easy matter to carry off the dead calf, and carry on such a fight as this at the same time. in five minutes the cow was covered with blood and her hide had been deeply lacerated in many places, while black bruin still had but one wound, that in his shoulder. little by little the heifer's frenzy was worn out, until at last she retired to a distance and pawed the ground and bellowed. but when black bruin sought to carry off the calf, she was back again fighting every inch of the ground and often causing him to abandon the carcass for a time. when she stood over the dead calf, licking the blood from its wounds and caressing and nosing it, trying in her dumb way to bring it back to life, she was a pathetic picture of wild motherhood, fighting and ready to fight to the end if need be for its offspring. finally toward night she seemed to understand that the calf was dead and no longer of value to her, so, after driving black bruin far from the spot, she abandoned the fight and left him conqueror and in full possession of the field. when he had made sure that she had returned to the pasture, he dragged the calf far up the mountainside into his fastness and gorged upon it as long as it lasted. as the pasture in which black bruin had committed his depredation was a mile from the settler's house and not often visited except to salt the young stock kept in it, the real offender was not discovered, although it was apparent to the farmer that the heifer had been attacked by some wild beast. the rains, however, had so obliterated the signs that it is doubtful if he could have read them rightly, even had he discovered the scene of the battle. about a week later black bruin was climbing the mountainside on the way to his fastness when the wind brought him a new scent that he had sometimes smelled before, but what to attribute it to he had never known. the scent was very strong and black bruin knew that the intruder of his domain was near at hand. at last he made out a dim gray shape, near the trunk of a tree. its color so blended with its surroundings that he might not have noticed it at all, had it not been for two yellow phosphorus eyes that glowed full at him. the creature was about the size of a large raccoon, but it was no raccoon. its head was large and round, and surmounted by long ears with hairy tassels at the end. its forearm was longer and stronger than that of a raccoon and the tail was short and not much of an ornament. whatever the animal was, it was small and possibly good to eat, so black bruin made a rush at it; but quick as he was, he was not half as quick as the lynx, which with a snarl and a spit scratched up the tree in a manner that made the bear's own accomplishments at tree-climbing look mean indeed. so the stranger could climb trees? well, so could black bruin. up he scratched after it. he would follow it to the top and then bat it off with his paw. when the cat had nearly reached the top of the tree, it turned around and looked back. its enemy was close upon it and something heroic must be done. the cat measured the distance to a tree-top forty or fifty feet farther down the mountainside; then the top of the tree in which it squatted sprang back and the gray form shot through the air and alighted gracefully in the distant tree-top. it was a great jump, and so astonished black bruin that he forgot to be furious at seeing his game escape. this was his first experience with a canadian lynx, but he saw them often, once he had learned their ways. he discovered that they too were fishermen, and hunters of small game. he often found them hunting upon his preserves, but their broad paws fell so lightly upon the forest carpet and their gray forms were so unobtrusive in the woods that he did not often come to close quarters with them. a few days later, one evening, just at twilight, when black bruin was prowling cautiously after a deer family, consisting of a buck, two does, and three fawns, he made the acquaintance of another cat, much larger and more supple than the lynx. the deer were moving slowly from point to point, browsing as they went, when suddenly from the tree-tops, fell a long lithe figure. so swift and terrible was its coming that the doe upon whom it sprang was borne to the ground. the great cat did not wait for it to recover, but with claw and fang soon throttled it, while the rest of the herd fled at a breakneck pace, their white flags up. here was game already killed. the great cat was not over a third as heavy as black bruin. it would doubtless run away at his approach as did everything else. so thought the bear as he rushed in to take the kill from the cougar, but he had reckoned without his host. the panther was so intent upon its own game that it did not notice the approach of the bear until the rival hunter was within thirty feet of the prize. then it wheeled about and was instantly transformed into a demon. its tail lashed its sides, its fangs were bared in the ugliest snarl that black bruin had ever faced and its eyes fairly blazed. black bruin backed off a few feet to get a better look at the terrible stranger. he had not expected opposition and such effrontery was new to him. but the panther continued to lash her sides with her tail and to glare and snarl, so the bear circled about and about, trying to get behind his adversary. finally, seeing that the panther had no notion of giving up the kill, the bear went in search of other game. but he was not afraid of the great cat, only astonished and curious. he knew quite well that the deer did not belong to him and this may have kept him from picking a quarrel. if he had met the cat in any of the forest highways and it had disputed his right to any of the privileges of the ancient woods, he would have given battle. so he was still the king of the mountain, although he had left the cat in full possession of the deer. spring and summer came and went. the blueberries ripened in the pastures and scant clearings, and the blackberries along the edge of the woods. all the native roots that black bruin knew so well grew in abundance. occasionally he stole from the distant settlements, as the king of the mountain had a right to do, or went farther into the wilderness where the hunting and fishing were better. several times he ran across white nose and her two fuzzy cubs, but they did not have much to do with each other until autumn came around. finally the first frosts came, and the waiting forest shook out its scarlet and crimson and golden banners, and many water-grasses and weeds took on quite bright colors, for such humble plants. one moonlight night in october, when the air had begun to be clear and crisp, and the sky was so studded with stars that it seemed as if there was not room for even one more, a strange and lordly company came stalking into the land of the king of the mountain. they were gray, dim, spectral shapes and new to the region. they may have been looking for feeding grounds, or perhaps the autumn restlessness was upon their leader, who was a giant of his kind,--a broad-antlered belligerent bull moose, ready at this season of the year to fight anything and everything that crossed his path. the first time black bruin saw the newcomers he was digging roots along the edge of a shallow pond. he was also keeping a sharp lookout for frogs, clams, or almost any small crustaceans. presently he noticed a commotion out in the middle of the pond, which was only about an acre in extent. then a great head, surmounted by a massive set of horns, came up out of the water and black bruin saw that the strange creature had his mouth full of lily-bulbs and water-grasses. soon the huge head disappeared again, and after a few seconds reappeared, bringing up more lily-pads. for half an hour black bruin watched the stranger diving and reappearing. then the great beast swam ashore, shook himself and went crashing off through the woods, his hoofs keeping time in a rhythmic clack, a-clack, clack. when he had disappeared black bruin advanced to the spot where he had come ashore and smelled his track. it was not like anything that he had ever smelled before, and somehow the scent made him angry. this lordly monster was invading his preserves. no one but him had a right to hunt or fish, or to eat roots in this region. so black bruin followed the trail of the moose, half curious and half angry. he had not gone a quarter of a mile when he came up with the bull, who was rubbing his antlers upon the branches of a low tree. black bruin watched him for several moments, until a puff of wind carried the telltale scent to the moose, who is most wary and watchful. the moose threw up his head, gave a loud snort and blew his breath through his nose with a whistling sound, then crashed off through the forest. this fact led black bruin to surmise that he was afraid of him, and nearly resulted in his undoing. the following day, he discovered the broad-antlered stranger browsing upon a small tree that was bent down under his foreleg. there were two other tall, gaunt creatures, also feeding near, and two small animals of the same kind. these were two cow-moose and their calves. altogether it was quite an imposing family party. black bruin watched them curiously for a time, until finally the bull scented him, and came charging through the bushes. this both astonished and angered the bear, but seeing how large and formidable the stranger was, and how fearlessly he came on, black bruin sneaked away through the bushes into some very thick cover and bided his time. it came a few days later. he was poking under the dead leaves for beechnuts, when he noticed the herd passing at a distance. the two cows and the calves were apparently alone, and one of the calves was straggling far behind the rest. for several days the blood-lust had been strong upon black bruin, and here was his opportunity. so he began stalking the calf warily. the wind was in his favor and in half an hour he had worked around within striking distance. he first peered all about to see that the bull was not in sight, and then made a sudden rush upon the calf. but awkward as it looked, the calf was agile, and nearly eluded him, merely receiving a raking blow across the shoulder, where black bruin had intended to break its neck. terrified and stung with excruciating pain, it ran hither and thither, bleating and making a great outcry. but black bruin was not the hunter to let his prey get away if he could help it, so he pursued the calf hotly and soon landed another blow that stretched it upon the ground. he was so intent upon his own game, that he did not notice the cyclone bearing down upon him. suddenly the broad-antlered monster was above him, striking with terrible cutting hoofs, which ploughed deep furrows in his shaggy coat and cut deeper gashes. almost before he knew it, he had been knocked down and was rapidly being trampled to death. the only thing that protected him was his fat. he was so rotund and so covered with thick layers of fat, that he slipped about under the fearful cutting hoofs. he struck out viciously, laying open one of the bull's forelegs, but without avail. in another minute his fate would have been sealed, had not a deliverer come at the right second. suddenly, from out the bushes near at hand, charged another bull moose, bellowing frightfully as he came. he was not coming primarily to black bruin's assistance, but to do battle with the first bull. one of the cows by right was his, and he proposed to claim his rights, and battle for them like the knights of old. hearing the challenge and seeing a rival near at hand, the moose left his victim and charged furiously at the newcomer, while black bruin limped painfully into the bushes, feeling that he had found out something about the genus moose that it was well to remember. he did not fully recover from his mauling until he went into winter quarters. the following spring when black bruin came forth from hibernation, he made a trip to a distant lake where the moose were often to be found. he had no mind to molest them, but he did want a certain root which grew only there. he went directly to the little pond where he had first seen the bull moose, and had arrived within a few rods of the shore when his keen ear caught a slight sound. it was a sound of pain, half-groan and half-moan. something was in distress. distress in the wilderness usually means a good dinner for some one, so black bruin crept cautiously forward. soon the wind brought moose-scent to the bear's nostrils and he was filled with fear and tempted to flee, but still he could hear deep groans and sighs. coming to the edge of the water he peered out through the bushes and discovered the mighty moose helpless and impotent, mired in a treacherous spring bog. his legs were entirely buried in the mud, which came up on his sides. he was covered with foam and sweat, and so weak with thrashing and wrenching, that he could hardly hold up his great head. at the sight, hate glowed hot in the small red eyes of black bruin. it was this monster who had so beaten and humiliated him. now he would punish him, so he crept cautiously forward. but the strong wind blew the moose-scent in his nostrils and fear kept him at bay. finally the moose also scented the bear and made frantic efforts to free himself, feeling that he was now helpless and at the mercy of all; but his efforts were futile and he laid his head wearily down in the mud when he had ceased struggling. for a whole day black bruin watched him, before he could overcome his fear; then he crept cautiously out and sprang upon the bull's rear. the great brute was by that time so spent that he hardly moved while black bruin lacerated his flanks. the only sign of pain that he gave was expressed in deep groans and sighs which seemed fairly to come from his breaking heart. soon the conqueror crept along the back to his neck, and biting and striking at the vertebrae, quickly extinguished the strong life in the great frame and the huge head gradually sank in the mire. for several days black bruin came and gorged himself upon the carcass and did not desist until it had entirely disappeared in the bog. chapter xiii the bear with a collar it may interest the reader to know just how black bruin looked in this, his seventh year, when he had acquired his full stature, which was enormous for a black bear. the california grizzly occasionally reaches a thousand pounds, while the enormous brown kadiak bears, the largest carnivorous animals in the world, reach two thousand pounds; but the black bear usually averages about two hundred. black bruin had far outstripped all his contemporaries in size and prowess. in the fall of his seventh year he weighed upon the scales four hundred and two pounds, which fairly earned him the title of king. his coat was long, thick, and glossy and black in color. he was not as high upon the shoulders as one might expect for so large a beast. a wolf that stands thirty or thirty-two inches at the shoulder will weigh one hundred and twenty-five pounds and is a large wolf. black bruin was probably thirty-five or forty inches high at the shoulder, but considerably higher in the middle of the back, which also sloped off at the rear, where he was quite rotund. his tail was so insignificant as to be hardly noticed at all at a distance. his head was rather small for so large an animal. his eyes were also small and looked weak. his claws, which were non-retractile, were not rakishly long as are the grizzly's, but protruded slightly beyond the long hair upon his feet. so altogether black bruin was most imposing for an eastern bear. he was sleek and well-groomed, with the exception of two or three months in the early summer when he shed his coat. living as he now did within easy reach of the abode of man, he went more and more often to the farmhouses and took toll of the farmers. his wariness in regard to men, which he had learned partly of white nose and partly from sad experience, gradually wore away and his old life with pedro helped him to forget how strange and fearful a creature man is, when dealing with wild beasts. so while he came and went much more recklessly than he would otherwise have done, yet his knowledge of man's ways stood him in good stead. he knew that man was a creature of the day, doing his work in broad daylight, while the bear is a night prowler. he knew that at morning and evening man came and went from the fields to his den, where he always stayed at night. he knew at just what hours the man-beast would be sleeping, and when he would come forth and tend his creatures. he had often followed his own master in the old cubhood days at the farmhouse, from outbuilding to outbuilding, watching him do the morning chores. man's thunder and lightning he also knew and feared more than all his other powers. dogs he despised and he also hated them, for they often interrupted him in his thieving. one sunday morning early in june black bruin had been prowling about a little canadian village and had satisfied his appetite with a hen-turkey, which he had happened to discover sitting far from home. he was returning to his mountain, when, in crossing one of those broad paths in which men always traveled, he so far forgot his usual precautions as nearly to run into a team carrying a half-witted french boy to early mass, that was being celebrated in the little french catholic church near by. upon seeing the enormous black bear at such close quarters, the boy's hair fairly stood up with fright and whipping up his horse he was soon at the church. throwing the lines upon the horse's back, he bolted into the sanctuary, although mass was in progress, crying, "i see one deevil bar, as beeg as a mountain, i deed." just as the boy entered the church, a large newfoundland dog, which had followed one of the worshipers to mass and was waiting for his master upon the steps, like a good catholic, became excited at the boy's frantic manner and bounded into the church after him. seeing the great shaggy dog appear at the same instant that the boy announced his "deevil bar," in the dimly lighted church, the worshipers at once jumped to the conclusion that this was the "deevil bar" who had come to eat them all up, like the wolf in "red riding hood." women and children screamed and rushed for a farther corner of the church, while the more hysterical fainted. even strong men were for a second startled. but from his eminence at the altar father gaspard saw their mistake and soon reassured them. meanwhile, the innocent cause of all the disturbance had been as much scared by the team as had the half-witted boy by him, and was making for the deep woods at his best pace. one night, early in july, alec pierre, a wood-chopper, came to the village with a startling story. he had been chopping two or three miles back in the heavy timber. his own home was closer to the primeval forest than any other of the many straggling farmhouses. he had taken his dinner, going and coming at morning and evening. each noon he went to a cool spring which he knew of, to eat his lunch. this noon he had gone as usual, only to discover that some one had gotten ahead of him. there by the spring, sitting upon his haunches, was an enormous black bear. in his paws he was holding the coffee-bottle, looking at it intently, while his countenance plainly bespoke satisfaction with the discovery. while the woodsman was wondering what was the best thing to do, the bear raised the bottle to his mouth, and biting upon the cork with his teeth, pulled it out. then he put the nose of the bottle in his mouth and drank the contents with as much ease as if he had been the real owner. "i so scart i jes' stan' there an' say nutting. he eat my doughnut, he eat my pie. he act jes' like folks. pretty soon i keep on looking some more an' i see down in his har, round hees neck one peeg collar, jes' like a dog. "heem one beeg deevil. i so scart when he drink out uv de bottle, i no say nutting. he eat my pie, i no say nutting. i 'fraid he take my gun by the tree an' shoot me. by gar. "by and by he go way and i go up an' look. perhaps i t'ink i been dreaming. so i pinch my lage an' it hurt, an' then i look aroun' an' there bar-track beeg as snow-shoe. "eet so queer i t'ink heaps an' heaps. then pretty soon i t'ink he some puddy tame bar run away. he break he chain. that why heem collar. i say to myself, no chain, no collar. "heem one tame bar run away. he know how do treeks. i catch heem in one small log-house i beeld. when circus come round next week, or two, i seel heem get pig money." those villagers who listened to alec's tale agreed that his reasoning was good, but most of them characterized the story as one big lie, and thought no more of it. but not so alec. he had seen that day in the wood the most wonderful sight of his life, a bear eating like folks, and he could not get out of his head the idea that the capture of that bear meant a fortune to the trapper who should accomplish the feat. perhaps, there was also some superstition linked with his curiosity, for nearly all canucks are superstitious; but at any rate the very next day he set about building the trap that should capture the "deevil bar," and make him a rich man. the trap upon which alec relied for the capture of black bruin was a pen-trap. it was made in the following manner: alec looked about until he discovered four trees, growing in two pairs ten or twelve feet apart. these sets of pillars were to be the four corners of the trap. he then set to work to cut small logs eight or ten inches in diameter. these were a couple of feet longer than the pen was to be and were built up one above another on the inside of the pillars, being held in place against the trees by strong stakes driven deep into the ground. in this manner the two sides and the back end of the pen-trap were formed. the top was covered with poles, weighted down with stones. the trap-door, which was at the front, was made of plank and slid up and down in a groove. when it was raised, it was held in place by a cord which passed over the top of the pen-trap and down on the back side, finally attaching to a trigger connecting with a spindle inside the pen, at the farther end. the bait was to be placed on this spindle and a tug upon it would let go the trap-door. as this was weighted with stones, it came down with a bang and anything unfortunate enough to be inside was caught in a prison of great strength. it took alec two days to build the trap, and when it was finished he carefully removed all chips and traces of his carpentering. usually a bear will not go near anything so new and apparently man-made as a green pen-trap. so alec did not expect success for several days. in the meantime he took pains to bait black bruin and keep him in the vicinity by placing near the spring meat and other food, that his woodsman's instinct told him would be appreciated by a hungry bear. he did not forget an occasional bottle of coffee. although he did not see the bear again for several days, yet the meat and the coffee always disappeared, which was pretty good evidence that he was near by. black bruin heard alec hacking and hewing at the trap, but did not consider it anything out of the ordinary. this queer creature was always hacking and hewing at the trees. he had often seen his handiwork piled up in long straight piles. once for mere amusement he had scattered a pile in every direction. when he at last came suddenly upon the pen-trap one day, after it had been baited for some time, he gave a surprised grunt and backed off a few feet to get a better view. it looked very queer and very suspicious. he was quite sure that it had not been there a week ago, for he was well acquainted with the region. it was made of trees, but trees usually grew upright, and they always had limbs upon them. the ends of the logs were hacked and green like the sticks in the wood-pile. black bruin circled around and around the pen-trap, gradually drawing nearer and nearer to it. finally he came close enough to peep in at the doorway. inside it was rather dark, but at last he both saw and smelled the calf's head that hung from the spindle. meat had also been rubbed about the doorway, which was most tantalizing, especially as black bruin had not had any for three days. he licked the particles of meat that still stuck to the logs about the doorway and then started to go in, but it seemed dark and suspicious; beside there was a very faint suggestion of man-scent inside. outside the rain and the wind had obliterated all foreign scents. man-scent meant danger. man was no friend of the wild creatures, so black bruin backed out and very reluctantly went away. when alec visited his trap the next day, he did not go near enough to see the bear-tracks in the fresh dirt about the door, for he did not care to leave fresh man-scent in its vicinity; so he was rather discouraged with the failure of his efforts. the trap had now been set for a week and nothing apparently had been near it. the next day black bruin again visited the trap, but his suspicions were still keen and as he had killed a wood-chuck that morning, his appetite was not ravenous, so he again left the bait untasted. the third time that he came near the spot, which somehow had a fascination for him, he smelled a new and bewitching odor, one that a bear is almost powerless to resist. it brought back to his mind that old tantalizing picture of the row of white beehives in the back yard of the farmhouse. the scent made his mouth drip saliva, and his manner, which a moment before had been suspicious and guarded, was now eager and full of curiosity and impatience. he went at once to the doorway of the pen-trap and thrust in his head. it was as he had thought,--the ravishing scent came from inside. he sniffed several times and with each whiff of the honey became more impatient. there, dangling from the spindle, was a section of the coveted sweet. black bruin stepped inside and stretched out his muzzle toward the honey; then he detected a man-scent about the frame that he had not noticed before. he backed out and the hair rose on his neck. he then smelled all about the sides of the pen. there was no suggestion of man-scent there. again he returned to the honey. the taint about that was certain, but the honey almost drove him frantic. so with a sudden motion he snatched the coveted prize in his mouth and gave a hard tug at it. he would seize it before the man-scent had power to injure him and then flee. but quick as were the motions of black bruin, the trap was quicker, for the moment the trigger was loosed, the cord let go the drop-door and down it came with a great bang. the bear was suddenly in darkness. with a loud "uff" he dropped the honey and turned in the pen, but the doorway by which he had entered was closed. he sprang upon it with a growl and pushed with all his might, but he was pushing against the pillars, which were two trees nearly a foot in diameter, and he might as well have pushed against the side of a cliff. then he whirled about and, seizing the spindle in his mouth, pulled violently upon it, but it availed him nothing. then he assailed first one wall and then another in rapid succession. he tore the bark and also great pieces from the logs with his teeth, but the logs were thick and he merely strewed the inside of the trap with bark and splinters, leaving it still as strong as ever. then he braced crosswise upon the trap and tried to push the logs from their places. they gave a very little when he put forth his giant strength, but the effort was futile. then he stood upon his hind legs and tried to reach the poles overhead with his paw, but the trap was too high for this. for hours he raged and tore at the logs which held him so effectively. he stripped the inside of the pen entirely free of bark, and littered the floor with a bushel of splinters; but all his tearing and biting, pushing and straining, prying and growling, availed him nothing. at last his great strength was worn out and in the place of rage at being restrained fear came over him. it was man that had done this thing. the scent on the honey-frame plainly said as much. he was again in the clutches of that dread creature. now his fear grew tenfold. the giant lay down in a corner, as far as possible away from the honey that had cost him his freedom, and cowered like a whipped dog, with his head between his paws and fear clutching him like an awful force that he was powerless to resist. the following morning when alec visited his trap, he found to his great joy that it was sprung. going up cautiously, he peeped through a crack between the logs. there was the gigantic black bear cowering inside. when alec's eyes became accustomed to the gloom of the pen, he saw that the bear wore the heavy collar about his neck, although it was deeply imbedded in the fur, and at this assurance, alec gave a shout of delight. "heem, my deevil bar, sure enough," he exclaimed, and at the hated man-sound black bruin drew farther into his corner. that afternoon an ox-cart, bearing a mammoth crate made of two by four timbers, came creaking into the woods and was backed up to the pen-trap. for an hour or so there was a sound of hammering while a plank-covered gangway was being built from the pen-trap to the strong crate. then, to the great astonishment of black bruin, the door of the pen-trap slowly lifted, and the way to freedom seemed plain. with a sudden rush he scrambled up the gang-plank into the crate, and a second trap-door, as strong as that in the pen-trap, closed behind him and he was a prisoner in a new house. for a long time black bruin could not realize that he was still a prisoner. the light streamed in between the strong bars. he could see his captors all about him. they were three excited, gesticulating men, all dark, and to black bruin's eyes, sinister-looking like pedro. he put his paws between the bars and strained with all his might. they pounded his paws and prodded him to make him desist, but he did not mind their blows any more than he would those of a child. freedom was so near at hand. the green woods, the sweet wild woods, his woods were all about him. the blue sky was above him. the fragrant wind blew fresh through his prison-bars. it could not be that he was helpless so near to freedom. presently these strong bars would break and he would rush into the wilderness and flee far from the haunts of men. then the slow and curious procession started. one of the men drove the cattle and the other two walked by the side of the crate, prodding and beating black bruin whenever he strained too frantically at the prison-bars. slowly they drew out of the woods with its long dark shadows and its aroma of pine and balsam. gradually the forest with its dells and its thickets, its ferns and witch-hazel, its bird-song and its chattering squirrels, its sense of freedom and peace, was left behind and they emerged into dusty roadways bordered by fields of grass and grain. this was the habitat of man, his world, with which black bruin associated a chain and a collar, a sharp stick and curses and endless tricks. at last he ceased to struggle and strain and stood with his head at the rear of his cage, looking back at his vanishing world. slowly the green plumes of the forest faded. even the outline of the distant mountains was at last lost and the flat farmlands, dotted with farmhouses and carpeted with grain-fields, took its place. the old world and the old life were left far behind, and when the last blue hilltop faded, the heart went out of black bruin. he no longer exulted in his strength and his cunning, for man had again undone him. chapter xiv the wreck for weary hours the ox-cart plodded along the country road, and at last the long shadows deepened into twilight and the stars came out and it was night, but still they journeyed on. the soft night-winds quickened into being the fragrance of many a flower that had not been noticed in the full heat of day. but wind and fragrance, night and daylight were all the same to black bruin, for that which made the world beautiful, and his strong free life worth living, was gone. freedom was no longer his, and he cowered upon the floor of his prison, laid his head between his paws, and acted more like a whipped puppy than the great strong brute that he was. finally the ox-team drew up at a long, low building, and the men unloaded the crate upon a narrow platform. here they were soon joined by another man who came from the building. "how long before the night freight ter h---comes along, bill?" drawled one of the men in charge of black bruin. "alec, here, has got a bar as big as a cow that he is a-takin' to the circus which'll be at h---to-morrow. he don't want to miss it." "it's due now," replied the station-agent, and even as he spoke, the shrill whistle of the freight sounded in the distance. a little later black bruin heard a distant rumbling and clanging which was like nothing that he had ever heard before. then there was a vibration of the solid floor under him, and the long, heavily loaded freight thundered down upon the little station. as the hideous, clanging, shrieking, hissing monster rushed down upon them, coming seemingly straight for the wooden crate, black bruin sprang against the bars with such violence that he nearly tipped it over, and gave his captors a great scare. in a very few minutes, however, the crate, together with the other freight, was hustled into an empty car, and the train pulled out and went thundering away into the darkness. at first the motion made black bruin very uneasy, and he walked to and fro continually; but finally this was succeeded by his being car-sick, and he was soon glad to lie down and keep very still for the rest of the journey. this was his first night upon a freight train, but it was not his last, for ahead of him was a strange and turbulent existence. he was going to the great city to join the circus, to be a part of that astonishing procession which annually parades the streets of our large cities, and which draws crowds, such as does no other entertainment. toward morning, after having made several stops, the car in which black bruin was a passenger was side-tracked, and a large, gilded wagon, known to the small boy as a circus-van, was backed up to it. then the crate was placed against the cage on the van, and both doors were opened. the new prison looked much more fragile than that in which black bruin was. the bars were very small and might be easily broken. it was lighter, too, than his present abode, so after a little poking and punching, the captive went into the other prison, and a moment later, when he turned about to look for the doorway by which he had entered, it was closed and the wooden crate was being taken away. man had again outwitted him, but the manner in which he was now confined seemed very insecure to black bruin. he would soon either find a way out, or else make one. with this in view, he went about the cage several times, sniffing and poking his nose between the bars. he put his powerful arms between two of the bars and strained upon them with all his enormous strength, but they did not seem to give at all. then he sought to grind one to splinters between his teeth, but instead he broke a tooth, and the effort made him see stars. what new and amazing substance was this, which could not be bent or broken, or even bitten into? the more black bruin pushed at the iron bars of his cage, the fainter grew that spark of hope which is the mainspring of all life, until at last he ceased to hope altogether, and bowing to the inevitable, no longer sought to be free. sullenly he glared at the gaping crowds that passed his cage daily, and the only thing to which he looked forward was his food. this he received each day at about noon. what it all meant, he could not imagine. the great crowds, the blare of bands, the gala dress and the babel of voices all reminded him of the country fairs that he had often attended with pedro, in the old dancing-bear days. the long journeys by rail he soon got used to, so that he was no longer sick, but it was a weary existence. the snap and rattle of car-wheels was continually in his ears, and if it was not that, it was the rattle and the rumble of heavy wheels over paving-stones, the noise of the brazen-throated circus-band, or the high and insistent calliope. noise, noise, noise everywhere. when the animals were fed, there was the roaring of the lions, the snapping and snarling of wolves, jaguars, pumas, and the hideous laugh of the hyena; the chattering of the monkeys, and the piping and croaking of strange, tropical birds. and, more insistent than any of these, the bellowing of the sacred cattle from india, and the belling and bleating of strange deer, not to mention the cavernous trumpeting of elephants when their keepers prodded them into obedience. there is but one law in the circus, and that is the law of fear. all the wild beasts are ruled by it alone. the tricks that the great cats do are clubbed into them, and the elephants' ears are often so torn by the trainer's iron that they hang in ribbons. it is only with the domestic animals, like the horses and the trick-dogs, that the trainer can exercise gentle persuasion. so in this great arena, this bedlam of wild beasts, were often heard the blows of club and lash, and the sharp report of pistols fired in the faces of unruly big cats. how the two mammoth tents, covering many acres, and a dozen smaller ones came and went was a mystery to the general circus-goer. in the forenoon they went up like white mountains, and in the evening, almost before the last spectator had left his seat, they began to come down. sometimes in half an hour after the last whistle had sounded, the tents and all the circus paraphernalia were packed in wagons and rumbling off to the depot. it was a life of hustle and bustle, jostle and push, here to-day, and a hundred miles away tomorrow. the small boy, who was up before the first pale streak of light appeared in the east, and off to the freight-yards to see the four or five long circus trains come in, could have told you something about the marvelous way in which circus-men handle their strange caravan. there was always a crowd of these enterprising urchins standing wide-eyed and with gaping mouths, while the circus wonders were being unloaded. they could have told you that the great gaudy vans were loaded on a train of flat cars, and that a single horse working a rope and pulley-block trundled the vans from the train nearly as fast as their respective teamsters could hitch horses to them and drive away. these boys knew that the stake and chain wagon was always the first to leave the train. some of them usually fell in behind it and followed to the circus grounds, for it was good sport to see men with heavy sledge-hammers drive the many stakes and stretch the long chain which formed the perimeter of the mammoth tent, and behind which all the vans would ultimately take their places. after the stake and chain wagon, came wagons bearing the cooking and dining tents, for breakfast is a most important matter when you have five hundred hungry people to feed. by nine o'clock the vast concourse were all on the circus ground, breakfast was over and preparations for the great parade were on foot. nearly everything in the circus, with the exception of the side-shows, had to take part in the parade. only the small boy, who stands upon the pavement, holding to lamp-post or iron hitching-post to steady himself in the wild excitement, can tell you how his heart races and his blood leaps as the first gilded chariot swings around the corner into the main street. thoughts of this moment have been in the boy's mind for weeks, and the realization is always greater than his anticipation. no matter if it is a small one-horse show, the hallucination of paint and tinsel, and gleam and glitter are there, and what a concourse it is! to get together this strange medley of men and women, beasts, birds and reptiles, the ends of the earth have been scoured. all asia, from siberia to india is there. africa is represented from the nile to cape town. the steppes of russia and every out-of-the-way corner of europe have been visited by the agents of the showman, and the result is legion. south america, with the wonders of the amazon and the pampas and the high fauna of the andes, is there. our own continent also contributes largely, for the rockies and the selkirks still hold wonders for the eyes of youth. even if we could contribute no wild beasts, there would still be ample reward for the boy in viewing our indians, cow-punchers and real live scouts, such as our border-life alone can furnish. it was as a feature of such a motley procession as this that black bruin's van was daily rattled over the paving-stones and finally took its place each day in the mammoth tent behind the chain, in readiness for the noon feeding. his van always followed that of a den of gray timber wolves and was in turn followed by the great white polar bear. black bruin often wondered why his large cousin from the arctic circle spent so much of his time swaying to and fro. it was a queer trick that he had, whenever he was not in his tank of water, of forever swaying back and forth, back and forth. black bruin often felt fairly frantic himself, and would pace to and fro for hours, but he could see no relief in this continual swaying. although he had been sold to the circus-agent as a trick-bear, who could take stoppers out of bottles and do other marvelous tricks, yet he was so morose during the first summer of his circus life that the keeper could do nothing with him as a trick-bear; so he merely paraded as one of the wild beasts. men, women and little children came and went in front of his cage by the thousands and ten thousands. often the keeper would reach in with a stick and poke black bruin to make him growl, for this amused the children. he soon learned what was expected of him, and would growl almost before the stick touched him. in the hot, stifling summer days, when his cage seemed so cramped and unendurable, how black bruin thirsted for the woods, he alone knew. sometimes he would fall asleep and dream of the old free life, only to wake to the torment of his prison-bars. there was but one incident during the first year of black bruin's circus life that is worth mentioning. the circus was showing in a fair-sized city in northern new york, in st. lawrence river county. the day was exceptionally warm, the crowd was unusually large and the torment of captivity was unusually galling to the wild beasts. black bruin was restless and paced to and fro in his cage, and sniffed its bars more often than usual. suddenly from out the babel about him a voice spoke that fell pleasantly on his ear and in the sound was something that he remembered. when the voice ceased speaking, some psychological reaction slipped a slide in the brute mind, the impression of which had been gained many years before, and the great bear saw, as plainly as he had seen it then, the farmhouse with the chicken-coops in the front yard, and ducks, geese, turkeys and hens all moving about over the green turf. there was the barn and the outbuildings and the long low hen-house where he had so often robbed the hens' nests. then the scene shifted slightly and the dreamer saw the orchard at the back of the farmhouse with its gnarled and twisted trees and the row of little white houses in the shade near by. "hum, hum, zip--hum," went the bees flying in from their long quest afield in search of the heart secret of the floral world. but whether it was the droning of bees or the hum of many voices that he heard black bruin could not tell. at this point in his reverie he looked through his bars at three of the circus-goers who were evincing peculiar interest in him. these were a man, a woman, and a boy of about nine years. "what a fine bear," the man was saying; "much larger than the old female that i shot on that----" but the man did not finish the sentence, for noticing the pallor that crept into his wife's face at his words and the shiver that ran through her frame, he desisted. "look here, sonny," he continued to the boy, "if we had been able to have kept black bruin until now he would probably have looked just about like this old chap. what do you think of that?" "whew," whistled the boy. "ain't he a monster? our bear wasn't more than a quarter as big." "no," replied the man. "that was because he was not grown, but he was a fine cub when we let the peddler have him. i have often wondered what became of him." "wasn't bar-bar cunning," exclaimed the boy, "when he was a little fuzzy fellow and i used to roll about with him on the floor and pull his ears, just like the photograph you had taken of us." "come, john, let's look at some of the other animals," said the boy's mother. "bar-bar was all right, but it gives me the shivers to look at a full-grown black bear like this." so the three moved on to the wolf-den. black bruin sniffed the bars of his cage where the man's hand had rested upon it for a moment, as the three moved away. the man-scent too awoke strange memories which he could not understand. it was like coming upon a well-remembered spot in a stream where he had once captured a large salmon, or some burrow under a stump where he had dug out a luckless rabbit. but soon even the remembrance of the pleasant voices, that in some strange way suggested something dim and distant, was forgotten, the man-scent on the bars of his cage was obliterated, and black bruin was back in the old rut, bumping and thumping over paving-stones and seeing his van continually being rolled on or off the flat car which carried it. finally the long hard trips were over for that season and the circus went into winter quarters. this winter black bruin did not hibernate as he usually did, but spent the time in a series of short naps. each day he came forth from his improvised den to stretch and to eat. toward spring, by dint of much coaxing and liberal rewards of sugar and honey, the keeper got upon good terms with him and finally discovered most of his tricks. when the next season opened, the prisoner found that he was to have a little more freedom and a rather more varied existence than that of the year before. upon the circus bills he appeared as napoleon bonaparte, the wonderful trick-bear; and there was a striking and astonishing picture of him in the act of opening a bottle and drinking from it. small boys stood spellbound before this picture, and they were still more astonished when the real live bear was led into the ring and marched up and down with a wooden gun upon his shoulder, while the performance of his bottle-trick always created a rustle all over the tent. this was the surest sign of a great hit. so now each day, in addition to appearing in the grand cavalcade and the street-parade, black bruin had to come into the ring each afternoon and evening and go through his senseless tricks. the only thing that kept him good-natured and up to the mark, was the fact that his bottle was always filled with some pleasing drink, so he had that to look forward to after each performance of the trick. there were also sweets in waiting for him when he came out of the ring. thus went the endless round. here to-day and there to-morrow. in the evening a magic city of white tents would be seen upon the grounds, but by midnight all had been stowed away in four or five long trains, which soon were thundering over the rails to a distant city, where for the past three weeks posters had announced the coming of the circus. thus the days and weeks of black bruin's second year in the circus passed and they concluded the season at nashville, tennessee. then all the paraphernalia was loaded with even more care than usual, for they were off for the long trip northward, to their winter quarters. that night when they loaded the elephants and the trick-ponies, some of them hung back and refused to board the train, a tendency most unusual on their part; but they finally obeyed the goad and lash and all were stowed away in their customary places. it was about midnight when the train bearing black bruin's van pulled out. one by one the cars bumped over the switch and the long train got under way. at first the locomotive puffed and panted as though the load were too great for it, but finally the train got up momentum and the car-wheels sang their old song of rat-a-clat-rat-a-clat-rat-a-tat-tat, while the engine assumed its familiar song of "rushing, pulling, snatch the train along, tugging, pulling, locomotive strong." this is the song that a locomotive always sings when it is off for a long, hard pull. on, on through the darkness the train sped, the engine sending forth showers of sparks that twinkled in the gloom like fireflies, and then went out. but the most conspicuous thing about the train was the headlight, which threw its long cylindrical shaft of light far ahead, like a mighty auger of fire boring into the darkness. no matter how hard the engine puffed and panted or how fast the drivers thundered over the rails, this bright cylinder of light was always just so far ahead, illuminating the gleaming rails, flashing into deep cuts, lighting up cliffs and forest, and long stretches of open fields. black bruin was not asleep in his cage, as he usually was on long journeys like this. somehow, he felt restless and ill at ease. he sniffed his bars often, but the heavy shutters were down and no sign of freedom was at hand. yet in some unaccountable manner, the wind sucking through the cracks between the shutters blew fresher and sweeter than usual. it tasted of pine-woods and deep tangles of swamp-land, where all the roots that a bear likes grow. the train had left the low-lying lands far behind and was coming into the foothills--those friendly steps by which tired feet climb to the mountains above. it was rushing down a steep grade, traveling by its own momentum, upon a rather precipitous pathway cut in a side hill, when something happened. perhaps it was a broken rail, or maybe a great boulder had toppled down the mountainside and lay upon the track; but the important thing was that suddenly, without a second's warning, the engine bucked like a balky broncho, and after one or two mad plunges along the roadbed, toppled over the bank and rolled into the gulley below. at the first impact of the locomotive with the long train behind it, the freight arched its back and writhed and twisted like a mighty serpent. three of the cars went over the bank still attached to the engine and the rest piled up on one another or rolled down into the gulley, as fate willed. there was crash upon crash and thunder upon thunder as the heavy cars piled in a frightful heap. there was the groan of iron and steel being bent and broken, and the crash and creak and crackle of breaking, grinding car-floors. when we add to this the roar of lions, the shrieking of horses, the trumpeting of elephants, the snarling and snapping of wolves, jaguars, hyenas and a chorus of other cries from the circus bedlam, the roar of steam as it escaped through an open valve in the locomotive, and the shriek of the whistle which blew continually, we can get some idea of the wreck, as the gorgeous splendor of the barbaric show was piled in ruins. it was such sights and sounds as these that greeted black bruin as he squeezed through the battered, broken door of his cage into freedom. he had felt himself rolling over and over. first he was upon the bottom of his cage and then standing upon the inverted roof. three times he bumped from the top to the bottom and back again in rapid succession. what did it mean? his van had never acted like this. it was all so quick that he merely emitted a frightened bawl or two and lay still, cowering in the corner of his cage. then in some unaccountable way he became aware that his cage-door was open. his back was to it, but the wind that blew in upon him, was the wind of the woods and the waters, and not the stifling, filtered wind of his prison. as this sense was borne in upon him, black bruin lost no time in scrambling out through the opening. his first act on coming forth into the open air with the moon and the stars and the free sky above him, was to stretch. he then looked about him as though uncertain what was coming next. as he stood irresolute, looking first at the wreck and then away to the outline of a great mountain that stretched above him, seeming to reach up into the very heavens, the long, lithe form of a panther slipped by him and melted into the darkness. a moment later a jaguar followed it; they were going back to freedom. then black bruin stretched his nose high in air and sniffed the fresh untamed winds. they were sweet with the scent of the southern pine. suggestions of the persimmon fruit were also there and the tantalizing odor of witch-hazel and other sweet scents that the bear knew not. there was a clump of underbrush just ahead and into it black bruin crashed. weeds swished as he passed and the brush whipped his face. with bushes parting and grasses and weeds bending at his coming, the old sense of freedom came surging back to the escaped prisoner and he stretched out his strong muscles, which had been so long cramped in the cage, and shuffled up the side of the mountain at his best pace. through thickets and brambles he crashed with a wild exultation; up precipitate crags he labored with feverish excitement and frenzy that grew with each moment. he sniffed at the rustling fronds and mosses as he passed, with wild delight. how fresh, how new, how satisfying the wilderness was! now racing through deep gulches, and now scrambling up steep bluffs with sheer delight of motion, he fled. at last the moon set and the stars faded and from the heart of the cumberland mountains, near the top of one of its most jagged and unfrequented spurs, black bruin beheld his first sunrise in southern skies. slowly the east warmed and glowed until at last the golden disk mounted over the top of a twin peak and gilded the mountain upon which black bruin stood with a flood of golden sunlight. birds began to twitter strange songs in the tree-tops and thickets and the high peak sang for joy at the sun's coming. at this auspicious moment, black bruin reared upon his hind legs and placing his forepaws high upon the trunk of a sentinel pine, raked a deep scar in the bark. this was his hall-mark;--the sign by which he took possession of the mountain and the surrounding lowlands, just as the discoverers did of old. this land was to be his, where he would dwell and seek his meat and mate, and live the life of a wild beast to the end of his days. transcriber's note illustration markers have been moved near to the text they illustrate. all variant spellings and variant hyphenation have been preserved. however, punctuation has been corrected where necessary. [illustration: how i tumbled downhill.] the life story of a black bear by h. perry robinson london adam·&·charles·black 1913 foreword there is always tragedy when man invades the solitudes of the earth, for his coming never fails to mean the destruction of the wild things. but, surely, nowhere can the pathos be greater than when, in the western part of north america, there is a discovery of new gold-diggings. then from all points of the compass men come pouring into the mountains with axe and pick, gold-pan and rifle, breaking paths through the forest wildernesses, killing and driving before them the wild animals that have heretofore held the mountains for their own. here in these rocky, tree-clad fastnesses the bears have kinged it for centuries, ruling in right of descent for generation after generation, holding careless dominion over the coyote and the beaver, the wapiti, the white-tailed and the mule-eared deer. except for the occasional rebellion of a mutinous lieutenant of a puma, there has been none to dispute their lordship from year to year and century to century. each winter they have laid themselves down (or sat themselves up--for a bear does not lie down when hibernating) to sleep through the bitter months, in easy assurance that when they awoke they would find the sceptre still by their side. but a spring comes when they issue from their winter lairs and new sounds are borne to them on the keen, resin-scented mountain air. the hills ring to the chopping of axes; and the voices of men--a new and terrible sound--reach their ears. the earth, soft with the melting snows, shows unaccustomed prints of heavy heels. the coyote and the deer and all the forest folk have gone; the beaver-dams are broken, and the builders vanished. dimly wondering at the strangeness of it all, the bears go forth, blundering and half awake, down the new-made pathways, not angry, but curious and perplexed, and by the trail-side they meet man--man with a rifle in his hand. and, still not angry, still only wondering and fearing nothing--for are they not lords of all the mountain-sides?--they die. h. p. r. _first published september, 1905_ _reissued autumn, 1910; reprinted july, 1913_ contents chapter page i. how i tumbled downhill 1 ii. cubhood days 9 iii. the coming of man 25 iv. the forest fire 39 v. i lose a sister 57 vi. life in camp 71 vii. the parting of the ways 93 viii. alone in the world 105 ix. i find a companion 120 x. a visit to the old home 134 xi. the troubles of a father 147 xii. wiping out old scores 163 xiii. the trap 176 xiv. in the hands of man 194 list of illustrations 'how i tumbled downhill' _frontispiece_ facing page 'the father bear asked my father if we were not going too' 49 'slowly, yard by yard, she was being dragged away from us' 64 'as i appeared the young ones ran and snuggled up to her' 113 'she saw me, and sat up and looked at me amicably' 128 'from the moment that i threw myself on him he never had time to breathe' 177 'it was evidently a trap' 192 'by standing on her back i was able to see over' _on cover_ the black bear chapter i how i tumbled downhill it is not easy for one to believe that he ever was a cub. of course, i know that i was, and as it was only nine years ago i ought to remember it fairly clearly. none the less, hundreds and hundreds of times i have looked at my own cubs, and said to myself: 'surely, i can never have been like that!' it is not so much a mere matter of size, although it is doubtful if any young bear realizes how small he is. my father and mother seemed enormous to me, but, on the other hand, my sister was smaller than i, and perhaps the fact that i could always box her ears when i wanted to, gave me an exaggerated idea of my own importance. not that i did it very often, except when she used to bite my hind-toes. every bear, of course, likes to chew his own feet, for it is one of the most soothing and comforting things in the world; but it is horrid to have anyone else come up behind you, when you are asleep, and begin to chew your feet for you. and that was what kahwa--that was my sister, my name being wahka--was always doing, and i simply _had to_ slap her well whenever she did. it was the only way to stop her. but, as i said, cubhood is not a matter of size only. as i look down at this glossy black coat of mine, it is hard to believe that it was ever a dirty light brown in colour, and all ridiculous wool and fluff, as young cubs' coats are. but i must have been fluffy, because i remember how my mother, after she had been licking me for any length of time, used to be obliged to stop and wipe the fur out of her mouth with the back of her paw, just as my wife did later on when she licked our cubs. every time my mother had to wipe her mouth she used to try to box my ears, so that when she stopped licking me, i, knowing what was coming next, would tuck my head down as far as it would go between my legs, and keep it there till she began licking again. yes, when i stop to think, i know, from many things, that i must have been just an ordinary cub. for instance, my very earliest recollection is of tumbling downhill. like all bears, i was born and lived on the hillside. in the rocky mountains, where my home was, there is nothing but hills, or mountains, for miles and miles, so that you can wander on for day after day, always going up one side of a hill and down the other, and up and down again; and at the bottom of almost every valley there is a stream or river, which for most of the year swirls along noisily and full of water. towards the end of summer, however, the streams nearly dry up, just trickling along in places over their rocky beds, and you can splash about in them almost anywhere. the mountains are covered with trees--gorgeous trees, such as i have never seen anywhere else--with great straight trunks, splendid for practising climbing, shooting away up into the sky before the branches begin. towards the summits of the bigger mountains the trees become smaller and grow wider apart, and if you go up to one of these and look around you, you can see nothing but a sea of dark-green tree-tops, rolling down into the valley and up the opposite slopes on all sides of you, with here and there the peaks of the highest mountains standing against the sky bare and rocky, with streaks and patches of snow clinging to them all through the summer. oh, it was beautiful! in the winter the whole country is covered with snow many feet deep, which, as it falls, slides off the hillsides, and is drifted by the wind into the valleys and hollows till the smaller ones are filled up nearly to the tops of the trees. but bears do not see much of that, for when the first snow comes we get into our dens and go half asleep, and stay hibernating till springtime. and you have no idea how delightful hibernating is, nor how excruciatingly stiff we are when we wake up, and how hungry! the snow lies over everything for months, until in the early spring the warm west winds begin to blow, melting the snow from one side of the mountains. then the sun grows hotter and hotter day by day, and helps to melt it until most of the mountain slopes are clear; but in sheltered places and in the bottoms of the little hollows the snow stays in patches till far into the summer. we bears come out from our winter sleep when the snow is not quite gone, when the whole earth everywhere is still wet with it, and the streams, swollen with floods, are bubbling and boiling along so that the air is filled with the noise of them by night and day. our home was well up one of the hillsides, where two huge cedar-trees shot up side by side close by a jutting mass of rock. in between the roots of the trees and under the rock was as good a house as a family of bears could want--roomy enough for all four of us, perfectly sheltered, and hidden and dry. can you imagine how warm and comfy it was when we were all snuggled in there, with our arms round each other, and our faces buried in each other's fur? anyone looking in would have seen nothing but a huge ball of black and brown fluff. it was from just outside the door that i tumbled downhill. it must have been early in the year, because the ground was still very wet and soft, and the gully at the bottom full of snow. of course, if i had not been a cub i should never have fallen, for big bears do not tumble downhill. if by any chance anything did start one, and he found he could not stop himself, he would know enough to tuck in his head and paws out of harm's way; but i only knew that somehow, in romping with kahwa, i had lost my balance, and was going--goodness knew where! i went all spread out like a squirrel, first on my head, then on my back, then on my tummy, clutching at everything that i passed, slapping the ground with my outstretched paws, and squealing for help. bump! bang! slap! bump! i went, hitting trees and thumping all the wind out of me against the earth, and at last--souse into the snow! wow-ugh![1] how cold and wet it was! and it was deep--so deep, indeed, that i was buried completely out of sight; and i doubt if i should ever have got out alive had not my mother come down and dug me out with her nose and paws. then she half pushed and half smacked me uphill again, and when i got home i was the wettest, coldest, sorest, wretchedest bear-cub in the rocky mountains. then, while i lay and whimpered, my mother spent the rest of the day licking me into the semblance of a respectable bearkin again. but i was bruised and nervous for days afterwards. that tumble of mine gave us the idea of the game which kahwa and i used to play almost every day after that. kahwa would take her stand with her back against the rock by our door, just at the point where the hill went off most steeply, and it was my business to come charging up the hill at her and try to pull her down. what fun it was! sometimes i was the one to stand against the rock, and kahwa tried to pull me down. she could not do it; but she was plucky, and used to come at me so ferociously that i often wondered for a minute whether it was only play or whether she was really angry. best of all was when mother used to play with us. then she put her back to the rock, and we both attacked her at once from opposite sides, each trying to get hold of a hind-leg just above the foot. if she put her head down to pretend to bite either of us, the other jumped for her ear. sometimes we would each get hold of an ear, and hang on as hard as we could, while she pretended we were hurting her dreadfully, growling and shaking her head, and making as much fuss as she could; but if in our excitement either of us did chance to bite a little too hard, we always knew it. with a couple of cuffs, hard enough to make us yelp, she would throw us to one side and the other, and there was no more play for that day. and mother could hit hard when she liked. i have seen her smack father in a way that would have broken all the bones in a cub's body, and killed any human being outright. father did not romp with us as much as mother. he was more serious, but, on the other hand, he did not lose his temper nearly so quickly. she used to get angry with him over nothing, and i think he was afraid of her. and it was just the same later on with me and my wife. i always knew that i could have eaten her up had i wanted to, but, somehow, a bear cannot settle down in earnest to fight his own wife. if she loses her temper, he can pretend to be angry too, but in the end he surely gets the worst of it. i do not know why it is, but a she-bear does not seem to mind how hard she hits her husband, but he always stops just short of hurting her. perhaps it is the same with human beings. but to kahwa and me both father and mother were very gentle and kind in those first helpless days, and i suppose they never punished us unless we deserved it. later on my father and i had differences, as you will hear. but in that first summer our lives, if uneventful, were very happy. footnote [1] it is not possible to give any idea of how a bear says _wow-ugh_. the _wow_ begins at the bottom of the octave, runs halfway up and then down again, and the _ugh_ comes from the very inside of his insides. it is as if he started on the ground floor of a house, _wowed_ clear upstairs to the top and down again, and then went into the cellar to say _ugh_! chapter ii cubhood days when they are small, bear-cubs rarely go about alone. the whole family usually keeps together, or, if it separates, it is generally into couples--one cub with each of the parents; or the father goes off alone, leaving both cubs with the mother. a cub toddling off alone in its own woolly, comfortable ignorance would be sure to make all manner of mistakes in what it ate, and it might find itself in very serious trouble in other ways. bears, when they live far enough away from man, have absolutely nothing to be afraid of. there are, of course, bigger bears--perhaps bigger ones of our own kind, either black or brown ('cinnamon,' as the brown members of our family are called), or, especially, grizzly. but i never heard of a grizzly bear hurting one of us. when i smell a grizzly in the neighbourhood, i confess that it seems wiser to go round the other side of the hill; but that is probably inherited superstition more than anything else. my father and mother did it, and so do i. but i have known several of our cinnamon cousins in my life, and have been friendly enough with them--with the she-bears especially. apart from these, there lives nothing in the forest that a full-grown black bear has any cause to fear. he goes where he pleases and does what he likes, and nobody ventures to dispute his rights. with a cub, however, it is different. i had heard my father and mother speak of pumas, or mountain lions, and i knew their smell well enough--and did not like it. but i shall never forget the first one that i saw. we were out together--father, mother, kahwa, and i--and it was getting well on in the morning. the sun was up, and the day growing warm, and i, wandering drowsily along with my nose to the ground, had somehow strayed away from the rest, when suddenly i smelled puma very strong. as i threw myself up on my haunches, he came out from behind a tree, and stood facing me only a few yards away. i was simply paralyzed with fear--one of the two or three times in my life when i have been honestly and thoroughly frightened. as i looked at him, wondering what would happen next, he crouched down till he was almost flat along the ground, and i can see him now, his whole yellow body almost hidden behind his head, his eyes blazing, and his tail going slap, slap! from side to side. how i wished that i had a tail! then inch by inch he crept towards me, very slowly, putting one foot forward and then the other. i did not know what to do, and so did what proved to be the best thing possible: i sat quite still, and screamed for mother as loud as i could. she must have known from my voice that something serious was the matter, because in a second, just as the puma's muscles were growing tense for the final spring, there was a sudden crash of broken boughs behind me, a feeling as if a whirlwind was going by, and my mother shot past me straight at the puma. i had no idea that she could go so fast. the puma was up on his hind-legs to meet her, but her impetus was so terrific that it bore him backwards, without seeming to check her speed in the least, and away they went rolling over and over down the hill. but it was not much of a fight. the puma, willing enough to attack a little cub like me, knew that he was no match for my mother, and while they were still rolling he wrenched himself loose, and was off among the trees like a shadow. when mother came back to me blood was running over her face, where, at the moment of meeting, the puma had managed to give her one wicked, tearing claw down the side of her nose. so, as soon as my father and kahwa joined us, we all went down to the stream, where mother bathed her face, and kept it in the cold water for nearly the whole day. it was probably in some measure to pay me out for this scrape, and to give me another lesson in the unwisdom of too much independence and inquisitiveness in a youngster, that my parents, soon after this, allowed me to get into trouble with that porcupine. one evening my father had taken us to a place where the ground was full of mountain lilies. it was early in the year, when the green shoots were just beginning to appear above the earth; and wherever there was a shoot there was a bulb down below. and a mountain lily bulb is one of the very nicest things to eat that there is--so sweet, and juicy, and crisp! the place was some distance from our home, and after that first visit kahwa and i kept begging to be taken there again. at last my father yielded, and we set out early one morning just before day was breaking. we were not loitering on the way, but trotting steadily along all together, and kahwa and i, at least, were full of expectation of the lily bulbs in store, when, in a little open space among the trees, we came upon an object unlike anything i had ever seen before. as we came upon it, i could have declared that it was moving--that it was an animal which, at sight of us, had stopped stock still, and tucked its head and toes in underneath it. but it certainly was not moving now, and did not look as if it ever could move again, so finally i concluded that it must be a large fungus or a strange new kind of hillock, with black and white grass growing all over it. my father and mother had stopped short when they saw it, and just sat up on their haunches and looked at it; and kahwa did the same, snuggling up close to my mother's side. was it an animal, or a fungus, or only a mound of earth? the way to find out was to smell it. so, without any idea of hurting it, i trotted up and reached out my nose. as i did so it shrank a little more into itself, and became rounder and more like a fungus than ever; but the act of shrinking also made the black and white grass stick out a little further, so that my nose met it sooner than i expected, and i found that, if it was grass, it was very sharp grass, and pricked horribly. i tried again, and again it shrank up and pricked me worse than ever. then i heard my father chuckling to himself. that made me angry, for i always have detested being laughed at, and, without stopping to think, i smacked the thing just as hard as i could. a moment later i was hopping round on three legs howling with pain, for a bunch of the quills had gone right into my paw, where they were still sticking, one coming out on the other side. my father laughed, but my mother drew out the quills with her teeth, and that hurt worse than anything; and all day, whenever she found a particularly fat lily bulb, she gave it to me. for my part, i could only dig for the bulbs with my left paw, and it was ever so many days before i could run on all four feet again. all these things must have happened when i was very young--less than three months old--because we were still living in the same place, whereas when summer came we moved away, as bears always do, and had no fixed home during the hot months. bear-cubs are born when the mother is still in her winter den, and they are usually five or six weeks old before they come out into the world at all. even then at first, when the cubs are very young, the family stays close at home, and for some time i imagine that the longest journey i made was when i tumbled those fifty feet downhill. father or mother might wander away alone in the early morning or evening for a while, but for the most part we were all four at home by the rock and the cedar-trees, with the bare brown tree-trunks growing up all round out of the bare brown mountain-sides, and kahwa and i spending our time lying sleepily cuddled up to mother, or romping together and wishing we could catch squirrels. there were a great many squirrels about--large gray ones mostly; but living in a fir-tree close by us was a black one with a deplorable temper. every day he used to come and quarrel with us. whenever he had nothing particular to do, he would say to himself, 'i'll go and tease those old bears.' and he did. his plan was to get on our trees from behind, where we could not see him, then to come round on our side about five or six feet from the ground, just safely out of reach, and there, hanging head downwards, call us every name he could think of. squirrels have an awful vocabulary, but i never knew one that could talk like blacky. and every time he thought of something new to say he waved his tail at us in a way that was particularly aggravating. you have no idea how other animals poke fun at us because we have no tails, and how sensitive we really are on the subject. they say that it was to hide our lack of tail that we originally got into the habit of sitting up on our haunches whenever we meet a stranger. kahwa and i used to make all sorts of plans to catch blacky, but we might as well have tried to catch a moonbeam. he knew exactly how far we could reach from the ground, and if we made a rush for him he was always three inches too high. then we would run round on opposite sides of the tree in the hope of cutting him off when he came down. but when we did that he never did come down, but just went up instead, till he reached a place where the branches of our trees nearly touched those of his own fir, and then jumped across. we always hoped he would miss that jump, and kahwa and i waited down below with our mouths open for him to drop in, but he never did. we used to try and persuade mother to go up his tree after him, but she knew very well that she could neither catch him nor get out on the thin branches where his nest was. there is only one way in which a bear can catch squirrels, and that is by pretending to be dead or asleep; for squirrels are so idiotically inquisitive that sooner or later they are certain to come right up to you if you do this, and sit on your nose. some bears, i believe, are fond of squirrels, but i confess i never cared for them. there is so much fluff and stringy stuff in them, and so little to eat. chipmunks[2] are different. though smaller than squirrels, they are much less fluffy in proportion, and taste almost as nice as mice. next to blacky, our most frequent visitor was rat-tat, the woodpecker. the air in the mountains is very still, so that you can hear sounds a long way, and all day long from every direction the 'rat-tat-tat-tat!' of the woodpeckers was ringing through the woods. in the evening when the sun was going down, they used to sit on the very tops of the trees, and call to each other from hill to hill--just two long whistles, 'whee-whoo, whee-whoo.' it was a sad noise, but i liked rat-tat. he was so jauntily gay in his suit of black and white, with his bright red crest, and always so immensely busy. starting near the bottom of a tree, he worked steadily up it--rat-tat-tat-tat! and up--rat-tat-tat-tat! till he got to the top; then down like a flash to another, to begin all over again. grubs he was after, and nothing else mattered. grubs--rat-tat-tat-tat! rat-tat-tat-tat! grubs! and up and up he went. one of our cedars was dead at the top, and rat-tat used to come there nearly every day. little chips and splinters of wood would come floating down to us, and once a lovely fat beetle grub that he had somehow overlooked came plump down under my very nose. if that was the kind of thing that he found up there, i was not surprised that he was fond of our tree. i would have gone up too, if i could; but the dead part would never have been safe for me. very soon we began to be taken out on long excursions, going all four together, as i have said, and then we began to learn how much that is nice to eat there is in the world. you have probably no idea, for instance, how many good things there may be under one rotting log. even if you do not get a mouse or a chipmunk, you are sure of a fringe of greenstuff which, from lack of sunlight, has grown white and juicy, and almost as sure of some mushrooms or other fungi, most of which are delicious. but before you can touch them you have to look after the insects. mushrooms will wait, but the sooner you catch beetles, and earwigs, and ants, and grubs, the better. it is always worth while to roll a log over, if you can, no matter how much trouble it costs; and a big stone is sometimes nearly as good. insects, of course, are small, and it would take a lot of ants, or even beetles, to make a meal for a bear; but they are good, and they help out. some wild animals, especially those which prey upon others, eat a lot at one time, and then starve till they can kill again. a bear, on the other hand, is wandering about for more than half of the twenty-four hours, except in the very heat of summer, and he is eating most of the while that he wanders. the greater part of his food, of course, is greenstuff--lily bulbs, white camas roots, wild-onions, and young shoots and leaves. as he walks he browses a mouthful of young leaves here, scratches up a root there, tears the bark off a decaying tree and eats the insects underneath, lifts a stone and finds a mouse or a lizard beneath, or loiters for twenty minutes over an ant-hill. with plenty of time, he is never in a hurry, and every little counts. but most of all in summer i used to love to go down to the stream. in warm weather, during the heat of the day, bears stay in the shelter of thickets, among the brush by the water or under the shade of a fallen tree. as the sun sank we would move down to the stream, and lie all through the long evening in the shallows, where the cold water rippled against one's sides. and along the water there was always something good to eat--not merely the herbage and the roots of the water-plants, but frogs and insects of all sorts among the grass. our favourite bathing-place was just above a wide pool made by a beaver-dam. the pool itself was deep in places, but before the river came to it, it flowed for a hundred yards and more over a level gravel bottom, so shallow that even as a cub i could walk from shore to shore without the water being above my shoulders. at the edge of the pool the same black and white kingfisher was always sitting on the same branch when we came down, and he disliked our coming, and _chirred_ at us to go away. i used to love to pretend not to understand him, and to walk solemnly through the water underneath and all round his branch. it made him furious, and sent him _chirring_ upstream to find another place to fish, where there were no idiotic bear-cubs who did not know any better than to walk about among his fish. here, too, my father and mother taught us to fish; but it was a long time before i managed to catch a trout for myself. it takes such a dreadful lot of sitting still. having found where a fish is lying, probably under an overhanging branch or beneath the grass jutting out from the bank, you lie down silently as close to the edge of the water as you can get, and slip one paw in, ever so gradually, behind the fish, and move it towards him gently--gently. if he takes fright and darts away, you leave your paw where it is, or move it as close to the spot where he was lying as you can reach, and wait. sooner or later he will come back, swimming downstream and then swinging round to take his station almost exactly in the same spot as before. if you leave your paw absolutely still, he does not mind it, and may even, on his return, come and lie right up against it. if so, you strike at once. more probably he will stop a few inches or a foot away. if you have already reached as far as you can towards him, then is the time that you need all your patience. again and again he darts out to take a fly from the surface of the water or swallow something that is floated down to him by the current, and each time that he comes back he may shift his position an inch or two. at last he comes to where you can actually crook your claws under his tail. ever so cautiously you move your paw gently halfway up towards his head, and then, when your claws are almost touching him, you strike--strike, once and hard, with a hooking blow that sends him whirling like a bar of silver far out on the bank behind you. and trout is good--the plump, dark, pink-banded trout of the mountain streams. but you must not strike one fraction of a second too soon, for if your paw has more than an inch to travel before the claws touch him he is gone, and all you feel is the flip of a tail upon the inner side of the paw, and all your time is wasted. it is hard to learn to wait long enough, and i know that at first i used to strike at fish that were a foot away, with no more chance of catching them than of making supper off a waterfall. but father and mother used to catch a fish apiece for us almost every evening, and gradually kahwa and i began to take them for ourselves. then, as the daylight faded, the beavers came out upon their dam and played about in the pool, swimming and diving and slapping the surface with their tails with a noise like that of an osprey when he strikes the water in diving for a fish. but though they had time for play, they were busy folk, the beavers. some of them were constantly patching and tinkering at the dam, and some always at work, except when the sun was up, one relieving another, gnawing their way with little tiny bites steadily through one of the great trees that stood by the water's edge, and always gnawing it so that when, after weeks of labour, it fell, it never failed to fall across the stream precisely where they wanted it. if an enemy appeared--at the least sign or smell of wolf or puma--there would be a loud ringing slap from one of the tails upon the water, and in an instant every beaver had vanished under water and was safe inside the house among the logs of the dam, the door of which was down below the surface. us bears they were used to and did not mind; but they never let us come too near. sitting safely on the top of their piled logs, or twenty feet away in the water, they would talk to us pleasantly enough; but--well, my father told me that young, very young, beaver was good eating, and i imagine that the beavers knew that we thought so, and were afraid, perhaps, that we might not be too particular about the age. as the dusk changed to darkness we would leave the water and roam over the hillsides, sometimes sleeping through the middle hours of the night, but in summer more often roaming on, to come back to the stream for a while just before the sun was up, and then turning in to sleep till he went down again. those long rambles in the summer moonlight, or in the early dawn when everything reeked with dew, how good they were! and when the afternoon of a broiling day brought a thunderstorm, the delight of the smell of the moist earth and the almost overpowering scent of the pines! and when the berries were ripe--blueberries, cranberries, wild-raspberries, and, later in the year, elderberries--no fruit, nor anything else to eat, has ever tasted as they did then in that first summer when i was a cub. footnote [2] the striped ground squirrels of north america. chapter iii the coming of man summer was far advanced. we had had a week or two of hot, dry weather, during which we had wandered abroad, spending the heat of the days asleep in the shadow of cool brushwood down by the streams, and in the nights and early mornings roaming where we would. ultimately we worked round to the neighbourhood of our home, and went to see if all was right there, and to spend one day in the familiar place. it was in the very middle of the day--a sultry day, when the sun was blazing hot--that we were awakened by the sound of somebody coming through the bushes. the wind was blowing towards us, so that long before he came in sight we knew that it was a bear like ourselves. but what was a bear doing abroad at high noon of such a day, and crashing through the bushes in that headlong fashion? something extraordinary must have happened to him, and we soon learned that indeed something had. coming plunging downhill with the wind behind him, he was right on us before he knew we were there. he was one of our brown cousins--a cinnamon--and we saw at once that he was hurt, for he was going on three legs, holding his left fore-paw off the ground. it was covered with blood and hung limply, showing that the bone was broken. he was so nervous that at sight of us he threw himself up on his haunches and prepared to fight; but we all felt sorry for him, and he soon quieted down. 'whatever has happened to you?' asked my father, while we others sat and listened. 'man!' replied cinnamon, with a growl that made my blood run cold. man! father had told us of man, but he had never seen him; nor had his father or his grandfather before him. man had never visited our part of the mountains, as far as we knew, but stories of him we had heard in plenty. they had been handed down in our family from generation to generation, from the days when our ancestors lived far away from our present abiding-place; and every year, too, the animals that left the mountains when the snow came brought us back stories of man in the spring. the coyotes knew him and feared him; the deer knew him and trembled at his very name; the pumas knew him and both feared and hated him. everyone who knew him seemed to fear him, and we had caught the fear from them, and feared him, too, and had blessed ourselves that he did not come near us. and now he was here! and poor cinnamon's shattered leg was evidence that his evil reputation was not unjustified. then cinnamon told us his story. he had lived, like his father and grandfather before him, some miles away on the other side of the high range of mountains behind us; and there he had considered himself as safe from man as we on our side had supposed ourselves to be. but that spring when he awoke he found that during the winter the men had come. they were few in the beginning, he said, and he had first heard of them as being some miles away. but more came, and ever more; and as they came they pushed further and further into the mountains. what they were doing he did not know, but they kept for the most part along by the streams, where they dug holes everywhere. no, they did not live in the holes. they built themselves places to live in out of trees which they cut down and chopped into lengths and piled together. why they did that, when it was so much easier to dig comfortable holes in the hillside, he did not know; but they did. and they did not cut down the trees with their teeth like beavers, but took sticks in their hands and beat them till they fell! yes, it was true about the fires they made. they made them every day and all the time, usually just outside the houses that they built of the chopped trees. the fires were terrible to look at, but the men did not seem to be afraid of them. they stood quite close to them, especially in the evenings, and burned their food in them before they ate it. we had heard this before, but had not believed it. and it was true, after all! what was still more wonderful, cinnamon said that he had gone down at night, when the men were all asleep in their chopped-tree houses, and, sniffing round, had found pieces of this burnt food lying about, and eaten them, and--they were very good! so good were they that, incredible as it might seem, cinnamon had gone again and again, night after night, to look for scraps that had been left lying about. on the previous night he had gone down as usual after the men, as he supposed, were all asleep, but he was arrested before he got to the houses themselves by a strong smell of the burnt food somewhere close by him. the men, he explained, had cut down the trees nearest to the stream to build their houses with, so that between the edge of the forest and the water there was an open space dotted with the stumps of the trees that had been felled, which stuck up as high as a bear's shoulder from the ground. it was just at the edge of this open space that he smelled the burnt food, and, sure enough, on one of the nearest stumps there was a bigger lump of it than any he had ever seen. naturally, he went straight up to it. just as he got to it he heard a movement between him and the houses, and, looking round, he saw a man lying flat on the ground in such a way that he had hitherto been hidden by another stump. as cinnamon looked he saw the man point something at him (yes, unquestionably, the dreadful thing we had heard of--the thunder-stick--with which man kills at long distances), and in a moment there was a flash of flame and a noise like a big tree breaking in the wind, and something hit his leg and smashed it, as we could see. it hurt horribly, and cinnamon turned at once and plunged into the wood. as he did so there was a second flash and roar, and something hit a tree-trunk within a foot of his head, and sent splinters flying in every direction. since then cinnamon had been trying only to get away. his foot hurt him so that he had been obliged to be down for a few hours in the bushes during the morning; but now he was pushing on again, only anxious to go somewhere as far away from man as possible. while he was talking, my mother had been licking his wounded foot, while father sat up on his haunches, with his nose buried in the fur of his chest, grumbling and growling to himself, as his way was when he was very much annoyed. i have the same trick, which i suppose i inherited from him. we cubs sat shivering and whimpering, and listening terror-stricken to the awful story. what was to be done now? that was the question. how far away, we asked, were the men? well, it was about midnight when cinnamon was wounded, and now it was noon. except the three or four hours that he had lain in the bushes, he had been travelling in a straight line all the time, as fast as he could with his broken leg. and did men travel fast? no; they moved very slowly, and always on their hind-legs. cinnamon had never seen one go on all fours, though that seemed to him as ridiculous as their building houses of chopped trees instead of making holes in the ground. they very rarely went about at night, and cinnamon did not believe any of them had followed him, so there was probably no immediate danger. moreover, cinnamon explained, they seldom moved far away from the streams, and they made a great deal of noise wherever they went, so that it was easy to hear them. besides which, you could smell them a long way off. it did not matter if you had never smelled it before: any bear would know the man-smell by the first whiff he got of it. all this was somewhat consoling. it made the danger a little more remote, and, especially, it reduced the chance of our being taken by surprise. still, the situation was bad enough as it stood, for the news changed the whole colour and current of our lives. hitherto we had gone without fear where we would, careless of anything but our own inclinations. now a sudden terror had arisen, that threw a shadow over every minute of the day and night. man was near--man, who seemed to love to kill, and who _could_ kill; not by his strength, but by virtue of some cunning which we could neither combat nor understand. thereafter, though perhaps man's name might not be mentioned between us from one day to another, i do not think there was a minute when we were not all more or less on the alert, with ears and nostrils open for an indication of his dreaded presence. though cinnamon thought we could safely stay where we were, he proposed himself to push on, further away from the neighbourhood of the hated human beings. in any emergency he would be sadly crippled by his broken leg, and--at least till that was healed--he preferred to be as remote from danger as possible. after he was gone my father and mother held council. there was no more sleep for us that day, and in the evening, when we started out on our regular search for food, it was very cautiously, and with nerves all on the jump. it was a trying night. we went warily, with our heads ever turned up-wind, hardly daring to dig for a root lest the sound of our digging should fill our ears so that we would not hear man's approach; and when i stripped a bit of bark from a fallen log to look for beetles underneath, and it crackled noisily as it came away, my father growled angrily at me and mother cuffed me from behind. i remember, though, that they shared the beetles between them. i need not dwell on the days of anxiety that followed. i do not remember them much myself, except that they were very long and nerve-racking. i will tell you at once how it was that we first actually came in contact with man himself. in the course of my life i have reached the conclusion that nearly all the troubles that come to animals are the result of one of two things--either of their greediness or their curiosity. it was curiosity which led me into the difficulty with porcupine. it was cinnamon's greediness that got his leg broken for him. our first coming in contact with man was the result, i am afraid, of both--but chiefly of our curiosity. during the days that followed our meeting with cinnamon, while we were moving about so cautiously, we were also all the time (and, though we never mentioned the fact, we all knew that we were) gradually working nearer to the place where cinnamon had told us that man was. i knew what was happening, but would not have mentioned it for worlds, lest if we talked about it we should change our direction. and i wanted--yes, in spite of his terrors--i _wanted_ to see man just once. also--i may as well confess it--there were memories of what cinnamon had said of that wonderful burnt food. some ten or twelve days must have passed in this way, when one morning, after we had been abroad for three or four hours, and the sun was just getting up, we heard a noise such as we had never heard before. chuck! chuck! chuck! chuck! it came at regular intervals for a while, then stopped and began again. what could it be? it was not the noise of a woodpecker, nor that which a beaver makes with its tail. chuck! chuck! chuck! chuck! it was not the clucking of a grouse, though perhaps more like that than anything else, but different, somehow, in quality. chuck! chuck! chuck! chuck! i think we all knew in our hearts that it had something to do with man. the noise came from not far away, but the wind was blowing across us. so we made a circle till it blew from the noise to us; and suddenly in one whiff we all knew that it was man. i felt my skin crawling up my spine, and i saw my father's nose go down into his chest, while the hair on his neck and shoulders stood out as it only could do in moments of intense excitement. slowly, very slowly, we moved towards the noise, until at last we were so close that the smell grew almost overpowering. but still we could not see him, because of the brushwood. then we came to a fallen log and, carefully and silently we stepped on to it--my father and mother first, then i, then kahwa. now, by standing up on our hind-feet, our heads--even mine and kahwa's--were clear of the bushes, and there, not fifty yards away from us, was man. he was chopping down a tree, and that was the noise that we had heard. he did not see us, being too intent on his work. chuck! chuck! chuck! chuck! he was striking steadily at the tree with what i now know was an axe, but which at the time we all supposed to be a thunder-stick, and at each blow the splinters of wood flew just as cinnamon had told us. after a while he stopped, and stooped to pick something off the ground. this hid him from my sight, and from kahwa's also, so she strained up on her tiptoes to get another look at him. in doing so her feet slipped on the bark of the log, and down she came with a crash that could have been heard at twice his distance from us, even if the shock had not knocked a loud 'wooff!' out of her as she fell. the man instantly stood up and turned round, and, of course, found himself staring straight into our three faces. he did not hesitate a moment, but dropped his axe and ran. i think he ran as fast as he could, but what cinnamon said was true: he went, of course, on his hind-legs, and did _not_ travel fast. it was downhill, and running on your hind-legs for any distance downhill is an awkward performance at best. we, of course, followed our impulse, and went after him. we did not want him in the least. we would not have known what to do with him if we had him. but you know how impossible it is to resist chasing anything that runs away from you. we could easily have caught him had we wished to, but why should we? besides, he might still have another thunder-stick concealed about him. so we just ran fast enough to keep him running. and as we ran, crashing through the bushes, galloping down the hill, with his head rising and falling as he leaped along ahead of us, the absurdity of it got hold of me, and i yelped with excitement and delight. to be chasing man, of all things living--man--like this! and i could hear my father 'wooffing' to himself at each gallop with amusement and satisfaction. very soon, however, we smelled more men. then we slowed down, and presently there came in sight what we knew must be one of the chopped-tree houses. so we stood and watched, while the man, still running as if we were at his very heels, tore up to the house, and out from behind it came three or four others. we could see them brandishing their arms and talking very excitedly. then two of them plunged into the house, and came out with--yes, there could be no doubt of it; these were the real things--the dreaded thunder-sticks themselves. then we knew that it was our turn to run; and we ran. back up the hill we went, much faster than we had come down; for we were running for our own lives now, and bears like running uphill best. on and on we went, as fast as we could go. we had no idea at how long a distance man could hit us with the thunder-sticks, but we preferred to be on the safe side, and it must have been at least two hours before we stopped for a moment to take breath. and when a bear is in a hurry, two hours, even for a cub, mean more than twenty miles. so it was that we first met man. and how absurdly different from what in our terrified imaginations we had pictured it! chapter iv the forest fire though we had come off so happily from our first encounter with man, none the less we had no desire to see him again. on the contrary, we determined to keep as far away from him as possible. for my part, i confess that thoughts of him were always with me, and every thought made the skin crawl up my back. at nights i dreamed of him--dreamed that he was chasing me endlessly over the mountains. i would get away from him, and, thinking myself safe, crawl into a thicket to sleep; but before i could shut my eyes he was on me again, and the dreadful thunder-stick would speak, and showers of chips flew off the tree-trunks all round me, and off i would have to go again. and all the time my fore-leg was broken, like cinnamon's, and i never dared to stop long enough to wash it in the streams. it seemed to me that the chase lasted for days and days, over hills and across valleys, and always, apparently, in a circle, because i never managed to get any distance away from home. then, just as man was going to catch me, and the thunder-stick was roaring, and the chips flying off the trees in bewildering showers about me, my mother would slap me, and wake me up because she could not sleep for the noise that i was making. and i was very glad that she did. nor was i the only one of the family who was nervous. father and mother had become so changed that they were gruff and bad-tempered; and all the pleasure and light-heartedness seemed to have gone out of our long rambles. there was no more romping and rolling together down the hillsides. if kahwa and i grew noisy in our play, we were certain to be stopped with a 'woof, children! be quiet.' the fear of man was always with us, and his presence seemed to pervade the whole of the mountains. soon, however, a thing happened which for a time at least drove man and everything else out of our minds. we still lingered around the neighbourhood of our home, because, i think, we felt safer there, where we knew every inch of the hills and every bush, and tree, and stone. it had been very hot for weeks, so that the earth was parched dry, and the streams had shrunk till, in places where torrents were pouring but a few weeks ago, there was now no more than a dribble of water going over the stones. during the day we hardly went about at all, but from soon after sunrise to an hour or so before sunset we kept in the shadow of the brushwood along the water's edge. one evening the sun did not seem to be able to finish setting, but after it had gone down the red glow still stayed in the sky to westward, and instead of fading it glowed visibly brighter as the night went on. all night my father was uneasy, growling and grumbling to himself and continually sniffing the air to westward; but the atmosphere was stagnant and hot and dead all night, with not a breath of wind moving. when daylight came the glow died out of the western sky, but in place of it a heavy gray cloud hung over the further mountains and hid their tops from sight. we went to bed that morning feeling very uncomfortable and restless, and by mid-day we were up again. and now we knew what the matter was. a breeze had sprung up from the west, and when i woke after a few hours' sleep--sleep which had been one long nightmare of man and thunder-sticks and broken leg--the air was full of a new smell, very sharp and pungent; and not only was there the smell, but with the breeze the cloud from the west had been rolling towards us, and the whole mountain-side was covered with a thin haze, like a mist, only different from any mist that i had seen. and it was this haze that smelled so strongly. instead of clearing away, as mist ought to do when the sun grows hot, this one became denser as the day went on, half veiling the sun itself. and we soon found that things--unusual things--were going on in the mountains. the birds were flying excitedly about, and the squirrels chattering, and everything was travelling from west to east, and on all sides we heard the same thing. 'the world's on fire! quick, quick, quick, quick!' screamed the squirrels as they raced along the ground or jumped from tree to tree overhead. 'fire! fire!' called the myrtle-robin as it passed. 'firrrrrre!' shouted the blue jay. a coyote came limping by, yelping that the end of the world was at hand. pumas passed snarling and growling angrily, first at us, and then over their shoulders at the smoke that rolled behind. deer plunged up to us, stood for a minute quivering with terror, and plunged on again into the brush. overhead and along the ground was an almost constant stream of birds and animals, all hurrying in the same direction. presently there came along another family of bears, the parents and two cubs just about the size of kahwa and myself, the cubs whimpering and whining as they ran. the father bear asked my father if we were not going, too; but my father thought not. he was older and bigger than the other bear, and had seen a forest fire when he was a cub, and his father then had saved them by taking to the water. 'if a strong wind gets up,' he said, 'you cannot escape by running away from the fire, because it will travel faster than you. it may drive you before it for days, until you are worn out, and there's no knowing where it will drive you. it may drive you unexpectedly straight into man. i shall try the water.' the others listened to what he had to say, but they were too frightened to pay much attention, and soon went on again, leaving us to face the fire. and i confess that i wished that father would let us go, too. meanwhile the smoke had been growing thicker and thicker. it made eyes and throat smart, and poor little kahwa was crying with discomfort and terror. before sunset the air was so thick that we could not see a hundred yards in any direction, and as the twilight deepened the whole western half of the sky, from north to south and almost overhead, seemed to be aflame. now, too, we could hear the roaring of the fire in the distance, like the noise the wind makes in the pine-trees before a thunderstorm. then my father began to move, not away from the fire, however, but down the stream, and the stream ran almost due west straight towards it. what a terrible trip that was! the fire was, of course, much further away than it looked; the smoke had been carried with the wind many miles ahead of the fire itself, and we could not yet see the flames, but only the awful glare in the sky. but, in my inexperience, i thought it was close upon us, and, with the dreadful roaring growing louder and louder in my ears, every minute was an agony. but my father and mother went steadily on, and there was nothing to do but to follow them. sometimes we left the stream for a little to make a short-cut, but we soon came back to it, and for the most part we kept in the middle of the water, or wading along by the bank where it was deep. all the time the noise of the roaring of the flames grew louder and the light in the sky brighter, until, as we went forward, everything in front of us looked black against it, and if we looked behind us everything was glowing, even in the haze of smoke, as if in strong red sunshine. now, too, at intervals the gusts of wind came stiflingly hot, laden with the breath of the fire itself, and we were glad to plunge our faces down into the cool water until the gusts went by. at last we reached our pool above the beaver-dam, and here, feeling his way cautiously well out into the middle, till he found a place where it was just deep enough for kahwa and me to be able to lift our heads above the water, father stopped. by this time the air was so hot that it was hard to breathe without dipping one's mouth constantly in the water, and for the roaring of the flames i could not hear kahwa whimpering at my side, or the rush of the stream below the dam. and we soon found that we were not alone in the pool. my friend the kingfisher was not there, but close beside us were old grey wolf and his wife, and, as i remembered that grey wolf was considered the wisest animal in the mountains, i began to feel more comfortable, and was glad that we had not run away with the others. the beavers--what a lot of them there were!--were in a state of great excitement, climbing out on to the top of the dam and slapping the logs and the water with their tails, then plunging into the water, only to climb out again and plunge in once more. once a small herd of deer, seven or eight of them, came rushing into the water, evidently intending to stay there, but their courage failed them. whether it was the proximity of grey wolf or whether it was mere nervousness i do not know, but after they had settled down in the water one of them was suddenly panic-stricken, and plunged for the bank and off into the woods, followed by all the rest. when we reached the pool there was still one ridge or spur of the mountains between us and the fire, making a black wall in front of us, above which was nothing but a furnace of swirling smoke and red-hot air. it seemed as if we waited a long time for the flames to top that wall, because, i suppose, they travelled slowly down in the valley beyond, where they did not get the full force of the wind. then we saw the sky just above the top of the wall glowing brighter from red to yellow; then came a few scattered, tossing bits of flame against the glow and the swirling smoke; and then, with one roar, it was upon us. in an instant the whole line of the mountain ridge was a mass of flame, the noise redoubled till it was almost deafening, and, as the wind now caught it, the fire leaped from tree to tree, not pausing at one before it swallowed the next, but in one steady rush, without check or interruption, it swept over the hill-top and down the nearer slope, and instantaneously, as it seemed, we were in the middle of it. i remember recalling then what my father had said to the other bears about not being able to run away from the fire if the wind were blowing strongly. had we not been out in the middle of the pool, we must have perished. the fire was on both sides of the stream--indeed, as we learned later, it reached for many miles on both sides, and where there was only the usual width of water the flames joined hands across it and swept up the stream in one solid wall. where we were was the whole width of the pool, while, besides, the beavers had cut down the larger trees immediately near the water, so there was less for the fire to feed upon. but even so i did not believe that we could come through alive. it was impossible to open my eyes above water, and the hot air scorched my throat. there was nothing for it but to keep my head under water and hold my breath as long as i could, then put my nose out just enough to breathe once, and plunge it in again. how long that went on i do not know, but it seemed to me ages; though the worst of it can only have lasted for minutes. but at the end of those minutes all the water in that huge pool was hot. i saw my father raising his head and shoulders slowly out of the water and beginning to look about him. that gave me courage, and i did the same. the first thing that i realized was that the roaring was less loud, and then, though it was still almost intolerably hot, i found that it was possible to keep one's head in the open air and one's eyes open. looking back, i saw that the line of flame had already swept far away, and was even now surmounting the top of the next high ridge; and it was, i knew, at that moment devouring the familiar cedars by our home, just as it had devoured the trees on either side of the beavers' pool. on all sides of us the bigger trees were still in flames, and from everywhere thick white smoke was rising, and over all the mountain-side, right down to the water's edge, there was not one green leaf or twig. everything was black. the brushwood was completely gone. the trees were no more than bare trunks, some of them still partially wreathed in flames. the whole earth was black, and from every side rose columns and jets and streams of smoke. it seemed incredible that such a change could have been wrought so instantaneously. it was awful. just a few minutes, and what had been a mountain-side clothed in splendid trees, making one dense shield of green, sloping down to the bottom-land by the stream, with its thickets of undergrowth, and all the long cool green herbage by the water, had been swept away, and in its place was only a black and smoking wilderness. and what we saw before our eyes was the same for miles and miles to north and south of us, for a hundred miles to the west from which the fire had come; and every few minutes, as long as the wind held, carried desolation another mile to eastward. [illustration: the father bear asked my father if we were not going too.] and what of all the living things that had died? had the animals and birds that had passed us earlier in the day escaped? the deer which had fled from the pool at the last moment--they, i knew, must have been overtaken in that first terrible rush of the flames; and i wondered what the chances were that the bears who had declined to stay with us, the squirrels, the coyote, the pumas, and the hosts of birds that had been hurrying eastward all day, would be able to keep moving long enough to save themselves. and what of all the insects and smaller things that must be perishing by millions every minute? i do not know whether i was more frightened at the thought of what we had escaped or grateful to my father for the course he had taken. it is improbable that i thought of all this at the time, but i know i was dreadfully frightened; and it makes me laugh now to think what a long time it was before we could persuade kahwa to put her head above water and look about her. our eyes and throats were horribly sore, but otherwise none of us was hurt. but though we were alive, life did not look very bright for us. where should we go? that was the first question. and what should we find to eat in all this smoking wilderness? while we sat in the middle of the pool wondering what we could do or whether it would be safe to do anything, we saw grey wolf start to go away. he climbed out on the bank while his wife sat in the water and watched him. he got out safely, and then put his nose down to snuff at the ground. the instant his nose touched the earth he gave a yelp, and plunged back into the water again. he had burnt the tip of his nose, for the ground was baking hot, as we soon discovered for ourselves. when we first stepped out on shore, our feet were so wet that we did not feel the heat, but in a few seconds they began to dry, and then the sooner we scrambled back into the water again, the better. how long it would have taken the earth to cool again i do not know. it was covered with a layer of burned stuff, ashes, and charred wood, which everywhere continued smouldering underneath, and all through the morning of the next day little spirals of smoke were rising from the ground in every direction. fortunately, at mid-day came a thunderstorm which lasted well on towards evening, and when the rain stopped the ground had ceased smoking. many of the trees still smouldered and burned inside. sometimes the flame would eat its way out again to the surface, so that the tree would go on burning in the middle of the wet forest until it was consumed; and for days afterwards, on scratching away the stuff on the surface, we would come to a layer of half-burned sticks that was still too hot to touch. and nothing more desolate than the landscape can be imagined. wherever we looked there was not a speck of green to be seen--nothing but blackness. the earth everywhere was black, and out of it in long rows in every direction stood up the black trees. in many cases only the branches were burnt, leaving the whole straight shaft of the trunk going up like a mast into the sky. in others the trees were destroyed, trunk and all, to within a foot or two of the ground, leaving nothing but a ragged and charred stump standing. sometimes the fire had eaten through the tree halfway up, so that the top had broken off, and what remained was only a column, ten, twenty, or thirty feet high. and everything was black, black, black--like ourselves. we of course kept to the stream. there along the edges we found food, for the rushes and grass and plants of all kinds had burned to the water-line, but below that the stems and roots remained fresh and good. but it was impossible to avoid getting the black dust into one's nose and mouth, and our throats and nostrils were still full of the smell of the smoke. no amount of water would wash it out. the effect of the thunderstorm soon passed off, and by the next day everything was as dry as ever, and the least puff of wind filled the air with clouds of black powder which made us sneeze, and, getting into our eyes, kept them red and sore. i do not think that in all my life i have spent such a miserable time as during those days while we were trying to escape from the region of the fire. of course, we did not know that there was any escape. perhaps the whole world had burned. but my father was sure that we should get out of it some time or other if we only kept straight on. and keep on we did, hardly ever leaving the water, but travelling on and on up the stream as it got smaller and smaller, until finally there was no stream at all, but only a spring bubbling out of the mountain-side. so we crossed over the burnt ground until we came to the beginning of another stream on the other side, and followed that down just as we had followed the first one up. and perhaps the most dreadful thing all the time was the utter silence of the woods. as a rule, both day and night, they were full of the noises of other animals and birds, but now there was not a sound in all the mountains. we seemed to be the only living things left. the stream which we now followed was that on which the men whom we had seen were camping, and presently we came to the place where they had been. the chopped-log house was a pile of ashes and half-burnt wood. about the ruins we found all sorts of curious things that were new to us--among them, things which i now know were kettles and frying-pans; and we came across lumps of their food, but it was all too much covered with the black powder to be eatable. there we stayed for the best part of a day, and then we went on without having seen a sign of man himself, and wondering what had become of him. we had no cause to love him; but i remember hoping that he had not been burned. and the thought that even man himself had been as helpless as we made it all seem more terrible and hopeless. seven or eight days had passed since the fire, when, the day after we passed the place where man had lived, we came to a beaver-dam across the stream, and the beavers told us that, some hours before the fire reached there, they had seen the men hurrying downstream, but they did not know whether they had succeeded in escaping or not. and now other life began to reappear. we met badgers and woodchucks and rats which had taken refuge in their holes, and had at first been unable to force their way out again through the mass of burnt stuff which covered the ground and choked up their burrows. the air, too, began to be full of insects, which had been safe underground or in the hearts of trees, and were now hatching out. and then we met birds--woodpeckers first, and afterwards jays, which were working back into the burnt district, and from them it was that we first learned for certain that it was only a burnt district, and that there was part of the world which had escaped. so we pushed on, until one morning, when daylight came, we saw in the distance a hill-top on which the trees still stood with all their leaves unconsumed. and how good and cool it looked! we did not stop to sleep, but travelled on all through the day, going as fast as we could along the rocky edges of the stream, which was now almost wide enough to be a river, when suddenly we heard strange noises ahead of us, and we knew what the noises were, and that they meant man again. men were coming towards us along the bank of the stream, so we had to leave it and hurry into the woods. there, though there was no shelter but the burnt tree-stumps, we were safe; for everything around us was of the same colour as ourselves, and all we had to do was to squat perfectly still, and it was impossible even for us, at a little distance, to distinguish each other from burnt tree-stumps. so we sat and watched the men pass. there were five of them, each carrying a bundle nearly as big as himself on his back, and they laughed and talked noisily as they passed, without a suspicion that four bears were looking at them from less than a hundred yards away. as soon as they had passed, we went on again, and before evening we came to places where the trees were only partly burned; here and there one had escaped altogether. then, close by the stream, a patch of willows was as green and fresh as if there had been no fire; and at last we had left the burnt country behind us. how good it was--the smell of the dry pine-needles and the good, soft brown earth underneath, and the delight of the taste of food that was once more free from smoke, and the glory of that first roll in the green grass among the fresh, juicy undergrowth by the water! that next day we slept--really slept--for the first time since the night in the beavers' pool. chapter v i lose a sister we soon found that the country which we were now in was simply full of animals. of course it had had its share of inhabitants before the fire, and, in addition, all those that fled before the flames had crowded into it; besides which the beasts of prey from all directions were drawn towards the same place by the abundance of food which was easy to get. we heard terrible stories of sufferings and narrow escapes, and the poor deer especially, when they had at last won to a place of safety from the flames, were generally so tired and so bewildered that they fell an easy prey to the pumas and wolves. all night long the forest was full of the yelping of the coyotes revelling over the bodies of animals that the larger beasts had killed and only partly eaten, and every creature seemed to be quarrelling with those of its kind, the former inhabitants of the neighbourhood resenting the intrusion of the newcomers. for ourselves, nobody attacked us. we found two other families of bears quite close to us, but though we did not make friends at first, they did not quarrel with us. we were glad enough to live in peace, and to be able to devote ourselves to learning something about the new country. in general it was very much like the place that we had left--the same succession of mountain after mountain, all densely covered with trees, and with the streams winding down through gulch and valley. the stream that we had followed was now a river, broader all along its course than the beavers' pool which had saved our lives, and at one place, about two miles beyond the end of the burned region, it passed through a valley, wider than any that i had seen, with an expanse of level land on either side. here it was, on this level bottom-land, that i first tasted what are, i think, next to honey, of all wild things the greatest treat that a bear knows--ripe blueberries. but this 'berry-patch,' as we called it, was to play a very important part in my life, and i must explain. we had soon learned that we were now almost in the middle of men. there was the party which had passed us going up the stream into the burned country. there were two more log-houses about a mile from the edge of the burned country, and therefore also behind us. there were others further down the stream, and almost every day men passed either up or down the river, going from one set of houses to another. finally we heard, and, before we had been there a week, saw with our own eyes, that only some ten miles further on, where our stream joined another and made a mighty river, there was a town, which had all sprung up since last winter, in which hundreds of men lived together. this was the great drawback of our new home. but if we went further on, the chances were that we should only come to more and more men; and for the present, by lying up most of the day, and only going out at night in the direction of their houses, there was no difficulty in keeping away from them. familiarity with them indeed had lessened our terror. we certainly had no desire to hurt them, and they, as they passed up and down or went about their work digging in the ground along the side of the river or chopping down trees, appeared to give no thought to us; and with that fear removed, even though we kept constantly on the alert, lest they should unexpectedly come too near us, our life was happy and free from care. father and mother grew to be like their old selves again, less gruff and nervous than they had been since the memorable day when we saw cinnamon with his broken leg; and as for kahwa and me, though we romped less than we used to do--for we were seven months old now, and at seven months a bear is getting to be a big and serious animal--we were as happy as two young bears could be. after a long hot day, during which we had been sleeping in the shade, what could be more delightful than to go and lie in the cool stream, where it flowed only a foot or so deep, and as clear as the air itself, over a firm sandy bottom? there were frogs, and snails, and beetles of all sorts, along the water's edge, and the juicy stems of the reeds and water-plants. then, in the night we wandered abroad finding lily roots, and the sweet ferns, and camas, and mushrooms, with another visit to the river in the early morning, and perhaps a trout to wind up with before the sun drove us under cover again. and above all there was the berry-patch. the mere smell of a berry-patch at the end of summer, when the sun has been beating down all day, so that the air is heavy with the scent of the cooking fruit, is delicious enough, but it is nothing to the sweetness of the berries themselves. it was in the evening, after our dip in the river, when twilight was shading into night, that we used to visit the patch. it was a great open space in a bend of the river, half a mile long and nearly as wide, without a tree on it, and nothing but just the blue-berry bushes growing close together all over it, reaching about up to one's chest as one walked through, and every bush loaded with berries. not only we, but every bear in the neighbourhood, used to go there each evening--the two other families of whom i have spoken, and also two other single he-bears who had no families. one of these was the only animal in the neighbourhood--except the porcupines, which every bear hates--whom i disliked and feared. he was a bad-tempered beast, bigger than father, with whom at our first meeting he wanted to pick a quarrel, while making friends with mother. she, however, would not have anything to say to him. when he was getting ready to fight my father--walking sideways at him and snarling, while my father, i am bound to confess, backed away--mother did not say a word, but went straight at him as she had rushed at the puma that day when she saved my life. then father jumped at him also, and between them they bundled him along till he fairly took to his heels and ran. but whenever we met him after that--and we saw him every evening at the patch--he snarled viciously at us, and i, at least, was careful to keep father and mother between him and me. if he had caught any one of us alone, i believe he would have killed us; so we took care that he never should. i can see the berry-patch now, lying white and shining in the moonlight, with here and there round the edges, and even sometimes pretty well out into the middle, if the night was not too light, the black spots showing where the bears were feeding. we enjoyed our feasts in silence, and beyond an occasional snapping of a twig, or the cry of some animal from the forest, or the screech of a passing owl, there was not a sound but that of our own eating. one night, however, there came an interruption. it was bright moonlight, and we were revelling in our enjoyment of the fruit, but father was curiously restless. the air was very still, but in a little gust of wind early in the evening father declared that he had smelled man. as an hour passed and there was no further sign of him, however, we forgot him in the delight of the ripe berries. suddenly from the other side of the patch, nearly half a mile away from us, rang out the awful voice of the thunder-stick. we did not wait to see what was happening, but made at all speed for the shelter of the trees, and tore on up the mountain slope. there was no further sound, but we did not dare to go back to the patch that night, nor did we see any of the other bears; so that it was not until some days afterwards that we heard that the thunder-stick had very nearly killed the mother of one of the other families. it had cut a deep wound in her neck, and she had saved herself only by plunging into the woods. if we had known all this at the time, i doubt if we should have gone back to the berry-patch as we did on the very next night. on our way to the patch we met the bad-tempered bear coming away from it. that was curious, and if it had been anybody else we should undoubtedly have asked him why he was leaving the feast at that time in the evening. had we done so, it might have saved a lot of trouble. as it was, we only snarled back at him as he passed snarling by us, and went on our way. we were very careful, however, and took a long time to make our way out of the trees down to the edge of the bushes; but there was no sound to make us uneasy, nor any smell of man in such wind as blew. of course we took care to approach the patch at the furthest point from where we had heard the thunder-stick on the night before. it was a cloudy night, and the moon shone only at intervals. taking advantage of a passing cloud, we slipped out from the cover of the trees into the berry-bushes. we could see no other bears, but they might be hidden by the clouds. in a minute, however, the moon shone out, and had there been any others there--at least, as far out from the edge as ourselves--we must have been able to see them. certainly, alas! we were seen, for even as i was looking round the patch in the first ray of the moonlight to see if any of our friends were there, the thunder-stick rang out again, and once more we plunged for the trees. but this time the sound was much nearer, and there was a second report before we were well into the shadow, and then a third. so terrified were we that there was no thought of stopping, but after we got into the woods we kept straight on as fast as we could go, father and mother in front, i next, and kahwa behind; and none of us looked back, for we heard the shouts of men and the crashing of branches as they ran, and again and again the thunder-stick spoke. suddenly i became aware that kahwa was not behind me. i stopped and looked round, but she was nowhere to be seen. i remembered having heard her give a sudden squeal, as if she had trodden on something sharp, but i had paid no attention to it at the time. now i became frightened, and called to father and mother to stop. they were a long way ahead, and it was some time before i could get near enough to attract their attention and tell them that kahwa was missing. mother wished to charge straight down the hill again at the men, thunder-sticks or no thunder-sticks; but father dissuaded her, and at last we began to retrace our steps cautiously, keeping our ears and noses open for any sign either of kahwa or of man. as we came near the edge of the wood, noises reached us--shouts and stamping; and then, mixed with the other sounds, i clearly heard kahwa's voice. she was crying in anger and pain, as if she was fighting, and fighting desperately. a minute later we were near enough to see, and a miserable sight it was that we saw. out in the middle of the berry-patch, in the brilliant moonlight, was poor kahwa with four men. they had fastened ropes around her, and two of them at the end of one rope on one side, and two at the end of one on the other, were dragging her across the middle of the patch. she was fighting every inch of the way, but her struggles against four men were useless, and slowly, yard by yard, she was being dragged away from us. [illustration: slowly, yard by yard, she was being dragged away from us.] but if she could not fight four men, could not we? there were four of us, and i said so to my father. but he only grunted, and reminded me of the thunder-sticks. it was only too true. without the thunder-sticks we should have had no difficulty in meeting them, but with those weapons in their hands it would only be sacrificing our lives in vain to attempt a rescue. so there we had to stand and watch, my mother all the time whimpering, and my father growling, and sitting up on his haunches and rubbing his nose in his chest. we dared not show ourselves in the open, so we followed the edge of the patch, keeping alongside of the men, but in the shadow of the trees. they pulled kahwa across the middle of the patch into the woods on the other side, and down to the river-bank, where, we knew, there began an open path which the men had beaten in going to and from their houses half a mile further on. here there were several houses in a bunch together. inside one of these they shut her, and then all went in to another house themselves. we stayed around, and two or three times later on we saw one or more of the men come out and stand for awhile at kahwa's door listening; but at last they came out no more, and we saw the lights go out in their house, and we knew that the men had gone to sleep. then we crept down cautiously till we could hear kahwa whimpering and growling through the walls. my mother spoke to her, and there was silence for a moment, and then, when mother spoke again, the poor little thing recognised her voice and squealed with delight. but what could we do? we talked to her for awhile, and tried to scratch away the earth from round the wall, in the hope of getting at her; but it was all useless, and as the day began to dawn nothing remained but to make off before the men arose, and to crawl away to hide ourselves in the woods again. what a wretched night that was! hitherto i do not think that i had thought much of kahwa. i had taken her as a matter of course, played with her and quarrelled with her by turns, without stopping to think what life might be without her. but now i thought of it, and as i lay awake through the morning i realized how much she had been to me, and wondered what the men would do with her. most of all i wondered why they should have wanted to catch her at all. we had no wish to do them any harm. we were nobody's enemy; least of all was little kahwa. why could not men live in peace with us as we were willing to live in peace with them? long before it was dusk next evening we were in the woods as near to the men's houses as we dared to go, but we could hear no sound of my sister's voice. there appeared to be only one man about the place, and he was at work chopping wood, until just at sunset, when the other three men came back from down the stream, and we noticed that they carried long ropes slung over their arms. were those the ropes with which they had dragged kahwa the night before? if so, had they again, while we slept, dragged her off somewhere else? we feared it must be so. impatiently we waited until it was dark enough to trust ourselves in the open near the houses, and then we soon knew that our fears were justified. the door of the house in which kahwa had been shut was open; the men went in and out of it, and evidently kahwa was not there. nor was there any trace of her about the buildings. so under my father's guidance we started on the path down the stream by which the three men had returned, and it was not long before we found the marks of where she had struggled against her captors, and in places the scent of her trail was still perceptible, in spite of the strong man-smell which pervaded the beaten path. so we followed the trail down until we came to more houses; then made a circuit and followed on again, still finding evidence that she had passed. soon we came to more houses, at ever shortening intervals, until the bank of the stream on both sides was either continuously occupied by houses or showed traces of men being constantly at work there. and beyond was the town itself. it was of no use for us to go further. in the town we could see lights streaming from many of the buildings, and the shouting of men's voices came to our ears. we wandered round the outskirts of the town till it was daylight, and then drew back into the hills and lay down again, very sad and hungry--for we had hardly thought of food--and very lonesome. kahwa, we felt sure, was somewhere among those houses in the town. but that was little comfort to us. and all the time we wondered what man wanted with her, and why he could not have left us to be happy, as we had been before he came. chapter vi life in camp one of the results of kahwa's disappearance was to make me much more solitary than i had ever been before, not merely because i did not have her to play with, but now, for the first time, i took to wandering on excursions by myself. and these excursions all had one object:--to find kahwa. for some days after her capture we waited about the outskirts of the town nearly all night long; but on the third or fourth morning father made up his mind that it was useless, and, though mother persuaded him not to abandon the search for another night or two, he insisted after that on giving up and returning to the neighbourhood where we had been living since the fire. so we turned our backs upon the town, and, for my part very reluctantly, went home. the moon was not yet much past the full, and i can remember now how the berry-patch looked that night as we passed it, lying white and shining in the moonlight. we saw no other bears at it, and did not stop, but kept under the trees round the edges, and went on to our favourite resting-place, where, a few hundred yards from the river, a couple of huge trees had at some time been blown down. round their great trunks as they lay on the ground, young trees and a mass of elder-bushes and other brushwood had sprung up, making a dense thicket. the two logs lay side by side, and in between them, with the tangle of bushes all round and the branches of the other trees overhead, there was a complete and impenetrable shelter. we had used this place so much that a regular path was worn to it through the bushes. this night as we came near we saw recent prints of a bear's feet on the path, and the bear that made them was evidently a big one. from the way father growled when he saw them, i think he guessed at once whose feet they were. i know that i had my suspicions--suspicions which soon proved to be correct. during our absence our enemy, the surly bear that i have spoken of, had taken it into his head that he would occupy our home. of course he had lived in this district much longer than we, and, had this been his home when we first came, we should never have thought of disputing possession with him. but it had been our home now, so far as we had any regular home at this time of year, ever since our arrival after the fire, while he had lived half a mile away. now, however, there he was, standing obstinately in the pathway, swinging his head from side to side, and evidently intending to fight rather than go away. we all stopped, my father in front, my mother next, and i behind. i have said that the stranger was bigger than my father, and in an ordinary meeting in the forest i do not think my father would have attempted to stand up to him; but this was different. it was our home, and we all felt that he had no right there, but that, on the contrary, he was behaving as he was out of pure bad temper and a desire to bully us and make himself unpleasant. moreover, the events of the last few days had rendered my father and mother irritable, and they were in no mood to be polite to anybody. usually it takes a long time to make two bears fight. we begin slowly, growling and walking sideways towards each other, and only getting nearer inch by inch. but on this occasion there was not much room in the path, and father was thoroughly exasperated. he hardly waited at all, but just stood sniffling with his nose up for a minute to see if the other showed any sign of going away, and then, without further warning, threw himself at him. i had never seen my father in a real fight, and now he was simply splendid. before the stranger had time to realize what was happening, he was flung back on his haunches, and in a moment they were rolling over and over in one mass in the bushes. at first it was impossible to see what was going on, but, in spite of the ferocity of my father's rush, it soon became evident that in the end the bigger bear must win. my father's face was buried in the other's left shoulder, and he had evidently got a good grip there; but he was almost on his back, for the stranger had worked himself uppermost, and we could see that he was trying to get his teeth round my father's fore leg. had he once got hold, nothing could have saved the leg, bone and all, from being crushed to pieces, and father, if not killed, would certainly have been beaten, and probably crippled for life. and sooner or later it seemed certain that the stranger would get his hold. then it was that my mother interfered. hurling herself at him, she threw her whole weight into one swinging blow on the side of the big bear's head, and in another second had plunged her teeth into the back of his neck. my father's grip in the fleshy part of the shoulder, however painful it might be, had little real effect; but where my mother had attacked, behind the right ear, was a different matter. the stranger was obliged to leave my father's leg alone and to turn and defend himself against this new onslaught; but, big as he was, he now had more on his hands than he could manage. as soon as he turned his attention to my mother, my father let go of his shoulder, and in his turn tried to grip the other's fore-leg. there was nothing for the stranger to do now but to get out of it as fast as he could; and even i could not help admiring his strength as he lifted himself up and shook mother off as lightly as she would have shaken me. she escaped the wicked blow that he aimed at her, and dodged out of his reach, and my father, letting go his hold of the fore-leg, did the same. the stranger, with one on either side of him, backed himself against one of the fallen logs and waited for them to attack him. but that they had no wish to do. all that they wanted was that he should go away, and they told him so. they moved aside from the path on either hand to give him space to go, and slowly and surlily he began to move. i was still standing in the pathway. suddenly he made a movement as if to rush at me, but my father and mother jumped towards him simultaneously, while i plunged into the bushes, and he was compelled to turn and defend himself against my parents again. but they did not attack him, though they followed him slowly along the path. every step or two he stopped to make an ugly start back at one or the other, but he knew that he was overmatched, and yard by yard he made off, my father and mother following him as far as the edge of the thicket, and standing to watch him out of sight. and i was glad when he was safely gone and they came back to me. it was not a pleasant home-coming, and we were all restless and nervous for days afterwards; and then it was that i vowed to myself that, if i ever grew up and the opportunity came, i would wreak vengeance on that bear. if we were all nervous, i was the worst, and in my restlessness took to going off by myself. up to this time i do not think i had ever been a hundred yards away from one or other of my parents, and now, when i started out alone, it was always in horrible fear of meeting the big bear when there was no one to stand by me. gradually, however, i acquired confidence in myself, making each night a longer trip alone, and each night going in the direction of the town. at last, one night, i found myself at the edge of the town itself, and now when i was alone i did not stop at the first building that i came to, but very cautiously--for the man-smell was thick around me, and terrified me in spite of myself--very cautiously i began to thread my way in between the buildings.[3] as i snuffed round each building, i found all sorts of new things to eat, with strange tastes, but most of them were good. that the men were not all asleep was plain from the shouts and noises which reached me at times from the centre of the big town, where, as i could see by occasional glimpses which i caught through the nearer buildings, many of the houses had bright lights streaming from them all night. avoiding these, i wandered on, picking up things to eat, and all the while keeping ears and nose open for a sign of kahwa. i stayed thus, moving in and out among the buildings, till dawn. once a dog inside a house barked furiously as i came near, and i heard a man's voice speaking to it, and i hurried on. as the sky began to lighten, i made my way out into the woods again, and rejoined my father and mother before the sun was up. when i joined them, my father growled at me because i smelled of man. the next night found me down in the town again. i began to know my way about. i learned which houses contained dogs, and avoided them. other animals besides myself, i discovered, came into the town at night for the sake of the food which they found lying about--coyotes and wood-rats, and polecats; but though bears would occasionally visit the buildings nearest to the woods, no other penetrated into the heart of the town as i did. it had a curious fascination for me, and gradually i grew so much at home, that even when a man came through the buildings towards me, i only slipped out of his way round a corner, and--for man's sight and smell are both miserably bad compared with ours--he never had a suspicion that i was near. on the third or fourth night i had gone nearer to the lighted buildings than i had ever been before, when i heard a sound that made me stop dead and throw myself up on my haunches to listen. yes, there could be no doubt of it! it was kahwa's voice. anyone who did not know her might have thought that she was angry, but i knew better. she was making exactly the noise that she used to make when romping with me, and i knew that she was not angry, but only pretending, and that she must be playing with someone. i suppose i ought to have been glad that she was alive and happy enough to be able to play, but it only enraged me and made me wonder who her playmates might be. then gradually the truth, the incredible truth, dawned upon me. truly incredible it seemed at first, but there could be no doubt of it. _she was playing with man._ i could hear men's voices speaking to her as if in anger, and then i heard her voice and theirs in turn again, and at last i recognised that their anger was no more real than hers. the sounds came from where the lights were brightest, and it was long before i could make up my mind to go near enough to be able to see. at last, however, i crept to a place from which i could look out between two buildings, keeping in the deep shade myself, and i can see now every detail of what met my eyes as plainly as if it was all before me at this minute. there was a building larger than those around it, with a big door wide open, and from the door and from the windows on either side poured streams of light out into the night. in the middle of the light, and almost in front of the door, was a group of five or six men, and in the centre of the group was kahwa, tied to a post by a chain which was fastened to a collar round her neck. i saw a man stoop down and hold something out to her--presumably something to eat--and then, as she came to take it from the hand which he held out, he suddenly drew it away and hit her on the side of the head with his other hand. he did not hit hard enough to hurt her, and it was evidently done in play, because as he did it she got up on her hind-legs and slapped at him, first with one hand and then with the other, growling all the time in angry make-believe. sometimes the man came too near, and kahwa would hit him, and the other men all burst out laughing. then i saw him walk deliberately right up to her, and they took hold of each other and wrestled, just as kahwa and i used to do by the old place under the cedar-trees when we were little cubs. i could see, too, that now and then she was not doing her best, and did not want to hurt him, and he certainly did not hurt her. at last the men went into the building, leaving kahwa alone outside; but other men were continually coming out of, or going into, the open door, and i was afraid to approach her, or even to make any noise to tell her of my presence. so i sat in the shade of the buildings and watched. nearly every man who passed stopped for a minute and spoke to her, but none except the man whom i had first seen tried to play with her or went within her reach. the whole thing seemed to me incredible, but there it was under my eyes, and, somehow, it made me feel terribly lonely--all the lonelier, i think, because she had these new friends; for as friends she undoubtedly regarded them, while i could not even go near enough to speak to her. at last so many men came out of the building that i was afraid to stay. some of them went one way, and some another, and i had to keep constantly moving my position to avoid being seen. in doing so i found myself further and further away from the centre of the town, and nearer to the outskirts. the men shouted and laughed, and made so much noise that i did not dare to go back, but made my way out into the woods. and for the first time i did not go home to my father and mother, but stayed by myself in the brush. the next evening i again made my way into the town, and once more saw the same sights as on the preceding night. this evening, however, there was a wind blowing, and it blew directly from me, as i stood in the same place, to kahwa in front of the lighted door. suddenly, while she was in the middle of her play, i saw her stop and begin to snuff up the wind with every sign of excitement. then she called to me. answer i dared not, but i knew that she had recognised me and would understand why i did not speak. while she was still calling to me, the man with whom she had been playing--the same man as on the night before--came up and gave her a cuff on the head, and she lost her temper in earnest. she hit at him angrily, but he jumped out of her way (how i wished she had caught him!), and, after trying for awhile to tempt her to play again, he and the other men left her and went into the building. then she gave all her time to me, and at last, when nobody was near, i spoke just loud enough for her to hear. she simply danced with excitement, running to the end of her chain toward me until it threw her back on to her hind-legs, circling round and round the stump to which she was fastened, and then charging out to the end of her chain again, all the time whimpering and calling to me in a way which made me long to go to her. i did not dare to show myself, however, but waited until, as on the night before, just as it was beginning to get light, the men all came out of the building and scattered in different directions. this time, however, i did not go back to the woods, but merely shifted out of the men's way behind the dark corners of the buildings, hoping that somehow i would find an opportunity of getting to speak to kahwa. at last the building was quiet, and only the man who had played with kahwa seemed to be left, and i saw the lights inside begin to grow less. i hoped that then the door would be shut, and the man inside would go to sleep, as i knew that men did in other houses when the lights disappeared at night; but while there was still some light issuing from door and windows the man came out and went up to kahwa, and, unfastening the chain from the stump, proceeded to lead her away somewhere to the rear of the building. she struggled and tried to pull away from him, but he jerked her along with the chain, and i could see that she was afraid of him, and did not dare to fight him in earnest, and bit by bit he dragged her along. i followed and saw him go to a sort of pen, or a small enclosure of high walls without any roof, in which he left her, and then went in to his own building. and soon i saw the last lights go out inside and everything was quiet. i stole round to the pen and spoke to kahwa through the walls. she was crazy at the sound of my voice, and i could hear her running round and round inside, dragging the chain after her. could she not climb out? i asked her. no; the walls were made of straight, smooth boards with nothing that she could get her claws into, and much too high to jump. but we found a crack close to the ground through which our noses would almost touch, and that was some consolation. i stayed there as long as i dared, and told her all that had happened since she was taken away--of the fight with the strange bear, and how i had been in the town alone looking for her night after night; and she told me her story, parts of which i could not believe at the time, though now i can understand them better. what puzzled me, and at the time made me thoroughly angry, was the way in which she spoke of the man whom i had seen playing with her, and who had dragged her into the pen. she was afraid of him in a curious way--in much the same way as she was afraid of father or mother. the idea that she could feel any affection for him i would have scouted as preposterous; but after the experiences of the last few nights nothing seemed too wonderful to be true, and it was plain that all her thoughts centred in him and he represented everything in life to her. without him she would have no food, but as it was she had plenty. he never came to her without bringing things to eat, delightful things sometimes; and in particular she told me of pieces of white stuff, square and rough like small stones, but sweeter and more delicious than honey. of course, i know now that it was sugar; but as she told me about it then, and how good it was, and how the man always had pieces of it in his pockets, which he gave her while they were playing together, i found myself envying her, and even wishing that the man would take me to play with, too. but as we talked the day was getting lighter, and, promising to come again next night, i slipped away in the dawn into the woods. night after night i used to go and speak to kahwa. sometimes i did not go until it was nearly daylight, and she was already in her pen. sometimes i went earlier, and watched her with the men before the door of the building, and often i saw the man who was her master playing with her and giving her lumps of sugar, and i could tell from the way in which she ate it how good it was. many times i had narrow escapes of being seen, for i grew careless, and trotted among the houses as if i were in the middle of the forest. more than once i came close to a man unexpectedly, for the man-smell was so strong everywhere that a single man more or less in my neighbourhood made no difference, and i had to trust to my eyes and ears entirely. somehow, however, i managed always to keep out of their way, and during this time i used to eat very little wild food, living almost altogether on the things that i picked up in the town. and during all these days and nights i never saw my father or my mother. then one evening an eventful thing happened. the door of kahwa's pen closed with a latch from the outside--a large piece of iron which lifted and fell, and was then kept in place by a block of wood. i had spent a great deal of time at that latch, lifting it with my nose, and biting and worrying it, in the hopes of breaking it off or opening the door; but when i did that i was always standing on my hind-legs, so as to reach up to it, with my fore-feet on the door, and, of course, my weight kept the door shut. but that never occurred to me. one evening, however, i happened to be standing up and sniffing at the latch, with my fore-feet not on the door itself, but on the wall beside the door. it happened that, just as i lifted the latch with my nose, kahwa put her fore-feet against the door on the inside. to my astonishment, the door swung open into my face, and kahwa came rolling out. if we had only thought it out, we could just as well have done that on the first night, instead of trying to reach each other for nearly two weeks through a narrow crack in the wall until nearly all the skin was rubbed off our noses. however, it was done at last, and we were so glad that we thought of nothing else. now we were free to go back into the woods and take up our old life again with father and mother. would it not be glorious, i asked? yes, she said, it would be glorious. to go off into the woods, and never, never, never, i said, see or think of man again. yes--yes, she said, but----of course it would be very glorious, but----well, there was the white stuff--the sugar--she could come back once in a while--just once in a while--couldn't she, to see the man and get a lump or two? i am afraid i lost my temper. here was what ought to have been a moment of complete happiness spoiled by her greediness. of course she could not come back, i told her. if she did she would never get away a second time. we would go to father and mother and persuade them to move just as far away from man as they could. instead of being delighted, the prospect only made her gloomy and thoughtful. of course she wanted to see father and mother, but--but--but----there was always that 'but'--and the thought of the man and the sugar. while we were arguing, the time came when i usually left the town for the day, and the immediate thing to be done was to get her away from that place and out into the woods. then, i thought, i could prevent her going back into the town; so by pointing out to her that, if she wanted to, she could come back at any time, i persuaded her to move, and we started off through the buildings on the road that i usually took back to the forest. but at the first step we were reminded of her chain, which was still attached to her collar, and dragged along the ground as she walked. it was a nuisance, but there was no way to get it off at the moment. perhaps, when we were safe away and had plenty of time, we could find some way of loosening it, but at present the first thing was to get clear of the town. so we started, but the path was new to kahwa, who, of course, had never been away from the pen and the door of the building where her master lived, and had seen nothing of the town except as she was being dragged in by the men who had caught her, and then she had been too busy fighting to pay any attention to her surroundings. so at almost every step she must needs stop to smell something. meanwhile it was getting lighter, and we began to hear noises of men moving about inside the buildings. once a door opened, and i only just had time to dodge back and keep kahwa behind as a man stepped out into the air. but we succeeded in reaching the very edge of the town before anything serious happened. the houses were all made of wood, those in the middle, like that where kahwa had lived, being of boards nailed together, and those on the outskirts of logs laid upon each other whole, with the bark still on, like the first houses that we had seen up the river. there was one of this last kind in particular, which stood away from all the others almost inside the forest. it was the first house that i came to each evening on approaching the town, and the last one that i passed on leaving it; but i always gave it a wide berth, because there was a dog there--a small dog, it is true, but a noisy one--and the first time that i came that way he had seen me, and made such a fuss that i had to bolt back into the forest and wait a long time before i dared to go on again. now, however, kahwa insisted on going up to snuff around this house. i warned her of the dog, but the truth was that she had grown accustomed to dogs, and i think had really lost her fear of men. so she went close up to the house, and began smelling round the walls to see if there was anything good to eat, while i stood back under the trees fretting and impatient of her delay. having sniffed all along one side of the house, she passed round the corner to the back. in turning the corner she came right upon the dog, who flew at her at once, though he was not much bigger than her head. whether she was accustomed to dogs or not, the sudden attack startled her, and she turned round to run back to me. in doing so she just grazed the corner of the house, and the next instant she was rolling head over heels on the ground. the end of her chain had caught in the crack between the ends of two of the logs at the corner, and she was held as firmly as if she had been tied to her stump in front of the door. as she rolled over, the dog jumped upon her, small as he was, yelping all the time, and barking furiously. i thought it would only be a momentary delay, but the chain held fast, and all the while the dog's attacks made it impossible for her to give her attention to trying to tear it free. a minute later, and the door of the house burst open, and a man came running out, carrying, to my horror, a thunder-stick in his hand. kahwa and the dog were all mixed up together on the ground, and i saw the man stop and stand still a moment and point the thunder-stick at her. and then came that terrible noise of the thunder-stick speaking. too frightened to see what happened, i took to my heels, and plunged into the wood as fast as i could, without the man or the dog having seen me. i ran on for some distance till i felt safe enough to stop and listen, but there was not a sound, and no sign of kahwa coming after me. i waited and waited until the sun came up, and still there was no sign of kahwa, until at last i summoned up courage to steal slowly back again. as i came near i heard the dog barking at intervals, and then the voices of men. very cautiously i crept near enough to get a view of the house from behind, and as i came in sight of the corner where kahwa had fallen i saw her for the second time--just as on that wretched evening at the berry-patch--surrounded by a group of three or four men. but this time they had no ropes round her, and were not trying to drag her away; only they stood talking and looking down at her, while she lay dead on the ground before them. footnote [3] the new mining town or camp of the far west has no long rows of houses or paved streets. the houses are built of logs or of boards, rarely more than one story high, and are set down irregularly. there may be one more or less well-defined 'street'--the main trail running through the camp--but even along that there will be wide gaps between the houses; while, for the rest, the buildings are at all sorts of angles, so that a man or a bear may wander through them as he pleases, regardless of whether he is following a 'street' or not. chapter vii the parting of the ways now indeed i was truly lonely. during the three or four weeks that had passed since i had seen my father or mother, i had in a measure learned to rely upon myself; nor had i so far felt the separation keenly, because i knew that every evening i should see kahwa. now she was gone for ever. there was no longer any object in going into the town, and the terror of that last scene was still so vivid in my mind that i wished never to see man again. it was true that i had feared man instinctively from the first, but familiarity with him had for a while overcome that fear. now it returned, and with the fear was mingled another feeling--a feeling of definite hatred. originally, though afraid of him, i had borne man no ill-will whatever, and would have been entirely content to go on living beside him in peace and friendliness, just as we lived with the deer and the beaver. man himself made that impossible, and now i no longer wished it. i hated him--hated him thoroughly. had it not been for dread of the thunder-sticks, i should have gone down into the town and attacked the first man that i met. i would have persuaded other bears to go with me to rage through the buildings, destroying every man that we could find; and though this was impossible, i made up my mind that it would be a bad day for any man whom i might meet alone, when unprotected by the weapon that gave him so great an advantage. meanwhile my present business was, somehow and somewhere, to go on living. on that first evening, amid my conflict of emotions, it was some time before i could bring myself to turn my back definitely upon the town; for it was difficult to realize at once that there was in truth no longer any kahwa there, nor any reason for my going again among the buildings, and it was late in the night before i finally started to look for my father and mother. i went, of course, to the place where i had left them, and where the fight with the stranger had taken place. they were not there when i arrived, but i saw that they had spent the preceding day at home, and would, in all probability, be back soon after it was light. so i stayed in the immediate neighbourhood, and before sunrise they returned. my mother was glad to see me, but i do not think i can say as much for my father. i told them where i had been, and of my visits to the town, and of poor kahwa's death; and though at the time father did not seem to pay much attention to what i said, next day he suggested that we should move further away from the neighbourhood of men. the following afternoon we started, making our way back along the stream by which we had descended, and soon finding ourselves once more in the region that had been swept by the fire. it was still desolate, but the two months that had passed had made a wonderful difference. it was covered by the bright red flowers of a tall plant, standing nearly as high as a bear's head, which shoots up all over the charred soil whenever a tract of forest is burned. other undergrowth may come up in the following spring, but for the first year nothing appears except the red 'fireweed,' and that grows so thickly that the burnt wood is a blaze of colour, out of which the blackened trunks of the old trees stand up naked and gaunt. we passed several houses of men by the waterside, and gave them a wide berth. we learned from the beavers and the ospreys that a number of men had gone up the stream during the summer, and few had come back, so that now there must be many more of them in the district swept by the fire than there had been before. we did not wish to live in the burnt country, however, because there was little food to be found there, and under the fireweed the ground was still covered with a layer of the bitter black stuff, which, on being disturbed, got into one's throat and eyes and nostrils. so we turned southwards along the edge of the track of the fire, and soon found ourselves in a country that was entirely new to us, though differing little in general appearance from the other places with which we were familiar--the same unbroken succession of hills and gulches covered with the dense growth of good forest trees. it was, in fact, bears' country; and in it we felt at home. for the most part we travelled in the morning and evening; but the summer was gone now, and on the higher mountains it was sometimes bitterly cold, so we often kept on moving all day. we were not going anywhere in particular: only endeavouring to get away from man, and, if possible, to find a region where he had never been. but it seemed as if man now was pushing in everywhere. we did not see him, but continually we came across the traces of him along the banks of the streams. the beavers, and the kingfishers, and the ospreys, of course, know everything that goes on along the rivers. nothing can pass upstream or down without going by the beaver-dams, and the beavers are always on the watch. you might linger about a beaver-dam all day, and except for the smell, which a man would not notice, you would not believe there was a beaver near. but they are watching you from the cracks and holes in their homes, and in the evening, if they are not afraid of you, you will be astonished to see twenty or thirty beavers come out to play about what you thought was an empty house. we never passed a dam without asking about man, and always it was the same tale. men had been there a week ago, or the day before, or when the moon last was full. and the kingfishers and the ospreys told us the same things. so we kept on our way southward. as the days went on i grew to think less of kahwa; the memory of those nights spent in the town, with the lights, and the strange noises, and the warm man-smell all about me, began to fade until they all seemed more like incidents of a dream than scenes which i had actually lived through only a few weeks before. i began to feel more as i used to feel in the good old days before the fire, and came again to be a part of the wild, wholesome life of the woods. moreover, i was growing; my mother said that i was growing fast. no puma would have dared to touch me now, and my unusual experiences about the town had bred in me a spirit of independence and self-reliance, so that other cubs of my own age whom we met, and who, of course, had lived always with their parents, always seemed to me younger than i; and certainly i was bigger and stronger than any first-year bear that i saw. on the whole, i would have been fairly contented with life had it not been for the estrangement which was somehow growing up between my father and myself. i could not help feeling that, though i knew not why, he would have been glad to have me go away again. so i kept out of his way as much as possible, seldom speaking to him, and, of course, not venturing to share any food that he found. on the first evening after my return he had rolled over an old log, and mother and i went up as a matter of course to see what was there; but he growled at me in a way that made me stand off while he and mother finished the fungi and the beetles. after that i kept my distance. it did not matter much, for i was well able to forage for myself. but i would have preferred to have him kinder. his unkindness, however, did not prevent him from taking for himself anything which he wanted that i had found. one day i came across some honey, from which he promptly drove me away, and i had to look on while he and mother shared the feast between them. at last we came to a stream where the beavers told us that no man had been seen in the time of any member of their colony then living. the stream, which was here wide enough to be a river, came from the west, and for two or three days we followed it down eastwards, and found no trace or news of man; so we turned back up it again--back past the place where we had first struck it--and on along its course for another day's journey into the mountains. it was, perhaps, too much to hope that we had lighted on a place where man would never come; but at least we knew that for a distance of a week's travelling in all directions he never yet had been, and it might be many years before he came. meanwhile we should have a chance to live our lives in peace. here we stayed, moving about very little, and feeding as much as we could; for winter was coming on, and a bear likes to be fat and well fed before his long sleep. it rained a good deal now, as it always does in the mountains in the late autumn, and as a general rule the woods were full of mist all day, in which we went about tearing the roots out of the soft earth, eating the late blueberries where we could find them, and the cranberries and the elderberries, which were ripe on the bushes, now and then coming across a clump of nut-trees, and once in a while, the greatest of all treats, revelling in a feast of honey. one morning, after a cold and stormy night, we saw that the tops of the highest mountains were covered with snow. it might be a week or two yet before the snow fell over the country as a whole, or it might be only a day or two; for the wind was blowing from the north, biting cold, and making us feel numb and drowsy. so my father decided that it was time to make our homes for the winter. he had already fixed upon a spot where a tree had fallen and torn out its roots, making a cave well shut in on two sides, and blocked on a third by another fallen log; and here, without thinking, i had taken it as a matter of course that we should somehow all make our winter homes together. but when that morning he started out, with mother after him, and i attempted to follow, he drove me away. i followed yet for a while, but he kept turning back and growling at me, and at last told me bluntly that i must go and shift for myself. i took it philosophically, i think, but it was with a heavy heart that i turned away to seek a winter home for myself. it did not take me long to decide on the spot. at the head of a narrow gully, where at some time or other a stream must have run, there was a tree half fallen, and leaning against the hillside. a little digging behind the tree would make as snug and sheltered a den as i could want. so i set to work, and in the course of a few hours i had made a sufficiently large hollow, and into it i scraped all the leaves and pine-needles in the neighbourhood, and, by working about inside and turning round and round, i piled them up on all sides until i had a nest where i was perfectly sheltered, with only an opening in front large enough to go in and out of. this opening i would almost close when the time came, but for the present i left it open and lived inside, sleeping much of the time, but still continuing for a week or ten days to go out in the mornings and evenings for food. but it was getting colder and colder, and the woods had become strangely silent. the deer had gone down to the lower ground at the first sign of coming winter, and the coyotes and the wolves had followed to spend the cold months in the foot-hills and on the plains about the haunts of man. the woodchucks were already asleep below-ground, and of the birds only the woodpeckers and the crossbills, and some smaller birds fluttering among the pine-branches, remained. there was a fringe of ice along the edges of the streams, and the kingfishers and the ospreys had both flown to where the waters would remain open throughout the year. the beavers had been very busy for some time, but now, if one went to the nearest dam in the evening, there was not a sign of life. at last the winter came. it had been very cold and gray for a day or two, and i felt dull and torpid. and then, one morning towards mid-day, the white flakes began to fall. there had been a few little flurries of snow before, lasting only for a minute or two; but this was different. the great flakes fell slowly and softly, and soon the whole landscape began to grow white. through the opening in my den i watched the snow falling for some time, but did not venture out; and as the afternoon wore on, and it only fell faster and faster, i saw that it would soon pile up and close the door upon me. there was no danger of its coming in, for i had taken care that the roof overhung far enough to prevent anything falling in from above, and the den was too well sheltered for the wind to drift the snow inside. so i burrowed down into my leaves and pine-needles, and worked them up on both sides till only a narrow slit of an opening remained, and through this slit, sitting back on my haunches against the rear of the little cave, i watched the white wall rising outside. all that night and all next day it snowed, and by the second evening there was hardly a ray of light coming in. i remember feeling a certain pride in being all alone, in the warm nest made by myself, for the first time in my life; and i sat back and mumbled at my paw, and grew gradually drowsier and drowsier, till i hardly knew when the morning came, for i was very sleepy and the daylight scarcely pierced the wall of snow outside. and before another night fell i was asleep, while outside the white covering which was to shut me in for the next four months at least, was growing thicker until it was many feet deep all around, and under it i was as safe and snug up there in the heart of the mountains as ever a man could be in any house that he might build. chapter viii alone in the world have you any idea how frightfully stiff one is after nearly five months' consecutive sleep? of course, a bear is not actually asleep for the greater part of the time, but in a deliciously drowsy condition that is halfway between sleeping and waking. it is very good. of course, you lose all count and thought of time; days and weeks and months are all the same. you only know that, having been asleep, you are partly awake again. there is no light, but you can see the wall of your den in front of you, and dimly you know that, while all the world outside is snow-covered and swept with bitter winds, and the earth is gripped solid in the frost, you are very warm and comfortable. changes of temperature do not reach you, and you sit and croon to yourself and mumble your paws, and all sorts of thoughts and tangled scraps of dreams go swimming through your head until, before you know it, you have forgotten everything and are asleep again. then again you find yourself awake. is it hours or days or weeks since you were last awake? you do not know, and it does not matter. so you croon, and mumble, and dream, and sleep again; and wake, and croon, and mumble, and dream. sometimes you are conscious of feeling stiff, and think you will change your position; but, after all, it does not matter. nothing matters; for you are already floating off again, the wall of your den grows indistinct, and you are away in dreams once more for an hour, or a day, or a week. at last a day comes when you wake into something more like complete consciousness than you have known since you shut yourself up. there is a new feeling in the air; a sense of moisture and fresh smells are mingling with the warm dry scent of your den. and you are aware that you have not changed your position for more than a quarter of a year, but have been squatting on your heels, with your back against the wall and your nose folded into your paws across your breast; and you want to stretch your hind-legs dreadfully. but you do not do it. it is still too comfortable where you are. you may move a little, and have a vague idea that it might be rather nice outside. but you do not go to see; you only take the other paw into your mouth, and, still crooning to yourself, you are asleep again. this happens again and again, and each time the change in the feeling of the air is more marked, and the scents of the new year outside grow stronger and more pungent. at last one day comes daylight, where the snow has melted from the opening in front of you, and with the daylight come the notes of birds and the ringing of the woodpecker--rat-tat-tat-tat! rat-tat-tat-tat!--from a tree near by. but even these signs that the spring is at hand again would not tempt you out if it were not for another feeling that begins to assert itself, and will not let you rest. you find you are hungry, horribly hungry. it is of no use to say to yourself that you are perfectly snug and contented where you are, and that there is all the spring and summer to get up in. you are no longer contented. it is nearly five months since you had your last meal, and you will not have another till you go out for yourself and get it. mumbling your paws will not satisfy you. there is really nothing for it but to get up. but, oh, what a business it is, that getting up! your shoulders are cramped and your back is stiff; and as for your legs underneath you, you wonder if they will really ever get supple and strong again. first you lift your head from your breast and try moving your neck about, and sniff at the walls of your den. then you unfold your arms, and--ooch!--how they crack, first one and then the other! at last you begin to roll from one side to the other, and try to stretch each hind-leg in turn; then, cautiously letting yourself drop on all fours, you give a step, and before you know it you have staggered out into the open air. it is very early in the morning, and the day is just breaking, and all the mountain-side is covered with a clinging pearly mist; but to your eyes the light seems very strong, and the smell of the new moist earth and the resinous scent of the pines almost hurt your nostrils. one side of the gully in front of you is brown and bare, but in the bottom, and clinging to the other side, are patches of moist and half-melted snow, and on all sides you hear the drip of falling moisture and the ripple of little streams of water which are running away to swell the creeks and rivers in every valley bottom. you are shockingly unsteady on your feet, and feel very dazed and feeble; but you are also hungrier than ever now, with the keen morning air whetting your appetite, and the immediate business ahead of you is to find food. so you turn to the bank at your side and begin to grub; and as you grub you wander on, eating the roots that you scratch up and the young shoots of plants that are appearing here and there. and all the time the day is growing, and the sensation is coming back to your limbs, and your hunger is getting satisfied, and you are wider and wider awake. and, thoroughly interested in what you are about, before you are aware of it, you are fairly started on another year of life. that is how a bear begins each spring. it may be a few days later or a few days earlier when one comes out; but the sensations are the same. you are always just as stiff, and the smells are as pungent, and the light is as strong, and the hunger as great. for the first few days you really think of nothing but of finding enough to eat. as soon as you have eaten, and eaten until you think you are satisfied, you are hungry again; and so you wander round looking for food, and going back to your den to sleep. that spring when i came out it was very much as it had been the spring before, when i was a little cub. the squirrels were chattering in the trees (i wondered whether old blacky had been burned in the fire), and the woodpecker was as busy as ever--rat-tat-tat-tat! rat-tat-tat-tat!--overhead. there were several woodchucks--fat, waddling things--living in the same gully with me, and they had been abroad for some days when i woke up. on my way down to the stream on that first morning, i found a porcupine in my path, but did not stop to slap it. by the river's bank the little brown-coated minks were hunting among the grass, and by the dam the beavers were hard at work protecting and strengthening their house against the spring floods, which were already rising. it was only a couple of hundred yards or so from my den to the stream, and for the first few days i hardly went further than that. but it was impossible that i should not all the time--that is, as soon as i could think of anything except my hunger--be contrasting this spring with the spring before, when kahwa and i had played about the rock and the cedar-trees, and i had tumbled down the hill. and the more i thought of it, the less i liked being alone. and my father and mother, i knew, must be somewhere close by me--for i presumed they had spent the winter in the spot that they had chosen--so i made up my mind to go and join them again. it was in the early evening that i went, about a week after i had come out of my winter-quarters, and i had no trouble in finding the place; but when i did find it i also found things that i did not expect. 'surely,' i said to myself as i came near, 'that is little kahwa's voice!' there could be no doubt of it. she was squealing just as she used to do when she tried to pull me away from the rock by my hind-foot. so i hurried on to see what it could mean, and suddenly the truth dawned upon me. my parents had two new children. i had never thought of that possibility. i heard my mother's voice warning the cubs that someone was coming, and as i appeared the young ones ran and snuggled up to her, and stared at me as if i was a stranger and they were afraid of me, as i suppose they were. it made me feel awkward, and almost as if my mother was a stranger, too; but after standing still a little time and watching them i walked up. mother met me kindly, but, somehow, not like a mother meeting her own cub, but like a she-bear meeting any he-bear in the forest. the cubs kept behind her and out of the way. i spoke to mother and rubbed noses with her, and told her that i was glad to see her. she evidently thought well of me, and i was rather surprised, when standing beside her, to find that she was not nearly so much bigger than i as i had supposed. [illustration: as i appeared the young ones ran and snuggled up to her.] but before i had been there more than a minute mother gave me warning that father was coming, and, turning, i saw him walking down the hillside towards us. he saw me at the same time, and stopped and growled. at first, i think, not knowing who i was, he was astonished to see my mother talking to a strange bear. when he did recognise me, however, i might still have been a stranger, for any friendliness that he showed. he sat up on his haunches and growled, and then came on slowly, swinging his head, and obviously not at all disposed to welcome me. again i was surprised, to see that he was not as big as i had thought, and for a moment wild ideas of fighting him, if that was what he wanted, came into my head. i wished to stay with mother, and even though he was my father, i did not see why i should go away alone and leave her. but, tall though i was getting, i had not anything like my father's weight, and, however bitterly i might wish to rebel, rebellion was useless. besides, my mother, though she was kind to me, would undoubtedly have taken my father's part, as it was right that she should do. so i moved slowly away as my father came up, and as i did so even the little cubs growled at me, siding, of course, with their father against the stranger whom they had never seen. father did not try to attack me, but walked up to mother and began licking her, to show that she belonged to him. i disliked going away, and thought that perhaps he would relent; but when i sat down, as if i was intending to stay, he growled and told me that i was not wanted. i ought by this time to have grown accustomed to being alone, and to have been incapable of letting myself be made miserable by a snub, even from my father. but i was not; i was wretched. i do not think that even on the first night after kahwa was caught, or on that morning when i saw her dead, that i felt as completely forlorn as i did that day when i turned away from my mother, and went down the mountain-side back to my own place alone. the squirrels chattered at me, and the woodpecker rat-tat-tat-ed, and the woodchucks scurried away, and i hated them all. what company were they to me? i was lonely, and i craved the companionship of my own kind. but it was to be a long time before i found it. i was now a solitary bear, with my own life to live and my own way to make in the world, with no one to look to for guidance and no one to help me if i needed help; but many regarded me as an enemy, and would have rejoiced if i were killed. in those first days i thought of the surly solitary bear who had taken our home while we were away, and whom i had vowed some day to punish; and i began to understand in some measure why he was so bad-tempered. if we had met then, i almost believe i would have tried to make friends with him. i have said that many animals would have rejoiced had i been killed. this is not because bears are the enemies of other wild things, for we really kill very little except beetles and other insects, frogs and lizards, and little things like mice and chipmunks. we are not as the wolves, the coyotes, the pumas, or the weasels, which live on the lives of other animals, and which every other thing in the woods regards as its sworn foe. still, smaller animals are mostly afraid of us, and the carcase of a dead bear means a feast for a number of hungry things. if a bear cannot defend his own life, he will have no friends to do it for him; and while, as i have said before, a full-grown bear in the mountains has no need to fear any living thing, man always excepted, in stand-up fight, it is none the less necessary to be always on one's guard. in my case fear had nothing to do with my hatred of loneliness. even the thought of man himself gave me no uneasiness. i was sure that no human beings were as yet within many miles of my home, and i knew that i should always have abundant warning of their coming. moreover, i already knew man. he was not to me the thing of terror and mystery that he had been a year ago, or that he still was to most of the forest folk. i had cause enough, it is true, to know how dangerous and how savagely cruel he was, and for that i hated him. but i had also seen enough of him to have a contempt for his blindness and his lack of the sense of scent. had i not again and again, when in the town, dodged round the corner of a building, and waited while he passed a few yards away, or stood immovable in the dark shadow of a building, and looked straight at him while he went by utterly unconscious that i was near? nothing could live in the forest for a week with no more eyesight, scent, or hearing than a man possesses, and without his thunder-stick he would be as helpless as a lame deer. all this i understood, and was not afraid that, if our paths should cross again, i should not be well able to take care of myself. but while there was no fear added to my loneliness, the loneliness itself was bad enough. having none to provide for except myself, i had no difficulty in finding food. for the first few weeks, i think, i did nothing but wander aimlessly about and sleep, still using my winter den for that purpose. as the summer came on, however, i began to rove, roaming usually along the streams, and sleeping there in the cool herbage by the water's edge during the heat of the day. my chief pleasure, i think, was in fishing, and i was glad my mother had shown me how to do it. no bear, when hungry, could afford to fish for his food, for it takes too long; but i had all my time to myself, and nearly every morning and evening i used to get my trout for breakfast or for supper. at the end of a long hot day, i know nothing pleasanter than, after lying a while in the cold running water, to stretch one's self out along the river's edge, under the shadow of a bush, and wait, paw in water, till the trout comes gliding within striking distance; and then the sudden stroke, and afterwards the comfortable meal off the cool juicy fish in the soft night air. i became very skilful at fishing, and, from days and days of practice, it was seldom indeed that i lost my fish if once i struck. time, too, i had for honey-hunting, but i was never sure that it was worth the trouble and pain. in nine cases out of ten the honey was too deeply buried in a tree for me to be able to reach it, and in trying i was certain to get well stung for my pains. once in a while, however, i came across a comb that was easy to reach, and the chance of one of those occasional finds made me spend, not hours only, but whole days at a time, looking for the bees' nests. along by the streams were many blueberry-patches, though none so large as that which had cost kahwa her life; but during the season i could always find berries enough. and so, fishing and bee-hunting, eating berries and digging for roots, i wandered on all through the summer. i had no one place that i could think of as a home more than any other. i preferred not to stay near my father and mother, and so let myself wander, heading for the most part westward, and further into the mountains as the summer grew, and then in the autumn turning south again. i must have wandered over many hundred miles of mountain, but when the returning chill in the air told me that winter was not very far away, i worked round so as to get back into somewhat the same neighbourhood as i had been in last winter, not more, perhaps, than ten miles away. on the whole, it was an uneventful year. two or three times i met a grizzly, and always got out of the way as fast as i could. once only i found myself in the neighbourhood of man, and i gave him a wide berth. many times, of course--in fact, nearly every day--i met other bears like myself, and sometimes i made friends with them, and stayed in their company for the better part of a day, perhaps at a berry-patch or in the wide shallows of a stream. but there was no place for me--a strong, growing he-bear, getting on for two years old--in any of the families that i came across. parents with young cubs did not want me. young bears in their second year were usually in couples. the solitary bears that i met were generally he-bears older than i, and, though we were friendly on meeting, neither cared for the other's companionship. again and again in these meetings i was struck by the fact that i was unusually big and strong for my age, the result, i suppose, as i have already said, of the accident that threw me on my own resources so young. i never met young bears of my own age that did not seem like cubs to me. many times i came across bears who were one and even two years older than myself, but who had certainly no advantage of me in height, and, i think, none in weight. but i had no occasion to test my strength in earnest that summer, and when winter came, and the mountain-peaks in the neighbourhood showed white again against the dull gray sky, i was still a solitary animal, and acutely conscious of my loneliness. that year i made my den in a cave which i found high up on a mountain-side, and which had evidently been used by bears at some time or other, though not for the last year or two. there i made my nest with less trouble than the year before, and at the first serious snowfall i shut myself up for another long sleep. chapter ix i find a companion the next spring was late. we had a return of cold weather long after winter ought to have been over, and for a month or more after i moved out it was no easy matter to find food enough. the snow had been unusually deep, and had only half melted when the cold returned, so that the remaining half stayed on the ground a long while, and sometimes it took me all my time, grubbing up camas roots, turning over stones and logs, and ripping the bark off fallen trees, to find enough to eat to keep me even moderately satisfied. besides the mice and chipmunks which i caught, i was forced by hunger to dig woodchucks out of their holes, and eat the young ones, though hitherto i had never eaten any animal so large. somehow, in one way and another, i got along, and when spring really came i felt that i was a full-grown bear, and no longer a youngster who had to make way for his elders when he met them in the path. nor was it long before i had an opportunity of seeing that other bears also regarded me no longer as a cub. i had found a bees' nest about ten feet up in a big tree, and of course climbed up to it; but it was one of those cases of which i have spoken, when the game was not worth the trouble. the nest was in a cleft in the tree too narrow for me to get my arm into, and i could smell the honey a foot or so away from my nose without being able to reach it--than which i know nothing more aggravating. and while you are hanging on to a tree with three paws, and trying to squeeze the fourth into a hole, the bees have you most unpleasantly at their mercy. i was horribly stung about my face, both my eyes and my nose were smarting abominably, and at last i could stand it no longer, but slid down to the ground again. when i reached the ground, there was another bear standing a few yards away looking at me. he had a perfect right to look at me, and he was doing me no sort of harm; but the stings of the bees made me furious, and i think i was glad to have anybody or anything to vent my wrath upon. so as soon as i saw the other bear i charged him. he was an older bear than i, and about my size; and, as it was the first real fight that i had ever had, he probably had more experience. but i had the advantage of being thoroughly angry and wanting to hurt someone, without caring whether i was hurt myself or not, while he was feeling entirely peaceable, and not in the least anxious to hurt me or anybody else. the consequence was that the impetuosity of my first rush was more than he could stand. of course he was up to meet me, and i expect that under my coat my skin on the left shoulder still carries the marks of his claws where he caught me as we came together. but i was simply not to be denied, and, while my first blow must have almost broken his neck, in less than a minute i had him rolling over and over and yelling for mercy. i really believe that, if he had not managed to get to his feet, and then taken to his heels as fast as he could, i would have killed him. meanwhile the bees were having fun with us both. it was of no use, however angry i might be, to stop to try and fight them; so as soon as the other bear had escaped i made my own way as fast as i could out of the reach of their stings, and down to the stream to cool my smarting face. as i lay in the water, i remember looking back with astonishment to the whole proceeding. five minutes before i had had no intention of fighting anybody, and had had no reason whatever for fighting that particular bear. had i met him in the ordinary way, we should have been friendly, and i am not at all sure that, if i had had to make up my mind to it in cold blood, i should have dared to stand up to him, unless something very important depended on it. yet all of a sudden the thing had happened. i had had my first serious fight with a bear older than myself, and had beaten him. moreover, i had learned the enormous advantage of being the aggressor in a fight, and of throwing yourself into it with your whole soul. as it was, though i was astonished at the entire affair and surprised at myself, and although the bee-stings still hurt horribly, i was pretty well satisfied and rather proud. perhaps it was as well that i had that fight then, for the time was not far distant when i was to go through the fight of my life. a bear may have much fighting in the course of his existence, or he may have comparatively little, depending chiefly on his own disposition; but at least once he is sure to have one fight on which almost the whole course of his life depends. and that is when he fights for his wife. of course he may be beaten, and then he has to try again. some bears never succeed in winning a wife at all. some may win one and then have her taken from them, and have to seek another; but i do not believe that any bear chooses to live alone. every one will once at least make an effort to win a companion who will be the mother of his children. the crisis came with me that summer, though many bears, i believe, prefer to run alone until a year, or even two years, later. the summer had passed like the former one, rather uneventfully after the episode of the bees. i wandered abroad, roaming over a wide tract of country, fishing, honey-hunting, and finding my share of roots and beetles and berries, sheltering during the heat of the day, and going wherever i felt inclined in the cool of the night and morning. i think i was disposed to be rather surly and quarrelsome, and more than once took upon myself to dispute the path with other bears; but they always gave way to me, and i felt that i pretty well had the mountains and the forests for my own. but i was still lonely, and that summer i felt it more than ever. the late spring had ruined a large part of the berry crop, and the consequence was that, wherever there was a patch with any fruit on it, bears were sure to find it out. there was one small sheltered patch which i knew, where the fruit had nearly all survived the frosts. i was there one evening, when, not far from me, out of the woods came another bear of about my size. i was inclined to resent it at first, but then i saw that it was a she-bear, and i liked her the moment i obtained a good view of her. she saw me, and sat up and looked at me amicably. [illustration: she saw me, and sat up and looked at me amicably.] i had never tried to make love before, but i knew what was the right thing to do; so i approached her slowly, walking sideways, rubbing my nose on the ground, and mumbling into the grass to tell her how much i admired her. she responded in the correct way, by rolling on the ground. so i continued to approach her, and i cannot have been more than five or six yards away, when out of the bushes behind her, to my astonishment, came another he-bear. he growled at me, and began to sniff around at the bushes, to show that he was entirely ready to fight if i wanted to. and of course i wanted to. i probably should have wanted to in any circumstances, but when the she-bear showed that she liked me better than him, by growling at him, i would not have gone away, without fighting for her, for all the berries and honey in the world. one of the most momentous crises in my life had come, and, as all such things do, had come quite unexpectedly. he was as much in earnest as i, and for a minute we sidled round growling over our shoulders, and each measuring the other. there was little to choose between us, for, if i was a shade the taller, he was a year older than i, and undoubtedly the heavier and thicker. in fighting all other animals except those of his kind, a bear's natural weapons are his paws, with one blow of which he can crush a small animal, and either stun or break the neck of a larger one. but he cannot do any one of these three things to another bear as big as himself, and only if one bear is markedly bigger than the other can he hope to reach his head, so as either to tear his face or give him such a blow as will daze him and render him incapable of going on fighting. a very much larger bear can beat down the smaller one's arms, and rain such a shower of blows upon him as will convince him at once that he is overmatched, and make him turn tail and run. when two are evenly matched, however, the first interchange of blows with the paws is not likely to have much effect either way, and the fight will have to be settled by closing, by the use of teeth and main strength. but, as i had learned in my fight that day when i had been stung by the bees, the moral effect of the first rush may be great, and it was in that that my slight advantage in height and reach was likely to be useful, whereas if we came to close quarters slowly the thicker and stockier animal would have the advantage. so i determined to force the fighting with all the fury that i could; and i did. it was he who gave the first blow. as we sidled up close to one another, he let out at me wickedly with his left paw, a blow which, if it had caught me, would undoubtedly have torn off one of my ears. most bears would have replied to that with a similar swinging blow when they got an opening, and the interchange of single blows at arms' length would have gone on indefinitely until one or the other lost his temper and closed. i did not wait for that. the instant the first blow whistled past my head i threw myself on my hind-quarters and launched myself bodily at him, hitting as hard as i could and as fast, first with one paw and then with the other, without giving him time to recover his wits or get in a blow himself. i felt him giving way as the other bear had done, and when we closed he was on his back on the ground, and i was on the top of him. the fight, however, had only begun. i had gained a certain moral effect by the ferocity of my attack, but a bear, when he is fighting in earnest, is not beaten by a single rush, nor, indeed, until he is absolutely unable to fight longer. altogether we must have fought for over an hour. two or three times we were compelled to stop and draw apart, because neither of us had strength left to use either claws or jaw. and each time when we closed again i followed the same tactics, rushing in and beating him down and doing my best to cow him before we gripped; and each time, i think, it had some effect--at least to the extent that it gave me a feeling of confidence, as if i was fighting a winning fight. the deadliest grip that one bear can get on another is with his jaws across the other's muzzle, when he can crush the whole face in. once he very nearly got me so, and this scar on the side of my nose is the mark of his tooth; but he just failed to close his jaws in time. and, as it proved then, it is a dangerous game to play, for it leaves you exposed if you miss your grip, and in this case it gave me the opportunity that i wanted, to get my teeth into his right paw just above the wrist. my teeth sank through the flesh and tendons and closed upon the bone. in time, if i could hold my grip, i would crush it. his only hope lay in being able to compel me to let go, by getting his teeth in behind my ear; and this we both knew, and it was my business with my right paw to keep his muzzle away. a moment like that is terrible--and splendid. i have never found myself in his position, but i can imagine what it must be. we swayed and fell together, and rolled over and over--now he uppermost, and now i; but never for a second did i relax my hold. whatever position we were in, my teeth were slowly grinding into the bone of his arm, and again and again i felt his teeth grating and slipping on my skull as i clawed and pushed blindly at his face to keep him away. more and more desperate he grew, and still i hung on; and while i clung to him in dead silence he was growling and snarling frantically, and i could hear his tone getting higher and higher till, just as i felt the bone giving between my teeth, the growling broke and changed to a whine, and i knew that i had won. one more wrench with my teeth, and i felt his arm limp and useless in my mouth. then i let go, and as he cowered back on three legs i reared up and fell upon him again, hitting blow after blow with my paws, buffeting, biting, beating, driving him before me. even now he had fight left in him; but with all his pluck he was helpless with his crippled limb, and slowly i bore him back out of the open patch where we had been fighting into the woods, and yard by yard up the hill, until at last it was useless for him to pretend to fight any longer, and he turned and, as best he could, limping on three legs, ran. during the whole of the fight the she-bear had not said a word, but sat on the ground watching and awaiting the result. while the battle was going on i had no time to look at her; but in the intervals when we were taking breath, whenever i turned in her direction, she avoided my eye and pretended not to know that i was there or that anything that interested her was passing. she looked at the sky and the trees, and washed herself, or did whatever would best show her indifference. all of which only told me that she was not indifferent at all. now, when i came back to her, she still pretended not to see me until i was close up to her, and when i held out my nose to hers she growled as if a stranger had no right to behave in that way. but i knew she did not mean it; and i was very tired and sore, with blood running from me in a dozen places. so i walked a few yards away from her and lay down. in a minute she came over to me and rubbed her nose against mine, and told me how sorry she was for having snubbed me, and then began to lick my wounds. she told me how splendidly i had fought; and, mauled though i was, i was very proud and happy. she in turn told me all about herself. she was older than i by two years, and the bear that i had beaten was a year older than myself. she had known him for some three weeks only, having met him a few days after her husband and her two children, the first she had ever had, had been killed by a thunder-stick. that was a long way off over there--pointing eastward--and she had been moving away from the neighbourhood of man ever since. that gave us a new bond of sympathy; and i told her about kahwa and myself, and how lonely i had been for the last two summers. now, with her help, i proposed not to be lonely any more. she saw that i was well able to take care of myself and of her, even though i was only three years old. if i filled out in proportion to my height and the size of my bones, there would not be a bear in the forest that would be able to stand up to me by the end of next summer. she told me that she had liked me the moment we met, and had hoped every minute of the fight that i would win, though, of course, it would not have been proper for her to show it. altogether i was happier than i had been since the old days before kahwa was caught. as soon as i was fairly rested, we got up and made our way in the bright moonlight down to the river, so that i could wash the blood off myself and get the water into my wounds. we stayed there for a while, and then returned to the patch and made a supper off the berries, and later wandered into the woods side by side. she was very kind to me, and every caress and every loving thing she did or said was a delight. it was all so wonderfully new. and when at last we lay down under the stars, so that i could sleep after the strain that i had been through, and i knew that she was by me, and that when i woke up i should not be lonely any more, it all seemed almost too good to be true. it was as if i had suddenly come into a new world and i was a new bear. chapter x a visit to the old home when i awoke i found that it was indeed all true, but i was so frightfully stiff that it was not easy to be very happy all at once. i slept straight on all through the morning until late in the afternoon. my new companion had been awake, and had wandered round a little in the early morning, but without awaking me. when i awoke in the afternoon she was asleep by my side. i tried to stand up, but every bone in my body hurt, every muscle ached, and every joint was so stiff that i could almost hear it creak. the fuss that i made in trying to get on to my feet disturbed her, and she helped me up. somehow i managed to stagger along, and we went off for a short ramble in search of food. i could hardly dig at all, but she shared with me the roots she found, and with a few berries we made a sort of a meal; and then i was so tired that we lay down again, and i slept right on till daybreak the following morning. after that i felt myself again. it was days before all the stiffness wore off, and weeks before my wounds were entirely healed; while, as you can see, i carry some of the scars to this day. for some days the bear that i had beaten hung about, in the hope of tempting wooffa (that was what i called my wife, it being my mother's name) to go back to him. but he was a pitiable object, limping about with his broken leg, and i never even offered to fight him again. there was no need for it. wooffa did not wish to have anything to say to him, and she ignored him for the most part unless he came too near, when she growled at him in a way that was not to be misunderstood. i really felt sorry for him, remembering my own loneliness, and realizing that it was probably worse to lose her and have to go off alone, while she belonged to somebody else, than never to have known her at all. after a while he recognised that it was hopeless, and we saw him no more. we ourselves, indeed, did not stay in the same place, but as long as the summer lasted we wandered where we pleased. we suited each other admirably, wooffa and i. we had much the same tastes, with equal cause to hate man and to wish to keep away from his neighbourhood, and we were very nearly of the same size and strength. i never knew a bear that had a keener scent, and she was a marvel at finding honey. in many ways it is a great advantage for two bears to be together, for they have two noses and two sets of eyes and ears, and two can turn over a log or a stone that is too heavy for one. altogether, i now lived better and was much more free from care than i had been; while above all was the great fact of companionship--the mere not being alone. in small ways she used to tyrannize over me, just as mother did over father; but i liked it, and neither of us ever found any tit-bit which was large enough to share without being willing to go halves with the other. the rest of that summer we spent together, and all the next, and i think she was as contented as i. what i had hoped came true, for i increased in weight so much that i do not think there was a bear that we saw that could have held his own against me in fair fight. certainly there was no pair that could have stood up against wooffa and me together; for though not quite so high at the shoulder as i, she was splendidly built and magnificently strong. on her chest she had a white spot or streak, of which she was very proud, and which she kept always beautifully white and well combed. early in the summer of the year after i had met her, i took her to visit my childhood home. it needed a week's steady travelling to get there, and when we arrived in the neighbourhood we found the whole place so changed that i could hardly find my way. it was more than three years since i had seen it, and man had now taken possession of the whole country. for the last day or two of our journey we had to go very carefully, for men's houses were scattered along the banks of every stream, and wherever two streams of any size came together there had grown up a small town. in the burnt district many of the blackened trees were still standing, but the ground was carpeted with brush again, and young trees were shooting up in every direction. the beaver-dams were most of them broken, and those which remained were deserted. on all sides were the marks of man's handiwork. at last we came to the beaver-dam, the pool of which had saved my life in the fire. there were houses close beside the pool, and a large clearing which had been made in the forest was now a grass-field, and in that field for the first time i saw cows. we had already passed several strings of mules and ponies on the mountain-paths which the men had made, each animal carrying a huge bundle lashed on its back; and now we met horses dragging carts along the wide road which had been made along the border of the stream. of course, we did not venture near the road during the day, but stayed hidden well up on the mountain-side, where we could hear the noise of people passing, and in the evening we made our way down. just as we arrived at the road, going very cautiously, a pair of horses dragging a waggon came along. curious to see it, we stayed close by, and peered out from behind the trees; but as they came abreast of us a gust of wind blew the scent of us to the horses, and they took fright and seemed to go mad in one instant. plunging and rearing, they tried to turn round, backing the waggon off the road into a tree. then, putting their heads down, they started blindly thundering up the road, with the waggon swaying and rocking behind them. the man shouted and pulled and thrashed them with his whip, but the horses were too mad with terror to listen to him. on they dashed until there came a turn in the road, when with a crash the waggon collided with a tree. precisely what happened we could not see. bits of the waggon were strewn about the road, while the horses plunged on with what was left of it dangling behind them. but in what was left there was no man. we made our way along the edge of the road to where the crash had taken place, and there among the broken wheels and splinters of the waggon we found the man lying, half on the road and half in the forest, dead. it was some time before we could make up our minds to approach him, but at last i touched him with my nose, and then we turned him over with our paws. we were still inspecting him, when we heard the sound of other men and horses approaching, and before they came in sight we slipped off into the wood. we saw the new horses shy just as the former ones had done, but whether at the smell of ourselves or of the dead man in the road we did not know. the men managed to quiet them, however, and got out of the waggon, and after standing over the dead man for a while they lifted him and took him away with them. we loitered about until it was dark, and then tried to make our way on to where my old home had been. it could not be half a mile away, but that half-mile was beset with houses, and as we drew nearer the houses became thicker, until i saw that it would be useless to go on, for where the cedar-trees used to grow, where the hill-slope was that i had tumbled down, where blacky the squirrel and rat-tat used to live, was now the middle of a town. at the first sign of dawn we made our way back to the beaver-pool, and, crossing the dam again, turned our backs for ever on the neighbourhood where i had spent my childhood. it was no longer bears' country. now for the first time i understood what the coming of man meant to the people of the forest and the mountains. i had, indeed, seen a man-town before, and the men coming and going up and down the streams, but, somehow, it had not occurred to me that where they came they never went away again. these men here, however, with their houses, their roads and cows and horses--they would never go away. they were wiping out the forest: the animals that lived in it had vanished: the very face of the mountains was changed, so that i could not tell the spots that i knew best; and i was sure that we could never drive them out again. i was sorry that i had come to see the old home, and we were a gloomy couple as we started on our return journey southwards. for a long time yet we would have to go cautiously, for man was all around us. along the streams he had been digging, digging, digging, endlessly digging, but what he gained by it we could not comprehend; for we often watched him at work, and he seemed to take nothing out of the ground, nor to eat anything as he dug. when he was not digging, he was chopping trees, either to build more houses, to make dams across the streams, or to break the wood up into pieces to burn. so wherever he came the forest disappeared, and the rivers were disfigured with holes and ditches and piles of gravel on which no green thing grew, and nothing lived that was good to eat. in travelling we kept away from the streams as much as possible, moving along the hillsides, and only coming down to the water when we wished to cross. we had been travelling in this way for some two or three nights, when one morning very early we came down to a stream at a point close by a clump of buildings. the wind was blowing from them to us, and suddenly wooffa threw herself up on her haunches and gasped one word--'pig!' i had heard of pig before, and wooffa had eaten it to her cost; and in spite of the cost she agreed with everyone in saying that young pig is the very best thing there is to eat in all the world. i had often wondered whether some of the best scraps that i had picked up about the houses in the town in the old days might not be pig, and now i know that they were. but they were cooked and salted pig, and not the fresh young pig newly killed, which is the joy of joys to a bear. this it was that wooffa now smelled, and as the scent came to my nostrils i knew that it was something new to me and something very good. the smell came from a sort of pen at one side of the biggest building, not unlike that in which kahwa had been shut up, only the walls were not so high. they were too high to look over, however, and there was no way of climbing up until wooffa helped me, and by standing on her back i was able to see over. it was a small square pen, the floor deep in mud, and at one end was a covered place something like the boxes that men keep dogs in; and in the door of this covered place i could see, asleep, a large black-and-white sow and five little pigs. if i got inside, i saw that i could climb on the roof of the covered part and get out again; so i did not hesitate, but with one scramble i was over and down in the middle of the family. wouff! what a noise they made! but with one smack of my paw i had killed the nearest little one, and grabbed it in my mouth, and in a minute i was up on the covered roof and out with wooffa on the grass outside. we did not stop to eat the pig there, for the others were still squealing as if they were all being killed, and we were afraid that they would wake the men; so we made off as fast as we could into the wood, taking the pig with us. it was as well that we did, for we had not gone far before we heard a door bang and a dog barking, and then the voices of men shouting to each other. we kept on for a mile or so before we stopped, down by the side of a little stream. then we divided the pig fairly, and nothing that i had heard about his goodness had been exaggerated. no; there are many good things in the world--honey and berries and sugar and cooked things; but pig is above all others. so good was he that, if i had been by myself, i think i should have stayed there, and gone down again next night for another, and probably been shot for my pains. but, as wooffa had told me long ago, it was in doing just that very thing that her husband and two children had lost their lives. they had found some pigs kept by men just as we had, and had taken three the first night. the next night they went and got two more; the third night the men were waiting for them, and only wooffa escaped. the smell of the pig when it came to her again after two years had for the moment overcome all her fears; but she told me that she had been terrified all the time that i was in the sty, and nothing on earth would tempt her to risk a second visit. i have said before that greediness is the undoing of nearly all wild animals, and, however much i longed for another taste of pig, i knew that she was right. it was better to go without pig and keep alive. so we set our faces resolutely in the other direction, and kept on our course, vowing that nothing should tempt us to linger in the proximity of man. and very glad we both were when we found ourselves at last once more in a region where as yet man had not been seen, where we could wander abroad as we pleased by night or day, where the good forest smells were still untainted, and where we could lie in the water of the streams at sunset or fish as long as we pleased without thought of an enemy. it was a beautiful autumn that year, and i think, as i look back to it, i was as happy then as ever in my life. there had been a splendid crop of berries, in contrast to the year before, and now, with the long clear autumn, all signs pointed to a hard winter. so we made our preparations for the cold season early, hollowing out our dens carefully side by side under the roots of two huge trees, where they were well sheltered from the wind, and lining them with sticks and leaves. wooffa in particular spent a long time over hers; and afterwards i understood why. it was still bright autumn weather, when the birds flying southwards told us that already snow had fallen to the north, and it was bitterly cold. everyone was talking of the severe winter that was ahead of us, and the wolves and the coyotes had gone to the plains. we were glad we had made our preparations in good time, for, when the winter came, it came, in spite of all that had been said about it, unexpectedly. there was no warning of snow upon the higher peaks, but one night the north wind blew steadily the long night through, and in the morning the winter was on us, settling down on all the country, peak and valley, together. that day we retired into our dens for good. when i came out in the spring, wooffa had not appeared, so i began to scratch away the stuff from the opening of her den, and as i did so i heard new noises inside; and all at once it dawned upon me that i was a father. wooffa had brought me a little kahwa and a little wahka for my own. chapter xi the troubles of a father every young cub, i imagine, gets into about the same amount of trouble and causes about the same worry and anxiety to his parents. i know that little wahka took the earliest possible opportunity of getting himself stuck full of porcupine quills, and i do not suppose he made any more fuss when his mother pulled them out than i had done under similar circumstances five summers before. he nearly drowned himself by tumbling into the swiftest part of the stream that he could find, and when i laughed at him, shivering and whining, while his mother alternately licked and cuffed him on the head, i could not help thinking of my own misery when i went downhill into the snow. as i looked at him, so preposterously small, and fluffy, and brown, it was, as i said at the beginning, hard to believe that i was ever quite like that. but i recognised myself in things that he did fifty times a day. kahwa, too, was exactly like the other little kahwa, her aunt who was dead. wahka would be sitting looking into the air at nothing, as cubs do, when she would steal up behind him and make a sudden grab at his hind-foot. i could remember just how it felt when her teeth caught hold. and he would roll over on his side, squealing, and smack her head until she let go. in a few minutes they were perfectly good friends again hunting squirrels up the trees, and standing down below with open mouths, waiting for them to drop in. i showed them how to play at pulling each other down the hill, and often of an afternoon i would sit with my own back against the tree, and invite them to pull me down. then it was just as it used to be. wahka came at me on one side, slowly and doggedly, almost in silence, but intensely in earnest, while on the other side kahwa rushed on me like a little whirlwind, yapping and snarling, and scuffling all over me with her mouth wide open to grab anything that was within reach--the same ferocious, reckless little spitfire as i had known years ago. they were good children, i think. at all events, wooffa and i were very proud of them, and she used to spend an astonishing amount of time licking them, and combing them, and smacking their little woolly heads. then we began to take them out and teach them how to find food, and what food to eat; that the easiest way to get at a lily bulb is not to scrabble at it with both paws straight down, but to scoop it out with one good scrape from the side; how to wipe off the top of an ant-hill at one smooth stroke; how to distinguish the wild-onion by its smell; and what the young shoots of the white camas look like. they soon learned not to pass any fair-sized stone without turning it over to look for the insects beneath, and also that it is useless to go on turning the same stone over and over again to keep looking at the 'other side.' every fallen log had to be carefully inspected, the bark ripped off where it was rotten to get at the beetles and grubs and wood-lice underneath, and, if it were not too heavy, the log itself should be rolled over. we taught them that, in approaching a log or large stone, one should always sniff well first to see if there is a mouse or chipmunk underneath, and, if there be fresh scent, turn it over with one paw while holding the other ready to strike. mice bothered them dreadfully at first, dodging and zigzagging round their hind-legs, and keeping them hopping in the air, while they grabbed wildly at the little thing that was never where it ought to be when the paw came down to squash it. i shall never forget the first time that wahka found a chipmunk by himself. he lifted a stone very cautiously, with his nose much too close to it, apparently expecting the chipmunk to run into his mouth, which it did not do; but as soon as the stone was lifted an inch it was out and on to wahka's nose, and over his head, down the middle of his back, and off into the wood. wahka really never saw it at all, and was spinning round and round trying to get at the middle of his own back after the chipmunk was a hundred yards away. we took the cubs down to the stream and showed them how to root along the edges among the grass and weeds for frogs and snails, and water-beetles and things, and when the trout came upstream we caught some for them, and showed them how to do it; but fishing is a thing that needs too much patience to commend itself to cubs. wahka did not have any adventure with a puma, but he had one experience which might have been even more serious. he had wandered away from his mother and myself, just as he had been told hundreds of times not to do, when suddenly there was the noise of a scuffle from his direction, and he was screaming with all his might. i was there in a moment, with his mother close behind me, and saw two huge gray wolves which had already rolled him over, and in another instant would have done for him. we charged them, but they were gone before we reached the spot; and beyond a bad shaking and one scar on his shoulder wahka was none the worse. he was a thoroughly frightened cub, however, and it would have taken a great deal of persuasion to make him leave his mother's side for the rest of that day. indeed, it was necessary to be careful for more than that day, because the wolves hung around us, hoping still to catch either him or kahwa alone where they could make away with them. i dislike wolves immensely. in spite of their size and the strength of their jaws, they are cowardly animals, and one wolf will never attack even a much smaller beast than himself alone, if he can get another to help him. bears are not like that. we want to have our fighting to ourselves. we would much rather have any other bear that is near stand and look on instead of coming to help us--unless, of course, it is a case of husband and wife, and one or other is overmatched. what we do, we do in the open, and prefer that people should understand our intentions clearly, and take us just as we are. a wolf is exactly the opposite. he never does anything openly that he can do in secret. he likes to keep out of sight, and hunt by stealth, owing what he gets to his cunning and to superior numbers, rather than to his own individual fighting spirit. we recognise that wolves know many things that we do not; though some of them are things that we would not want to know. and they think us fools--but they keep out of our way. there have indeed, i believe, been cases where a number of wolves together have succeeded in killing a bear--not in fair fight, but by dogging and following him for days, preventing his either eating or sleeping, until from sheer exhaustion he has been unable to resist them when they have attacked him in force and pulled him down. this, however, could not happen in the mountains. the wolves are only there in the summer, and then they run in couples, or alone, or at most in families of two old ones and the cubs together. in the autumn they go down to the foot-hills and the plains, and then it is only in hard weather that they collect in packs. at that time the bears are usually in their winter dens, and all the wolves that were ever born could never get a bear out of his den, where they can reach him only in front. in this case, the wolves which had attacked wahka seldom showed themselves, but that they were constantly near us, and watching us, we knew. with all their cunning, they could not help getting between us and the wind once in a while, and sometimes, when they were a little distance away, we could hear them quarrelling between themselves over some small animal they had killed, or some scrap of food that they had found in the forest. it is not pleasant being shadowed, whether it is your child or yourself that is being hunted, and we had to be extremely cautious not to let either kahwa or wahka out of our sight. nor was it always easy, in spite of his recent fright, to keep the latter under restraint, for he was an independent, self-reliant youngster, of inexhaustible inquisitiveness. one day, when we knew the wolves were following us, and we were keeping wahka well in hand, we met a family of elk,[4] two parents and quite a young fawn, and wahka must needs go and try to find out all about the fawn. he meant no harm whatever, and had no idea that there was any danger. he only thought the fawn would be a nice thing to play with; and before we could stop him he had trotted straight up to it. elk are jealous animals, and, like all deer, in spite of their timidity, will fight to protect their young; and with his tremendous antlers and great strength a big stag is a person to be let alone. wahka knew nothing about all this, and went straight towards the fawn in the friendliest and most confiding way. fortunately, the stag was some yards away, and we were able to put wahka on his guard in time. but it was a narrow escape, and i do not think the stag's antler missed his tail by half an inch. wooffa jumped in the stag's way, and for a minute it looked as if there would be a fight. of course it would have ended in our killing the stag--and probably also his wife and the fawn as well--but one or the other of us would have been likely to have had the end of an antler through the ribs before the fight was over. the stag showed not the slightest intention of running away, though he must have known perfectly well that the odds were hopelessly against him; but he stood facing wooffa, with his head down, snorting and pawing the ground, and telling her to come on. she was so angry at the attack on wahka that for a moment she was inclined to do it, but i spoke to her, and she cooled down, and we moved away, leaving the stag, still pawing the ground and shaking his head, in possession of the field. i have already said that we had had warning that the wolves were hanging about us that day, and we had not gone far after the meeting with the elk before we heard that some sort of trouble was in progress behind. it was not difficult to guess what it was; the snarling and yapping of the wolves, the breaking of branches, and the clashing of the elk's antlers, told the story. the wolves, following us, had made up their minds that the fawn would be easier prey and better eating than a bear-cub; and the stag, we knew, was doing his best to defend his young. we were very much inclined to go down and help the stag; but we stood and listened, and suddenly the noise stopped. the silence that ensued was too much for our curiosity, and back we went. as we came near we knew that the fight could not be altogether over, for there was still a sound of snarling and the angry stamping of a stag, and the sight that at last met our eyes was one that it did us good to see. there was a wide circular open space, in which every living thing had been trampled down, and the ground was all scored and furrowed with the mark of hoof and antler; and in the middle stood the stag, erect and defiant. before him on the ground lay the body of the he-wolf, covered with blood and stamped almost beyond recognition. there was blood--his own blood--on the stag's shoulder, and blood on his horns, which was not his own. at the edge of the circle, lying down and panting, lay the she-wolf, sulky and baffled, and evidently with no mind to go on with the combat alone, though the stag challenged her to come on. when he saw us, the stag perhaps thought that we were new enemies come to take up the cause of the remaining wolf, for he signalled to his wife, who with the fawn was standing behind him, and they began to move slowly away, the deer and fawn going first, and the stag following, moving backwards, and keeping his antlers always towards the enemy, till they had passed out of the circle of cleared space into the trees. the she-wolf lay there till they had passed, turning sulkily to snarl at us once in a while, and then, as we stood still and showed no sign of approaching or attacking her, she got up and walked over to the dead body of her husband, and began turning it over with her nose. next she commenced to lick him, and then, taking the throat in her mouth, deliberately began to bite into it! growling and snarling, she crouched over the body, and we left her to her horrid meal. it was a relief to know that we at least would be no more troubled by her or her husband. on the whole, life went very peaceably with us, as it had done with my parents when kahwa and i were cubs in the days before man came, and before the forest fire drove us into his arms. this year we saw no sign of man. we had no wish to do so, and took care not to go in any direction where we thought we were likely to meet him. once in midsummer we saw the sky to the north of us red for two or three nights with flames in the distance, and i wondered for a while whether history was going to repeat itself; but the wind blew steadily from the south-west, and the fire did not come within many miles of us. it must, i guessed, be somewhere in the neighbourhood of the former fire, and, of course, it is where man is that forest fires are frequent; for man is the only animal that makes fires for himself, and it is from his fires that the flames spread to the woods. sometimes, in very dry seasons, the woods ignite of themselves, but that is rare. of course, as the summer grew, we moved about and wandered abroad as in other years, keeping in the neighbourhood of the streams, sheltering during the heat of the day, and roaming over the mountains in the sweet cool air of the night and morning. we always kept together, though, of course, the little ones clung to their mother more than to me. i was a kind father to them, i think, and i believe they liked and admired me as much as young cubs ought to like and admire their father; but, as is always the case in families like ours, while occasionally one of them, generally kahwa, would wander away from the others with me, usually wooffa and the youngsters kept close together while i moved about alone, though within calling distance, in case i should be needed. sometimes the father bear leaves the family altogether during the early summer months, and either goes alone or joins other he-bears that are solitary like himself; but it is better for the family to stay together. besides, wooffa and i suited each other admirably as hunting companions, and i am not ashamed to confess that i was fond of my children. i began to realize what an anxiety i must have been to my own parents, for one or the other of the cubs was always getting into trouble. they were sitting one day watching wooffa and myself trying to turn over a big log. we had warned them again and again not to stand below a log downhill when we were moving it, but, of course, kahwa had paid no attention, and, as that was the best place from which to watch the operation, down she sat and contentedly awaited results. after two or three efforts we felt the log begin to move, and then, with one heave together, we got it started, and it rolled straight down on kahwa. we had been too busy to notice where she was till we heard her squeal. it might very easily have killed her, and as it was her hind-leg was firmly caught, with the whole weight of the great log resting on it. her mother boxed her ears, while i managed to move the log enough to set her free; but her foot was badly crushed, and she limped more or less for the rest of the summer. on another occasion wahka put his head into a slit in a hollow tree to look for honey, and could not get it out again. i have heard of bears being killed in that way, when the hole is some distance from the ground. the opening will probably be narrower towards the bottom than it is in the middle, and when a bear climbs up to the hole, of course he puts his head in at the widest part. perhaps he slips, and his neck slides down to where the slit is narrower. if he loses his hold altogether, his whole weight comes on his neck, and he breaks it; and even if that does not happen, he may not be able to raise himself and force his neck up to the wider opening again, but has to hang there caught in a trap until he dies. in this case wahka's feet were on the ground, as the hole was quite low down, so there was no danger of his being hanged; but he was so frightened when he found that he could not pull his head out again that it is quite possible that if he had been alone he never would have succeeded in getting loose. but his mother smacked him until he lifted his head a little to where the hole was an inch or so wider, and he was able to pull out. but there was not much hair left on the back of his ears by the time he was free. with all the trouble that they gave us, however, and though i would not have let them know it for worlds, and always made a point of noticing their existence as little as possible, i was proud of my children. wahka, especially, gave promise of growing into a splendid bear, while kahwa was the very image of her mother, even down to the little white streak on her chest, though that did not appear until she got her second year's coat. they were good, straightforward, rollicking youngsters who got all the pleasure out of life that there was to be got, and enjoyed amazingly everything that was good to eat. i shall never forget the first time that we introduced them to a berry-patch; and their first wild-raspberries drove them nearly crazy. they would not go to sleep all next day, though it was blazing hot, but sat up while we slept, and whenever we woke begged to be taken to look for more raspberries. when winter approached, we returned to the place where we had hibernated the previous year. wooffa hollowed out her den to twice its former size, so as to hold herself and both the cubs, and i took my old quarters close by. winter came slowly, and after all our preparations were made we were able to be about for a long time, during which we did nothing but eat and sleep, and gather strength and fatness for the long fast that was coming. footnote [4] the north american elk is the wapiti. chapter xii wiping out old scores i have said more than once that both wooffa and i had made up our minds that we never wished to see man again. looking back now, it is hard to tell what made us depart from that determination; indeed, i am not sure that there was any particular moment at which we did definitely change our minds and decide to go into his neighbourhood once more. it was rather, i think, that we drifted or wandered into it; but we certainly must have known quite well what we were doing. when we started out in the following spring, with wahka and kahwa in their second year, we were a formidable family, without much cause to be afraid of anything. we had no intention of meddling with a grizzly if we happened to meet one, and so long as we kept out of the way of thunder-sticks there was nothing to hurt us. at first we wandered northward with no definite object, but as we got nearer a great curiosity came over me to see the places which i had cause to remember so well--the berry-patch and the house where kahwa had met her death; and also, i believe, there was a vague hope of somehow meeting again my old enemy and being able to square accounts with him. he had threatened me again and again, and i had always had to run from him. moreover, i held him responsible in my mind for kahwa's death. if he had warned us, as decent bears always do warn one another of any danger, when we met him that night on our way to the berry-patch, we should never have gone on, and kahwa would not have been captured. he was coming away from the patch, and he must have known that the men were there. but for mother's help, he would probably have killed father that time when he tried to turn us out of our home. altogether, it was a long list of injuries that i had against him, and i nursed the memory of them. perhaps i should meet him some day, and this time i should not run away. whenever i thought of him, i used to get so angry that i would sit up on my hind-legs and rub my nose in my chest and growl; and wooffa knew what was in my mind, and growled in sympathy with me. so it came about that we travelled steadily northward that summer, going back over much of the same ground as father, mother, and i had travelled when we came away after kahwa's death. sometimes we stayed in one locality for a week, and then perhaps kept moving for a couple of days, until we came to another place which tempted us to loiter. many times we saw man, but he never saw us; for we were old and experienced, and had no trouble in keeping out of his way. we found that he did not always stay wherever he came. some houses, which i remembered passing three years before, we found empty now and in ruins, with the roofs falling in and bushes growing over them. on several streams the beavers told us that they had not seen a man for three years. we now learned, too, something of the reason of man's coming into the mountains. sometimes men's dogs were lost in the woods, or they made friends with coyotes and ran wild; and they told the coyotes all they knew, and from them it spread to the other animals. we met one of these coyotes who had been friends with a dog, and she told us what the dog had told her. it was gold that the men were looking for, yellow, shining stuff that was found in the gravel in the river-beds. what men wanted with it she had no idea, as the dog himself did not know, and it was not good to eat; but they set great store by it, and were always looking for it everywhere, following up the streams and scratching and digging in the beds. if they found no gold in a stream, they left it and went on to another. where they did find it they built houses and stayed, and more men came, and more, until towns grew up, with roads and horses and cows as we had seen. in many ways what the coyote told us agreed with what we had observed for ourselves, so we presumed it was true; though a coyote is too much like a wolf to be safe to trust as a general rule. the next time that we came to a place where the men had been working i thought i would like to see some of the wonderful yellow stuff. there were mounds of earth, and a long ditch running slantwise away from the stream, and nobody seemed to be about; so i scrambled down into the ditch to look if any of the yellow stuff was there. i was walking slowly along, sniffing at the ground and the sides of the ditch, when suddenly out of a sort of cave in one side, and only a few yards from me, came a man! wooffa was just behind me, and the cubs behind her, and he was evidently no less astonished than i, and much more frightened. with one yell, he clambered up the bank before i could make up my mind what to do, and rushed to a small tree or sapling near by, and then for the first time i learned that a man could climb. he went up fast, too, until he got to the first branches, when he stopped and looked down and shouted at us--i suppose with some idea of frightening us. but he had no thunder-stick, and we were not in the least afraid; so we followed him and looked at the tree. it was too thin for us to climb--for a bear has to have something solid to take hold of--or i would certainly have gone up after him. as it was, we sat about for a while looking at him, and waiting to see if he would come down again; but he showed no intention of doing that, and, as we did not know how soon other men might come, we left him and went on our way. but i did not go investigating empty ditches in the daylight any more. one thing that completely puzzled us--as completely as it terrified--was the thunder-stick. what was it? how came man to be able to kill at such distances with it? above all, at what distance could he kill? these questions puzzled me many a time. it was soon after the adventure in the ditch that for the first time we saw a boat. it was coming down the stream with three men in it. at first we thought the boat itself to be some kind of an animal, and that the long oars waving on either side were its legs or wings; but as it came near we saw the men inside, and understood what it was. so we stood and watched it. fortunately, we were out of sight ourselves, or i am afraid to think what might have happened. just opposite to us, on the very top of a pine-tree on the other bank, an osprey which had been fishing was sitting and waiting for the boat to go by. as the boat came alongside of us, one of the men, as he sat, raised a thunder-stick and pointed it at the osprey, and the bird fell dead, even before, as it seemed to us, the thunder-stick had spoken. until then we had had no idea that the thunder-stick could kill up in the air just as well as along the ground; indeed, we had always agreed among ourselves that, in case we should meet a man with a thunder-stick and not have time to get away, we would make for the nearest trees and climb out of his reach. but what was the use of climbing a tree, when we had just seen the osprey killed on the top of one much higher than any that we could climb? this incident made man seem more awful than before. we were now within one night's journey of the places that i knew so well, and in a country where men were on all sides. we kept crossing well-worn trails over the mountains, on which we sometimes saw men, and often when we were lying up during the day we heard the noise of mule-trains passing, the clangle-clangle-clang of the bell round the neck of the leading mule, and the hoarse voices of the men as they shouted at them. now, also, many of the houses were like the one we had seen by the pool at the beaver-dam, with clearings round them in which cows lived and strange green things were growing. on the evening of the day on which the osprey had been shot we came to one of these. i remembered the house from three years ago, but other buildings had been added to it, and round it was a wide open space full of stuff that looked like tall waving grass, which i now know was wheat. there was a fence all round it, made of posts with barbed wire stretched between, and it was the first time that we had seen barbed wire. wahka, with his inquisitiveness, was the first to find out what the barbed wire was. he found out with his nose. when he had stopped grumbling and rubbing his nose on the ground, and could explain what was the matter, i tried it, more cautiously than he had done, but still sufficiently to make my nose bleed. we walked nearly all round the field, and everywhere was the horrid wire with its vicious spikes. but we wanted to get into the field because we were sure that the long, waving, yellowing wheat would be good to eat. at last an idea occurred to wooffa, who took the top of one of the posts in her two paws, and throwing, her whole weight back, wrenched it clean out of the ground. still the wire held across, and i had to treat the next post in the same way, and then the next. both she and i left tufts of our hair on the sharp points, but the wire was now lying on the ground where we could step over it; so we waded shoulder-high into the wheat, and before we left the field it was gray dawn, and we had each of us, i think, eaten more than we had eaten before in all our lives. we had trampled all over the field munching and munching and munching at the wheat-ears, which were full and sweet and just beginning to ripen. then we went down to the stream for a drink, and by the time the sun was up we were three or four miles away in the mountains. the children pleaded to be allowed to go there again next night, but that was a point which we had settled that evening when we had caught the pig. never again would we go back to a place where we had taken anything of man's which he could miss, and where he might be prepared for a second visit. so we went cautiously onward the next evening, with the signs of man's presence always around us. almost half the trees had been chopped down; there were trails over the mountains in all directions, and houses everywhere by the streams, from which men's voices came to us until late at night. silently, in single file, we threaded our way, i leading, and wooffa bringing up the rear. bears that had not our experience would certainly have got into trouble; but i knew man, and was not terrified at his smell or the sound of his voice, and knew, too, that all that was needed was to keep out of his sight and move quietly. mile by mile we pushed on without mishap, but there were so many men, and things had changed so much that, remembering the visit to my first home, i doubted whether i should be able to recognise the berry-patch when i came to it; when suddenly there it was in front of me! the trees all round it had been cut down, so that it came into view sooner than i had expected; but when i looked upon it i saw that it had hardly changed. the moon was high overhead, and the patch glistened in the light, as of old. across the middle ran a hard brown roadway which was not there in the old days; but otherwise all was the same. i was standing almost on the spot from which we had watched kahwa being dragged away, and the scene was nearly as distinct to me as it had been at that time. we did not go down into the patch. the trees around the edges had been so much thinned out that it was less easy to approach in safety; so we contented ourselves with wandering round and eating such fruit as remained on the scattered bushes which grew among the trees on the outskirts of the wood. it was already after midnight, and we only stayed for an hour or so, and then i led the way back into the hills, intending to go and see if our old lair, for which my father and mother had had to fight in the former days, was still untouched by man and would afford us safe shelter for the coming day. as i did so, my thoughts went back to that morning, and i growled to myself; for i was thinking of my old enemy, and wondering whether i should ever have the opportunity of avenging the old injuries. and, lo! even as i was wondering the opportunity came. wahka had strayed from the path, and suddenly i heard him growling; and a moment later he came running to my side, and out of the brush behind him loomed the figure of another bear. i knew him in a moment, and it was characteristic of him that he should have attacked a cub like wahka--not, of course, knowing that it was the grandchild of the pair whom he had tried to dispossess of their home so long before. as he saw the rest of us, he stopped in his pursuit of wahka, and stood up on his hind-legs growling angrily; and as i measured him with my eyes i realized how much bigger i must be than my father, for this bear, who had towered over my father, was not an inch taller or an ounce heavier than i. we were as nearly matched as two bears could be; but i had no doubt of my ability to punish him, for i had right on my side, and had waited a long time for this moment, and would fight as one fights who is filled with rage at old wrongs that are left to him to redress. and i did not leave him long in any doubt as to my intentions, but walked straight towards him, telling him as i did so that i had been looking for him, and that the time had come for the settling of old scores. he understood who i was, and was just as ready to fight as i. i am not going to trouble you with an account of another fight. i pursued my old plan, and he had been so used to have other bears make way for him, and fight only under compulsion, that i think my first rush surprised him so much that it gave me even more advantage than usual. big and strong as he was, the issue was never in doubt from the start; for i felt within myself that my fury made me irresistible, and from the moment that i threw myself on him he never had time to breathe or to take the initiative. he was beaten in a few minutes, and he knew it; but he fought desperately, and with a savageness that told me that if he had won he would have been satisfied with nothing less than my life. but he was not to win; and whimpering, growling, bleeding, and mad with shame and rage, i drove him back, and it was only a question of how far i chose to push my victory. [illustration: from the moment i threw myself on him he never had time to breathe.] i let him live; but he went away torn and crippled, with his spirit broken and his fighting days over. never again would he stand to face a full-grown bear. for years he had made everything that he met move aside from his path in the forest, and he had used his strength always for evil, to domineer and to crush and to tyrannize. thenceforward he would know what it was to be made to stand aside for others, to yield the right of way, and to whine and fawn on his fellows; for a bear once broken in body and spirit, as i broke him, is broken for good. i was not hurt beyond a few flesh wounds, which wooffa licked for me before we slept; and it was with a curious sense of satisfaction and completeness, as if the chief work of my life were now well done, that i lay down in the old lair which had so many associations for me, with my wife and well-grown children by me, and rested through the heat of the following day. chapter xiii the trap the old neighbourhood was no place for us to stay in, however satisfactory our brief visit to it had been. it was man's country now, and there were no other bears in the vicinity. my enemy of the night before, being old and cunning and solitary, had managed to live there unscathed year after year, after the other bears had all gone away or been killed; but for us, a family of four, of whom two were inexperienced youngsters not yet two years old, it was different. many times during the day men passed not far from us, and the distant sounds of their voices and the chopping of axes was in our ears all day. so we remained under cover till well into the night, when man's eyes are useless, and then we started out silently, and, as our custom was when moving through dangerous country, in single file, with the cubs between wooffa and myself. the end of that summer was very hot, and partly for the coolness, and partly, also, to get as far away from man as possible, we went northward and up into higher ranges of the mountains than we usually cared to visit. as we climbed upwards, the trees grew smaller and further apart, until, just below the extreme top, they ceased altogether. above the tree-line rose what looked from below like the ordinary rounded summit of a mountain with rocky sides, and even at this time of year small patches of snow still lingered in the sheltered spots. as we came out on the top, however, instead of the rounded summit which we expected, the ground broke suddenly away before our feet, and below us, blue and still and circular, lay a lake. the mountain was no more than a shell or a gigantic cup, filled to within fifty feet of its rocky brim with the clearest of water. i had seen a similar lake in the year when i roamed alone before i met wooffa, and my father had told me long ago that there were many of these mountain lakes round us, though, of course, we could not see them from below. here on these lonely summits live the mountain-sheep and mountain-goat. round the edge of the water their feet had beaten a regular trail, and in the rough crevices of the bark of the last of the trees, tufts of white wool were sticking where the goats had rubbed themselves against the trunks. as we stood on the edge of the thin lip of rock, a sheep with its great curved horns that had been drinking at the lake scrambled in alarm up the further side, and, standing for a minute against the skyline opposite, disappeared over the edge; and though we lived there for nearly two months, and smelled them often and heard them every night, we never saw one again except clear across the whole width of the lake. they were probably right in keeping away from us, because a young mountain sheep--well, though i had never tasted one, it somehow suggested thoughts of pig. at one side there was a break in the rocky wall or rim of the cup, and through this the water trickled, to swell gradually, as it went on down the mountain, into a stream, which, joining with other streams, somewhere became, no doubt, a river. at the point where the water flowed out of the lake, the hillside was strewn with huge boulders and fragments of rock down to below the timber-line, and here among these rocks, where the brush grew over them and the stream tumbled by, was an ideal place to spend the remaining hot weather; and here we stayed. man, we were sure, had never been here, nor was he likely to come, and we wandered carelessly and without a shadow of fear. before the cold weather came our family broke up. we did not quarrel; but it is in the course of nature that young bears, when they are able to take care of themselves, should go out into the world. wahka was no longer a cub, and there is not room in one family for two full-grown he-bears. on the other hand, wooffa and kahwa had not of late got on well together. my wife, as is the way of women, was a little jealous of my affection for kahwa, and--well, sometimes i am bound to say that i thought wooffa spent rather too much time with wahka and forgot my existence. so on all accounts it was better that we should separate. i had been driven away by my father when i was a year younger than wahka was now, but i do not blame him; for the disappearance of kahwa--the first kahwa--and living away from home and nightly wanderings in the town, had made a breach between us. now, at the separation from my son, there was no bad feeling, and one day by common consent he and kahwa went away not to return. i had no apprehension that they would not be able to take care of themselves; and as for me, wooffa was company enough, and we were both glad to have each other all to ourselves again. soon after the children had gone, the chill in the wind gave warning that winter was not far away, and we began to move down towards the lower levels; for on the mountain-tops it is too exposed and cold, and the snow stays too long to make them a good winter home. as we looked up a few days later to the peak which we had left, we saw it standing out against the dull sky, not yellow-grey and rocky as we had left it, but all gleaming white and snow-covered. for a day or two more we followed the streams down to the lower country, and then made our dens beneath the roots of two upturned trees close together. and again, as two years before, wooffa spent much time and great care over the lining of hers, making it very snug and soft and warm. and next spring there were two more little ones--another woolly brown wahka, and another kahwa, just as woolly and just as brown--to look after and teach, and protect from porcupines and pumas and wolves, and make fit for the struggle of life. i am not going to attempt to tell you any stories of the early days of the new cubs, for the events of a bear's babyhood are always much alike, and it is not easy, looking back, to distinguish one's later children from one's first; and i should probably only tell over again stories of the wahka and kahwa of two years before. they were healthy, vigorous cubs, the new little ones, and they tumbled and played and were smacked, and blundered their way along somehow. but it was a terrible year, with late snows long after spring ought to have begun; and then it rained and rained all the summer. there was no berry crop, insects of all kinds had been killed by the late cold and were very scarce, every stream stayed in flood, so that the fish never came up properly, and there was none of the usual hunting along the exposed herbage as the streams went down in the summer heat. it was, as i said, a terrible year, and food was hard to get for a whole family. we were driven to all sorts of shifts, and then, to make matters worse, long before the usual time for winter came, bitter frosts set in. driven by hunger and the necessity of finding food for the little ones we did what we had thought never to do again, and once more went down to the neighbourhood of man. we were not the only ones that did so, for the animals were nearly all driven out of the mountains, and the bears, especially, congregated about the settlements of man in search of food. wherever we went we found the same thing, the bears coming out at night to hunt round the houses for food; and many stories we heard of their being shot when greedily eating meat that had been placed out for them, or when sniffing round a house or trying to take a pig. now, too, man brought a new weapon beside his thunder-stick--huge traps with steel jaws that were baited with meat and covered with sticks and twigs and earth, so that a bear could not see them; but when he went to take the meat the great toothed jaws closed round his leg, and then he found that the trap was chained to a neighbouring log which he had to drag round with him till the men came out and killed him with their thunder-sticks. having been told all about it, when we came one day to a large piece of a young pig lying on the ground, i made the others stand away while i scratched cautiously round and pushed sticks against the pig, carefully keeping my own paws out of the way. even as it was, when the steel jaws came together with a snap that made the whole trap leap into the air as if it was alive, they passed so near my nose that i shudder now when i think of it. but we ate the pig. and that happened two or three times, until the men took the trap away from that particular place. another time i had a narrow escape on approaching a house at night. we had been there several times, and usually picked up some scraps of stuff that was good. i always went down first alone to see if all was safe, leaving the others in the shelter of the woods, and on this occasion i was creeping stealthily up to the house, when suddenly, from behind a pile of chopped wood, a thunder-stick spoke and i felt a sudden pain in my shoulder. i was only grazed, however, and scrambled back to wooffa and the cubs in safety. but we did not visit that house any more, and i heard that a few days after another bear that went down just as i had gone was killed by a thunder-stick from behind the same pile of wood. in the long-run, however, a bear is no match for man. it was a dangerous life that we were living, and we knew it; but both wooffa and i had had more than ordinary experience of man, and we believed we could always escape him. besides, what else were we to do? it is doubtful if we could have lived in the mountains that winter, and we had our cubs to look after. in the old days before man came, when, as once in many years, the weather drove us from the mountains, we could have gone down to the foot-hills and the plains, and found food there; but man now barred our way, and the only thing that we could do was to go where he was, and live on such food as we could get. much of that food was only what was thrown away, but much of it also we deliberately stole. more than one cornfield we visited, and in the fenced enclosures round his houses we found strange vegetables that were good to eat; but we had to break down fences to get them. we stole pigs, too, and twice when dogs attacked us we had to kill the dogs. once we found half a sheep, which had been killed by man, lying on the ground, as if man had forgotten it. we ate it, and were all dreadfully ill afterwards. then we knew that it had been poisoned and put out for us; but, fortunately, the poison was not enough to kill four of us, though, i suppose, if any one of us had eaten the whole, that one would have died. after that we never touched large pieces of meat which we found lying about. it was, as i have said, a dangerous life, and we knew it; but we were driven to it, and we trusted to our experience, our cunning, and our strength, to pull us through somehow. winter came, and we ought to have gone to our dens, but we were not fit for it. we were too poorly fed and thin, and hunger would probably have driven us out in midwinter. it was better to stay out now. so we stayed, keeping for the most part in the immediate neighbourhood of a number of men's houses along a certain stream. it was not a town, though there was one a few miles further down the stream; but for a distance of a mile or more on both sides of the water there were houses every hundred yards or so, and all day long men were at work digging and working in the ground along by the water looking for gold. we had kept all other bears away from the place, and, living in the mountains during the day, we used to come down at night, never going near the same house on two nights in succession, but being sometimes on one side of the stream, which was easily crossed, and sometimes on the other, and paying our visits wherever we thought we were least likely to be expected. some nights we would not go near the houses at all, but would content ourselves with such food as we could find in the woods, though now in the bitter cold it was hard to find anything. early one morning, after one of these nights when we had kept away from the houses, we came across a trap. it evidently was a trap, because there was the bait put out temptingly in plain sight, not on the ground this time, but about a foot from the ground, tied to a stick. the curious thing about it was, however, that the whole affair was inside some sort of a house; or, rather, there were the three walls and roof of a small house, but there was no front to it--that was all open; and there, well inside, was the bait. i did not know why men had been at so much pains to build the house round the trap, but i had no doubt that if i approached the bait with proper caution, and scratched at it, the steel jaws would spring out as usual from somewhere, and then we could eat the meat. and we were all four distressingly hungry. [illustration: it was evidently a trap.] so i told the others to stay behind while i went into the house and sprung the trap and brought the meat out to them. i went in, and began to scratch about on the ground where i supposed the usual trap to be; but there was nothing there but the hard, dry earth. this puzzled me, but the lump of meat tied to the stake was an obvious fact; and i was hungry. at last, since, scratch as i would, no steel jaws appeared from anywhere, nor was there any place where they could be concealed, nothing remained but to take the meat boldly. i reached for it with my paw, but it was firmly tied; so i took it in my mouth and pulled. as i did so i heard a sudden movement behind me. a log had fallen behind me, almost blocking up the door. well, i would move that away when i had the meat, i thought, and, seizing it firmly in my mouth, i tore it from its fastenings and turned to take it to the others waiting outside. but the log across the door was bigger than i thought; it completely blocked my passage, and when i gave it a push it did not yield. still, i had no uneasiness. i pushed harder at the log, but it did not move. i tried to pull it inward, but it remained unshaken. i sniffed all along it and round it, and round the other walls of the small house, and was puzzled as to what to do next. so i called to wooffa, who came outside and began sniffing round, too. remembering how i had released kahwa from her pen, i told wooffa to lift the latch; but there was no latch, she said. this was growing tiresome, and then, all of a sudden, it dawned on me. _this_ was the trap--this room! there was no steel thing with jaws; no poisoned meat; nothing but this house, which itself was the trap, left open at one side so that i might walk in, and so arranged that as i pulled at the meat the heavy log dropped, shutting the open door, and dropped in such a way that the strength of ten bears would not move it. this was the trap, and i--i was caught! that i was really, hopelessly, and finally caught i could not, of course, believe at first. there was some mistake--some way out of it. i had outwitted man so often that it was not to be thought of that he had won at last. and round and round the small space i went again and again, always coming back to the cracks above the fallen log to scratch and strain at them without the smallest result. outside wooffa was doing the same. i was inclined to lose my temper with her at first, believing that if i was outside in her place i could surely find some way of making an opening; but i saw that she was trying as hard to let me out as i was to get out myself. and then i heard the cubs beginning to whimper, as they comprehended vaguely what had happened, and saw their mother's fruitless efforts and her evident distress. then i began to rage. i remember taking the meat in my mouth and, without eating a morsel, rending it into small bits. i found the stick to which it had been tied and broke it with my jaws into a hundred pieces. i attacked the walls and the door furiously, beating them with my paws blow after blow that would have broken a bear's neck, and tearing at the logs with my teeth till my gums were cut so that my mouth ran blood. and outside, as they heard me raging within, not the cubs only but wooffa also whimpered and tore the ground with teeth and claws. we might as well have stormed at the sky or the mountains. the house stood, none the worse, and i was as far from freedom as ever. by this time the night had passed and dawn had come. i could smell it, and see through the chinks that the air was lightening outside. and then outside i heard a new sound, a sound that filled me with rage and fear--the barking of a dog. nearer it came and nearer, and i heard the voice of a man calling; but the dog was much nearer than the man, evidently running ahead of him, and evidently also coming straight for the trap. in another minute the dog had caught sight of the bears outside, for i heard the snarling rush of an angry dog, and with it wahka growling as the dog attacked him. the shouting of the man's voice grew nearer, and then, mingled with the noise of the fight between wahka and the dog, i heard the angry 'wooffing' of wooffa's voice. the dog's voice changed as it turned to attack this more formidable enemy, but suddenly its barking ended in a yelp, followed by another and another, which slowly faded away into what i knew were its death-cries. what could any dog expect who dared to face such a bear as wooffa fighting for her children? but the last of the dog's death-cries were drowned by the most awful of all sounds, the voice of the thunder-stick; and my heart leaped as i heard wahka cry out in what i knew was mortal agony. then came wooffa's voice again, and in such tones that i pitied anyone who stood before her. again the thunder-stick spoke, and i heard what i knew was wooffa charging. i heard her growling in her throat in what was almost a roar, and the crashing of bushes and the shouts of the man's voice, and more crashing of bushes, which died away in the distance down the hillside. then all was silent except where somewhere in the rear of the house, little kahwa whimpered miserably to herself. all this i heard, and most of it i understood, standing motionless and helpless inside the trap, powerless to help my wife and children when in such desperate straits within a few yards of me. as the silence fell and the tension was relaxed, i fell to raging again, with a fury tenfold greater than before, tearing and beating at the walls, rending great lumps of fur out of myself with my claws, biting my paws till the blood ran, and filling the air with my cries of helpless anger. at last through the noise that i was making i heard wooffa's voice. she had returned, and was speaking to me from outside. brokenly--for she was out of breath, and in pain--she told me the story. wahka was dead, and the dog. the latter she had killed with her paw; the former had been slain by the first stroke of the thunder-stick. then she had charged at the man, who, however, was a long way off. the thunder-stick had spoken again, and had broken her leg. as she fell, the man had turned to run; she had followed, but he had a start, and, with her broken leg, she could not have caught him without chasing him right up to his house. but he had thrown the thunder-stick away as he ran, and that she had found and chewed into small pieces before returning to me. and now her leg was utterly useless, here was kahwa a helpless cub: what was she to do? there was only one thing for her to do: to make good her own escape with kahwa if possible. but how about me? she asked. i must remain. there was no alternative, and she could do no good by staying. with her broken leg, she could not help me against the men, who would undoubtedly return in force, and she would only be sacrificing kahwa's life and her own. she must go, and at once. she knew in her heart that it was the only thing, and very reluctantly, for kahwa's sake, she consented. there was no time for long farewells; and there was no need of them, for we knew that we loved each other, and, whatever came, each knew that the other would carry himself or herself staunchly as a bear should. so she went, and i heard her stumbling along with her broken leg, and kahwa whining as she trotted by her mother's side. i knew that, even if they escaped with their lives, i should in all probability never hear of it. i listened till the last sound had died away and it was so still outside that it seemed as if everything in the forest must be dead. my rage had passed away, and in its place was an unspeakable loneliness and despair; and i sat myself up in the furthest corner of the narrow house, with my back against the wall and my face to the door, and, with my muzzle buried in my chest, awaited the return of the enemy. chapter xiv in the hands of man it seemed to me that i waited a long time; but it cannot have been really long, for it was not yet noon when i heard again the barking of dogs, and the voices of men approaching. they walked round and round the trap, and tried to peer through the crevices, and they let off their thunder-sticks, presumably to make me give some sign that i was inside. but i remained crouching in the corner silent. then i heard them on the roof. a sudden ray of light pierced the half-darkness, and in another moment one of the logs from the roof had been lifted off, and thrown upon the ground outside, and the sunlight poured in upon me. i heard a shout from one of the men, and, looking up out of the corners of my eyes, i saw their heads appearing in the opening above, one behind the other. but i did not move nor give any sign that i was alive. the next thing i knew was that a rope dropped on me from above. it had a loop at the end which fell across my head; and remembering kahwa, and how she had been dragged away with ropes about her, i raised a paw and pushed the thing aside. somehow, as i did so, the loop fell over my paw, and when i tried to shake it off it slipped, and ran tight about my wrist, and the men at the other end jerked it till it cut deep into the flesh. then i lost my temper, and when a second rope fell on me i struck at it angrily with my free paw, but only with the same result. both my paws were now fast, the two ropes passing out through the roof, one at one side and one at the other; and as the men pulled and jerked on them inch by inch, in spite of all my strength, my arms were gradually stretched out full spread on either side of me, and i was helpless, held up on my hind-legs, unable to drop my fore-feet to the floor, and unable to reach the rope on either side with my teeth. then i lost all control of myself, and i remember nothing of the struggle that followed, except that everything swam red around me, and i raged blindly, furiously, impotently. in the end another rope was fast to one of my hind-legs, and another round my neck. then, i know not how, they lifted the log, which wooffa and i had been unable to budge, away from the door, and, fighting desperately, i was dragged out into the open, and so, yard by yard, down, down the mountain towards their houses. i was utterly helpless. four of the men walked, two on either side of me, each having hold of the end of a rope, and all the ropes were kept taut. if i stopped, the two dogs that they had with them fell upon my heels and bit, and i could not turn or use a paw to reach them. if i tried to charge at the men on either side, my feet were jerked from under me before i could move a yard. and somewhere close behind me all the while, i knew, walked the last man, with a thunder-stick in his hand, which might speak at any minute. it was nearly evening by the time that they had dragged me the mile or so to where their houses were. as we came near, other men joined us, until there must have been thirty or more; but the original four still held the ropes, and they dragged me into one of the buildings, several times larger than the trap, and, making holes in the walls between the logs, they passed the ends of the ropes through them and made them fast outside, so that i was still held in the same position, with my two arms stretched out on either side of me and the ropes cutting into the flesh. so they left me. they left me for two days and two nights. often they came in and looked at me and spoke to me, and once the ropes were slackened for a minute or two from the sides, and a large pail of water was pushed within my reach. i think they saw that i was going mad from thirst, as certainly i was. i plunged my face into the water and drank, and as soon as i ceased the ropes were pulled tight and the pail was taken away. it was not until the third day that i had a mouthful to eat, when the same thing was repeated: the ropes were slackened for a while, and both food and drink were pushed up to me. i was allowed a longer time to make the meal, but, as soon as i had finished, the ropes were tightened once more. two days later i was given another meal; and then two days and another. but i was never given as much food as i wanted, but only enough to keep me alive. by this time i had come to distinguish the men apart, and one i saw was the master of the others. he it was who always brought me my food, and--i am ashamed to confess it--i began to look forward to his coming. kill him? yes, gladly would i have killed him, had he put himself within my reach; but i saw that he meant me no harm. the tone of his voice when he spoke to me was not angry. whenever he spoke he called me 'peter,' and i came to understand that this was the name he had given me. when he came to the door and said 'peter,' i knew that food was coming. i hated him thoroughly; but it seemed that he was all that stood between me and starvation, and, however much he made me suffer, i understood that he did not intend to kill me or wish to let me die. then i remembered what kahwa had said about the man who gave her food and used to play with her, and i began to comprehend it. no one ever attempted to play with me, or dared to put themselves within reach of my paws; but after a while this man, the man whom i in my turn now thought of as peter, when my paws were safely bound and the ropes taut, would come to me and lay his hand upon my head, taking care to keep well away out of reach of my teeth. he rarely came to see me, at any time of the day or night, without bringing me lumps of sugar, which he held out to my mouth on the end of a piece of board so that i could lick them off; and after a while he gave me meals every day, and i was less hungry. then one day another rope was slipped over my nose, so that i could not bite, and, while all the ropes were stretched to their uttermost and i could not move an inch, peter put a heavy collar round my neck, to which was fastened a chain that i could neither break nor gnaw. and when that had been firmly fastened round one of the logs in the wall, the ropes were all taken off. wow-ugh! the relief of it! both my wrists and one of my ankles where the ropes had been were cut almost to the bone, and horribly painful; but though it was at first excruciating agony to rest my weight on my front-feet, the delight of being able to get on all fours again, and to be able to move around to the full length of the chain, was inexpressible. i had not counted the days, but it must have been over a month since i was captured, and all that time i had been bound so that, sleeping or waking, i was always in the same position, sitting on my haunches, with the ropes always pulling at my outstretched arms. for another month and more i was kept in the same building, always chained and with the collar round my neck, until one day they tried to put the ropes on me again; but i was cunning now, and would not let them do it. i simply lay down, keeping my nose and paws in the earth, and, as long as a rope was anywhere near me, refused to move either for food or drink. but a bear is no match for men. they appeared to give up all attempts to put ropes on me, until a few days later they brought a lump of wool on the end of a long stick, and pushed it into my face till i bit at it and worried it. it was soaked in something the smell of which choked me and made me dizzy, and when i could hardly see, somehow they slipped a sack over my head that reeked with the same smell, and the next thing i knew was that i must have been asleep for an hour or more and the ropes were on all my legs again. when they began to drag me out of the building, i resisted at first; but i soon knew it was useless, so i made up my mind to go quietly, and they took me away, down the stream and over mountains for several days and nights, until one evening we came to a town and they dragged me into a box nearly as big as a house, and bigger than the trap in which i had been caught. and soon the box began to move. i know now that i was on the railway. we travelled for days and days, out of the mountains into the plains, where for three days there were no trees or hills, but only the great stretch of flat yellow land. i had no idea that there was so much of the world. from the railway i was put on a boat, and from the boat back on the railway, and from that back on a boat again. for nearly a month we were constantly moving, always as far as i could tell, in the same direction; and yet we never came to the end of the world. during this time peter was always with me or close at hand. he gave me all my meals, and when other men took the ropes to lead me from the railway to the boat or back again, if i got angry, he spoke to me, and for some reason, though i hardly know why myself, it calmed me. it was not until i had been in the gardens here, in this same cage, for some days that at last he went away and never came back. that was two years ago. when he went away, the new peter took charge of me, and he has been here ever since. two years! it is a long time to be shut up in a cage. but i mind it less than i did at first. why does man do it? i do not understand; nor can i guess what i am wanted for. i stay here in the cage all the time, and peter brings me meals and cleans the cage, one half at a time, when i am shut up in the other half; and crowds of people come and walk past day after day, and look at me, and give me all sorts of things to eat--some quite ridiculous things, like paper bags and walnut-shells and pocket-handkerchiefs. peter, i believe, means to be kind to me always, and i think he is proud of me, from the way he brings people to look at me. but how could you expect me to be friendly to man after all that i have suffered at his hands? even peter, as i have said, never comes into the same half of the cage with me. i have often wondered what i would do if he did. twice only have men come within my reach when my paws have been free, and neither of them will ever go too near a bear again. but i am not sure whether i would hurt peter or not. i like him to scratch my head through the bars. twice since i have been here they have given me a she-bear as a companion, and she has tried to make friends with me; but they had to take her away again. let them bring me wooffa if they think i am lonely. and i am lonely at times--in spring and summer especially, when it is hot and dusty, and i remember how wooffa and i used to have the cool forests to wander in at nights, and the thick, moist shade of the brush by the water's edge to lie in during the day. then i get sick for the scent of the pines, and the touch of the wet bushes, and the feel of the good soft earth under my claws. and sometimes in the heat of the day i hear the scream of an eagle from somewhere round there to the right (it is in a cage, i suppose, like myself, for it calls always from the same place, and i never hear a mate answering), and it all comes back to me--the winding streams and the beaver-dams, with the kingfishers, black and white, darting over the water, and the osprey sitting and screaming from its post on the pine-top. and at night sometimes, when the wolves howl and the deer whistle, or the whine of a puma reaches my ears--all caged, i suppose--the longing for the old life becomes almost intolerable. i yearn for the long mountain-slopes, with the cool night-wind blowing; and the stately rows of trees, black-stemmed and silver-topped in the moonlight; and the noise of the tumbling streams in one's ears, when all the world was mine to wander in--mine and wooffa's. yes, i want freedom; but i want wooffa most. and i do not even know, and never shall know now, whether she and kahwa escaped with their lives that day, when i could not get to her even to lick the blood from her broken leg. but, on the other hand, these thoughts only come when some external sight or sound arouses them in me, and at ordinary times i am content. i have enough to eat, which, after all, is the main thing in life, and am saved the work of finding food for myself. i never know real hunger now, as sometimes i knew it in the old days when the frost was on the ground; and there is no need now to hibernate. my first winter here i started, as a matter of habit, and scratched the sawdust and stuff into a heap in that corner over there. but what was the use, when it never got cold and my meals came every day? my claws are growing horribly long from lack of use, because there is nothing here to dig for; and i know i am getting fat from want of exercise. but it is pleasant enough lying and dreaming of the old days; and, after all, perhaps i have lived my life. there is nothing that i look back upon with shame. it was not my fault that my sister kahwa died; for i did my best to save her. even if the later little kahwa perished, still, i sent one son and a daughter out into the world, fit i think, to hold their own. above all, i avenged the old insult to my parents. what more could i have done had i had my freedom longer? it is all good to remember, and, except when i long for wooffa, i am content. the end billing and sons, ltd., printers, guildford note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see 15276-h.htm or 15276-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/5/2/7/15276/15276-h/15276-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/5/2/7/15276/15276-h.zip) bears i have met--and others by allen kelly illustrations by ernest thompson seton, w. h. loomis, homer davenport, walt. mcdougall, charles nelan, w. hofacker, will. chapin and the author philadelphia drexel biddle, publisher 1903 [frontispiece: photograph of allen kelly] [illustration: letter to allen kelly from ernest thompson seton.] contents chapter i. the california grizzly ii. the story of monarch iii. chronicles of clubfoot iv. mountain charley v. in the valley of the shadow vi. when grizzlies ran in droves vii. the adventures of pike viii. in the big snow ix. boston's big bear fight x. yosemite xi. the right of way xii. well heeled xiii. smoked out xiv. a cry in the night xv. a campfire symposium xvi. brainy bears of the pecos xvii. when monarch was free xviii. how old pinto died xix. three in a boat xx. a providential prospect hole xxi. killed with a bowie xxii. a denful of grizzlies illustrations portrait of the author. sketch of monarch.----ernest thompson seton. the largest captive grizzly.----from a photograph. feasting upon a big steer.----a. k. chained to trees every night. prepared to pluck foster.----w. h. loomis. long brown moved just in time.----w. h. loomis. the bear swung trap, chain and clog.----w. h. l. and a. k. she lunged forward to meet the charge.----w. hofacker. a bully saddle bear.----homer davenport. the bears inspected the pigs in clover.----chas. nelan. pinto looked down on the platform.----will chapin. watching the man in the tree.----will chapin. the grizzly chewed his arm.----a. k. he had seen the bears.----walt mcdougall. preface these bear stories were accumulated and written during a quarter of a century of intermittent wanderings and hunting on the pacific slope, and are here printed in a book because they may serve to entertain and amuse. most of them are true, and the others--well, every hunter and fisherman has a certain weakness, which is harmless, readily detected and sympathetically tolerated by others of the guild. the reader will not be deceived by the whimsical romances of the bear-slayers, and he may rest assured that these tales illustrate many traits of the bear and at least one trait of the men who hunt him. one of the most amiable and well-behaved denizens of the forest, bruin has ever been an outlaw and a fugitive with a price on his pelt and no rights which any man is bound to respect. like most outlawed men, he has been supplied with a reputation much worse than he deserves as an excuse for his persecution and a justification to his murderers. his character has been traduced in tales of the fireside and his disposition has been maligned ever since the female of his species came out of the woods to rebuke irreverence to smooth-pated age. every man's hand has been against him, but seldom has his paw been raised against man except in self-defense. a vegetarian by choice and usually by necessity, bruin is accused of anthropophagy, and every child is taught that the depths of the woodland are infested by ravening bears with a morbid taste for tender youth. poor, harried, timid ursus, nosing among the fallen leaves for acorns and beechnuts, and ready to flee like a startled hare at the sound of a foot-fall, is represented in story and picture as raging through the forest with slavering jaws seeking whom he may devour. yet the man does not live who can say truthfully that he ever was eaten by a bear. possibly there have been bears of abnormal or vitiated tastes who have indulged in human flesh, just as there are men who eat decayed cheese and "high" game, but the gustatory sins of such perverts may not be visited justly on the species. there are few animals so depraved in taste as to dine off man except under stress of famine, and bruin is not one of the few. he is no epicure, but he draws the line at the lord of creation flavored with tobacco. i have a suspicion that some of the tales told around campfires and here set down might be told differently if the bears could talk. it is a pity they can't talk, for they are very human in other ways and have a sense of humor that would make their versions of some "true bear stories" vastly amusing. what delightful reading, for example, would be the impressions made by a poet of the sierra upon the bears he has met! perhaps no bear ever met a poet of the sierra, but mere unacquaintance with the subject should be no more of a disadvantage to a bear than to a man of letters. bears i have met--and others. chapter i. the california grizzly. the california grizzly made his reputation as a man-killer in the days of the muzzle-loading rifle, when failure to stop him with one shot deprived the hunter of all advantage in respect of weapons and reversed their positions instantly, the bear becoming the hunter and the man the game. in early days, also the grizzly had no fear of man and took no pains to keep out of his way, and bears were so numerous that chance meetings at close quarters were frequent. but with all of his ferocity when attacked and his formidable strength, the grizzly's resentment was often transitory, and many men owe their lives to his singular lack of persistency in wreaking his wrath upon a fallen foe. generalizations on the conduct of animals, other than in the matter of habits of life governed by what we call instinct, are likely to be misleading, and when applied to animals of high intelligence and well-developed individuality, are utterly valueless. i have found the grizzly more intelligent than other american bears and his individual characteristics more marked and varied, and therefore am disinclined to formulate or accept any rules of conduct for him under given circumstances. no man can say what a grizzly will or will not do, when molested or encountered, any more than he can lay down a general rule for dogs or men. one bear may display extreme timidity and run away bawling when wounded, and another may be aggressive enough to begin hostilities at sight and fight to the death. it can be said safely, however, that the grizzly is a far more dangerous animal than the black bear and much more likely to accept a challenge than to run away. want of persistent vindictiveness may not be a general trait of the species, but it has been shown in so many cases that it is at least a quite common characteristic. possibly it is a trait of all bears and the basis of the almost universal belief that a bear will not molest a dead man, and that by "playing 'possum" a person attacked by a bear may evade further injury. that belief or theory has been held from the earliest times, and it is by no means certain that it is a mere idle tale or bit of nursery lore. aesop uses it in one of his fables. two men are assailed by a bear, and one climbs a tree while the other throws himself upon the ground and feigns death. the bear sniffs at the man on the ground, who holds his breath, concludes that the man is dead, and goes away. the man who climbed the tree rejoins his companion, and having seen the bear sniffing at his head, asks him facetiously what the bear said to him. the man who played 'possum replies that the bear told him to beware of keeping company with those who in time of danger leave their friends in the lurch. this i do know, that bears often invade camps in search of food and refrain from molesting men asleep or pretending to be asleep. upon one occasion a grizzly of very bad reputation and much feared by residents in his district, came into my camp on a pitch dark night, and as it would have been futile to attempt to draw a bead on him and a fight would have endangered two members of the party who were incapable of defending themselves, i cautioned everyone to feign sleep and not to show signs of life if the bear sniffed in their faces. the injunction was obeyed, the bear satisfied his curiosity, helped himself to food and went away without molesting anybody. and that is not an isolated instance. one night a grizzly invaded a bivouac, undeterred by the still blazing fire, and tried to reach a haunch of venison hung upon a limb directly over one of the party. the man--saml snedden, the first settler in lockwood valley, cal.--awoke and saw the great beast towering over him and stretching up in a vain effort to reach the venison, and he greatly feared that in coming down to all fours again the bear might forget his presence and step upon him. snedden tried furtively to draw his rifle out from the blankets in which he had enveloped it, but found that he could not get the weapon, without attracting the bear's attention and probably provoking immediate attack. so he abandoned the attempt, kept perfectly still and watched the bear with half-closed eyes. the grizzly realized that the meat was beyond his reach, and with a sighing grunt came down to all fours, stepping upon and crushing flat a tin cup filled with water within a foot of the man's head. the bear inquisitively turned the crushed cup over, smelt of it, sniffed at snedden's ear and slouched slowly away into the darkness as noiselessly as a phantom, and only one man in the camp knew he had been there except by the sign of his footprints and the flattened cup. many hunters have told me of similar experiences, and never have i heard of one instance of unprovoked attack upon a sleeping person by a bear, or for that matter by any other of the large carnivorae of this country. only one authentic instance of a bear feeding on human flesh have i known, and that was under unusual circumstances. two things will be noted by the reader of these accounts of california bear fights: first, that the grizzly's point of attack is usually the face or head, and second, that, except in the case of she-bears protecting or avenging their cubs, the grizzly ceased his attack when satisfied that his enemy was no longer capable of continuing the fight, and showed no disposition to wantonly mangle an apparently dead man. since the forty she-bears came out of the wilderness and ate up a drove of small boys for guying a holy man, who was unduly sensitive about his personal dignity, the female of the ursine species, however, has been notorious for ill-temper and vindictive pertinacity, and she maintains that reputation to this day. in the summer of 1850, g. w. applegate and his brother john were mining at horse shoe bar on the american river. the nearest base of supplies at that time was georgetown, eighteen miles distant by trail. one evening in early summer, having run short of provisions, george and his brother started to walk to that camp to make purchases. darkness soon overtook them and while descending into canyon creek they heard a bear snort at some distance behind. in a few moments they heard it again, louder than before, and john rather anxiously remarked that he thought the bear was following them. george thought not, but in a few seconds after crossing the stream and beginning the ascent upon the other side, both distinctly heard him come--splash, splash, splash--through the water directly upon their trail. it was as dark as erebus, and they were without weapons larger than pocket knives--a serious position with an angry grizzly dogging their steps. their first thought was to climb a tree, but knowing they were not far from the cabin of a man named work, they took to their heels and did their best running to reach that haven of refuge ahead of their formidable follower. they reached the cabin, rushed in, slammed and fastened the door behind them, and with breathless intervals gasped out their tale. work kept a bar for the sale of whiskey, and he and his son, a stout young man, with two or three miners, were sitting on rude seats around a whiskey barrel playing cards when the two frightened men rushed in. the cabin was built by planting posts firmly in the ground at a distance of some three feet apart, and in the form of a parallelogram, then nailing shakes upon these posts and on the roof. the sides were held together by cross beams, connecting the tops of the opposite posts. there was one rude window, made by cutting a hole in the side of the wall about four feet from the ground and covering this with greased paper, glass being an unattainable luxury. notwithstanding the belief that there was not a man in those days but wore a red shirt and a big revolver, there was not a firearm in the place. in a few seconds the bear was heard angrily sniffing at the door, and an instant later his powerful paw came tearing through the frail shakes and he poked his head and neck through the opening and gravely surveyed the terrified party. every man sprang upon the bar and thence to the cross beam with the alacrity given only by terror. after sniffing a moment and calmly gazing around the room and up at the frightened men, the bear quietly withdrew his head and retired. after an interval of quiet, the men ventured down and were eagerly discussing the event, when the bear again made its presence known by rearing up and thrusting its head through the paper of the window. upon this occasion some of the men stood their ground, and young work, seizing an iron-pointed jacob's staff, ran full tilt at the bear, and thrust it deeply into its chest. the bear again disappeared, taking the jacob's staff, and appeared no more that night. the following morning, search being made, the bear was found dead some yards from the cabin, with the staff thrust through the heart. it proved to be a female and was severely wounded in several places with rifle balls. subsequent inquiries elicited the fact that on the previous day a party of hunters from georgetown had captured two cubs and wounded the mother, which had escaped. this was evidently the same bear in search of her cubs. * * * * * in the spring of the year, somewhere early in the fifties, a party of five left the mining camp of coloma for the purpose of hunting deer for the market in the locality of mosquito canyon. on the morning of the second day in camp the party separated, each going his own way to hunt, and at night it was found that one of their members named broadus failed to appear. the others started out in different directions to search for him the next morning, and after a day spent in fruitless searching, they returned to camp only to find that another of their number, named william jabine, was this night missing. after an anxious night, chiefly spent in discussing the probable fate of their missing companions, the remaining three started out on the trail of jabine, he having told them the previous morning what part of the country he was going to travel. slowly following his tracks left in the soft soil and broken down herbage, they found him about noon, terribly mangled and unconscious, but alive. the flesh on his face was torn and lacerated in a frightful manner, and he was otherwise injured in his chest and body. further search revealed, near by, the dead body of their other missing comrade, seated on a bowlder by the side of a small stream with his head on his folded arms, which were supported by a shelf of rock in front of him. his whole under jaw had been bitten off and torn away, and a large pool of clotted blood at his feet showed that he had slowly bled to death after having been attacked and wounded by a bear. the ground showed evidences of a fearful struggle, being torn up and liberally sprinkled with blood for yards around. the men carried jabine to the nearest mining camp, whence others went to bring in the body of broadus. jabine finally recovered, but he was shockingly disfigured for life. he afterwards told how he came upon the tracks of broadus, and on reaching the spot where broadus had received his death wound, he was suddenly attacked by a huge she-bear that was followed by two small cubs. the bear had evidently been severely wounded by broadus and was in a terrible rage. she seized jabine before he could turn to flee, and falling with her whole weight upon his body and chest, began biting his face. he soon lost consciousness from the pressure upon his chest, and remembered no more. the poor fellow became a misanthrope, owing to his terrible disfigurement, and was finally found drowned in the river near coloma. in 1850 a number of miners were camped upon the spot where the little town of todd's valley now stands. among them were three brothers named gaylord, who had just arrived from illinois. these young men used to help out the proceeds of their claim by an occasional hunt, taking their venison down to the river when killed, where a carcass was readily disposed of for two ounces. one evening when the sun was about an hour high, one of the brothers took his rifle and went out upon the hills and did not return that night. the following morning his two brothers set out in search and soon found him dead, bitten through the spine in the neck, evidently by a bear. his rifle was unloaded and the tracks showed where he had fled, pursued by the angry animal, been overtaken, and killed. on the succeeding day a hunt was organized and some twenty men turned out to seek revenge. the bears, for there were two of them, were tracked into a deep rocky canyon running from forest hill to big bar. large rocks were rolled down its sides, and the bears were routed out and both killed. in 1851, three men armed with kentucky rifles, which were not only muzzle-loaders, but of small calibre and less effective than the ordinary .32 calibre rifle of to-day, were hunting deer on the divide between volcano and shirttail canyons in placer county. in the heavy timber on the slope they encountered a large grizzly coming up out of volcano canyon. the bear was a hundred yards distant when they saw him and evinced no desire for trouble, and two of the hunters were more than willing to give him the trail and let him go about his business in peace. the other, a man named wright, who had killed small bears, but knew nothing about the grizzly, insisted on attacking, and prepared to shoot. the others assured him that a bullet from a kentucky rifle at that distance would only provoke the bear to rush them, and begged him not to fire. but wright laughed at them and pulled trigger with a bead on the bear's side, where even a heavy ball would be wasted. the grizzly reared upon his haunches, bit at the place where the ball stung him, and after waving his paws in the air two or three times, came directly for wright with a fierce growl. the party all took to their heels and separated, but the bear soon overtook wright and with one blow of his paw struck the man, face downward, upon the snow and began biting him about the head, back and arms. the other hunters, seeing the desperate case of their companion, rushed up and fired at the bear at close range, fortunately killing him with a bullet in the base of the brain. wright, on being relieved of the weight of his antagonist, sat up in a dazed condition, with the blood pouring in streams down his face. he had received several severe bites in the back and arms, but the worst wound was on the head, where the bear had struck him with his claws. his scalp was almost torn from his head, and a large piece of skull some three inches in diameter was broken out and lifted from the brain as cleanly as if done by the surgeon's trephine. strange to say, wright complained of but little pain, excepting from a bite in the arm, and soon recovered his senses. his comrades replaced the mangled scalp, and bleeding soon ceased. a fire was built to keep him warm and while one watched with the wounded man the other returned to the trail to intercept a pack train. on the arrival of the mules, wright was helped upon one of their backs, and rode unaided to the baker ranch. a surgeon was sent for from greenwood valley, who, on his arrival, removed the loose piece of bone from the skull and dressed the wounds. the membranes of the brain were uninjured, and the man quickly recovered, but of course had a dangerous hole in his skull that incapacitated him for work. one sunday, some weeks afterward, the miners held a meeting, subscribed several hundred dollars and sent wright home to his friends in boston. * * * * * mike brannan was a miner on the piru river in southern california. the river, or creek, runs through a rough mountain district, and brannan's claim was in the wildest part of it. he and his partner met a grizzly on the trail, and brannan had no better judgment than to fire his revolver at the bear instead of getting out of the way. the grizzly charged, smashed the partner's skull with a blow and tumbled brannan over a bank. brannan was stunned by the fall, and when consciousness returned he saw the bear standing across his body, watching him intently for signs of life. he tried to keep perfectly still and hold his breath, but the suspense was too great a strain and involuntarily he moved the fingers of his right hand. the bear did not see the movement, and when brannan realized that his fingers had just touched his revolver, he conceived the desperate idea that he could reach the weapon and use it quickly enough to blow a hole through the bear's head and save himself from the attack which he felt he could not avert much longer by shamming. to grasp the revolver it was necessary to stretch his arm full length, and he tried to do that slowly and imperceptibly, but his anxiety overcame his prudence and he made a movement that the watchful grizzly detected. instantly the bear pinned the arm with one paw, placed the other upon brannan's breast and with his teeth tore out the biceps muscle. brannan had the good luck to faint at that moment, and when his senses again returned he was alone. the grizzly had watched him until satisfied that there was no more harm in him, and then left him. brannan managed to get to his cabin and eventually recovered, only to be murdered some years later for the gold dust he had stored away. note.--for many of the facts in this chapter of adventures with grizzlies in placer and el dorado counties in 1850 and 1851, i am indebted to dr. r. f. rooney, of auburn, cal., who obtained the details at first hand from pioneers.--a. k. chapter ii. the story of monarch. early in 1889, the editor of a san francisco newspaper sent me out to catch a grizzly. he wanted to present to the city a good specimen of the big california bear, partly because he believed the species was almost extinct, and mainly because the exploit would be unique in journalism and attract attention to his paper. efforts to obtain a grizzly by purchase and "fake" a story of his capture had proved fruitless for the sufficient reason that no captive grizzly of the true california type could be found, and the enterprising journal was constrained to resort to the prosaic expedient of laying a foundation of fact and veritable achievement for its self-advertising. [illustration: ernest thompson seton's sketch of monarch.] the assignment was given to me because i was the only man on the paper who was supposed to know anything about bears. such knowledge as i had, and it was not very extensive, had been acquired on hunting trips, some successful and more otherwise, in the sierra nevada and cascades. i had had no experience in trapping, but i accepted the assignment with entire confidence and great joy over the chance to get into the mountains for a long outing. the outing proved to be much longer than the editor expected, and trapping a bear quite a different matter from killing one. from santa paula, i struck into the mountains of ventura county with an outfit largely composed of information, advice and over-paid assistance. the first two months of the trip were consumed in developing the inaccuracy of most of the information and the utter worthlessness of all the advice and costly assistance, and in acquiring some rudimentary knowledge of the habits of bears and the art of trapping them. traps were built, under advice, where there was not one chance in a thousand of catching anything, and bogus bear-tracks, made with a neatly-executed model by an ingenious guide, who preferred loafing about camp to moving it, kept the expedition from seeking more promising country. the editor became tired of waiting for his big sensation and ordered me home. i respectfully but firmly refused to go home bearless, and the editor fired me by wire. i fired the ingenious but sedentary assistant, discarded all the advice that had been unloaded upon me by the able bear-liars of ventura, reduced my impedimenta to what one lone, lorn burro could pack, broke camp and struck for a better grizzly pasture, determined to play the string out alone and in my own way. the place i selected for further operations was the regular beat of old pinto, a grizzly that had been killing cattle on gen. beale's range in the mountains west of tehachepi and above antelope valley. old pinto was no myth, and he didn't make tracks with a whittled pine foot. his lair was a dense manzanita thicket upon the slope of a limestone ridge about a mile from the spring by which i camped, and he roamed all over the neighborhood. in soft ground he made a track fourteen inches long and nine inches wide, but although at the time i took that for the size of his foot, i am now inclined to think that it was the combined track of front and hind foot, the hind foot "over-tracking" a few inches, obliterating the claw marks of the front foot and increasing the size of the imprint both in length and width. nevertheless he was a very large bear, and he loomed up formidably in the dusk of an evening when i saw him feasting, forty yards away, upon a big steer he had killed. [illustration: feasting upon a big steer he had killed.] pinto had the reputation of being not only dangerous but malevolent, and there were oft told tales of domiciliary visits paid by him at the cabins of settlers, and of aggressive advances upon mounted vaqueros, who were saved by the speed of their horses. doubtless the bear was audacious in foraging and indifferent to the presence of man, but he was not malevolent. indeed, i have yet to hear on any credible authority of a malevolent bear, or, for that matter, any other wild animal in north america whose disposition and habit is to seek trouble with man and go out of its way with the deliberate purpose of attacking him. for many weeks i camped by that spring, much of the time alone, and without even a dog, with only a blanket for covering and the heavens for a roof, and my sleep never was disturbed by anything larger than a wood rat. my camp was on one of pinto's beaten trails, but he abandoned it and passed fifty yards to one side or the other whenever his business took him down that way, and he never meddled with me or mine. one night, as his tracks showed, he came to within twenty feet of my bivouac, sniffed around inquiringly and passed on. i built two stout traps for pinto's benefit, and day after day i dragged bait around and through the manzanita thickets on the ridge and over all his trails, and sometimes i found tracks so fresh that i was satisfied he had heard me coming and had turned aside. there were cougar and lynx tracks all over the mountains, but i seldom saw the animals and then only got fleeting glimpses of them as they fled out of my way. many of my prejudices and all my story-book notions about the behavior of the carnivorae were discredited by experience, and i was forced to recognize the plain truth that the only mischievous animal, the only creature meditating and planning evil on that mountain--excepting of course the evil incident to the procurement of food--was a man with a gun. i was the only really dangerous and unnecessarily destructive animal in the woods, and all the rest were afraid of me. after a time, because i had no intention of killing pinto if i should meet him, i quit carrying a rifle, except when i wanted venison, and tramped all over the mountain in daylight or in darkness without giving much thought to possible encounters. true, i carried a revolver, but that was force of habit mainly, and a six-shooter is company of a sort to a man in the wilderness even if he does not expect to need it. when one has "packed a gun" for years, he feels uncomfortable without it; not because he thinks he has any use for it, but because it has become a part of his attire and its absence unconsciously frets him and sets him wondering vaguely if he has lost his suspenders or forgotten to put on a tie. that the big grizzly was not quite so audacious and adventurous as he was reputed to be was demonstrated by his suspicious avoidance of the traps while they were new to him, and it became evident that he could not be inveigled into them even by meat and honey until they should become familiar objects to him and he should get accustomed to my scent upon his trails. that i would have caught old pinto in time there is no doubt, for eventually he was caught in each of the traps, although he escaped through the carelessness of the man who baited and set them. the traps were tight pens, built of large oak logs notched and pinned, roofed and floored with heavy logs and fitted with falling doors of four-inch plank. they were stout enough, and when i saw them ten years later they were sound and fit to hold anything that wears fur, although old pinto had clawed all the bark off the logs and left deep furrows in them. as a matter of course, all the hunters and mountain men for fifty miles around knew that i was trying to catch a grizzly, and some of them built traps on their own hook, hoping to catch a bear and make a few dollars. i had encouraged them by promising to pay well for his trouble anybody who should get a bear in his own trap, or find one in any of the numerous traps i had built and send me word. late in october, i heard that a bear had got into a trap on gleason mountain, and leaving pinto to his own devices, i went over to look at the captive. the mexican acting as jailor did not know me, and i discovered that allen kelly was supposed to be the agent of a millionaire and an "easy mark," who would pay a fabulous sum for a bear. the mexican assured me that he was about to get wealth beyond the dreams of avarice for that bear from a san francisco man, meaning said kelly, whereupon i congratulated him, disparaged the bear and turned to go. the mexican followed me down the trail and began complaining that the alleged purchaser of the bear was dilatory in closing the deal with cash. he, mateo, was aggrieved by this unbusinesslike behavior, and it would be no more than proper for him to resent it and teach the man a lesson in commercial manners by selling the bear to somebody else, even to me, for instance. mateo's haste to get that bear off his hands was evident, but the reason for it was not apparent. later i understood. monarch had the bad luck to get into a trap built by a little syndicate of which mateo was a member. mateo watched the trap, while the others supplied beef for bait. they were to divide the large sum which they expected to get from me in case they caught a bear before i did, and very likely my fired assistant had a contingent interest in the enterprise. mateo was the only member of the syndicate on deck when i arrived, and deeming a bird in his hand worth a whole flock in the syndicate bush, he made the best bargain he could and left the others to whistle for dividends. ten years afterward i met the cattleman who furnished the capital and the beef, and from his strenuous remarks about his mexican partner i inferred that the syndicate had been deeply disappointed. i also learned for the first time why mateo was so anxious for me to take the bear off his hands when the evident original purpose was to held me up for a good round sum. the hold-up would have failed, however, because i had spent more than $1,200 and lost five months' time, was nearly broke, did not represent anybody but myself at that stage of my bear-catching career, and for all i knew the editor might have changed his mind about wanting a grizzly at any price. finally i consented to take the bear and struck a bargain, and not until money had passed and a receipt was to be signed did mateo know with whom he was dealing. he paid me the dubious compliment of muttering that i was "un coyote," and as that animal is the b'rer rabbit of mexican folk lore, i inferred that the excellent mateo intended to express admiration for the only evidence of business capacity to be found in my entire career. that dicker for a bear stands out as the sole trade i ever made in which i was not unmistakably and comprehensively "stuck." mateo was more than repaid for his trouble, however. he helped me build a box, and get the bear into it, and i took monarch to san francisco and sold him to the editor of the enterprising paper, who eventually gave him to golden gate park. the newspaper account of the capture of monarch was elaborated to suit the exigencies of enterprising journalism, picturesque features were introduced where the editorial judgment dictated, and mere facts, such as the name of the county in which the bear was caught, fell under the ban of a careless blue pencil and were distorted beyond recognition. more than one-fourth of joaquin miller's "true bear stories"' consists of that newspaper yarn, copied verbatim and without amendment, revision or verification. the other three-fourths of the book, it is to be hoped, is at least equally true. considering all the frills of fiction that were put into the story to make it readable, the careless inaccuracies that were edited into it, and the fact that many persons knew of the preliminary attempts to buy any old bear and fake a capture, it is not strange that people who always know the "inside history" of everything that happens, wag their heads wisely and declare that monarch was obtained from a bankrupt circus, or is an ex-dancer of the streets sold to the newspaper by a hard-up italian. but it is incredible that any one who knows a bear from a berkshire hog could for an instant mistake monarch for any variety of tamable bear or imagine that any man ever had the hardihood to give him dancing lessons. when monarch found himself caught in the syndicate trap on gleason mountain, he made furious efforts to escape. he bit and tore at the logs, hurled his great bulk against the sides and tried to enlarge every chink that admitted light. he required unremitting attention with a sharpened stake to prevent him from breaking out. for a full week the grizzly raged and refused to touch food that was thrown to him. then he became exhausted and the task of securing him and removing him from the trap was begun. the first thing necessary was to make a chain fast to one of his fore-legs. that job was begun at eight o'clock in the morning and finished at six o'clock in the afternoon. much time was wasted in trying to work with the chain between two of the side logs. whenever the bear stepped into the loop as it lay upon the floor and the chain was drawn tight around his fore-leg just above the foot, he pulled it off easily with the other paw, letting the men who held the chain fall over backward. the feat was finally accomplished by letting the looped chain down between the roof logs, so that when the bear stepped into it and it was drawn sharply upward, it caught him well up toward the shoulder. having one leg well anchored, it was comparatively easy to introduce chains and ropes between the side logs and secure his other legs. he fought furiously during the whole operation, and chewed the chains until he splintered his canine teeth to the stubs and spattered the floor of the trap with bloody froth. it was painful to see the plucky brute hurting himself uselessly, but it could not be helped, as he would not give up while he could move limb or jaw. the next operation was gagging the bear so that he could not bite. the door of the trap was raised and a billet of wood was held where he could seize it, which he promptly did. a cord made fast to the stick was quickly wound around his jaws, with turns around the stick on each side, and passed back of his ears and around his neck like a bridle. by that means his jaws were firmly bound to the stick in such a manner that he could not move them, while his mouth was left open for breathing. while one man held the bear's head down by pressing with his whole weight upon the ends of the gag, another went into the trap and put a chain collar around the grizzly's neck, securing it in place with a light chain attached to the collar at the back, passing down under his armpits and up to his throat, where it was again made fast. the collar passed through a ring attached by a swivel to the end of a heavy chain of norwegian iron. a stout rope was fastened around the bear's loins also, and to this another strong chain was attached. this done, the gag was removed and the grizzly was ready for his journey down the mountain. in the morning he was hauled out of the trap and bound down on a rough skeleton sled made from a forked limb, very much like the contrivance called by lumbermen a "go-devil." great difficulty was encountered in securing a team of horses that could be induced to haul the bear. the first two teams were so terrified that but little progress could be made, but the third team was tractable and the trip down the mountain to the nearest wagon road was finished in four days. the bear was released from the "go-devil" and chained to trees every night; and so long as the camp fire burned brightly he would lie still and watch it attentively, but when the fire burned low he would get up and restlessly pace to and fro and tug at the chains, stopping now and then to seize in his arms the tree to which he was anchored and test its strength by shaking it. every morning the same old fight had to be fought before he could be tied to his sled. he became very expert in dodging ropes and seizing them when the loops fell over his legs, and considerable strategic skill was required to lasso his paws and stretch him out. in the beginning of these contests the grizzly uttered angry growls, but soon became silent and fought with dogged persistency, watching every movement of his foes with alert attention and wasting no energy in aimless struggles. he soon learned to keep his hind feet well under him and his body close to the ground, which left only his head and fore-legs to be defended from the ropes. so adroit and quick was the bear in the use of his paws that a dozen men could not get a rope on him while he remained in that posture of defence. but when two or three men grasped the chain that was around his body and suddenly threw him on his back, all four of his legs were in the air at once, the riatas flew from all directions and he was vanquished. [illustration: chained to trees every night.] monarch was pretty well worn out when the wagon road was reached, and doubtless enjoyed the few days of rest and quiet that were allowed him while a cage was being built for his further transportation. he made the remainder of the journey to san francisco by wagon and railroad, confined in a box constructed of inch-and-a-half oregon pine that had an iron grating at one end. the box was not strong enough to have held him for five minutes had he attacked it as he attacked the trap and as he subsequently demolished an iron-lined den, but i put my trust in the moral influence of the chain around his neck. the grizzly accepted the situation resignedly and behaved admirably during the whole trip. monarch is the largest bear in captivity and a thoroughbred californian grizzly. no naturalist needs a second glance at him to classify him as ursus horribilis. he stands four feet high at the shoulder, measures three feet across the chest, 12 inches between the ears and 18 inches from ear to nose, and his weight is estimated by the best judges at from 1200 to 1600 pounds. he never has been weighed. in disposition he is independent and militant. he will fight anything from a crowbar to a powder magazine, and permit no man to handle him while he can move a muscle. and yet when he and i were acquainted--i have not seen him since he was taken to golden gate park--he was not unreasonably quarrelsome, but preserved an attitude of armed neutrality. he would accept peace offerings from my hand, taking bits of sugar with care not to include my fingers, but would tolerate no petting. within certain limits he would acknowledge an authority which had been made real to him by chains and imprisonment, and reluctantly suspend an intended blow and retreat to a corner when insistently commanded, yet the fires of rebellion never were extinguished and it would have been foolhardy to get within effective reach of his paw. to strangers he was irreconcilable and unapproachable. monarch passed three or four years in a steel cell before he was taken to the park. he devoted a week or so to trying to get out and testing every bar and joint of his prison, and when he realized that his strength was over-matched, he broke down and sobbed. that was the critical point, and had he not been treated tactfully by louis ohnimus, doubtless the big grizzly would have died of nervous collapse. a live fowl was put before him after he had refused food and disdained to notice efforts to attract his attention, and the old instinct to kill was aroused in him. his dulled eyes gleamed green, a swift clutching stroke of the paw secured the fowl. monarch bolted the dainty morsel, feathers and all, and his interest in life was renewed with the revival of his savage propensity to slay. from that moment he accepted the situation and made the best of it. he was provided with a bed of shavings, and he soon learned the routine of his keeper's work in removing the bed. monarch would not permit the keeper to remove a single shaving from the cage if a fresh supply was not in sight. he would gather all the bedding in a pile, lie upon it and guard every shred jealously, striking and smashing any implement of wood or iron thrust into the cage to filch his treasure. but when a sackful of fresh shavings was placed where he could see it, monarch voluntarily left his bed, went to another part of the cage and watched the removal of the pile without interfering. in intelligence and quickness of comprehension, the grizzly was superior to other animals in the zoological garden and compared not unfavorably with a bright dog. it could not be said of him, as of most other animals, that man's mastery of him was due to his failure to realize his own power. he knew his own strength and how to apply it, and only the superior strength of iron and steel kept him from doing all the damage of which he was capable. the lions, for example, were safely kept in cages which they could have broken with a blow rightly placed. monarch discovered the weak places of such a cage within a few hours and wrecked it with swift skill. when inveigled into a movable cage with a falling door, he turned the instant the door fell, seized the lower edge and tried to raise it. when placed in a barred enclosure in the park, he began digging under the stone foundation of the fence, necessitating the excavation of a deep trench and the emplacement therein of large boulders to prevent his escape. then he tried the aerial route, climbed the twelve foot iron palings, bent the tops of inch and a half bars and was nearly over when detected and pushed back. he remains captive only because it is physically impossible for him to escape, not because he is in the least unaware of his power or inept in using it. apparently he has no illusions concerning man and no respect for him as a superior being. he has been beaten by superior cunning, but never conquered, and he gives no parole to refrain from renewing the contest when opportunity offers. mr. ernest thompson seton saw monarch and sketched him in 1901, and he said: "i consider him the finest grizzly i have seen in captivity." [illustration: monarch, the biggest bear in captivity.] note.--without doubt the largest captive grizzly bear in the world, may be seen in the golden gate park, san francisco. as to his exact weight, there is much conjecture. that has not been determined, as the bear has never been placed on a scale. good judges estimate it at not far from twelve hundred pounds. the bear's appearance justifies that conclusion. monarch enjoys the enviable distinction of being the largest captive bear in the world.--n. y. tribune, march 8, 1903. chapter iii. chronicles of clubfoot. the most famous bear in the world was, is and will continue to be the gigantic grizzly known variously on the pacific slope as "old brin," "clubfoot," and "reelfoot." he was first introduced to the public by a mining-camp editor named townsend, who was nicknamed "truthful james" in a spirit of playful irony. that was in the seventies. old erin was described as a bear of monstrous size, brindled coat, ferocious disposition and evil fame among the hunters of the sierra. he had been caught in a steel trap and partly crippled by the loss of a toe and other mutilation of a front paw, and his clubfooted track was readily recognizable and served to identify him. old brin stood at least five feet high at the shoulder, weighed a ton or more and found no difficulty in carrying away a cow. he seemed to be impervious to bullets, and many hunters who took his trail never returned. a few who met him and had the luck to escape furnished the formidable details of his description and spread his fame, with the able assistance of truthful james and other veracious historians of the california and nevada press. for several years the clubfooted grizzly ranged the sierra nevada from lassen county to mono, invulnerable, invincible and mysterious, and every old hunter in the mountains had an awesome story to tell of the ferocity and uncanny craft of the beast and of his own miraculous escape from the jaws of the bear after shooting enough lead at him to start a smelter. old brin was a never-failing recourse of the country editor when the foreman was insistent for copy, and those who undertook to preserve the fame of his exploits in their files scrupulously respected the rights of his discoverer and never permitted any vain-glorious bear hunter to kill him. as one of the early guardians of this incomparable monster, i can bear witness that it was the unwritten law of the journalistic profession that no serious harm should come to the clubfoot bear and he should invariably triumph over his enemies. it was also understood that a specially interesting episode in the career of old brin constituted a pre-emption claim to guardianship, and, if acknowledged by the preceding guardian, the claim could not be jumped so long as it was worked with reasonable diligence. while old brin infested sierra valley and vicinity he was my ward, and i regret to say that his conduct was tumultuous and sanguinary in the extreme. i can remember as if it were but yesterday how, one afternoon when virginia city was deplorably peaceful and local news simply did not exist, old brin went on a rampage over toward sierra valley and slaughtered two italian woodchoppers in the most wanton and sensational manner. more than ten years later i met in truckee an old settler who remembered the painful occurrence well, because the italians were working for him at the time, and he told me the story to prove that old brin had once roamed that part of the mountains. naturally i was so pleased to learn that my humble effort to keep the local columns of the virginia chronicle up to the high standard of frozen truth had not been in vain, that it was with the greatest difficulty i dropped a sympathetic tear when the old settler of truckee mourned the sad fate of his italian friends. if memory be not at fault, it was the episode of the woodchoppers that precipitated the long-cherished design of virginia city's most noted sportsmen to make a combined effort to secure the pelt of old brin and undying glory. about a score of them, heavily armed and provisioned for a month, sallied forth from the comstock to find and camp upon the trail of the clubfoot bear. they returned without his pelt, but they brought back some picturesque and lurid explanations of their failure and added several chapters to the history of old brin. one of the party was ned foster, who never stood to lose on any proposition and never was known to play any game on the square. being lame, foster did not have any ambition to meet the big bear, but contented himself with shooting birds for the pot and helping the camp cook. one morning, after all the mighty hunters had gone out on their quest, foster picked up his shot-gun, jocularly remarked that he guessed he would fetch in a bear, and limped away toward a brushy ridge. presently the cook heard a shot, followed by yells of alarm, and peering from the tent he saw foster coming down the slope on a gallop, followed by a monstrous bear. the cook seized a rifle, tried to load it with shot cartridges, and realizing that his agitation made him hopelessly futile, abandoned the attempt to help foster and scrambled up a tree. from his perch the cook watched with solicitude the progress of foster and the bear, shouting to foster excited advice to increase his pace and informing him of gains made by the pursuer. "run, ned! good lord, why don't you let yourself out?" yelled the frantic cook, as foster lost a length on the turn into the home-stretch. "you're not running a lick on god's green earth. the bear's gaining on you every jump, ned. turn yourself loose! ned, you've just got to run to beat that bear!" ned went by the tree in a hitch-and-kick gallop, and as he passed he gasped in scornful tones: "you yapping coyote, do you think i'm selling this race!" perhaps he wasn't, but it looked that way to the man up the tree. that was the end of the tale as it was told by the comstockers, who refused to spoil a good climax by gratifying mere idle curiosity about the finish of the race. but foster was not eaten up by old brin--of course his pursuer was the clubfooted bear--and something extraordinary must have happened to save him. an indefinite prolongation of the situation is unthinkable. wherefore things happened in this wise: foster's hat fell off, and while the bear was investigating it the man gained a few yards and time enough to climb a stout sapling, growing upon the brink of a cleft in the country rock about a dozen feet wide and twice as deep. the tree was as thick as a man's leg at the base and very tall. foster climbed well out of reach of the bear, and, perched in a crotch twenty feet above the ground, he felt safe. old brin sat down at the foot of the tree, and with head cocked sidewise thoughtfully eyed the man who had affronted him with a charge of small shot. presently he arose and with his paws grasped the tree ten or twelve feet from the ground, and foster laughed derisively at the notion of that clumsy beast trying to climb. but brin had no notion of climbing. holding his grip, he backed away, and as the tree bent toward him he took a fresh hold higher up, and so, hand over hand, pulled the top of it downward and prepared to pluck foster or shake him down like a ripe persimmon. [illustration: prepared to pluck foster.] a part of foster's habitual attire under all circumstances in warm weather was a long linen duster, and it is a defect of ursine perception to confound a man with his clothes. when the napping skirt of foster's duster seemed to be within reach, the over-eager bear made a grab for it, and released his grasp of the tree. the backward spring of the tough sapling nearly dislodged the clinging man, but it also gave him an idea, and when the grizzly began a repetition of the manoeuvre, he shifted his position a little higher and to the other side. old brin was not appeased by the shred of linen he had secured, and again began bending the sapling over. this time he had to bend it further to get foster within reach, but the flapping coat-tail again tempted him too soon, and although he secured most of the skirt, he let go his hold and the tree sprang back like a bended bow. foster let go his hold too in mid-arc and went sailing through the air and across the ravine, landing in a thicket with a jar that loosened his teeth but broke no bones. he said the grizzly sat bolt upright and looked at the tree, the ravine and him for five minutes, then cuffed himself soundly on both ears and slunk away in evident humiliation and disgust. * * * * * nothing but joe stewart's flawless reputation for veracity could have induced the comstock to accept the account of old erin's visit to camp, which broke up the trip, as it was given by the hunters when they returned. mr. stewart made his living at cards and knew no other profession or trade, but his word was as good as a secured note at the bank, his views on ethical questions were considered superior to a bishop's, and all around he was conceded to be a better citizen and an honester man than nevada had been able to send to the united states senate. therefore, as joe stewart was one of the party and did not deny that events happened as described by col. orndorff, the comstock never doubted the story of the blazing bear. this section of the expedition had a large wall tent and all camp conveniences, including lamps and a five-gallon can of kerosene. they pitched their tent upon the bank of a stream near a deep pool such as trout love in warm weather, and they played the national game every night. col. orndorff had opened an opulent jackpot, and long brown was thinking about raising before the draw when he felt a nudge at his elbow as if some one had stumbled against him. he was annoyed and he drove his arm backward violently against the canvas, encountering something solid and eliciting a loud and angry snort. long brown moved just in time to escape the sweep of a huge paw, armed with claws like sickles, which rent a great gap in the back of the tent and revealed a gigantic bear still sneezing from the blow on the end of his nose and obviously in a nasty temper. [illustration: long brown moved just in time.] the poker party went out at the front just as old brin came in at the back, and long brown thoughtfully took the front pole with him, letting the canvas down over the bear and impeding pursuit. the lamps were broken in the fall, and the oil blazed up under the canvas. col. orndorff, mr. stewart, bill gibson, doughnut bill and the cook, noisy smith, climbed trees before taking time to see how matters were getting arranged in the tent, and long brown stopped at the brink of the pool and turned around to see if the bear was following him. there was complicated trouble in the tent. the bear had tangled himself in the canvas and was blindly tossing it about, rolling himself up in the slack, and audibly complaining of the fire and smoke. the rifles, shot-guns and all but one revolver had been left in the tent, and presently they began to pop. doughnut bill, safe in a sycamore, hitched around to the lee side of the trunk and said: "mr. brown, i seriously advise that you emulate the judicious example of the other gentlemen in this game and avoid exposing yourself unnecessarily to such promiscuous and irresponsible shooting as that bear is doing." "that's dead straight," added col. orndorff. "shin up a tree, brown, or you'll get plunked." "think i'll mix in a little," replied brown, drawing his gun and opening fire upon the center of the disturbance. a bursting shot gun answered his first shot, and the charge plowed a furrow near long brown and threw dirt in his face. then the cartridge boxes began exploding as the fire reached them, exciting the bear to more tumultuous struggles with the enfolding canvas and louder roars of pain and rage. the five-gallon oil can, probably punctured by long brown's bullets, furnished the climax to the volcanic display by blowing up and filling the air with burning canvas, blankets and hardware, and out of the fire and smoke rushed the blazing bear straight toward long brown and the creek. even long brown's nerve was not equal to facing a ton of grizzly headed toward him in a whirlwind of flame. he turned and dove into the pool. that was old brin's destination also, and he followed long brown with a great splash and a distinct sizzle. brown swam under water down stream, and the bear went straight across, up the opposite bank and into the brush, howling blue murder. in the morning, when the fire had burned out, the sportsmen raked over the ruins and recovered the larger part of the jackpot, consisting of gold and silver coins partly fused and much blackened. "here, gentlemen," said doughnut bill, "we have convincing proof of the wisdom of our pacific coast statesmen and financiers in retaining metal as a circulating medium during the late lamentable unpleasantness. had we succumbed to the vicious habit of using paper substitutes for money, we should now be weeping over the ashes of a departed jackpot. therefore, i suggest that this is an auspicious occasion for passing suitable resolutions reaffirming nevada's invincible repugnance to a debased currency, her unalterable fidelity to hard money and her distinguished approval of the resumption of specie payment." "get in a whack at the greenbackers," said col. orndorff. "i surely approves the suggestion," said mr. stewart. "as a jacksonian democrat, i views with alarm the play the greenbackers make for fusion, which the same is a brace game." mr. gibson also allowed that fusion should be coppered by nevada, and noisy smith whispered his assent, and the resolutions were adopted unanimously. the disposition of the jackpot was then considered. col. orndorff was willing to divide it, but he allowed that if the bear had not butted into the game he would have raked it down to a dead moral certainty. "i don't know about that," said doughnut bill. "the intrusion of our combustible friend was unwarrantable and ungentlemanly, not to say rude, but as the holder of three aces before the draw i claim an interest in the pot. of course i can't show the cards, but that is the fact. on your honor as the opener of the pot, colonel, what did you have?" "seven full on eights." "that's good," whispered noisy smith. "i had a four flush." long brown put his hand into his pocket, drew forth five water-soaked cards, laid them down and said: "had 'em in my hand when i dove." col. orndorff looked at them and silently shoved the melted jackpot over to long brown. long brown's hand was an eight full on sevens. * * * * * so long as old brin was under the guardianship of his early friends, it was certain that no serious harm would come to him and that no hunter would be permitted to boast of having conquered him. but a later breed of journalistic historians, having no reverence for the traditions of the craft and no regard for the truth, sprang up, and the slaughter of the club-footed grizzly began. his range was extended "from siskiyou to san diego, from the sierra to the sea," and he was encountered by mighty hunters in every county in california and killed in most of them. old clubfoot's first fatal misadventure was in siskiyou, where he was caught in a trap and shot by two intrepid men, who stuffed his skin and sent it to san francisco for exhibition at a fair. he had degenerated to a mangy, yellow beast of about 500 pounds weight, with a coat like a wornout doormat, and but for a card labelling him as "old reelfoot," and exploiting the prowess of his slayers, his old friends never would have known him. clubfoot's first reincarnation took place in ventura, about 600 miles from the scene of his death. he appeared in a sheep camp at night, sending the herders up the tallest trees in terror, and scattered the flock all over a wide-spreading mountain. the herders spent the best part of a week in gathering the lost sheep, but after the most thorough search of which they were capable, some fifty odd were still missing. when the superintendent came around on his monthly tour of inspection, the herders told him the story of the lost sheep, and he did not know whether to believe it or suspect the herders of illicit traffic in mutton. knowing the mountain well, however, and having in mind some places which might easily be overlooked by the herders, the superintendent concluded to make an attempt to clear up the mystery for his own satisfaction. for two or three days he sought in vain for the trail of the missing sheep, visiting several likely places unknown to the herders, and he was about to give up the search when his mind pulled out of a dusty pigeon-hole of memory a faded picture of a queer nook in the mountain, into which he had stumbled many years before in chase of a wounded deer. more for the sake of seeing if he could find the place again than in hope of solving the sheep mystery, he renewed his search, and, at the end of a day's riding over the spurs of the mountain and up and down ravines, he recognized the slope down which he had chased the wounded deer, and saw upon it the hoof prints of sheep not quite obliterated by wind and rain. at the bottom of the slope was a small flat seemingly hemmed in on three sides by steep walls. at the upper end, however, behind a thick grove of pines, was a break in one of the side walls leading to an enclosed _cienega_, an emerald gem set deep in the mountain, as though a few acres of ground had sunk bodily some fifty feet, forming a pit in which water had collected and remained impounded until it broke an outlet through the lower wall. when the superintendent reached the entrance to this sunken meadow, an opening perhaps thirty yards wide, he noticed a well worn path across it from wall to wall, and a glance told him that the path had been beaten by a bear pacing to and fro. looking closely at this beaten trail, he saw that the footprints were large and that one paw of the bear was malformed. old clubfoot without doubt. huddled in silent terror close to the farther wall of the little valley were about forty sheep, and near the beaten path were the remains of ten or a dozen carcases. a little study of the situation and the sign told the story to the old mountaineer. the frightened band of sheep, fleeing blindly before the bear, had been driven by chance or by design into this natural trap, and the wily old bear had mounted guard at the entrance and paced his beat until the sheep were thoroughly cured of any tendency to wander down toward the lower end of the meadow. when he wanted mutton, he caught a fat sheep, carried it to his sentry beat and killed and ate it there, leaving the remains as a warning to the rest not to cross the dead line. the grass in the _cienega_ was thick and green, and there was enough seepage of water to furnish drink for the flock. so the provident bear had several months' supply of mutton on the hoof, penned up and growing fat in his private storehouse, and his trail across the entrance was as good as a five-barred gate. a man less wise than the superintendent would have undertaken to drive the sheep out and back to camp, but the superintendent knew the ways of sheep and foresaw that an attempt to rescue them without the aid of dogs and herders would result only in an endless surging to and fro in the basin. besides it was almost dusk, the bear might come home to supper at any moment and a revolver was of little use in a bear fight in the dark. moreover the looting of old clubfoot's larder would only ensure more midnight raids on the flocks upon the mountain. therefore the superintendent rode away. the next day he returned with an old muzzle-loading belgian musket of about 75 calibre, a piece of fresh pork and some twine, and he busied himself awhile among some trees near the bear's sentry beat. when he left, the old musket was tied firmly to the tree in such a position that the muzzle could be reached only from in front and in line with the barrel. in the breech of the barrel were ten drams of quick rifle powder, and upon the powder rested a brass 12-gauge shot shell, which had been filled with molten lead. upon the muzzle was tied the fresh pork, attached to a string tied to the trigger and passing through a screw eye back of the guard. the superintendent knew that pork would be tempting to a mutton-sated bear, and he chuckled as he rode away. at midnight in the camp upon the mountain the superintendent heard a muffled roar echoing far away, and he laughed softly, turned over and went to sleep. in the morning, with two herders and their collies, he went back to the _cienega_. there was not much left of the musket, but in front of where it had been was a pool of blood, and a crimson-splashed trail led away from that spot across the flat and down a brushy gulch. cautiously, rifle in hand, the superintendent followed the blood sign, urging the unwilling dogs ahead and leading the more unwilling basque shepherds, who had no stomach for meetings with a wounded grizzly in the brush. half a mile from the _cienega_ the dogs stopped before a thicket, bristled their backs and growled impatient remonstrance to the superintendent's efforts to shove them into the brush with his foot. in response to urgent encouragement, the collies, bracing back, barked furiously at the thicket, while the herders edged away to climbable trees, and the superintendent waited with tense nerves for the rush of a wounded bear. but nothing stirred in the thicket, no growl answered the dogs. five minutes, perhaps--it seemed like half an hour--the superintendent stood there with rifle ready and cold drops beading his forehead. then he backed away, picked up a stone, and heaved it into the brush. another and still others he threw until he had thoroughly "shelled the woods" without eliciting a sound or a movement. the silence gave the dogs courage and slowly they pushed into the thicket with many haltings and backward starts, and presently their barking changed in tone and told the man that they had found something of which they were not afraid. then the superintendent pushed his way through the bushes and found the bear dead. the big slug from the musket had entered his throat and traversed him from stem, to stern, and spouting his life blood in quarts he had gone half a mile before his amazing vitality ebbed clean away and left him a huge heap of carrion. it is the tradition of the mountain that the ursine shepherd was none other than old clubfoot, and it is not worth while to dispute with the faith of a man who follows sheep in the solitudes. * * * * * like phra the phoenician, old clubfoot could not stay dead, and when there was trouble afoot in the world, with tumult and fighting, no grave was deep enough, no tomb massive enough to hold him. his next recrudescence was in old tuolumne, where he forgot former experiences with steel traps and set his foot into the jaws of one placed in his way by vindictive cattlemen. attached to the chain of the trap was a heavy pine chunk, and old clubfoot dragged the clog for many miles, leaving through the brush a trail easily followed, and lay down to rest in a thicket growing among a huddle of rocks. hot upon the trail came two hunters, wesley wood and a sclavonian whose name was something like sakarovitch, and had been simplified to joe screech. wood was certain that the bear had stopped in the thicket, which was almost on the verge of one of the walls of hetch-hetchy valley, a replica of yosemite on half scale, and he was too old a hand at the game to follow the trail in. one experience with a bear in the brush is enough to teach the greatest fool in the world, if he survives, that wild animals do not lie down to rest without taking precautions against surprise by possible pursuers. they do not stop short in their tracks and go to sleep where any chance comer may walk over them, but make a half circle loop or letter u in the trail and lie where they can watch the route by which they came. joe screech had not learned this, and he jeered at wood for halting at the thicket. wood admitted that he was afraid to follow the trail another foot and tried to hold joe back, but joe had killed black bears and knew nothing of grizzlies, and he had a contemptuous opinion of the courage of bears and a correspondingly exalted belief in his own. at least he was afraid somebody might suspect him of being afraid, and he confounded caution with cowardice in others. so joe screech laughed offensively at wood as he strode into the thicket. "if you're afraid," he said, "you stay there and i'll run the bear out. maybe you'd better climb a tree." "that's just what we both would do if we had any sense. joe screech, you are the damnedest fool in tuolumne. that bear'll teach you something if he don't kill you." "oh, climb a tree and watch my smoke," and joe passed out of sight. presently joe's head appeared again as he climbed upon a boulder close to the edge of the cliff and peered around him. a sudden rattling of iron upon stone, a deep growl and a castanet clashing of teeth, and the grizzly arose behind joe screech, towering far above him and swinging the trap from his paw. joe screech had time for but one glance of terror, and as he jumped the bear swung trap, chain and clog in the air and reached for him with a mighty blow. it was the fifty-pound steel trap that landed upon joe's head and sent him plunging over the cliff just as wood's winchester began to bark. as fast as the lever could be worked the bullets thudded into the grizzly's back even while joe was pitching forward. [illustration: the bear swung trap, chain and clog.] old clubfoot had ignored the trap and the clog in his eagerness to reach the man with his nearest paw, and the impetus of the stroke, aided by the momentum of the circling clog, threw him from his balance. probably a bullet in the back of the head had its effect also, for the huge bulk of the bear toppled forward and followed joe screech over the cliff. wood scrambled desperately through the thicket to the cliff and looked down into hetch-hetchey. a thousand feet below, where the talus began to slope from the sheer cliff, dust was still floating, and stones were sliding down a fresh scar in the loose soil of the steep incline toward the forest at the foot. * * * * * in his old age, the big brindled bear grew weary of being killed and resurrected and longed for a quiet life. little, ordinary, no-account bears had personated him and got themselves killed under false pretenses from one end of the sierra to the other, and some of them had been impudent enough to carry their imposture to the extent of placing step-ladders against his sign-board trees and recording their alleged height a yard or two above his mark. that made him tired. moreover the gout in his bad foot troubled him more and more, and he ceased to get much satisfaction from rolling around on a "flat wheel" and scaring people with his tracks. wherefore clubfoot deserted his old haunts and went down into a green valley, inhabited by bee-keepers and other peaceable folk, where he lived on locusts and honey and forgot the strenuous life. all went well with the retired terror of the mountains for a long time. the only fly in the ointment of his content was jerky johnson, who kept dogs and went pirooting around the hills with a gun, making much noise and scaring the wits out of coyotes and jack rabbits. old clubfoot realized that his eyes were dimming and his hearing becoming impaired, and it annoyed him to be always on the alert, lest he should come across jerky in the brush and step on him inadvertently. jerky's ostensible occupation, from which his front name was derived, was killing deer and selling jerked venison, but if the greater part of his stock was not plain jerked beef, the cattle-men in that section were victims of strange hallucinations and harborers of nefarious suspicions. although clubfoot was credited with large numbers of dead steers found on the ranges, he was conscious of his own innocence, due to some extent to the loss of most of his teeth, and he had better reason than the cow-men had for putting it up to jerky. these particulars concerning mr. johnson's vocation enable the reader to appreciate the emotions aroused in the breast of old clubfoot when he found a newspaper blowing about a bee ranch and saw a thrilling account of his own death at the hands of the redoubtable jerky johnson. he had just tipped over a hive and was about to fill up with luscious white sage honey when that deplorably sensational newspaper fluttered under his eye and the scandalous fabrication of jerky stared him in the face. "this is the limit," he moaned, and his great heart broke. slowly and painfully the poor old bear staggered down the valley. his eyes were glazed and he could not tell where the trees and barb-wire fences were until he butted his nose against them. the gout in his maimed foot throbbed horribly, and all the loose bullets in his system seemed to have assembled in his chest and taken the place of his once stout heart. but he had a fixed purpose in his mind, and on he went to its fulfillment, grimly determined to make a fitting finish to a romantic life. at the lower end of the valley lived the country doctor. to his house came the club-footed bear at midnight, worn and nearly spent with the pitiful journey. there was a dim light in the back office, but it was unoccupied. clubfoot heaved his bulk against the door and broke the lock, softly entered the room and sniffed anxiously of the rows of jars and bottles upon a shelf. his eyes were dim and he could not read the labels, but his nose was still keen and he knew he should find what he was seeking. he found it. taking down a two-gallon jar, clubfoot tucked it under his arm tenderly and walked out erect, just as in the old days he was wont to walk away from a farmyard with a calf or a pig under each arm. it has been said of him that he could carry off a steer in that fashion, but probably that is an exaggeration or even a fable. behind the doctor's stable was a bucket containing the sponge used in washing the doctor's carriage. clubfoot found the bucket, broke the two-gallon jar upon the sharp edge and spilled the contents upon the sponge. taking one last look at the stars and the distant mountain peaks, he plunged his muzzle into the sponge, jammed his head tightly into the bucket and took one long, deep breath. in the morning "doc." chismore found a gigantic dead bear behind the barn, with the stable bucket firmly fixed upon his head and covering his nose and mouth. scattered about were the fragments of a chloroform jar, and between the claws of the bear's maimed foot was a crumpled sunday supplement of a yellow journal, containing an account of the slaying of old brin, the club-footed grizzly, by jerky johnson. being a past master of woodcraft, doctor chismore read the signs like a printed page, and applying the method of zadig he reconstructed the whole story of the dolorous passing of the greatest bear in the world. chapter iv. mountain charley. charles mckiernan was a well-known lumber merchant of san jose, cal. to old timers he was "mountain charlie," having spent most of his life in the santa cruz mountains, where he owned timber land and saw mills. mckiernan's face was strangely disfigured. his left eye was missing and his forehead was so badly scarred that he wore his hair in a bang falling to his eyebrows to conceal the marks. from his own lips i heard the story of those scars. this was also in the days of the muzzle-loading rifle. mckiernan and a partner were holding down timber claims in the mountains and living in a cabin overlooking a wide canyon. one morning they saw a grizzly turning over rocks at the foot of a spur jutting from the main ridge into the canyon, and taking their rifles they followed the ridge around to the spur to get a shot at him from that point. it so happened that the bear also fancied that he had business on the top of the spur, and began climbing soon after the men lost sight of him. the bear and the men met unexpectedly at the top, and the bear halted hesitatingly with his head and breast just showing above the rocks at the brink of the steep slope. mckiernan did not want to begin the fight at such close quarters, and he was confident that the bear would back down and attempt to return to the brush at the foot of the spur if given time. then he would have the advantage of the up-hill position and plenty of time to reload if the bear should attempt to return after the first shot. but mckiernan's partner lost his nerve, turned tail and ran away, and that encouraged the bear to take the offensive, just as it would invite attack from a hesitating dog. the grizzly sprang up over the edge of the steep and charged mckiernan, who threw up his rifle and fired at the bear's chest. it was a yeager rifle carrying an ounce ball, and it checked the charge for a moment by bringing the bear to his knees. as the bear gathered himself for another rush, mckiernan swung the heavy rifle and struck the bear over the head with the barrel. he was a powerful man, accustomed to swinging an axe, and the blow knocked the bear down and stunned him. the stock of the rifle broke in mckiernan's hands and the barrel fell close by the bear, which had fallen upon the very edge of a steep slope at the side of the spur or knob. mckiernan stooped to recover the rifle barrel with which to beat the bear to death, and in doing so his head came close to the bear's. the grizzly had partly recovered, and throwing his head upward he closed his jaws upon mckiernan's forehead, with a snap like a steel trap. one lower tusk entered the left eye socket, and an upper canine tooth sunk into the skull. mckiernan fell face downward, his arms under his face, and the bear slid over the edge and rolled down the almost vertical wall into the canyon, having dislodged himself by the effort to seize the man. mckiernan did not lose consciousness, but he was unable to move. he knew his left eye was gone, and he feared that he was bleeding to death. he heard the bear rolling down the slope, heard the crash of bushes as he struck the bottom, and knew because of his bawling that the grizzly was mortally hurt. then he wondered why his partner did not come to him, and sense of pain and fear of death were submerged under a wave of indignation at the man's cowardice and flight. presently he heard faintly a voice calling him across the canyon, but could not distinguish the words, and after a time he realized that his partner had fled back to the cabin, and was shouting to him. he could not answer, nor could he raise his head, but he managed to free one arm and wave it feebly. the partner finally saw the movement and plucked up enough courage to come back, and with his help mckiernan somehow got to the cabin. a young doctor from san jose attempted to patch up the broken skull after removing a large piece and leaving the envelope of the brain exposed. he had read something about trephining and inserting silver plates, and he hammered out a silver dollar and set it like a piece of mosaic into mckiernan's forehead, where it resisted the efforts of nature to repair damages and caused mckiernan a thousand times more agony than he had suffered from the grizzly's tusks. only the marvelous vitality of the man saved him from the consequences of such surgery. for days and weeks he sat in his cabin dripping his life away out of a wound that closed, swelled with fierce pain and broke out afresh, and the drain upon his system gave him an incredible appetite for meat, which he devoured in gargantuan quantities. then old doctor spencer went up to "mountain charlie's" cabin, took out the silver dollar, removed a wad of eyebrow that had been pushed into the hole made by the bear's lower tooth in the eye socket, and mckiernan recovered. and the first thing he did when he was able to travel was to load up a shotgun and hunt san jose from one end to the other for the man who had set a silver dollar in his skull. chapter v. in the valley of the shadow. over-confidence and some contempt for bears, born of easy victories cheaply won, led one noted californian hunter into the valley of the shadow, from which he emerged content to let his fame rest wholly upon his past record and without ardor for further distinction as a slayer of grizzlies. as mementoes of a fight that has become a classic in the ursine annals of california, john w. searles, the borax miner of san bernardino, kept for many years in his office a two-ounce bottle filled with bits of bone and teeth from his own jaw, and a spencer rifle dented in stock and barrel by the teeth of a grizzly. on a hunting trip in kern county, mr. searles had a remarkable run of luck and piled three bears in a heap without moving out of his tracks or getting the least sign of fight. it was so easy that he insisted upon going right through the tehachepi range and killing all the grizzlies infesting the mountains. he and his party made camp in march, 1870, not far from the headquarters of general beale's liebra ranch in the northern part of los angeles county. romulo pico was then in charge at the liebra, and nearly thirty years later, while hunting a notorious bear on the scene of searles's adventure, he told me the story of the fight. searles was armed with a spencer repeater but had shot away the ammunition adapted to the rifle and had been able to procure only some cartridges which fitted the chamber so badly that two blows of the hammer were generally required to explode one of them. notwithstanding this serious defect of his weapon, searles had so poor an opinion of the grizzly that he went out alone after the bear several miles from camp. there was some snow on the ground and on the brush, and finding bear tracks, searles tied his horse and took the trail afoot. he found a bear lying asleep under the brush and killed it, and while he was standing over the body he heard another bear breaking brush in a thicket not far away. leaving the dead bear, he took up the trail of its mate and followed until his clothing was soaked with melting snow and the daylight was almost gone. the bear halted in a dense thicket and searles began working his way through the chaparral to stir him up. of course the bear was not where his tracks seemed to indicate him to be, and the meeting was sudden and unexpected. the bear rose within two feet of the hunter and almost behind him. there was neither time nor room to put rifle to shoulder, and searles swung it around, pointed it by guess and fired. the ball did little damage, but the powder flash partly blinded the bear and it came down to all-fours and began pawing at its eyes, giving searles an opportunity to throw in another cartridge and take fair aim at the head. if searles had not forgotten in his excitement the defect of his weapon, the bear fight would have been ended right there. he pulled trigger with deadly aim, but the rifle missed fire. instead of re-cocking the piece and trying a second snap, he worked the lever, threw in a new cartridge and pulled the trigger. again no explosion. again he failed to remember the trick of the rifle, and tried a third cartridge, which also missed fire. then the bear became interested in the affair and turned upon the hunter at close quarters. seizing the barrel of the rifle in his jaws, the grizzly wrenched it from searles's grasp, threw it aside and hurled himself bodily upon his foe. searles went down beneath the bear. placing one paw upon his breast the bear crunched the hunter's lower jaw between his teeth, tore a mouthful of flesh from his throat and took a third bite out of his shoulder. then he rolled the man over, bit into his back and went away. the cold californian night saved the man's life by freezing the blood that flowed from his wounds and sealing up the torn veins. he was a robust, hardy man, and he pulled himself together and refused to die out there in the brush. with his jaw hanging by shreds, his wind-pipe severed and his left arm dangling useless, he crawled to his horse, got into the saddle and rode to camp, whence his companions took him to the liebra ranch house. romulo pico was sure searles would die before morning, but he dressed the wounds with the simple skill of the mountaineer who learns some things not taught in books, and tried to make death as little painful as possible. finding searles not only alive in the morning but obstinately determined not to submit to the indignity of being killed by a bear, pico hitched up a team to a ranch wagon and sent him to los angeles, a two-days' journey, where the surgeons consulted over him and proposed all sorts of interesting operations by way of experiment upon a man who was sure to die anyway. searles was unable to tell the surgeons what he thought of their schemes for wiring him together, but he indicated his dissent by kicking one of them in the stomach. then they called in a dentist as an expert on broken jaws, after they had attended to the other damages, and the dentist showed them how to remove the debris and where to patch and sew, and they managed to get the shattered piece of human machinery tinkered up in fairly good shape. the vitality and obstinacy of searles did the rest, and in a few weeks he was on his feet again and planning prospecting trips to death valley, not the valley of the shadow through which he had passed, but the grewsome desert of southern california where he found his fortune in borax. chapter vi. when grizzlies ran in droves. william thurman, who owned a lumber mill on the chowchilla mountain, not far from the mariposa grove of big trees, told this plain, unadorned tale of an old-fashioned grizzly bear hunt. he was moved thereto by inspection of a winchester express rifle, carrying a half-inch ball, backed by 110 grains of powder, that was shown to him by a hunter. "if we had been armed with such rifles in early days," said mr. thurman, "the grizzly wouldn't have achieved his reputation for vitality and staying powers in a fight. there is no doubt that he is a very tough animal and a game fighter, but in the days when he made a terrible name for himself he had to face no such weapons as that. "i assisted in killing, in 1850, the first grizzlies that were brought into the town of sonora. i had heard a great deal about the grizzly, and coming across the plains i talked to my comrade, green, about what i should do if i should get a chance at a bear. i was a pretty good shot, and thought it would be no trick at all to kill a bear with the mississippi rifle that i brought home from the mexican war. "one day i went out with a man named willis, who was a good hunter, and in the hills back of sonora we found plenty of bear sign. in fact we could get through the thick brush and chaparral only on the trails made by bears, and we had to go carefully for fear of running upon a grizzly at close quarters. although it was evident that we were in a bear country, we hadn't seen anything to shoot at when we emerged from the brush into an open space about fifty yards in diameter. "willis said that he was sure bears were close around us, if we could only see them, and i proposed to climb a tree on the other side of the clearing and get a good view of the surrounding thickets. if i should see bears i was to make a noise and try to scare them out of their hiding places. "i started across the opening, but before i reached the tree i saw a huge grizzly coming toward me through the brush. he looked much larger and uglier than i had expected, and it struck me that the proper thing for me was to get into that tree before shooting. i got to the tree all right enough, but found that i couldn't climb it and take my rifle up with me. willis saw my difficulty and shouted to me that i couldn't make it, and so i abandoned the attempt and ran back toward him. "the bear was following me, and willis started back into the brush. i called to him not to do that, but to stand in the open and wait for me. he halted, and when i got alongside we both turned and raised our rifles. when the bear saw that we were standing our ground, he stopped, looked at us a moment and then turned and shuffled back into the brush. he was so big and looked so formidable that we concluded to let him go unmolested, rather relieved, in fact, that we were let out of the scrape so easily. "we made our way back to camp with some caution and decided that we would get up a crowd and go bear hunting the next day. when we told our adventure, green was very hilarious at my expense and kept reminding me of the brave things i had said coming across the plains. he was so everlastingly tickled with his joke that he sat up all that night to guy me about my running away from a bear. i told him i would show him all the bears he wanted to see the next day, and give him a chance to try his own nerves. "the next day five of us went out to look for bears, and we struck them thick before we got to the place where we had found so much sign. willis and i took the upper side of a patch of brush, and green and the other two skirted the lower edge. an old grizzly and two cubs, startled by some noise made by the other fellows, jumped out of the brush on our side, and we fired at them. my bullet struck one near the shoulder, and willis hit the dam in the belly. they all turned and ran down through the brush toward the rest of the crowd, and got out of our range. "the noise made by them in running through the brush stirred up another squad, and when the shooting began down below five bears came tearing out on our side to get out of the way. willis raised his rifle and pulled the trigger, but luckily the cap failed to explode. the five turned as soon as they saw us and ran in another direction. i was going to shoot one in the rump, but willis stopped me, saying that we had our hands full without inviting any more bears to join the scrimmage. before those five bears, got out of sight three more broke cover and joined them, and for a moment there were eleven grizzly bears, young and old, in sight from where i stood. eight of them ran away and the original three kept us all busy for the best part of the afternoon. "for some time the other three men had all the fun, while willis and i stood guard on our side of the thicket and watched the performance. the old bear would stand up and look over a patch of brush to locate her enemy, and somebody would give her a shot. she would drop to all fours and gallop around to where she saw the man last, and he would run around the other side and reload. the cubs were half grown--big enough to be dangerous--and the boys had to watch for them while dodging about. "i got even on green that afternoon. he had forgotten to bring any caps, and after his first shot he could do nothing but dodge around the brush and keep out of the way. one of the bears was after him, and he had to step lively. while he was waiting to see which way the bear was coming next, he made motions with his hand, pointing to the nipple of his rifle, to indicate that he wanted caps. i saw what he meant, but instead of going to him to supply him with caps i stood still and laughed at him and applauded his running when the bear chased him. that made him furious and he yelled that if he had a cap he'd take a shot at me. "after two or three hours of dodging about, every man taking a shot whenever he got a chance, one of the cubs keeled over and the dam and the other cub retreated into the thickest part of the brush patch. "we consulted and decided that if we killed the other cub next the dam might quit and get away, whereas if we killed the dam the cub probably wouldn't leave her and we'd bag the whole outfit. one of the party crawled cautiously into the thicket and presently he fired. then he called to me to come in, and when i crawled up to him he said: 'i've killed the cub by mistake, but the old one is lying badly wounded on the other side of a little open spot, and you can get a splendid shot at the butt of her ear while i back out and reload." "he backed out, and i crawled up and took his place. there was the old bear about ten yards away, lying down and bleeding from a great many wounds. she seemed to be nearly exhausted and out of breath. i was in the act of raising my rifle to take aim at her head, when she caught sight of me and suddenly sprang up and rushed at me. she was almost upon me in two jumps, and i thought i was in for a bad time of it. i had no time to aim, but pushed out my rifle instinctively and fired in her face. the bullet struck her in the mouth, and the pain caused her to stop, wheel around and make a rush through the chaparral in the opposite direction. such a shot as that from a winchester express would have blown off the whole roof of her head, but my bullet, as i found later, tore through her tongue, splitting the root, and stopped when it struck bone. "when she broke out of the brush on the other side three of the boys fired into her and she fell dead. we looked her over and found more than thirty bullets in her. we had been shooting at her and dodging her in the brush from 11 o'clock in the forenoon; until after 3 o'clock, and she had caved in from sheer exhaustion and loss of blood, not from the effects of any single bullet. "we packed the three carcases into sonora that night and a butcher named dodge offered to cut them up and sell the meat without charge to us if we would let him have the bears at his shop. that was the first bear meat ever taken into sonora, and everybody in the camp wanted a piece. in the morning there was a line of men at dodge's shop like the crowd waiting at a theatre for patti tickets. men far down the line shouted to dodge not to sell the meat in big pieces, but to save slices for them. the meat sold for $1 a pound. everybody got a slice, and we got $500 for our three bears. "one of our crowd was so elated over the profits of bear-hunting that he started out alone the next day to get more grizzly meat. he didn't come back, and the boys who went out to look for him found his body, covered up with leaves and dirt, in the edge of a clump of brush. his skull had been smashed by a blow from a grizzly's paw." chapter vii. the adventures of pike. pike was one of the oldest of yosemite guides and altogether the quaintest of the many queer old fellows who drifted into the valley in early days and there were stranded for life. he had another name, no doubt, but nobody knew or cared what it might be, and he seemed to have forgotten it himself. "pike" fitted him, served all the purposes for which names were invented, was easy to pronounce, and therefore was all the name he needed. pike was tall, round-shouldered, lop-sided, slouchy, good-natured, illiterate, garrulous, frankly vain of the little scraps of botanical nomenclature he had picked up and as lazy and unacquainted with soap as an indian. pike dearly loved bears and bear stories. when there were no tourists about to whom he could tell bear stories, he would go into the woods and have adventures with bears and stock up with stories for the next season. pike never had to kill a bear to get a story out of him. he brought in no bear skins, pointed out no bullet holes, exhibited no scars and told no blood-curdling tales of furious combat and hair-breadth escapes. pike and the bears appeared to have an understanding that there was room enough in the woods for both and that his hunting was all in the way of innocent amusement and recreation, to be spiced now and then with a practical joke. "black bears and brown bears are peaceable folks," pike used to say in his californianized-missourian vernacular. "there's nothing mean about 'em and they don't go around with chips on their shoulders. i generally get along with them slick as grease and they never try to jump me when i haven't got a gun. why, sir, i can just talk a brown bear out of the trail, even when he thinks he owns it. i did one night in the valley. i was going from barnard's up to the stoneman when i ran right up against a big brown bear in the dark. he was coming down the road and was in pretty considerable of a hurry, too--going down to the butcher's corral for supper i reckon--and we stopped about three feet apart. 'what you adoin' of here,' says i. 'seems to me you're prowling around mighty permiscuous, buntin' inter people on the state stage road. you git inter the bresh,' says i, 'where you belong or i'll kick a few dents into you. now don't stand here argifying the pint,' says i, just as important as if i was the gardeen of the valley, which i wasn't. 'scoot, skedaddle, vamoos the ranch, git off the earth,' i says, 'if you ain't aimin' to git your head punched.' "well, sir, he stood there a minute with his head cocked sidewise, kinder grunted once as if he was saying 'good-night,' and turned off the road into the brush and went about his business, and i poked along up to the stoneman. 'course i can't swear that he knew just what i said, but he ketched the general drift of the argyment all right, what you might call the prepoort of my remarks, and he knowed he hadn't no case worth fighting about. "i remember once when jim duncan and me was ketched out in a snowstorm up near the head of alder creek, and lost each other in the dark. i knew jim would take care of himself and it was no use tramping around, so i hunted a hole to sleep in. i found a place under a rock just big enough for me, where the snow didn't blow in, and i curled up on some dry leaves and snoozed off in no time. by and by something touched my face and i woke up, and there was a bear poking his head in and wondering if there was room for two. there wasn't no room and i don't like to sleep with bears nohow. bears are all right in their place and i don't hold to no prejudices, but i'm notional about some things and i never could stand bears in my bed; they smell worse than indians. so i says to that bear, which was looking mighty wishful into my snug quarters, 'git along out of this; i was here first,' and i reached up and fetched him a back-handed slap on the nose. you'd orter heard him sneeze as he moseyed off. last thing i remembered when i turned over and went to sleep was him a sneezing as he wandered around looking for another hole. "if that had been a she-bear, of course i'd have crawled out and gave her my place like a gentleman. you never know what a she--bear, or any other kind of she, is going to do next, and the best way to get along with 'em is to let 'em have their own way and be polite. i'm always polite to ladies--or most always any way. of course when they get too cantankerous a man has to forget his manners and call 'em down. "i was impolite to a she-bear once, but she got back at me. i was over on the far side of signal peak hunting gray squirrels with a shot-gun. i heard a funny sort of squealing a little way off, and set out to find out what was going on in the woods. poking quietly through the brush, i came to the top of a ledge that dropped off straight and smooth to a flat covered with bear clover, just an opening in the forest. a she-bear was busy cracking open sugar pine cones and showing two cubs how to get the nuts out of them. the little fellows were having a gay old time, wrestling, boxing, stealing nuts from mamma and rolling about in the clover like a couple of kids, and i laid down in some bushes on top of the ledge and watched them. sometimes they would grab a cone from the old one or bite her ear, and she would scold them and cuff them until they yelped that they'd be good. they couldn't be good half a minute, and they had the old lady's patience most worn out before i took a hand in the frolic. "the old bear's coat was pretty thin and rusty, and she'd been sitting down or coasting down a bear slide so much that all the hair was worn off her hams slick and smooth. she looked mighty ridiculous when her back was turned, and it came into my fool head that a charge of small shot in the smooth place would be mighty surprising to her and help out the fun a whole lot. she couldn't get at me on the ledge, so i was perfectly safe to play jokes on her, and i wanted to see her jump. so i shoved the gun out through a bush and turned it loose. she was sixty yards away and the shot stung her good without doing any great harm. "'woof!' said the old bear as she jumped four feet high, and when she lit she was as mad as a wet hen. she looked up at the ledge, but couldn't see me, and she looked all around for somebody or something to blame for her trouble. not a thing was in sight to account for it. she sat down sort of sideways, reached around with one paw to scratch where it hurt and thought the matter over. i had to stuff grass in my mouth to keep from howling with laughter at the way she cocked her head and seemed to be sizing up the situation while she scratched the stinging place. "the cubs had stopped playing at the sound of the gun and run up close to her, and they were watching her for further orders. the old girl finally got her eye on them, and she looked at them solemnly for half a minute, and it was plain as print she was beginning to have suspicions. then she was sure she had the thing figured out, and she fetched first one and then the other a cuff that sent them rolling ten feet away. when they got up bawling she was right there and gave them the darndest spanking two innocent cubs ever got. every time she hit one he would go heels over head and yell blue murder, and by the time he got up she gave him another belt, scolding like an old woman all the time. it seemed to me i could almost hear her say, 'play tricks on your mammy, will ye? i'll teach ye. get along home without your supper, ye little scamps, and take that.' and so she went through the woods; spanking her babies, and they a'yelling for keeps and not knowing what they were being licked for, and i rolled around on top of the ledge, kicking my heels in the air and just bellowing with laughter. "i thought that was the end of the funniest time i ever had with a bear, but it wasn't. along about the first of march there was a warm spell in the mountains, and i went down the south fork to devil's gulch, which heads up toward signal peak, to look over a timber claim and see if it was worth taking up. it was one of those warm days that take the snap out of a man, and i got tired and went to sleep under a tree. when i waked a bear had me half covered up with leaves and was piling on more. i wasn't cold, and didn't need any covering, but she seemed to think i did, and i reckoned the best thing to do was to keep still and let her finish the job. she seemed so serious about it that i didn't dare take it as a joke and try any tricks on her, but i couldn't figure out what her game was. she covered me with oak leaves, pine-needles and dirt from head to foot, and then all was still. i couldn't see, and i didn't dare to lift my head and shake off the leaves. "after a while i made up my mind to take some chances to find out if the bear was on watch, and i wiggled my foot. nothing happened, so i wiggled it a little harder. then i felt around slowly until i got hold of my gun, and when i had that where i could handle it, i jumped up and shook the leaves and dirt from my face. the bear was gone. i had a sort of notion of what she was driving at, and so i fixed up the pile of leaves just as she had left them, went up the hill a little way and shinned a tree. "about half an hour later the bear came back, leading two half-grown cubs so thin you could count their slats, and i recognized the interesting family i had met and had fun with in the fall. she was saying things to them in bear-talk, sort of whining and grunting, and they wobbled along behind her up to that pile of leaves. the cubs laid down with their tongues hanging out as if they were pretty tired, and the old girl tackled the pile confidently. it was plain enough that she had cached me for dinner, gone home into the gulch after the cubs and brought them back to have a square meal after being holed up for two or three months. "the old bear made only two or three dabs at the pile when she began to suspect something was wrong, and then she sailed into it like a steam shovel. she made leaves and dirt fly so fast out between her hind legs that the cubs had to get out of the way or be buried, and the more she dug, the more excited she got. she worked over that pile and all the ground for ten feet around it until she was down to the frost, and when she finally got it through her head that the cupboard was bare, she was the most foolish-looking critter a man ever saw. she stood there blinking at the cubs, who were sniffing at the rubbish she had scattered about, and couldn't explain to them what had become of that square meal, and i reckon the cubs had it put up that mamma was getting light-headed and having dreams. they quit prospecting and sat down and looked at her and whined, and that set her off again raking over all the leaves in the neighborhood as if she hoped to find me hiding under them. pretty soon she struck some kind of a root that was good to eat, and she braced up and called the cubs and showed it to 'em as if that was what she had been hunting for all the time. she made more fuss over that root than there was any call for and pretended it was the greatest thing a bear ever struck in the woods, and the cubs were so glad to get anything that they allowed roots were good enough and forgot all about what she had promised them. "if her pelt had been good and the cubs had been big enough, i reckon i'd have got even with her for caching me, but she wasn't worth skinning and the cubs were no good for grub. it was getting late and i was tired of my tree, so i ploughed up the dirt under her nose with a load of shot and let out a yell, and she herded those cubs off into the brush and lit out for devil's gulch, and i went home. that was the nearest i ever came to being eaten up by bears." chapter viii. in the big snow. the winter of 1889-90 is memorable in california as the winter of "the big snow." in the latter part of january the central pacific line over the sierra nevada was blockaded, and three or four passenger trains were imprisoned in the drifts for more than two weeks. passing through the blockade and over the range afoot, i walked at times above the tops of the telegraph poles, and think it no exaggeration to estimate the depth of snow at the higher altitudes at 25 feet. drifts in the canyons must have been more than double the depth of the snow on a level. the storm was general and the snowfall throughout the mountain region was extraordinary, not only for quantity but for rapidity. it can snow more inches to the hour in the high sierra than feet to the week anywhere else, and the big storm of 1890 broke all previous records. miners' cabins in the gulches and hunters' shacks on the mountains were buried in a night and the occupants had to tunnel their way out. deer fled from the slopes down into secluded glens which had been their safe refuge from sierra storms before, but the white death followed them and softly folded its feathery wings about them. in the spring the dead deer were found in hundreds where they had "yarded" safely through many winters before the big snow. warm weather before the storm had brought the bears out of their holes and set them to foraging for grub. the snow fell lightly and no crust formed for some time, and bruin could not wallow through it. the best he could do was to get under the lee of a log or ledge, take another nap and nurse his inconvenient appetite. being a philosopher, bruin did the best he could and trusted the god of the wild things to do the rest. upon the long western slope of a big sprawling mountain in sierra county a grizzly dam and two gaunt cubs of the vintage of '89 were caught in the big snow miles away from the deep gulch in which they had passed the winter. no doubt that dam was weatherwise enough to sense the coming storm in time to have returned to the den, but neither beast nor man could have guessed what a thick blanket of white the gray clouds were about to lay upon the land. when the flakes began to fall thickly mother grizzly quit digging roots and turning over rocks, and sought shelter. the long slope was smooth and bare, but down near the foot was a fallen pine with upturned roots, and into the hollow where the roots had been, under the lee of the matted mass of fibre and dirt, mother grizzly led her babies and there made her bed for the night. it was a longer night than the old bear expected. it lasted until the next day's westering sun made a pale, bluish glimmer through the upper part of the drift that covered the fallen tree and filled up the hollow. the warmth of their bodies had kept an open space around the bears, and the upturned roots of the pine had prevented the snow from piling high directly over them, while causing it to drift and form an enclosing barrier in front of the shallow pit made by the uprooting of the tree. mother grizzly arose and struggled toward the dim glimmer of light, but she could not break her way out. the snow was light and dry and would not pack, and her buffetings only brought a feathery smother down upon her and the cubs. all she accomplished was to let down the frail roofing of the den and get a glimpse of the sky. she tried to climb up the drift, but sank out of sight and had to back out of the smother. digging was futile, for the snow offered scarcely more resistance than foam. so mother grizzly gave up her attempt to escape and busied herself with making the hollow as comfortable as possible for a long stay. she scraped down to the dirt and packed the snow about the sides of the lair, stowed the cubs against the back of the den and curled herself in front of them and waited for better times to come. it is a proverb of the spaniards that "who sleeps, dines," and bears attest its truth, for it is their experience through the long, cold weeks of winter, when the snow is deep and no food is to be got at. doubtless the old she bear was content to go to sleep again and forget her hunger, but it may be supposed that the cubs had not learned the philosophy of necessity, and kept her awake with fretful demands which she could not satisfy. had the family remained holed up in the winter den and not been tempted out by mild weather to break the long fast, probably the desire for food would have remained dormant, but the taste of food awakened appetite, and exercise sharpened it and created insistent necessity for its satisfaction. the normal period of hibernation having passed, dreams were no longer acceptable substitutes for dinner. so the hungry, worrying cubs would not let their dam sleep, and she soon became as ravenous as they and impatient of imprisonment. every day mother grizzly tried the barrier to find a way out, but for more than two weeks the snow was without a crust that would sustain the weight of a dog, and she could only flounder into the drift a few feet and struggle out again. then a light drizzle of rain came, and the next night there was a sharper tingle in the air, a promise of cold weather, and crust began to form. in a day or two more it would be firm enough to travel upon, and the old grizzly would lead her starving cubs down into the foothills and hunt for a stray calf or a sheep with which to feed them. the big snow obliterated mountain roads and trails, and the mail was carried to many of the smaller mountain settlements by men on snowshoes, who took the shortest feasible routes and found smooth traveling a dozen or fifteen feet above the rough, rock-strewn ground. a sierra carrier on skis--the long, wooden norwegian snowshoes--with a letter pouch strapped to his shoulders, was tempted by the light crust to leave the ridge and shorten his journey by making a cut-off down the long, smooth slope. a minute's swift rush down that slope would save hours of weary plodding above the heads of the gulches. the carrier studied the stretch of gleaming white carefully to select his course, and determined on a line passing a little below the roots of the fallen pine, which were indicated by a slight fold in the blanket of snow. setting his steel-shod staff under his left arm pit to serve as brake and rudder and throwing his weight upon it, the carrier ranged his skis parallel, the right in advance a few inches, fixed his attention upon the range mark he had chosen, gave a slight push with the staff and got under way. the crust bore his weight easily, and in two seconds he was gliding swiftly. in five seconds more he was speeding like an arrow from the bow, and the ringing of the steel staff point against the crust arose in a high clear note above the grating sound of the sliding skis. mother grizzly heard the strange sound, which was unlike anything of which she knew the meaning, and cuffing the whining cubs into instant silence, she started cautiously up the barrier to see what was going on or what danger menaced. her frequent attempts to get out of the hole had made an inclined trench, which came to the surface a few yards from the protruding tree roots, and when she reached the upper end and put her head above the crust she saw a man rushing down the mountain straight toward her with the speed of a falling stone. the green glint came into the grizzly's eyes, her teeth clashed together in quick, sharp strokes, like the chattering of a chilled bather, and she lunged forward and upward to meet the charge. if the man saw her at all, it was too late to swerve from his course or swing his staff forward for a weapon. his right ski passed under the bear's foreleg and he flew headlong over her, hurtled through the air and crashed through the snow crust a dozen yards beyond her. one of the skis was broken and torn from his foot, and even if his leg had not been broken he would have been helpless where he fell. [illustration: she lunged forward to meet the charge.] mother grizzly and the starving cubs broke their fast, and two or three days later they went away over the frozen snow to the foothills. the men who went out in search of the missing carrier, and followed his trail to the fallen pine, brought back the mail pouch and something in a grain sack. they told me what they found, but it was not a pleasing tale and it is best that it be not retold. chapter ix. boston's big bear fight. a small party of hunters sat by a campfire in a tamarack grove in the high sierra. their guide was william larkin, esq., alias "old bill," a man who had lived in the mountains for forty years and learned many things worth telling about. a new winchester rifle that was being cleaned was the immediate provocation of some reminiscent remarks on the subject of pump-guns. "we old mossbacks are slow to see anything good in new contraptions," said mr. larkin, after begging a turkish cigarette from the dude and lighting it with the dude's patent pocket lamp, "but i'm just beginning to get it socked home into my feeble old intellect that things ain't naturally no account just because i never seen 'em afore. i stuck to it for a good many years that an old muzzle-loading rifle was the best shooting tool that ever was or ever could be made, but an old she-bear with one of my bullets through her lungs taught me different by clawing all the clothes and half the meat off my back. i'm learning' slowly, and i ain't too old to learn some more. if i live long enough i'll know consid'able yit. "i remember the first pump-gun that came into these mountains. it was a henry sixteen-shooter, and it blew in along with a kid from boston who wanted to kill a bear. the young chap's uncle tried to convince him that killing a california grizzly was not as much fun as some folks pretended, but the boston boy couldn't be convinced, and so the uncle hired me to go along and take care of him. boston had a gun in a case, and i told him to keep it there until we got to my bear pasture. the rest of his outfit was 500 cartridges and a box of paper collars. "when we got into camp over on the south fork, boston wanted to begin the slaughter right away and opened up that gun case. i'd heard of the repeating rifle, but had it put up for a yankee lie, and when the boy pulled out the gun i thought he had made a mistake and brought along some scientific contrivance from his college. he told me it was a henry rifle and showed me how it worked, but i had no use for it. while he stuffed his pump-gun i smoked and thought. 'unless you go slow, mr. larkin,' says i to myself, 'you'll get into plenty of trouble. here you are, mixed up with something that you don't sabe pretty well. a rough canyon, two hound dogs and an able-bodied bear is a combination that you can work, but when you throw in a college boy and a gun that winds up like a clock and shoots till the cows come home, the situation looks kind of misty.' i didn't think much of the pump-gun, but for all i knew it might go off at both ends and paw up everything by the roots, and i was tolerable sure that boston would wobble it around so's to take in a pretty consid'able scope of outdoors. but i allowed i was old fashioned enough to circumvent a boston boy and his new gun, and concluded to go ahead. "next morning we put the dogs into devil's gulch, and by making a cut over a spur we got about two miles below them and sat down to wait for bear. the trees were so tall and so close together that you couldn't see the tops and the sun never saw the ground. the canyon was narrow and the sides were so steep that they tucked under at the bottom. while we sat there i figured a bit on what was going to happen. there was a light breeze, and presently i noticed something on the other side of the canyon, about fifty yards away. the wind swayed some bushes that grew around a charred stump, and from time to time the black end of the stump showed up and then disappeared very much like a bear's head peeping out of the brush. "pretty soon the dogs made a row up the gulch, and as the howls and yells and promiscuous uproar came nearer i knew they had started a bear and made him get a wiggle on. boston danced around in great excitement, and when i pointed to the black stump he was ready to see bears most anywhere. 'you take care of that,' says i, 'and i'll go and see what ails the dogs.' he opened fire on the stump, and i dodged from tree to tree up the gulch until i was out of range. "i never was in a battle, but if they made any more noise at bull run than boston was making, i'm glad i wasn't there. i thought i was running away from the biggest fight on record. it was what our military authors call 'a continual roll of musketry.' but while running away from one battle i piled into another and had all the fight i needed on my hands. the dogs and two bears were mixed up in some sort of disagreement about things in general, and i was in it, as the dude would say, with both feet and a crutch. we got some tangled, but things came my way pretty soon, and when the bears were laid out i stopped to listen. the fight was still going on down the canyon. the boy is still holding his own, i thought; it would be a pity to spoil such a battle. so i went on and dressed my bears, while the steady roll of musketry thundered in the gulch. then i had a wash in the creek, had a smoke and sat down at the foot of a tree and fell asleep. the last i heard was a monotonous uproar indicating that the forces down the gulch were stubbornly holding their ground. "i never did know how long i slept, but when i awoke all was quiet. perhaps it was the silence following the cessation of hostilities that awakened me. i set out to find boston, and groped my way down the gulch through a cloud of smoke. presently i came to the scene of the fray. where my hero had made his first and last stand was a stack of empty shells and the pump-gun so hot that it had set the dry leaves afire, but the bear hunter was gone. i yelled, but got no answer. i looked for tracks up and down the canyon, but there were no tracks. the kid had vanished. "then i climbed up the side of the canyon, high enough to see the tops of trees that stood in the bottom of the gulch. near the scene of hostilities was a giant sugar pine, the top of which had been broken off. boston had shinned up that tree when his ammunition gave out, and when i discovered him he was balancing himself upon the broken shaft and reaching out over his head into space for more limbs." chapter x. yosemite. "yosemite" is an indian word, signifying "place of the grizzly bear," and appropriately the yosemite national park is made a sanctuary for the california grizzly by the regulations forbidding hunting or the carrying of firearms within its borders. danger of extinction of the species, which was an imminent menace when the park was established, was averted by that act, and doubtless the bears have increased in numbers under protection of the united states. they were quite plentiful in that part of the sierra nevada in the early 90's, when, as state forester, i co-operated with the first superintendent of the national park, capt. wood, fourth u. s. cavalry, in driving out the sheep-men with their devastating flocks of "hoofed locusts," and protecting the sierra forests from fire. during the first two or three years of the park's legal existence the hunting of deer was prohibited, but bear-hunting was permitted, and captain wood, lieut. davis and i devoted considerable time to the sport in the autumn of 1891. the captain and i learned to appreciate the distinction between bear-hunting and bear-killing very keenly during that season. for example, i cut the trails of no less than thirteen bears in two days in the mountains north of yosemite valley and followed some of them, but although i succeeded in getting close enough to hustle two of the wanderers out of a leisurely walk into a lope, i never saw hair through my rifle sight. having no dogs, of course, it was all still-hunting and trailing, with the long-odds chance of jumping a bear in the brush by sheer accident. late in the tourist season, bears came down out of the high mountains into the yosemite valley and made tracks in the bridal veil meadows and along the stage roads, which were pointed out to visitors for their entertainment. the valley butcher reported bear sign at the place where he slaughtered beef for the hotel, and i tried roosting for bear in hope that it might prove better than still-hunting. there was a platform in a tree at the slaughtering place and i sat there through one chilly night without hearing or seeing any bear sign. the next night an eager tourist persuaded me to give him a share of the perch, and we roosted silently and patiently until after midnight. hearing a bear coming through the brush, i touched my companion gently to attract his attention. he had fallen into a doze, and, awakening with a start at my touch he dropped his shotgun from the platform. the stock was broken, one of the hammers struck upon a log and a load of buckshot went whistling through the leaves of our tree. then we went home. it was an accident; the man meant well, and he was very sorry, and i held my tongue. the next afternoon i was one of a small party on a drive over the roads at the lower end of the valley, and of course had no gun, a bear broke out of the brush, crossed the road fifty yards ahead of the team, and went down to the meadow. it was not expedient to say all that occurred to me before comparative strangers; so i jumped from the buckboard, picked up a cudgel and lit out after that bear on a lope. he had a good start and when he discovered that he was being followed he clawed dirt to increase his lead and beat me out to the bank of the merced. for a moment he hesitated about going into the swift water, but he decided that he would rather swim than listen to offensive personalities, and over the bank he plunged. it was a relief to sit there, watching him swim the rapids, and feel free to say all the things i hadn't said to the man who dropped the gun, with a few general observations on the perversity of bears and bear-hunters' luck thrown in for good measure. bears were all over the place that year. they blundered into the roads at night and scared teams, broke into the cabin in mariposa grove and ate up all the grub and a sack of sugar pine seed worth a dollar a pound, and captain wood and i never got a shot in three weeks' of diligent hunting. the only man who had any luck was lieutenant davis; that is, not counting private mcnamara, who had bigger luck than a man who wounds a big grizzly and runs really has coming to him. mcnamara's luck will be seen later. davis killed two bears on the perigord meadows and one on rush creek, and wounded a large grizzly in devil's gulch. it was a lucky shot that he made in the dark on rush creek. a troop horse had died about a quarter of a mile below the cavalry camp, on the edge of the national park, and the men had seen bear tracks around the carcass. davis and an illinois preacher, who was roughing it for his health with the troopers, took their blankets one night and camped about thirty yards from the dead horse to await the coming of the bear. the moon was not due to rise until about midnight, and davis pulled off his boots, rolled up in his blanket and went to sleep. the preacher was not sleepy, and was not entirely confident that it was bear nature to wait for moonlight before starting out on the prowl. so he made a small fire and sat beside it, toasting his toes and thinking of things. just before midnight davis awoke, looked at his watch, and said: "well, parson, it is about time for the moon to show up, and the bear is likely to come pretty soon. you'd better put out your fire." the preacher shoved some dirt over the embers with his foot, and davis had just returned his watch to his pocket, when the sound of the crunching of gravel was heard from the bank just above the carcass. davis looked up and could just make out a huge dark form on the edge of the bank. he raised his carbine and fired point blank at the dark mass, and the report was answered by an angry growl. the bear leaped down the bank toward the hunters, and davis sprang to his feet, dropping the carbine, and jumped into the creek, revolver in hand, to get into clear fighting ground. in doing so, he had to jump toward the bear, but he preferred close quarters in the creek bed, where the water was knee deep, to a scrimmage in the brush. the preacher ran for his carbine, which was leaning against a tree twenty feet distant, but he had no opportunity to use it, for the bear made but one more plunge and fell into the water with the death gurgle in his throat. when davis was certain that the bear was done for, he and the preacher ventured to examine the beast. they found that davis had made one of the luckiest shots on record, having sent a carbine bullet through the heart of the big cinnamon bear, although he had taken no aim, and, when he fired, could not distinguish the bear's head from his tail. they pulled the dead bear out of the water, and by the light of the moon, which had risen over the mountain, the preacher curiously examined the teeth and formidable claws of the first wild bear he had ever seen. he felt of the animal's enormous, muscular legs, and was profoundly impressed with the great strength of the brute. "well," said davis, after he had inspected the body sufficiently, "we might as well turn in and sleep the rest of the night. the trail back to camp is too rough to follow in the night." and so saying he rolled up in his blankets. "sleep!" said the preacher; "sleep with those dum things wandering about! not much." and the preacher rebuilt his fire, climbed upon a log, and roosted there, with cocked carbine, until daybreak, while the lieutenant slept and snored. the "other story" is about private mcnamara, a grizzly, and some gray squirrels. mcnamara got leave to go hunting, and went over to devil's gulch, the roughest canyon in the country and the best hiding place for big game. mcnamara had good luck, and killed about a dozen gray squirrels, which he slung to his belt. he had turned homeward, and was picking his way through the fallen timber, when a grizzly arose from behind a log about fifty yards away. mcnamara raised his carbine and fired. the bear howled and started for him, and mcnamara felt in his belt for another cartridge, but none was there. he had fired his last shot. mcnamara realized that he had to trust to his legs to get him out of that scrape, and he turned and ran faster than he ever sprinted in his life. but the bear was the better runner, and gained rapidly. the dangling squirrels impeded mcnamara's action, and as he ran he tried to get rid of them. he pulled two loose and dropped them, and the grizzly stopped to investigate. bruin found them good, and he ate them in two gulps and resumed the chase. mcnamara dropped some more squirrels and gained a good lead, and then he unhooked his belt and dropped all that were left, and when the grizzly finished the lot mcnamara was out of sight across the river and getting his second wind for a long run home. chapter xi. the right of way. "it was pretty late in the season," said my friend, the prospector, "when i took a notion that i'd like to see what sort of a country lies north of the umpqua river, in oregon, and i struck into the mountains from drain station with my prospecting outfit and as much grub as i could pack upon my horse. after leaving elk creek i followed a hunting trail for a day, but after that it was rough scrambling up and down mountain sides and through gulches, and the horse and i had a pretty tough time. the umpqua mountains are terribly steep and wild and it's no fool of a job to cross them. "there is any amount of game in those mountains, and where i went it never is hunted, and, therefore, not hard to find. if i had cared to shoot much, i could have killed a great many bears, but i wasn't in there for fun so much as for business, and i didn't shoot but one. bear meat is no good at any time unless a man is starving, according to my notions, and in the summer it is worse than no good. before berries are ripe a bear goes around clawing the bark from logs and dead trees and feeds on the borers and ants. he has a banquet when he strikes a well-populated ant heap, and then he smells and tastes like ants if you try to eat him. his meat is rank, and if you eat it for a day or two you will break out all over with a sort of rash that is mightily uncomfortable. there is no fur on a bear in summer and his skin is not worth taking, so you see there was no reason why i should fool away time and cartridges on bruin. besides, i rather like bruin for his comical ways, and when he doesn't bother me, i'd rather watch him than shoot at him. "i had to kill one big brown fellow, because he wouldn't get out of my way and my horse was afraid to pass him. he was on a narrow ridge that i was following in order to keep out of the heavy timber, and the bear sat upon his haunches right in my way. probably he never saw a man before, for he didn't seem to be in the least disturbed when i hove in sight leading the horse. i supposed he would drop on all fours and scuttle away, but not a bit of it. he had struck something new and was going to see the whole show. there he sat, with his forepaws hanging down and his head cocked on one side, looking at the procession with the liveliest curiosity in his face. there was nothing wicked in his appearance, and if it hadn't been for the horse i think i would have passed within three yards of him without any trouble. as it was, i dragged the horse up to within twenty feet, but then he hung back, snorted and protested so vigorously that i was afraid he would back over the edge and fall down the steep mountain side. "letting the horse back away a few yards, i tied his halter to a scrub tree and then advanced toward the bear with my rifle in my left hand. he didn't budge, and when i yelled at him he only started a little and cocked his head over on the other side. that made me laugh, and then i amused myself by talking to him. 'why don't you move?' said i. 'i know you got here first and have a squatter claim on the quarter-section, but you ought not to sit down on public travel in that way.' he looked at me as though i was the oddest specimen he ever came across, and scratched his ear with his left paw. "'you musn't mind my friend here,' i said, pointing to the horse; 'he's a little shy in society, but he means well. if you'll move to one side, we'll pass on.' it was a fool sort of an idea, standing there and talking to a bear, but i was interested in studying the expression of his face and seeing how puzzled he seemed to be at the sound of my voice. he'd rub his ear or his nose once in a while, and then look up, as though he were saying: 'just repeat that; i don't quite make out what you are driving at,' and then he'd assume a look of the most intense interest. i don't know how long he would have remained there, but i got tired of the fun and threw a stick at him. it would have hit him on the nose, but he warded it off very cleverly, and then his manner changed. he growled a little and began swaying his head from side to side, and when i saw the green glint come into his eyes--the danger signal that all the carnivorae flash and all hunters heed--i knew the time was up for airy persiflage and that i was in for a 'scambling and unquiet time' unless i promptly took up the quarrel. it was an easy shot, through the throat to the base of the skull, and the bullet smashed the spinal cord. "that was the only bear, other than a grizzly, that i ever saw dispute the right of way of a man through the woods." chapter xii. well heeled. "curious how some men will lose their grip on the truth when they talk about bears," said mr. jack waddell, of ventura. "there's old ari hopper, for example, a man whose word is good in a hoss trade, but when he tells about his bear fights he puts your confidence in him to an awful strain. i don't say that ari would tell lies, but he puts a whole lot of fancy frills on his stories and fixes 'em up gorgeous. i reckon i've run across most as many bears as anybody, but i never had no such adventures as i read about. "the most curious bear scrape i ever had was over on the piru last spring, and just the plain facts of the case beat anything you ever heard. there was an old white-headed grizzly in that part of the country that did a heap of damage, but nobody had been able to do him up. they set spring guns for him on the mountain and put out poison all around, but he'd beat the game every time. taylor, of the mutaw ranch, fixed a spring gun that he thought would fix the old fellow for sure. it was a big muzzle-loading musket, with a bore as big as an eight-gauge shotgun, and taylor loaded it with a double handful of powder, thirty buckshot and a wagon bolt six inches long. it was set right in the trail and baited with a chunk of pork tied to the muzzle and connected with the trigger by a string. "the gun was about a mile from the house, and the very first night after it was set, taylor was awakened by a roar that made the windows rattle and seemed to shake the very hills. taylor knew the old gun had gone off, and he chuckled as he thought of the wreck it made of the old grizzly. in the morning he started out to take a look at his dead bear, and found his tracks leading from the meadow right up the trail. he knew the sign, because the grizzly put only the heel of his off forefoot to the ground and there was a round mark in the track that looked as though it were made by the end of a bone. "as i was saying, taylor recognized the tracks and was sure he had got old whitehead, but he was sort of puzzled when he noticed a hog's track in the same trail and saw that those were sometimes wiped out by the bear's tracks. when he got near the spring gun he saw bits of meat hanging in the brush, but no fur anywhere. he kept on, and pretty soon he saw a dark mass lying on the ground in front of the wreck of the old musket. he stepped up to look at it and saw that it was the mangled corpse of the biggest hog on the ranch. one of the hams was gone, and apparently it had been cut away with a knife. the head and all the fore part of the hog had been blown to flinders, and the brush was just festooned with pork. "taylor thought somebody had happened along and cut a ham out of the dead hog, but there were no man tracks anywhere; nothing but hog and bear tracks. it was plain that the cunning old bear had driven the hog ahead of him up the trail to spring the gun, but that missing ham could not be accounted for. "another curious thing was noticed about all the cattle that the grizzly killed. ordinarily, you know, the grizzly strikes a blow that breaks a steer's neck or shoulder, and then pulls him down and finishes him. in the piru country a great many cattle were found with their throats neatly cut, and old whitehead's tracks were invariably found near the carcasses. the only man that the grizzly ever killed, so far as is known, was a mexican sheepherder, and he was found with a slash in the side of the head that looked like the work of a hatchet or other sharp tool. some people didn't believe that the mexican was killed by a bear, but there were no other tracks where his body was found, and i know for a fact that old whitehead did kill him. "i was pirooting around in the brush on a hill pretty well up toward the head of piru creek one afternoon, when i caught sight of a bear about twenty yards ahead of me. i could see only a part of his fur, and couldn't tell how he was lying or what part of him was in sight. i figured around a few minutes, but couldn't get a better sight, and so i just took chances and let drive for luck at what i could see. it was a fool thing to do, of course, but i just happened to feel careless and confident. there was a snort and a crash, and old whitehead loomed up madder than a hornet. i had shot him in the haunch and he felt insulted. he made a rush at me, and i skipped aside and jumped for a small tree standing on the brink of a little ravine. my rifle dropped into the ravine, and i went up the tree like a monkey up a pole, and by the time the old bear had put his helm down and swung around to take a whack at me i was out of his reach and felt safe. "the bear sat down and deliberately sized up the situation, and then he walked up to the tree and began striking at the trunk with his right paw. that made me laugh at first, but i was just paralyzed with amazement when i saw clean-cut chips flying at every stroke and caught a metallic gleam as his paw swung in the air. i didn't have much time to investigate the matter because the old grizzly was a boss chopper and my tree began to totter very soon. i had sense enough to see that if i came down with the tree on the upper side the bear would nail me with one jump, and i threw my weight on the other side so as to fall the tree into the ravine. i thought i might have the luck to land without breaking any bones, and then i'd have quite a start of the bear and perhaps be able to pick up my rifle. "as the tree toppled over the edge of the ravine and began to fall i swung around to the upper side and braced myself for the crash. during the fall i managed to throw my legs out over a branch, and when the tree struck bottom i shot out feet foremost, sliding down through the brushy top and landing with a pretty solid jar right side up and no damage except a few bruises and scratches. the first thing i looked for was my rifle, and, luckily, it wasn't two yards away. i grabbed it and ran up the other side of the ravine to a rocky ledge, while the grizzly was crashing down through the brush on his side, expecting to find me under the fallen tree. before he knew what had happened i was shooting him full of holes and he was dead in a minute. "when i examined the dead grizzly i found the most singular thing i ever came across. in the sole of his right forepaw was an ivory-handled bowie-knife, firmly imbedded and partly surrounded by calloused gristle as hard as bone. the handle was out of sight, but the butt of it made a knob in the heel of the bear's foot and left a mark on the ground. evidently he walked on that heel to keep the blade from striking stones and getting dulled. that knife accounted for all the mysteries about the white-headed grizzly. "what's that? mystery about how the knife got into his foot? not at all; that's simple enough. he swallowed the knife during some fight or other, and it worked around in his system and down into his foot just as a needle does in a man." chapter xiii. smoked out. what a bear may do under given circumstances may be guessed with reasonable certainty by one who has had experience, but it is not always safe to risk much on the accuracy of the guess. bruin's general nature is not to be depended upon in special cases. he has individual characteristics and eccentricities and is subject to freaks, and these variations from the line of conduct which he is expected to follow are what makes most of the trouble for people who are after his pelt. morgan clark, the old bear hunter of siskiyou, never hesitates about going into a den in the winter to drive out a bear, provided the cavern is wide enough to let the bear pass him. he takes a torch in his hand and stalks boldly in, because his experience has made the proceeding seem perfectly safe. "all you've got to do," says morgan, "is to stand to one side and keep quiet, and the bear'll just scoot by without noticing you. it's the light that's bothering him, and all he's thinking about is getting out of that hole as fast as he can. he don't like the smoke and the fire, and he won't pay any attention to anything else until he gets outside, but then you want to look out. he goes for the first live thing in sight when he's clear of the cave and the smudge, and he don't go very slow either. jim brackett found that out over in squaw valley one day. he found a bear in a den, and built a fire at the mouth to smoke him out. the fire was burning rather slowly, brackett thought, and he stood looking around and waiting for something to happen. while he had his back turned to the den something did happen, and it happened dog-gone sudden. that fire was plenty fast enough for the bear, and the old cuss came out without waiting to be choked. he came out galleycahoo, and the first thing he saw was brackett leaning on his gun and waiting for the show to begin. he just grabbed brackett by the back of the neck and slammed him around through the manzanita brush like a dog shaking a groundhog, brackett told me that he never felt so surprised and hurt in his life. he hadn't cal'lated on that bear coming out for a good two minutes more; but mebbe the bear had stronger objections to smoking than brackett knew. if it hadn't been for brackett's little cur dog, that he supposed wasn't fit for nothing but barking at chipmunks, i reckon the bear would have chawed and thumped the life out of him. the cur seemed to tumble to the situation right away, and he went for the bear's heels in good shape. it generally takes time and a few knock-out cuffs from bear's paw to teach a dog that there's two ends to a bear and only one of them safe to tackle, but that little ornery kiyi knew it from the start. if there's anything a bear can't stand, it's a dog nipping his heels, and when the cur began snapping at his hind legs and yelping, he lost interest in brackett and attended to the disturbance in the rear. the little cuss was cute and spry enough to keep out of his reach, though, and he made such a nuisance of himself, without doing any serious damage of course, that the bear got disgusted with the whole performance and hiked out through the brush. brackett was hurt too badly to follow him or to fire a gun, and it was two months before he was able to get around. but he wouldn't have sold that little scrub cur for all the money he ever saw." budd watson, who used to hunt and trap on the pitt river and the mccloud, had an adventure with a bear that didn't conduct his part of the hunt according to hoyle. budd and joe mills tracked a big cinnamon to a den in the mountains near the mccloud and built a big smudge to smoke him out. the wind blew the wrong way to drive the smoke in, and so budd took a torch and went after the bear, leaving mills on guard outside. like morgan clark, he knew the bear would pass him head down and make for the open air without delay, and he wasn't afraid. when the bear got up with a growl at the appearance of the torch and started for the exit, budd quietly stepped aside and gave him room to pass, but the cinnamon developed individuality in an unexpected direction and made a grab for budd's right leg as he passed. budd threw his leg up to avoid the grab, lost his balance and fell flat on top of the bear. instinctively he caught hold of the thick fur on the bear's hind quarters with both hands, still holding the torch in his right, but dropping his gun, and winding his legs about the bear's body he rode out into the daylight before he hardly knew what had happened. mills was ready to shoot when the bear appeared, but seeing his partner riding the game, he was too much surprised to take the brief chance offered at the bear's head, and in another instant it was too late. to fire after the pair had passed was too dangerous, as he might hit the rider instead of the steed. the cinnamon, in his first panic, plunged wildly down the hill, trying to shake off his strange burden, and went so rapidly that budd was afraid to let go. but budd's principal fear was that the bear would recover his presence of mind and turn upon him, and his game was to keep the beast on the jump as long as he could, trusting to chance for a way out of the scrape. the torch, made of rags soaked in oil, was still blazing in his right hand. taking a firmer grip with his legs and a good hold just above the tail with his teeth, he applied the torch to the bear's rump. this application and the hair-raising yells of mills, who was plunging along madly in the wake, caused an astonishing burst of speed, and the cinnamon thundered through the brush like a runaway locomotive on a down grade, with such lurches and rolls and plunges that budd dropped his torch and hung on, tooth and nail, for dear life. the unfeeling mills was taking a frivolous view of the case by this time, and as he strode rapidly along behind, losing ground at every jump, however, he encouraged budd and the bear alternately with flippant remarks: "stick to him, budd! whoaouw! go it bar!" "you're the boss bar-buster, old man. can't buck you off!" "whoopee hellitylarrup!" "who's bossing that job, budd; you or the bar?" "say budd, goin' ter leave me here? give a feller a ride, won't ye?" "hi-yi; that's a bully saddle bar!" [illustration: a bully saddle bear.] but budd was waiting for a chance to dismount, and as the bear rose to leap a big log in his path, budd let go all holds and slid head first to the ground. he bumped his forehead and skinned his nose on a rock. his legs and back were scratched and torn by the brush, his clothes were in tatters, and he was almost seasick from the lurching motion of his steed. mills came up roaring with laughter. he thought it was the funniest thing he ever had seen in his life. but budd was not a man of much humor and he failed to appreciate the ridiculous features of the adventure. he got up slowly, ruefully brushed away the blood and dirt from his face, and solemnly and methodically gave joe mills the most serious and matter-of-fact licking that a man ever got in this world. chapter xiv. a cry in the night. in the flickering of the camp-fire the glooming wall of firs advanced and receded like the sea upon the shore, whispering, too, like the sea, of mysteries within its depths; for this is true: the wind in the forest and the wave upon the beach make the same music and tell the same strange tales. through a rift in the darkening wall the last afterglow on the snow-cap of mount hood made a rosy point against the western sky, a "goodnight" flashed from the setting sun to the man by the camp-fire. out from the enfolding night that fell as a mantle when the light died on mount hood, came a shape, followed by a shadow that seemed to be with but not of the shape. like a menacing enemy the shadow dogged the steps of the man who came out of the night, now towering over him in monstrous height against a tree trunk, now suddenly falling backward and darting swiftly down a forest aisle in panic fear, only to spring forth with gigantic leaps and grotesque waxings and wanings and inane caperings at his heels as the firelight rose and fell. a cheery "howdy, stranger!" drew the attention of the man by the fire--known to his indian guide by the generic name of "boston," which is chinook for white man--and he returned the greeting to the tall, gray-bearded man who strode toward him, glad to have company in the absence of the indian, doctor tom, who had gone down to the columbia for supplies. a haunch of venison confirmed the stranger's brief explanation that he was hunting and made his arrival doubly welcome. when the pipes were lighted, boston drew the old fellow out, found that he hunted for a living and soon had a hunt for the next day all arranged. they were telling camp-fire yarns, and the stranger was speaking in an animated way of some adventure, when boston noticed a sudden change in his expression and an abrupt halt in his speech. turning in the direction toward which the stranger's apprehensive gaze was directed, boston saw a dark figure standing motionless in the shadow of a fir, and he laid his hand upon his rifle. the figure advanced into the firelight and boston recognized doctor tom. the indian said nothing, but placed his pack upon the ground in silence, and boston saw him cast one swift, glowering look at the stranger, who was apparently trying to conceal his uneasiness under an assumption of indifference. doctor tom had travelled all day and must have been hungry, but he did not take any food out of the pack or even go to the fire for a cup of tea, and he shook his head when boston offered him a piece of broiled venison. not a bite would he touch, but sat, silent and motionless as a statue, upon a log away from the fire and with his back turned to the stranger. boston tried to resume the camp-fire stories, but the grizzled hunter was thinking of something else and replied with monosyllables. soon he arose, made up his pack, threw his rolled blanket over his shoulder and picked up his rifle. boston, in some surprise, urged him to remain, and reminded him of the arrangement for the next day's hunt. there was a slight movement of doctor tom's head, and he seemed about to arise, but the almost imperceptible tension of his limbs instantly relaxed, and he remained apparently indifferent and unheeding. "fact is," said the stranger, "i forgot that i'd got to be up to hood river to-morrow, and i reckon i'll just mosey along to-night so as to make it. i know the trail with my eyes shut." he was about to stride out of camp, when his eye caught doctor tom's old musket leaning against the tree. "you don't shoot with this?" he asked with a little, uneasy laugh, as he picked up the ancient piece and toyed with the lock. boston laughingly replied, "well, hardly," and the stranger replaced the gun, said "so long," and was lost in the gloom. it was ten minutes before doctor tom moved, and then he got his musket and brought it to the fire. he lifted the hammer, removed the cap, and taking a pin from his waist band worked at the nipple until he extracted a splinter of wood. then he drew the charge, blew down the barrel to see that it was clear and reloaded the musket. doctor tom took some smoked salmon from his pouch, made a cup of coffee and silently ate his supper, and boston began to comprehend that there was a reason for his refusal to eat while the stranger was in camp. but it was useless to try to make doctor tom talk until he had smoked, and boston waited patiently. at last doctor tom said, abruptly, "you know um?" boston replied that he did not know the stranger, told briefly how he came into camp, and by adroit questioning drew, in laconic sentences, a story from the taciturn indian. the man was a hunter, who had been a famous bear-killer many years ago. in the days of muzzle-loaders he had two rifles, one of which was always carried for him by an indian whom he hired for that service. if his first shot failed to kill, he handed the empty rifle to the indian to exchange for the second weapon, and usually brought down his bear while the indian was reloading. a member of doctor tom's tribe, probably a relative, was gun-bearer for the hunter on one of his expeditions. they ran across a she-bear with cubs and the hunter shot her, but the wound only stung her, and she rushed fiercely upon him. the second shot did not stop her, and the hunter and the indian had to turn and run for their lives. but a grizzly in a rage can outrun any man in a long race, and the angry she-bear rapidly overhauled her foes. the white man and the indian ran side by side, although the indian could have outstripped him. the red man had his knife in hand ready for the moment when the bear should seize one of them. the white man glanced over his shoulder, saw the bear lurching along within one jump of them, seized the indian by the shoulders and hurled him backward into the very jaws of the furious brute. the white man escaped with his life, and the indian lived just long enough to tell those who found him, a torn and bloody mass of flesh and broken bones, how he had been sacrificed to a coward's love of life. doctor tom told this in his uncouth jargon of english and chinook, without a tremor, but his black eyes glowed with a gleam of light not reflected from the dying embers of the campfire, and boston was glad that the stranger had gone. then he knew why doctor tom sat silently apart and would taste no food while the stranger was in camp. the stranger might accept boston's hospitality and eat salt with him, but the indian would not acknowledge by any act that he, doctor tom, had any interest in that camp, or bind himself by indian custom to treat the stranger as his guest. boston awoke in the still dark hours before dawn and lay thinking over doctor tom's story and the demeanor of the man who had wandered into camp. a cry clove through the silence of the night like a lightning flash through a black cloud, and as the gloom becomes deeper after the flash, so the silence seemed more intense and oppressive after that cry. it came from across the canyon, clear and far, a cry of mortal terror. it is a panther, thought boston, and he listened for its repetition or an answer from the mate, but the stillness was unbroken. he turned over to see if doctor tom had heard or noticed it, and thought the dark bundle by the side of the log seemed rather small for the sleeping indian. boston got up and walked over to the log. doctor tom's blanket only was there. boston looked for the musket; it was in its old place against the tree. his own rifle was undisturbed. boston concluded that doctor tom had gone for water or was off on some incomprehensible indian freak, the reason of which was not worth a white man's time to puzzle out, rolled up in his blanket again and became oblivious to the realities around him. it was daylight when boston awoke again. doctor tom had not returned. boston made a fire, and while cooking breakfast he noticed that the indian's long knife was gone from the log where he had left it sticking after supper. he halloed to tom, but received no answer save the echo. calmly confident of doctor tom's ability to look out for himself, boston went about his business without more ado, ate his breakfast and was taking a second cup of coffee when doctor tom came into camp, silent and grave as usual, but rather paler. he came from the direction of the canyon. the indian drank some coffee and then carefully took his left arm with his right hand from the bosom of his shirt, where it had been resting, and said, "broke um." boston examined the arm and found that it was badly bruised and broken above the elbow. he heated some water and bathed the arm and then told tom to brace his breast against a tree and hold on with his right arm. boston took hold of the left arm on the opposite side of the tree, braced his feet and pulled. rough splints were soon made and applied, and a big horn of whiskey made doctor tom feel more comfortable. while making the splints boston asked tom for his knife, having carefully mislaid his own. "lose um," said doctor tom, but he offered no more explanation. when asked how he broke his arm, he replied, "fall down." evidently he had fallen down, but there were five odd-looking marks on his throat, and boston thought of that cry in the night and wondered if the whispering firs could tell of another mystery hidden in the forest; of a menacing shadow dogging the footsteps of a man and grappling with him in the dark. boston and doctor tom broke camp and started back over the mountain on the hood river trail. boston was in the lead, and as he walked along he looked closely for the tracks of the stranger's boots, as he had said he was going to hood river. there were no tracks. the stranger had not gone over that trail. chapter xv. a campfire symposium. "speaking of bears, joe," said one of a party of hunters sitting around a campfire at old fort tejon, "old ari hopper has had more queer experiences with bears than anybody. he has given up hunting now, but he used to be the greatest bear-killer in the mountains. ari has a voice like a steam, fog-horn--the effects of drinking a bottle of lye one night by mistake for something else, and when he speaks in an ordinary tone you can hear him several blocks away. you can always tell when ari comes to town as soon as he strikes the blacksmith's shop up at the cross-roads and says, 'holloa' to the smith. ari was out on the alamo mountain one day and got treed by a big black bear--" "a black bear on the alamo?" interrupted dad. "there ain't nothing but grizzlies and cinnamons over there. i was over there once--" "hold on, dad, it's my turn yet. you never heard of a grizzly climbing a tree, did you?" "oh, well, if you've got to have your bear go up a tree, all right. we'll call it a black bear. besides, if it's one of ari's bear stories, anything goes." "the bear treed ari," resumed the other, "and just climbed up after him in a hurry. ari went up as high as he could and then shinned out on a long limb. the bear followed, and art kept inching out until he got as far as he dared trust his weight. the bear was climbing out after him and the limb was bending too much for safety when ari yelled at the bear: 'go back, you d----d fool. you'll break this limb and kill both of us. want to break your cussed neck, goldarn ye?' "well, sir, that bear stopped, looked at ari, and then down to the ground, and then he just backed along the limb to the trunk, slid down and lit out for the brush. ari swears that the bear understood him. bears have a heap of sabe, but i'm inclined to think that it was ari's stentorian roar that scared him away." "that's one of art's fairy tales," said joe. "let ari tell it, and he has had more bear fights and killed more grizzlies than anybody, but the fact is that his brother-in-law, jim freer, did all the killing. you never heard of ari going bear hunting without jim. when they'd find any bears ari would go up a tree and jim would stand his ground and do up the bear. jim never gets excited in a scrimmage, and he's a dead shot. he'll stand in his tracks and wait for a bear, and when the brute gets near him he'll raise his rifle as steadily as though he were at a turkey shoot and put the bullet in the exact spot every time. if that had been the piebald grizzly of the piru that treed art, he wouldn't have scared him out of the tree." "what's the piebald grizzly?" inquired dad in an incredulous tone. "i never heard of no such bear as that." "oh, you needn't think i'm lying. i wouldn't lie about bears." "how about deer?" "well, that's different. i never knew a hunter or any chap that likes a gun and a tramp in the mountains who wouldn't lie about a deer except jim bowers. he doesn't lie worth a cent. why bowers will go out after venison, come back without a darned thing, and then tell how many deer he shot at and missed. i've known him to miss a sleeping deer at thirty yards and come into camp and tell all about it. when i do a thing like that i come back and lie about it. i swear i haven't seen a deer all day long." "if you told the truth," said dad, "we'd hear nothing but deer stories--the missing kind--all night." "that's all right, but i'm telling about bears now. this bear i speak of is a big grizzly that some people call old clubfoot. jim freer knows him better than anybody, i reckon. jim got caught in a mountain fire over on the frazier one day, and he had to hunt for water pretty lively. he found a pool about five yards across down in a gully, and he jumped in there and laid down in the water. he hadn't more than got settled when the big piebald bear came tearing along ahead of the fire and plunged into the same pool. it was no time to be particular about bedfellows, and the bear lay right down alongside of jim in the water. they laid there pretty near half an hour as sociable as old maids at a tea party, and neither one offered to touch the other. the bear kept one eye on jim and jim kept both eyes on the bear, and as soon as the fire had passed jim crawled out and scooted for camp, leaving the grizzly in soak." "did you ever see that piebald pinto of the piru?" inquired dad. "did i ever see him? well, i had the d---dest time with him i ever had in my life except the day i was chased by a spotted mountain lion on pine mountain. i was hunting deer over on the mutaw when i saw old clubfoot in the brush and fired at him. he turned and rushed towards me and i had just time enough to get up a tree. the tree was a pinon about a foot thick and would have been a safe refuge from any other bear, and i felt all right perched about twenty feet from the ground. but old clubfoot is different from other bears. he's a persistent, wicked old cuss, and would just as soon sit down at the foot of a tree and starve a man out as hunt sheep. he came up to the tree, looked it all over, sized it up, and then stood on his hind legs and took a good hold of the trunk with his arms. he couldn't quite reach me, and at first i thought he was going to climb up, which made me laugh, but i didn't laugh long. the old bear began to shake that tree until it rocked like a reed in a gale, and i had all i could do to hold on with arms and legs. it's a fact that he pretty nearly made me seasick. he shook the tree for about ten minutes, and when he saw that it was a little too stout and that he couldn't shake me down, he began tearing the trunk at the base with his teeth and claws. the way he made the bark and splinters fly was something surprising. he gnawed about half way through, and there was a wicked glitter in his little green eyes as he stood up to take another grip on the tree. i saw that he'd shake me down sure that time, and i got ready to take the last desperate chance for life. looking around, i noticed a barranca, or gully, twenty feet wide about a hundred yards away, and i determined to make for that. if i could reach the bank, jump across and get to some heavy timber on the other side, i would be all right. twenty feet is a big jump and i knew the bear couldn't make it. it was doubtful if i could, but a man will do some astonishing things when he's at the head of a procession of that sort. when the grizzly began to shake, i took a firm hold on the big limb with my hands and swung clear of the trunk. he made that tree snap like a whip, and as it swayed over toward the barranca i threw my feet out ahead and i let go. i shot through the air like a stone out of a sling, and struck the ground nearly fifty yards from the tree. it was that fifty yards that saved me, for by the time i had picked myself up and started on a run the bear was coming hellitywhoop. i ran like a scared wolf and i think my momentum would have carried me across the barranca if the bank had been firm, but the earth caved under me as i took off for the leap, and down i went into the gully under a mass of loose earth. i reckon there was about a ton of dirt on top of me, and i was in danger of being smothered under it. i couldn't move a limb and i'd have passed in my chips right there and been reckoned among the mysterious disappearances if it hadn't been for the bear. the piebald grizzly of the piru saved my life." "did he dig you out?" asked dad, grinning. "that's what he did." "and then he ate you up, i suppose?" "no; i'm coming to that. the bear came tumbling down into the barranca on top of the dirt and he began to dig right away. he was as good as a steam paddy, and in a few moments i was able to get a breath of air. i was wondering-which would be the worse, smothering or being chewed up by a bear, when he raked the dirt off my head and i saw daylight. i shut my eyes, thinking i would play dead as a last ruse, when i heard a roar and a rush. there was a trembling of the ground, a dull, heavy shock, and i felt something warm on my face. at the same moment i heard a growl of rage and surprise from the bear and felt relieved of his weight above me. a terrific racket followed. as soon as i could free myself from the dirt, i crawled out cautiously and saw a strange thing. a big black bull, the boss of the mutaw ranch, had charged on the grizzly and knocked him over just in time to save me. one of his horns had gored the bear's neck, and it was the warm blood that i felt on my face. they were old enemies, each bore scars of wounds inflicted by the other, and they were having a battle royal down there in the barranca." "which licked?" inquired dad, eagerly. "i don't know. i'd had enough bear fight for one day, and i lit out for camp and left them clawing and charging and tearing up the ground. i didn't see any necessity for remaining as referee of that scrimmage. you remember, father, that i came into camp covered with blood, and that you thought i had been monkeying with a mountain lion." "ye-es, i recollect the circumstances, but i never heard about the bear and bull episode before. i seem to have sort of a dim notion that you were packing a deer home on your back and fell into a barranca with it and lost it in a mud slough, but perhaps i'm mistaken. you forgot to tell me the facts, i guess." "shouldn't wonder," said dad; "joe does sometimes forget to tell the facts, but he wouldn't lie about a bear." "i haven't forgotten the facts about your bear trap in sonoma," retorted joe. "i allow that little accident never lost anything by your telling. 'taint worth telling nohow. you'd better turn in and go to sleep and not be telling durn lies about folks that's old enough to be your great-grandfather, but ain't too old yet to give ye a licking, b'gosh! don't ye go to fergittin' that i'm a constable, and can arrest people who use language cal'lated to provoke a breach of the peace." "dad was a devil of a bear catcher," continued joe, "and once he built a big trap up in sonoma. the door weighed about three hundred pounds, and it took two men and a crowbar to lift it. dad had fixed it so that no bear in sonoma could raise it from the inside. it was a bully trap, and when it was all finished dad set the trigger and went inside to tie the bait on. he forgot to prop the door, and as soon as he monkeyed with the trigger he set it off and down came the door with a bang. it worked beautifully. "when dad realized that he had caught himself he was sorry he had made such a solid door. he couldn't think of any way of getting out, and there wasn't nobody within five miles. dad yelled for about an hour and then quit. after a while he heard something coming, and thinking it might be a neighbor riding along the trail, he shouted again. peering out between' the logs he saw two bears in the moonlight making straight for the trap, and he stopped his noise. the bears came up, sniffed all around, smelt dad and the bait and began clawing at the logs to get inside. then dad was sorry he hadn't built the trap stronger and used heavier logs. he tried to scare the bears by yelling, but the more he yelled, the harder they dug to get at him, and it wasn't long before he heard a mountain lion answering his shout and coming nearer every minute. the lion came down off the mountain, jumped on top of the trap and began tearing at the log's up there. he got his paw down through the trigger-hole, and dad had to go to the other end of the trap to keep out of reach. then the bears got the logs torn so that they could reach in between them in two or three places, and they kept dad on the jump inside. before morning there was another lion and three more bears at work on the dad-trap, and they'd have got him by noon that next day if a party of hunters hadn't come along and scared them away. these are the facts, but dad used to tell it differently. "dad said he pulled up one of the floor logs and began to dig with his knife and hands. he sunk a hole two or three feet deep and then run a drift under the trap to a big hollow tree that stood just behind it. while the bears were digging in, dad was digging out. he struck the root of the tree with his tunnel and made an upraise to the inside of the trunk. he climbed up about ten feet and struck into a mass of honey and comb, and crawled through that to a hole about fifty feet from the ground, where he could look out. just about that time the bears and the lions broke into the trap and began to fight over the bait. the growling and yelling were fearful, and the air was full of flying fur, bark and chips. while dad was watching the fight he heard a great scratching and scrambling in the tree beneath him, and he knew that one of the bears had caught the scent of the honey and was following it through his drift and upraise. dad crawled out through the bee hole, slid down the tree and lit out for home. when he came back with his boys and neighbors he found the trap chock full of dead bears and lions. he cut down the bee tree, killed the bear that was inside and got half a ton of fine honey. that's the way dad tells it." "i never told no such dogdurned lie as that since i was born," snorted dad, "and my boys got me out with a crow-bar." chapter xvi. brainy bears of the pecos. the people who live on the pecos, away up in the canyon, almost in the afternoon shadow of baldy and just this side of the truchas peaks, do not assert that the bears of that region are wiser than the bears of any other country on earth, for they are ready to admit that in this wide world are many things concerning which they know nothing. but they have never heard of any bears more thoughtful than the bears of the pecos, and it is doubtful if anybody else ever has. no man can associate with bears for any considerable length of time without having it impressed upon him that ursus americanus is nobody's fool. senor mariano ortiz of the upper pecos affirms upon the faith of a descendant of the conquistadores that this is so, and he ought to know, for he and the bears have been joint occupants of the ranch for years. there was a time when senor ortiz thought the pecos country admirably adapted to the raising of hogs, but that was before he tried to raise hogs there and before he had learned to appreciate the mental capacities of bears. senor ortiz went down to pecos town and bought some hogs, drove them up the river, and turned them into his alfalfa field to fatten. they were of genuine thoroughbred razor-back variety, trained down to sprinting form, agile, self-reliant as mules, tougher than braided rawhide, and disorderly in their conduct. they broke through the fence the first night, went up into a quaking asp patch where there was nothing eatable, and had a scrap with two bears who thought senor ortiz had invested in edible pork. the hogs were wiry and pugnacious, and the circumstantial evidence plainly indicated that the bears had no walk-over. however, the bears managed to get one emaciated porker after a long chase, and they bit several samples out of him. they didn't devour the whole carcass, and they didn't try pork again for two months. after a few days, the hogs ceased breaking out of the field, and settled down to the business of laying leaf lard upon their rugged frames, a line of conduct which merited and received the hearty approval of don mariano, and, as subsequent events proved, was joyously appreciated by the bears. don mariano was fearful that the bears, having discovered the prevalence of pork, would raid his field and introduce difficulties into the business of hog raising, and he watched the drove with some solicitude. but, to his surprise, he missed no pigs. one evening, just at dusk, don mariano saw two bears come out of the woods just above the alfalfa field and waddle calmly down to the fence. he hid behind a tree and watched them. when they reached the fence they stood up and placed their forepaws upon the top rail. thinking they were about to go a-porking, don mariano picked up a club and prepared to stampede them, but they made no move to climb the fence, and he waited to see what their game might be. with their paws upon the rail and their snouts resting lazily upon their paws, like two old farmers discussing the crop prospects, the bears inspected the pigs in clover. one of them presently lifted a hind foot and placed it upon the bottom rail, and don mariano was about to break forth with a yell, when he saw that the bear was only getting into a more lazily comfortable position. then the bear cocked his head to one side and thoughtfully scratched his ear. the hogs were nosing around in the clover, and the whole drove was in full view of the bears. the hogs were still lean and athletic. [illustration: the bears inspected the pigs in clover.] after contemplating the drove for about ten minutes, one of the bears turned about, walked two or three steps upright, came down to all fours, and, with a grunt, shambled slowly away. the other leisurely followed, and they disappeared in the woods. now, don mariano didn't understand at the time, but he learned later that those bears were sizing up his hogs, and after inspection they had decided that there wasn't one in the lot fat enough to kill. during the next month don mariano saw bears loafing about the edge of the woods or lolling over his fence at least a dozen times, and he couldn't at all make out what they were at, as they did not molest his hogs. one day he noticed with satisfaction that the hogs were improving and that one youngster, who had attended strictly to his feed, was actually growing fat. the bears must have caught on at about the same time, for that pig was missing the next morning. from that time on the alfalfa field was raided nearly every night, and the fattest pig was taken every time. a five-string barb-wire fence proved to be no protection, and the bears wouldn't go near a spring gun, and so, to save the remnant of his drove senor ortiz set about building a stockade corral, so high that no bear could climb over it. it was slow work cutting, hauling and setting the logs, and when the corral was finished there was only an old sow left to be put into it. the sow soon had a litter of a dozen pigs, and don mariano fed them and saw them grow with satisfaction and certainty that the bears would not get them. when they were about roasting size don mariano looked into the corral one morning and counted only eleven little pigs. the missing pig could not have got out, as there was no hole in the corral, and don mariano eyed the old sow with suspicion. still he was inclined, like all good mexican people, to explain inexplicable things by the simple formula: "it is the will of god," and with a shrug he dismissed the mystery from his mind. but when he missed a second and a third little pig from the litter, he openly and violently accused the old sow of devouring her offspring, and talked of sending down to el macho for the padre. he did better than that, however, for he isolated the old sow in a board pen and gave the youngsters the run of the corral. a day or two later another pig mysteriously disappeared, and don mariano began to suspect his next door neighbor of reprehensible practices, and talked about sending for the constable. upon second thought, he strung barb wire on the top of the stockade and set steel-traps cunningly outside. then half a dozen little porkers were spirited away in rapid succession, and when don mariano satisfied himself that nobody on the peco's had feasted upon roast pig since last christmas, he concluded that the devil had a hand in the business for sure. now, don mariano had been heard frequently to say that he was not afraid of the devil, and truly he was no idle braggart, for he loaded up his gun and laid in wait for him inside the old sow's pen, grimly determined, if the devil swooped down after another pig, to take a shot at him flying. he felt sure of at least winging the satanic thief, for he had scratched a cross on every buckshot in the load. it was a moonlight night. don mariano lay upon the clean straw that he had placed in the old sow's pen and waited for the hour of midnight, at which time, as is well known, churchyards yawn and devils flit about. he had apologized to the bereaved mother for entertaining unworthy suspicions of her, and they were on amicable terms. don mariano was almost dozing when he was startled broad awake by a familiar grunt. peering between two of the posts of the stockade, he saw coming across the clearing, looming huge and distinct in the moonlight, two bears. they were headed straight for the corral. don mariano knew they could not climb the stockade, and he watched them with languid interest. but the corral was evidently their objective point, for they lumbered along right toward it. "now, look at those infatuated fool bears," said don mariano to himself. "they'll get into one of the traps and make a grand row and frighten the devil away, so that i won't get a shot. por dios!" but the two fool bears did not get into a trap. without delay they clambered up into a large tree beside which the corral was built, and made their way out along a big limb that hung over the corral. there was no hesitation in their movements; clearly, they had been there before. one of them, the lighter and more active, went well out toward the end of the limb, and the other advanced slowly until their combined weight bent the limb down over the top of the stockade, when the first swung himself off by his forepaws and dropped into the corral. "that's a very smart trick," muttered don mariano. "you are in, no doubt of that, but how the devil you are going to get back is another story." the bear seized a pig in no time, and having broken its neck and stopped its squealing with a dexterous right-hander on the ear, he shuffled back to a position under the limb and stood upright, holding the pig in his arms. then the other and heavier bear moved out toward the end of the limb until it bent beneath his weight so that he could reach the pig as the lighter one held it up. the big bear took the pig, and the other bear seized the limb and drew it down until he got a firm hold with all four feet. then the big bear backed away toward the trunk and the other followed, and the limb slowly sprang up to its natural level. the two bears backed down to the ground and waddled across the clearing, the big one walking upright and carrying the pig in his arms. don mariano did not shoot. "the good father," he said, "has given brains like that only to such of his children as have souls. i would not commit murder for the value of a pig. besides, i casually noticed that i had miraculously forgotten to put caps on the gun. nevertheless i cut away all the limbs from the tree on the side toward the corral, and i still have the old sow and one pig." chapter xvii. when monarch was free. for several years a large grizzly roamed through the rugged mountain's in the northern part of los angeles county, raiding cattle ranges and bee ranches and occasionally falling afoul of a settler or prospector. he was at home on mt. gleason, but his forays took in big tejunga and extended for twenty or thirty miles along the range. every settler knew the bear and had a name for him, and he went by as many aliases as a burglar in active practice. as his depredations ceased after the capture of monarch in 1889, those who assert that monarch was the wanderer of the sierra madre and big tejunga may be right, and some of the stories told about him may be true. jeff martin, a cattleman, who lived in antelope valley, and drove his stock into the mountains in summer, had several meetings with the big bear, but never managed to get the best of him. when the monarch didn't win, the fight was a draw. jeff had an old buckskin horse that would follow a bear track as readily as a burro will follow a trail, and could be ridden up to within a few yards of the game. jeff and the old buckskin met the monarch on a trail and started a bear fight right away. the monarch, somewhat surprised at the novel idea of a man disputing his right of way, stood upright and looked at jeff, who raised his winchester and began working the lever with great industry. jeff was never known to lie extravagantly about a bear-fight, and when he told how he pumped sixteen forty-four calibre bullets smack into the monarch's shaggy breast and never "fazed" him, nobody openly doubted jeff's story. he said the monarch stood up and took the bombardment as nonchalantly as he would a fusilade from a pea-shooter, appearing to be only amazed at the cheek of the man and the buckskin horse. when jeff's rifle was empty, he turned and spurred his horse back down the trail, followed by the bear, who kept up the chase about a mile and then disappeared in the brush. jeff's theory was that the heavy mass of hair on the bear's breast effectually protected him from the bullets, which do not have great penetrating power when fired from a forty-four winchester with a charge of only forty grains of powder. about a week after that adventure the monarch called at martin's summer camp on gleason mountain to get some beef. it was about midnight when he climbed into the corral. the only beef in the corral that night was on the bones of a tough and ugly bull, and as soon as the monarch dropped to the ground from the fence he got into trouble. the bull was spoiling for a fight, and he charged on the bear without waiting for the call of time, taking him amidships and bowling him over in the mud before the monarch knew what was coming. jeff was aroused by the disturbance and went over to see what was up. he saw two huge bulks charging around in the corral, banging up against the sides and making the dirt fly in all directions, and he heard the bellowing of the old bull and the hoarse growls of the bear. they were having a strenuous time all by themselves, and jeff decided to let them fight it out in their own way without any interference. returning to the cabin, he said to his son jesse and an indian who worked for him: "it's that d----d old grizzly having a racket with the old bull, but i reckon the bull is old enough to take care of himself. we'll bar the door and let 'em go it." so they barred the door and listened to the sounds of the battle. in less than a quarter of an hour the monarch got a beautiful licking and concluded that he didn't want any beef for supper. the bull was tough, anyway, and he would rather make a light meal off the grub in the cabin. jeff heard a great scratching and scrambling as the monarch began climbing out of the corral. then there was a roar and a rush, a heavy thud as the bull's forehead struck the monarch's rear elevation, a growl of pain and surprise and the fall of half a ton or more of bear meat on the ground outside of the corral. "i reckon the old bull has made that cuss lose his appetite," chuckled jeff. "he won't come fooling around this ranch any more. i'll bet he's the sorest bear that ever wore hair." the three men in the cabin were laughing and enjoying the triumph of the bull when "whang!" came something against the door, and they all jumped for their guns. it was the discomfited but not discouraged monarch breaking into the cabin in search of his supper. with two or three blows of his ponderous paw the grizzly smashed the door to splinters, but as he poked his head in he met a volley from two rifles and a shotgun. he looked at jeff reproachfully for the inhospitable reception, turned about and went away, more in sorrow than in anger. jeff martin's next meeting with the monarch was in the big tejunga. he and his son jesse were hunting deer along the side of the canyon, when they saw a big bear in the brush about a hundred yards up the hill. both fired at the same moment and one ball at least hit the bear. uttering a roar of pain, the grizzly snapped viciously at his shoulder where the bullet struck, and as he turned his head he saw the two hunters, who then recognized the monarch by his huge bulk and grizzled front. the monarch came with a rush like an avalanche down the mountain side, breaking through the manzanita brush and smashing down young trees as easily as a man tramples down grass. his lowered head offered no fair mark for a bullet, and he came on with such speed that only a chance shot could have hit him anywhere. jeff and his son jess did not try any experiments of that kind, but dropped their rifles and shinned up a tree as fast as they could. they were none too rapid, as jeff left a piece of one bootleg in the monarch's possession. the monarch was not a bear to fool away much time on a man up a tree, and as soon as he discovered that the hunters were out of reach he went away and disappeared in the brush. the two men came down, picked up their guns and decided to have another shot at the monarch if they could find him. they knew better than to go into the brush after a bear, but they hunted cautiously about the edges for some time. they were sure that the monarch was still in there, but they could not ascertain at what point. jeff went around to windward of the brush patch and set fire to it, and then joined jess on the leeward side to watch for the reappearance of the monarch. the wind was blowing fresh up the canyon and the fire ran rapidly through the dry brush, making a thick smoke and great noise. when the monarch came out he came rapidly and from an unexpected quarter, and the two hunters had just time enough to break for their tree again and get out of reach. this time the monarch did not leave them. he sat down at the foot of the tree and watched with malicious patience. the wind increased and the fire spread on all sides, and in a few minutes it became uncomfortably warm up the tree. the bear kept on the side of the tree opposite the advancing fire and waited for the men to come down. jeff and jess got a little protection from the heat by hugging the leeward side of the trunk, but it became evident that the tree would soon be in a blaze, and unless they jumped and ran within the next minute or two they would be surrounded by fire. they hoped that the grizzly would weaken first, but he showed no signs of an intention to leave. when the flames began crawling up the windward side of the tree and the heat became unbearable, jeff said: "jess, which would you rather take chances on, grizzly or fire?" "dad, i think i'll chance the bear," replied jess, covering his face with his arm. "all right. when i say go, jump and run as though you were scooting through hell with a keg of powder under your arm." jeff and jess crawled out on the limbs and swung by their hands for a moment, and at the word they dropped to the ground within ten feet of the bear and lit out like scared wolves. they broke right through the burning brush, getting their hair singed as they went. the bear started after them, but he was afraid to go through the fire, and while he was finding a way out of the circle of burning brush and timber, jeff and jess struck out down the mountain side, making about fifteen feet at a jump, and never stopped running until they got to the creek and out of the bear's sight. chapter xviii. how old pinto died. this is an incredible bear story, but it is true. george gleason told it to a man who knew the bear so well that he thought the old pinto grizzly belonged to him and wore his brand, and as george is no bear hunter himself, but is a plain, ordinary, truthful person, there is not the slightest doubt that he related only the facts. george said some of the facts were incredible before he started in. he had never heard or read of such tenacity of life in any animal. but there are precedents, even if george never heard of them. the vitality of the california grizzly is astonishing, as many a man has sorrowful reason to know, and the tenacity of the old pinto's hold on life was remarkable, even among grizzlies. this pinto was a famous bear. his home was among the rocks and manzanita thickets of la liebra mountain, a limestone ridge southwest of tehachepi that divides gen. beale's two ranches, los alamos y agua caliente and la liebra, and his range was from tejon pass to san emigdio. his regular occupation was killing gen. beale's cattle, and the slopes of the hills and the _cienegas_ around castac lake were strewn with the bleached bones of his prey. for twenty years that solitary old bear had been monarch of all that gen. beale surveyed--to paraphrase president lincoln's remark to surveyor-general beale himself--and wrought such devastation on the ranch that for years there had been a standing reward for his hide. men who had lived in the mountains and knew the old pinto's infirmity of temper were wary about invading his domains, and not a vaquero could be induced to go afoot among the manzanita thickets of the limestone ridge. the man who thought he owned the pinto followed his trail for two months many years ago and learned many things about him; among others that the track of his hind foot measured fourteen inches in length and nine inches in width; that the hair on his head and shoulders was nearly white; that he could break a steer's neck with a blow of his paw; that he feared neither man nor his works; that while he would invade a camp with leisurely indifference, he would not enter the stout oak-log traps constructed for his capture; and finally, that it would be suicide to meet him on the trail with anything less efficient than a gatling gun. old juan, the vaquero, who lived in a cabin on the flat below the alkaline pool called castac lake, was filled with a fear of pinto that was akin to superstition. he told how the bear had followed him home and besieged him all night in the cabin, and he would walk five miles to catch a horse to ride two miles in the hills. to him old pinto was "mucho diablo," and a shivering terror made his eyes roll and his voice break in trembling whispers when he talked of the bear while riding along the cattle trails. once upon a time an ambitious sportsman of san francisco, who wanted to kill something bigger than a duck and more ferocious than a jackrabbit, read about pinto and persuaded himself that he was bear-hunter enough to tackle the old fellow. he went to fort tejon, hired a guide and made an expedition to the castac. the guide took the hunter to spike-buck spring, which is at the head of a ravine under the limestone ridge, and showed to him the footprints of a big bear in the mud and along the bear trail that crosses the spring. one glance at the track of pinto's foot was sufficient to dispel all the dime-novel day dreams of the sportsman and start a readjustment of his plan of campaign. after gazing at that foot-print, the slaying of a grizzly by "one well-directed shot" from the "unerring rifle" was a feat that lost its beautiful simplicity and assumed heroic proportions. the man from san francisco had intended to find the bear's trail, follow it on foot, overtake or meet the grizzly and kill him in his tracks, after the manner of the intrepid hunters that he had read about, but he sat down on a log and debated the matter with the guide. that old-timer would not volunteer advice, but when it was asked he gave it, and he told the man from san francisco that if he wanted to tackle a grizzly all by his lonely self, his best plan would be to stake out a calf, climb a tree and wait for the bear to come along in the night. so the man built a platform in the tree, about ten feet from the ground, staked out a calf, climbed up to the platform and waited. the bear came along and killed the calf, and the man in the tree saw the lethal blow, heard the bones crack and changed his plan again. he laid himself prone upon the platform, held his breath and hoped fervently that his heart would not thump loudly enough to attract the bear's intention. the bear ate his fill of the quivering veal, and then reared on his haunches to survey the surroundings. the man from san francisco solemnly assured the guide in the morning, when he got back to camp, that when pinto sat up he actually looked down on that platform and could have walked over to the tree and picked him off like a ripe persimmon, and he thanked heaven devoutly that it did not come into pinto's head that that would be a good thing to do. so the man from san francisco broke camp and went home with some new and valuable ideas about hunting grizzlies, chief of which was the very clear idea that he did not care for the sport. [illustration: pinto looked down on the platform.] this is the sort of bear old pinto was, eminently entitled to the name that lewis and dark applied to his tribe--ursus ferox. of course he was called "old clubfoot" and "reelfoot" by people who did not know him, just as every big grizzly has been called in california since the clubfooted-bear myth became part of the folk lore of the golden state, but his feet were all sound and whole. the clubfoot legend is another story and has nothing to do with the big bear of the castac. pinto was a "bravo" and a killer, a solitary, cross-grained, crusty-tempered old outlaw of the range. what he would or might do under any circumstances could not be predicated upon the basis of what another one of his species had done under similar circumstances. the man who generalizes the conduct of the grizzly is liable to serious error, for the grizzly's individuality is strong and his disposition various. because one grizzly scuttled into the brush at the sight of a man, it does not follow that another grizzly will behave similarly. the other grizzly's education may have been different. one bear lives in a region infested only by small game, such as rabbits, wood-mice, ants and grubs, and when he cannot get a meal by turning over flat rocks or stripping the bark from a decaying tree, he digs roots for a living. he is not accustomed to battle and he is not a killer, and he may be timorous in the presence of man. another grizzly haunts the cattle or sheep ranges and is accustomed to seeing men and beasts flee before him for their lives. he lives by the strong arm, takes what he wants like a robber baron, and has sublime confidence in his own strength, courage and agility. he has killed bulls in single combat, evaded the charge of the cow whose calf he has caught, stampeded sheep and their herders. he is almost exclusively carnivorous and consequently fierce. such a bear yields the trail to nothing that lives. that is why old pinto was a bad bear. so long as pinto remained in his dominions and confined his maraudings to the cattle ranges, he was reasonably safe from the hunters and perfectly safe from the settler and his strychnine bottle, but for some reasons of his own he changed his habits and his diet and strayed over to san emigdio for mutton. perhaps, as he advanced in years, the bear found it more difficult to catch cattle, and having discovered a band of sheep and found it not only easy to kill what he needed, but great fun to charge about in the band and slay right and left in pure wanton ferocity, he took up the trade of sheep butcher. for two or three years he followed the flocks in their summer grazing over the vast, spraddling mesas of pine mountain, and made a general nuisance of himself in the camps. there have been other bears on pine mountain, and the san emigdio flocks have been harassed there regularly, but no such bold marauder as old pinto ever struck the range. other bears made their forays in the night and hid in the ravines during the day, but pinto strolled into the camps at all hours, charged the flocks when they were grazing and stampeded haggin and carr's merinos all over the mountains. the herders, mostly mexicans, basques and portuguese, found it heart-breaking to gather the sheep after pinto had scattered them, and moreover they were mortally afraid of the big grizzly and took to roosting on platforms in the trees instead of sleeping in their tents at night. worse than all else, the bear killed their dogs. the men were instructed by the boss of the camp to let the bear alone and keep out of his way, as they were hired to herd sheep and not to fight bears, but the dogs could not be made to understand such instructions and persisted in trying to protect their woolly wards. the owners were accustomed to losing a few hundred sheep on pine mountain every summer, and figured the loss in the fixed charges, but when pinto joined the ursine band that followed the flocks for a living, the loss became serious and worried the majordomo at the home camp. so another reward was offered for the grizzly's scalp and the herders were instructed to notify the harris boys at san emigdio whenever the bear raided their flocks. here is where gleason's part of the story begins. the bear attacked a band of sheep one afternoon, killed four and stampeded the mexican herder, who ran down the mountain to the camp of the harris boys, good hunters who had been engaged by the majordomo to do up old pinto. two of the harris boys and another man went up to the scene of the raid, carrying their rifles, blankets and some boards with which to construct a platform. they selected a pine tree and built a platform across the lower limbs about twenty feet from the ground. when the platform was nearly completed, two of the men left the tree and went to where they had dropped their blankets and guns, about a hundred yards away. one picked up the blankets and the other took the three rifles and started back toward the tree, where the third man was still tinkering the platform. the sun had set, but it was still twilight, and none of the party dreamed of seeing the bear at that time, but within forty yards of the tree sat old pinto, his head cocked to one side, watching the man in the tree with much evident interest. pinto had returned to his muttons, but found the proceedings of the man up the tree so interesting that he was letting his supper wait. [illustration: watching the man in the tree.] the man carrying the blankets dropped them and seized a heavy express rifle that some englishman had left in the country. the other man dropped the extra gun and swung a winchester 45-70 to his shoulder. the express cracked first, and the hollow-pointed ball struck pinto under the shoulder. the 45-70 bullet struck a little lower and made havoc of the bear's liver. the shock knocked the bear off his pins, but he recovered and ran into a thicket of scrub oak. the thicket was impenetrable to a man, and there was no man present who wanted to penetrate it in the wake of a wounded grizzly. the hunters returned to their camp, and early next morning they came back up the mountain with three experienced and judicious dogs. they had hunted bears enough to know that pinto would be very sore and ill-tempered by that time, and being men of discretion as well as valor, they had no notion of trying to follow the dogs through the scrub oak brush. amateur hunters might have sent the dogs into the brush and remained on the edge of the thicket to await developments, thereby involving themselves in difficulties, but these old professionals promptly shinned up tall trees when the dogs struck the trail. the dogs roused the bear in less than two minutes, and there was tumult in the scrub oak. whenever the men in the trees caught a glimpse of the grizzly they fired at him, and the thud of a bullet usually was followed by yells and fierce growlings, for the hear is a natural sort of a beast and always bawls when he is hurt very badly. there is no affectation about a grizzly, and he never represses the instinctive expression of his feelings. probably that is why bret harte calls him "coward of heroic size," but bret never was very intimately acquainted with a marauding old ruffian of the range. the hunters in the trees made body shots mostly. twice during the imbroglio in the brush the bear sat up and exposed his head and the men fired at it, but as he kept wrangling with the dogs, they thought they missed. this is the strange part of the story, for some of the bullets passed through the bear's head and did not knock him out. one winchester bullet entered an eye-socket and traversed the skull diagonally, passing through the forward part of the brain. a grizzly's brain-pan is long and narrow, and a bullet entering the eye from directly in front will not touch it. wherefore it is not good policy to shoot at the eye of a charging grizzly. usually it is equally futile to attempt to reach his brain with a shot between the eyes, unless the head be in such a position that the bullet will strike the skull at a right angle, for the bone protecting the brain in front is from two and a half to three inches thick, and will turn the ordinary soft bullet. one of the men did get a square shot from his perch at pinto's forehead, and the 45-70-450 bullet smashed his skull. the shot that ended the row struck at the "butt" of the grizzly's ear and passed through the base of the brain, snuffing out the light of his marvelous vitality like a candle. then the hunters came down from their roosts, cut their way into the thicket and examined the dead giant. counting the two shots fired the night before, one of which had nearly destroyed a lung, there were eleven bullet holes in the bear, and his skull was so shattered that the head could not be saved for mounting. only two or three bullets bad lodged in the body, the others having passed through, making large, ragged wounds and tearing the internal organs all to pieces. the skin, which weighed over one hundred pounds, was taken to bakersfield, and the meat that had not been spoiled by bullets was cut up and sold to butchers and others. estimating the total weight from the portions that were actually tested on the scales, the butchers figured that pinto weighed 1100 pounds. the 1800 and 2000-pound bears have all been weighed by the fancy of the men who killed them, and the farther away they have been from the scales the more they have weighed. there is no other case on record of a bear that continued fighting with a smashed skull and pulped brains, although possibly such cases may have occurred and never found their way into print. gleason saw old pinto shortly after the fight and examined the head, and there is no reason to doubt his description of the effect of the bullets. chapter xix. three in a boat. the cascade mountains in oregon and washington territory are full of bears, and as the inhabitants seldom hunt them, the animals are disposed to be sociable and neighborly and wander about close to the settlements. harry dumont and rube fields had a very sociable evening with a black bear at the upper cascades on the columbia some years ago. they were crossing in a boat above the falls, when dumont, sitting in the stern, pointed out what he said was a deer, swimming the river, about a hundred yards away. rube bent to the oars and pulled towards the head that could just be seen on the water, intending to give dumont a chance to knock the deer on the skull with a paddle and tow the venison ashore. when the bow of the boat ran alongside the head the supposed deer reached up, caught hold of the boat and clambered aboard without ceremony. it was a black bear of ordinary size, but it was large enough to make two men think twice before attacking it with oars. the bear quietly settled himself on the seat in the bow of the boat and looked apprehensively at the men, who were so astonished that they did not know whether to jump overboard or prepare for a fight. as the bear made no hostile movement they decided not to pick a quarrel. the boat meanwhile had drifted down stream and got into swift water, and rube fields saw that he must row for all he was worth to avoid going over the falls, which would be sure death. the bear seemed to realize the danger and acted as though he was uncertain whether it were better to stay aboard or take to the water again. "pull! pull for the shore!" urged dumont, in a hoarse whisper, and rube bent to the oars with all his muscle, glancing nervously over his shoulder at the silent passenger in the bow. the bear kept one eye suspiciously on the men and the other on the distant shore, and gave every indication of great perturbation of spirit. it was a hard pull to get the heavily-laden boat out of the current, but rube finally accomplished it and rowed into safer water. he hoped that the bear would slide overboard and abandon the boat, as it made him nervous to have such a passenger behind him, and it was awkward rowing with his head turned over his shoulder all the time. he suggested to dumont that they make a rush for the bear and pitch him out, but dumont declined and told him to pull ashore as fast as he could. rube pulled, and as soon as the boat's prow grated on the sand, the bear made a hasty and awkward plunge over the side, scrambled up the bank with his head cocked over his shoulder to see if there was any pursuit, and galloped away into the woods in evident fear. rube fields wiped the perspiration from his brow with his forearm and fervently said, "thank the lord!" dumont gazed after the galloping bear and murmured, "wellibedam!" chapter xx. a providential prospect hole. one-eyed zeke, who hunted for a living along owen river, in inyo county, cal., in the early seventies, claimed to have a method of killing bears that might be effective if a man had nerve enough to work it and a gun that never missed fire. he carried a revolver and a heavy double-barrelled shotgun, but never a rifle, and when he saw a grizzly he said he opened on him with the six-shooter and plugged him often enough to leave the bear in no doubt as to the source of the annoyance. standing in plain view with the heavily-loaded shotgun ready, he awaited the charge, and at close quarters turned loose both barrels into the bear's chest. that sounds like a plausible scheme. the heavy charges of shot at close range smash the grizzly's interior works in a deplorable manner and he dies right away. but only a few men have the nerve to face a big ugly bear in full charge and reserve fire until he is within two yards of the muzzle of the gun. one-eyed zeke and a celebrated hunter of the bad lands are the only men i have known who professed to have acquired the habit of hunting the grizzly in such a fashion, and the celebrated bad lands ranchman did his killing with a rifle and always shot for the eye, which was the more remarkable because he was very near-sighted and wore eyeglasses. zeke once met a bear in the mountains near owen lake and played his customary game, but not with complete success. by some extraordinary bad luck both cartridges in his gun had defective primers, and when he pulled the triggers he was very much pained and disappointed by the absence of the usual loud report. it was a critical moment for zeke. it took him the thousandth part of a second to grasp the situation and spring desperately to the right. another small fraction of a second was consumed in his unexpected descent to the bottom of an old prospect hole that was overgrown with brush and had escaped his notice. probably that was the only prospect hole in that part of the sierra nevada, and it must have been dug by some half-cracked forty-niner like marshall, who prospected all the way from yuma to the columbia. zeke vows it was dug by providence. the sudden and unaccountable disappearance of the man with a gun surprised the bear, and he had thrown himself forward and plunged into the chaparral several yards before he began to catch on to the fact that zeke was not before him. as soon as zeke struck bottom, he looked up to see if the bear was coming down too, and then he removed the bad cartridges and quickly inserted two more in his gun. he knew the bear would smell him out very soon. in half a minute the bear's snout appeared at the top of the hole. it disappeared and was at once replaced by the bear's hind legs. caleb was coming down stern foremost after the noxious person who had fired bullets at him. as the bear scrambled down, zeke aimed just under his shoulder and sent two handsful of buckshot careering through his vitals in a diagonal line. the wound was almost instantly fatal, and the bear came down in a heap at the bottom of the hole, which was about ten or twelve feet deep. the excitement being over, zeke realized that he had been injured in the fall, and that standing up was painful. he sat down on the bear to rest and reflect, and to induce reflection he took out his pipe and lighted it. the flare of the match lighted up the prospect hole, and zeke was interested on seeing a good-sized rattlesnake lying dead under his feet, its head crushed by his boot heel. he had landed on the snake when he fell in the hole, and the slipping of his foot sprained the ankle. zeke had a hard time climbing out of the prospect hole and getting back to camp, but he got there and sent some men up to hoist the bear to the surface. the grizzly's weight was estimated to be 900 pounds, and it grew every time zeke told the story until the last time i heard it, when it was just short of a ton. * * * * * zeke's bear-killing exploits with a scatter gun may be classed with the "important if true" information of the newspapers, but there is at least one authentic instance of the killing of a grizzly with a charge of bird shot. dr. h. w. nelson, who was in later years a prominent surgeon of sacramento, practiced medicine in placer county, cal., in the early fifties and was something of a sportsman. he was out quail shooting one day with a double shotgun and was making his way up a ravine in a narrow trail much choked with chaparral, when some men on the hill above him shouted to him that a wounded bear was coming down the ravine and warned him to get out of the way. the sides of the ravine were too steep to be climbed, and the noise made by the bear breaking the brush told him that it was too late to attempt to escape by running. so the doctor cocked his gun, backed into the chaparral as far as he could and hoped the bear might pass him without seeing him. in another moment the grizzly broke through the brush with a full head of steam directly at the doctor, and the bear's snout was within three feet of the muzzle of the gun when the doctor instinctively pulled both triggers. the two charges of small shot followed the nasal passage and caved in the front of the bear's skull, killing him instantly, but the animal's momentum carried him forward, and he and the doctor went down together. the doctor suffered no injury from the bear's teeth or claws, but was bruised by the shock of the collision and the fall. chapter'xxi. killed with a bowie. the favorite weapon of the bear hunter of the old time wild west story book was the bowie, and doughty deeds he used to do with it in hand-to-claw encounters with monstrous grizzlies. it was the fashion in those days for bears to stand erect and wrestle catch-as-catch-can, trying to get the under-hold and hug the hunter to death, and the hunter invariably stepped in and plunged his bowie to the hilt in the heart of his foe. but the breed of grizzly that hugged and the type of hunter who slew with the knife became extinct so long ago that no specimens can be found in these days. i have known many bear slayers, but never one who would say that he ever did or would deliberately attack a grizzly with a knife, or that he should expect to survive if forced to defend himself with such a weapon. neither did i ever hear of a grizzly that tried to kill a man by hugging him. the only case of successful use of the bowie in defence against a grizzly that seemed to be well authenticated, among all the stories i heard from hunters, was that of jim wilburns' fight in trinity. wilburn was a noted hunter and mountaineer of long ridge, and he had the scars to show for proof of the story. his left arm was crippled, the hand curled up like a claw, and the end of a broken bone made an ugly knob on his wrist. on his scalp were two deep scars extending from his forehead almost to the nape of his neck. wilburn had chased a big grizzly into the brush and was unable to coax him out where he could get a shot at the beast. an indian offered to go in and prospect for bear, and disappeared in the thicket. his search was successful, but perhaps it was a question whether he found the bear or the bear found him. the indian came out of the thicket at a sprinting gait with the bear a good second, and they came so suddenly that even jim wilburn was taken by surprise. in two more jumps the bear would have been on top of the indian, but jim sprang between them, rifle in hand. before he could fire, the weapon was wrenched from his hands and broken like a reed. he grabbed his pistol, and that was knocked out of his hand in a jiffy. then the bear closed on him and both went down, the bear on top. the first thing the bear did was to try to swallow jim's head, but it was a large head and made more than a mouthful. the bear's long upper teeth slipped along the skull, ploughing great furrows in jim's scalp, while the lower teeth lacerated his face. before the bear could make another grab at his head, jim thrust his left fist down the animal's throat and kept it there while the grizzly chewed his arm into pulp. meanwhile he had got hold of his big knife and plunged it into the bear's side with all his strength. again he tried to stab his enemy, but the knife did not penetrate the hide, and he discovered that in the first thrust the knife had struck a rib and the point was turned up. [illustration: the grizzly chewed his arm.] the bear clawed and chawed, and jim felt around for the wound he had made first. when he found it he thrust the knife in and worked it around in a very disquieting way. in the struggle the knife slipped out of the hole several times, and once jim lost it, but he persistently searched for the hole when he recovered the knife and prospected for the bear's vitals. at last he worked the blade well into the grizzly's interior and made such havoc by turning it around that the brute gave up the fight and rolled over dead, with jim's mangled left arm in his jaws. it was a tough fight and a close call and old jim was laid up in his cabin for many a day afterward. chapter xxii. a denful of grizzlies. a man from san gabriel canyon came into los angeles and told bear stories to the professor and the professor told them to other people. the main point of the man's tale was that he had found a den inhabited by two grizzlies of great size and fierce aspect. he had seen the bears and was mightily afraid of them, and he wanted somebody to go up there and exterminate them so that he might work his mining claim unmolested and unafraid. the professor, being guileless and confiding, believed the tale, and he tried to oblige the bear-haunted miner by promoting an expedition of extermination. seventeen men replied to his overtures with the original remark that they "hadn't lost any bears." since 1620 that has been the standard bear joke of the north american continent, and its immortality proves that it was the funniest thing that ever was said. [illustration: he had seen the bears.] at last the professor found a man who did not know the joke, and that man straightway consented to go to the rescue of the bear-beleaguered denizen of san gabriel canyon. he and three others went into the mountains with guns loaded for bear, which was an error of judgment--they should have been loaded for the tellers of bear tales. an expedition properly outfitted to hunt bear liars rather than bear lairs could load a four-horse wagon with game in the san gabriel canyon. old bill, who had lived in the canyon many years, sorrowfully admitted that the canyon's reputation for harboring persons of unimpeachable veracity was not what it should be. the man-who-was-afraid-of-bears could not be depended upon to give bed-rock facts about bears, but he, old bill, was a well of truth in that line and had some good horses and burros to let to bear hunters. he, old bill, had killed many bears in the canyon, but had left enough to provide entertainment for other hunters. his last bear killing was heaps of fun. he ran across three in a bunch, shot one, drowned another in the creek, and jumped upon the third, and "just stomped him to death." as for the man up the creek, who pretended to have found a den of bears, he had been telling that story for so many years that he probably believed it, but nobody else did. the man up the creek had the nerve to pretend that his favorite pastime was fighting grizzlies with a butcher knife, and anybody acquainted with bears ought to size up that sort of a man easy enough, said old bill. the man up the creek, the original locator of the denful of grizzlies, had his opinion of old bill as a slayer of bears. it was notorious in the canyon that the only bear old bill ever saw was a fifty-pound cub that stole a string of trout from under bill's nose, waded the creek and went away while old bill was throwing his gun into the brush and hitching frantically along a fallen spruce under the impression that he was climbing a tree. as for himself, he was getting too old and rheumatic to hunt, but he had had a little sport with bears in his time. he recalled with especial glee a little incident of ten or a dozen years ago. he had been over on the iron fork hunting for a stray mule, and he was coming back through the canyon after dark. it was darker than a stack of black cats in the canyon, and when he bumped up against a bear in the trail he couldn't see to get in his favorite knife play--a slash to the left and a back-handed cut to the right, severing the tendons of both front paws--and so he made a lunge for general results, and then shinned up a sycamore tree. to his great surprise he heard the bear scrambling up the tree behind him, and he crawled around to the other side of the trunk and straddled a big branch in the fork, where he could get a firm seat and have the free use of his right arm. he could just make out the dark bulk of the bear as the beast crawled clumsily up the slanting trunk in front of him, and as the bear's left arm came around and clasped the trunk, he chopped at it with his heavy knife. the bear roared with pain. instantly he lunged furiously at the bear's body just under the arm pit, driving the knife to the hilt two or three times, and with a moan the beast let go all holds and fell heavily to the ground. for a minute all was silent. then the growling began again, and he heard the scratching of claws upon the tree. in another moment the dark bulk of the bear appeared again in front of him, and again he drove the knife to the hilt into his body and felt the hot blood spurt over his hand. clawing, scratching and yelling, the bear slid back down the tree and bumped heavily on the ground, but in a moment resumed the attack and climbed the tree as quickly as if he were fresh and unwounded. the man up the tree was puzzled to account for such remarkable vitality and perseverance, but he braced himself for the combat, and at the proper moment chopped viciously at the bear's forearm and felt the blade sink into the bone. this time he got in three good hard lunges under the arm, and when the bear fell "ker-flop" he had no doubt that the fight was ended. but there never was another such bear as that one. it wasn't a minute before the whole thing had to be done over again, and the man up the tree varied the performance by reaching around and giving the bear a whack in the neck that nearly cut his head off. this sort of thing was repeated at intervals for two or three hours, but at last the attacks ceased, and all was still at the foot of the tree. the man was weary, and to tell the truth a little rattled. he did not deem it wise to come off his perch and take any chance of trouble on the ground, so he strapped himself to the branch with his belt and fell asleep. it was gray dawn when he awoke. he rubbed his eyes and looked down at the ground. then he rubbed them again and pinched himself and glanced around at the rocks and trees to make sure that he was not in a trance. he said to himself, being a reader of the poets, "can such things be, or is visions about?" it was no dream and the man up the canyon said it was no lie. lying about the foot of the sycamore were nine dead bears, weltering in their gore. which explains why the don and the colonel and the rest of the expedition of extermination returned forthwith to los angeles without having seen a bear. there are no more bears. the man up the canyon killed them all years ago. true bear stories by joaquin miller, with introductory notes by dr. david starr jordan, president of leland stanford, jr., university. together with a thrilling account of the capture of the celebrated grizzly "monarch." _fully illustrated._ chicago and new york: rand, mcnally & company, publishers. copyright, 1900, by rand, mcnally & co. dedicated to my dear little daughter, juanita miller, for whose pleasure and instruction i have many times dug up the most of these stories from out the days of my boyhood. preface. _my bright young reader_: i was once exactly your own age. like all boys, i was, from the first, fond of bear stories, and above all, i did not like stories that seemed the least bit untrue. i always preferred a natural and reasonable story and one that would instruct as well as interest. this i think best for us all, and i have acted on this line in compiling these comparatively few bear stories from a long life of action in our mountains and up and down the continent. as a rule, the modern bear is not a bloody, bad fellow, whatever he may have been in bible days. you read, almost any circus season, about the killing of his keeper by a lion, a tiger, a panther, or even the dreary old elephant, but you never hear of a tame bear's hurting anybody. i suppose you have been told, and believe, that bears will eat boys, good or bad, if they meet them in the woods. this is not true. on the contrary, there are several well-authenticated cases, in germany mostly, where bears have taken lost children under their protection, one boy having been reared from the age of four to sixteen by a she bear without ever seeing the face of man. i have known several persons to be maimed or killed in battles with bears, but in every case it was not the bear that began the fight, and in all my experience of about half a century i never knew a bear to eat human flesh, as does the tiger and like beasts. each branch of the bear family is represented here and each has its characteristics. by noting these as you go along you may learn something not set down in the schoolbooks. for the bear is a shy old hermit and is rarely encountered in his wild state by anyone save the hardy hunter, whose only interest in the event is to secure the skin and carcass. of course, now and then, a man of science meets a bear in the woods, but the meeting is of short duration. if the bear does not leave, the man of books does, and so we seldom get his photograph as he really appears in his wild state. the first and only bear i ever saw that seemed to be sitting for his photograph was the swamp, or "sloth," bear--ursus labiatus--found in the marshes at the mouth of the mississippi river. you will read of an encounter with him further on. i know very well that there exists a good deal of bad feeling between boys and bears, particularly on the part of boys. the trouble began, i suppose, about the time when that old she bear destroyed more than forty boys at a single meeting, for poking fun at a good old prophet. and we read that david, when a boy, got very angry at a she bear and slew her single-handed and alone for interfering with his flock. so you see the feud between the boy and bear family is an old one indeed. but i am bound to say that i have found much that is pathetic, and something that is almost half-human, in this poor, shaggy, shuffling hermit. he doesn't want much, only the wildest and most worthless parts of the mountains or marshes, where, if you will let him alone, he will let you alone, as a rule. sometimes, out here in california, he loots a pig-pen, and now and then he gets among the bees. only last week, a little black bear got his head fast in a bee-hive that had been improvised from a nail-keg, and the bee-farmer killed him with a pitchfork; but it is only when hungry and far from home that he seriously molests us. the bear is a wise beast. this is, perhaps, because he never says anything. next to the giraffe, which you may know never makes any noise or note whatever, notwithstanding the wonderful length of his throat, the bear is the most noiseless of beasts. with his nose to the ground all the time, standing up only now and then to pull a wild plum or pick a bunch of grapes, or knock a man down if he must, he seems to me like some weary old traveler that has missed the right road of life and doesn't quite know what to do with himself. ah! if he would only lift up his nose and look about over this beautiful world, as the indians say the grizzly bear was permitted to do before he disobeyed and got into trouble, an account of which you will find further on, why, the bear might be less a bear. stop here and reflect on how much there is in keeping your face well lifted. the pig with his snout to the ground will be forever a pig; the bear will be a bear to the end of his race, because he will not hold up his head in the world; but the horse--look at the horse! however, our business is with the bear now. contents. introductory notes, i. a bear on fire, ii. music-loving bears, iii. my first grizzly, iv. twin babies, v. in swimming with a bear, vi. a fat little editor and three little browns, vii. treeing a bear, viii. bill cross and his pet bear, ix. the great grizzly bear, x. as a humorist, xi. a grizzly's sly little joke, xii. the grizzly as fremont found him, xiii. the bear with spectacles, xiv. the bear-slayer of san diego, xv. alaskan and polar bear, xvi. monnehan, the great bear-hunter of oregon, xvii. the bear "monarch"--how he was captured, introductory notes. the bear is the most human of all the beasts. he is not the most man-like in anatomy, nor the nearest in the line of evolution. the likeness is rather in his temper and way of doing things and in the vicissitudes of his life. he is a savage, of course, but most men are that--wild members of a wild fauna--and, like wild men, the bear is a clumsy, good-natured blunderer, eating with his fingers in default of a knife, and preferring any day a mouthful of berries to the excitement of a fight. in this book joaquin miller has tried to show us the bear as he is, not the traditional bear of the story-books. in season and out of season, the bear has been represented always the same bear, "as much alike as so many english noblemen in evening dress," and always as a bloody bear. mr. miller insists that there are bears and bears, as unlike one another in nature and action as so many horses, hogs or goats. this much they have in common--_bears are never cruel_. they are generally full of homely, careless kindness, and are very fond of music as well as of honey, blackberries, nuts, fish and other delicacies of the savage feast. the matter of season affects a bear's temper and looks as the time of the day affects those of a man. he goes to bed in the fall, when the fish and berry season is over, fat and happy, with no fight in him. he comes out in spring, just as good-natured, if not so fat. but the hot sun melts him down. his hungry hunt for roots, bugs, ants and small game makes him lean and cross. his claws grow long, his hair is unkempt and he is soon a shaggy ghost of himself, looking "like a second-hand sofa with the stuffing coming out," and in this out-at-elbows condition he loses his own self-respect. mr. miller has strenuously insisted that bears of the united states are of more than one or two species. in this he has the unqualified support of the latest scientific investigations. not long ago naturalists were disposed to recognize but three kinds of bear in north america. these are the polar bear, the black bear, and the grizzly bear, and even the grizzly was thought doubtful, a slight variation of the bear of europe. but the careful study of bears' skulls has changed all that, and our highest authority on bears, dr. c. hart merriam of the department of agriculture, now recognizes not less than ten species of bear in the limits of the united states and alaska. in his latest paper (1896), a "preliminary synopsis of the american bears," dr. merriam groups these animals as follows: i. polar bears. 1. polar bear: _thalarctos maritimus_ linnaeus. found on all arctic shores. ii. black bears. 2. common black bear (sometimes brown or cinnamon): _ursus americanus_ pallas. found throughout the united states. 3. yellow bear (sometimes black or brown): _ursus luteolus_ griffith. swamps of louisiana and texas. 4. everglade bear: _ursus floridanus_ merriam. everglades of florida. 5. glacier bear: _ursus emmonsi_ dall. about mount st. elias. iii. grizzly bears. 6. the grizzly bear: _ursus horribilis_ ord. found in the western parts of north america. under this species are four varieties: the original _horribilis_, or rocky mountain grizzly, from montana to the great basin of utah; the variety _californicus_ merriam, the california grizzly, from the sierra nevada; variety _horriaeus_ baird, the sonora grizzly, from arizona and the south; and variety _alascensis_ merriam, the alaska grizzly, from alaska. 7. the barren ground bear: _ursus richardsoni_ mayne reid. a kind of grizzly found about hudson bay. iv. great brown bears. 8. the yakutat bear: _ursus dalli_ merriam. from about mount st. elias. 9. the sitka bear: _ursus sitkensis_ merriam. from about sitka. 10. the kadiak bear: _ursus middendorfi_ merriam. from kadiak and the peninsula of alaska. these three bears are even larger than the grizzly, and the kadiak bear is the largest of all the land bears of the world. it prowls about over the moss of the mountains, feeding on berries and fish. the sea-bear, _callorhinus ursinus_, which we call the fur seal, is also a cousin of the bear, having much in common with its bear ancestors of long ago, but neither that nor its relations, the sea-lion and the walrus, are exactly bears to-day. of all the real bears, mr. miller treats of five in the pages of this little book. all the straight "bear stories" relate to _ursus americanus_, as most bear stories in our country do. the grizzly stories treat of _ursus horribilis californicus_. the lean bear of the louisiana swamps is _ursus luteolus_, and the polar bear is _thalarctos maritimus_. the author of the book has tried without intrusion of technicalities to bring the distinctive features of the different bears before the reader and to instruct as well as to interest children and children's parents in the simple realities of bear life. david starr jordan. leland stanford, jr., university. true bear stories. i. a bear on fire. it is now more than a quarter of a century since i saw the woods of mount shasta in flames, and beasts of all sorts, even serpents, crowded together; but i can never forget, never! it looked as if we would have a cloudburst that fearful morning. we three were making our way by slow marches from soda springs across the south base of mount shasta to the modoc lava beds--two english artists and myself. we had saddle horses, or, rather, two saddle horses and a mule, for our own use. six indians, with broad leather or elkskin straps across their foreheads, had been chartered to carry the kits and traps. they were men of means and leisure, these artists, and were making the trip for the fish, game, scenery and excitement and everything, in fact, that was in the adventure. i was merely their hired guide. this second morning out, the indians--poor slaves, perhaps, from the first, certainly not warriors with any spirit in them--began to sulk. they had risen early and kept hovering together and talking, or, rather, making signs in the gloomiest sort of fashion. we had hard work to get them to do anything at all, and even after breakfast was ready they packed up without tasting food. the air was ugly, for that region--hot, heavy, and without light or life. it was what in some parts of south america they call "earthquake weather." even the horses sulked as we mounted; but the mule shot ahead through the brush at once, and this induced the ponies to follow. the englishmen thought the indians and horses were only tired from the day before, but we soon found the whole force plowing ahead through the dense brush and over fallen timber on a double quick. then we heard low, heavy thunder in the heavens. were they running away from a thunder-storm? the english artists, who had been doing india and had come to love the indolent patience and obedience of the black people, tried to call a halt. no use. i shouted to the indians in their own tongue. "tokau! ki-sa! kiu!" (hasten! quick! quick!) was all the answer i could get from the red, hot face that was thrown for a moment back over the load and shoulder. so we shot forward. in fact, the horses now refused all regard for the bit, and made their own way through the brush with wondrous skill and speed. we were flying from fire, not flood! pitiful what a few years of neglect will do toward destroying a forest! when a lad i had galloped my horse in security and comfort all through this region. it was like a park then. now it was a dense tangle of undergrowth and a mass of fallen timber. what a feast for flames! in one of the very old books on america in the british museum--possibly the very oldest on the subject--the author tells of the park-like appearance of the american forests. he tells his english friends back at home that it is most comfortable to ride to the hounds, "since the indian squats (squaws) do set fire to the brush and leaves every spring," etc. but the "squats" had long since disappeared from the forests of mount shasta; and here we were tumbling over and tearing through ten years' or more of accumulation of logs, brush, leaves, weeds and grass that lay waiting for a sea of fire to roll over all like a mass of lava. and now the wind blew past and over us. bits of white ashes sifted down like snow. surely the sea of fire was coming, coming right on after us! still there was no sign, save this little sift of ashes, no sound; nothing at all except the trained sense of the indians and the terror of the "cattle" (this is what the englishmen called our horses) to give us warning. in a short time we struck an arroyo, or canyon, that was nearly free from brush and led steeply down to the cool, deep waters of the mccloud river. here we found the indians had thrown their loads and themselves on the ground. they got up in sulky silence, and, stripping our horses, turned them loose; and then, taking our saddles, they led us hastily up out of the narrow mouth of the arroyo under a little steep stone bluff. they did not say a word or make any sign, and we were all too breathless and bewildered to either question or protest. the sky was black, and thunder made the woods tremble. we were hardly done wiping the blood and perspiration from our torn hands and faces where we sat when the mule jerked up his head, sniffed, snorted and then plunged headlong into the river and struck out for the deep forest on the farther bank, followed by the ponies. the mule is the most traduced of all animals. a single mule has more sense than a whole stableful of horses. you can handle a mule easily if the barn is burning; he keeps his head; but a horse becomes insane. he will rush right into the fire, if allowed to, and you can only handle him, and that with difficulty if he sniffs the fire, by blindfolding him. trust a mule in case of peril or a panic long before a horse. the brother of solomon and willful son of david surely had some of the great temple-builder's wisdom and discernment, for we read that he rode a mule. true, he lost his head and got hung up by the hair, but that is nothing against the mule. as we turned our eyes from seeing the animals safely over, right there by us and a little behind us, through the willows of the canyon and over the edge of the water, we saw peering and pointing toward the other side dozens of long black and brown outreaching noses. elk! they had come noiselessly, they stood motionless. they did not look back or aside, only straight ahead. we could almost have touched the nearest one. they were large and fat, almost as fat as cows; certainly larger than the ordinary jersey. the peculiar thing about them was the way, the level way, in which they held their small, long heads--straight out; the huge horns of the males lying far back on their shoulders. and then for the first time i could make out what these horns are for--to part the brush with as they lead through the thicket, and thus save their coarse coats of hair, which is very rotten, and could be torn off in a little time if not thus protected. they are never used to fight with, never; the elk uses only his feet. if on the defense, however, the male elk will throw his nose close to the ground and receive the enemy on his horns. suddenly and all together, and perhaps they had only paused a second, they moved on into the water, led by a bull with a head of horns like a rocking-chair. and his rocking-chair rocked his head under water much of the time. the cold, swift water soon broke the line, only the leader making the bank directly before us, while the others drifted far down and out of sight. our artists, meantime, had dug up pencil and pad and begun work. but an indian jerked the saddles, on which the englishmen sat, aside, and the work was stopped. everything was now packed up close under the steep little ledge of rocks. an avalanche of smaller wild animals, mostly deer, was upon us. many of these had their tongues hanging from their half-opened mouths. they did not attempt to drink, as you would suppose, but slid into the water silently almost as soon as they came. surely they must have seen us, but certainly they took no notice of us. and such order! no crushing or crowding, as you see cattle in corrals, aye, as you see people sometimes in the cars. and now came a torrent of little creeping things: rabbits, rats, squirrels! none of these smaller creatures attempted to cross, but crept along in the willows and brush close to the water. they loaded down the willows till they bent into the water, and the terrified little creatures floated away without the least bit of noise or confusion. and still the black skies were filled with the solemn boom of thunder. in fact, we had not yet heard any noise of any sort except thunder, not even our own voices. there was something more eloquent in the air now, something more terrible than man or beast, and all things were awed into silence--a profound silence. and all this time countless creatures, little creatures and big, were crowding the bank on our side or swimming across or floating down, down, down the swift, woodhung waters. suddenly the stolid leader of the indians threw his two naked arms in the air and let them fall, limp and helpless at his side; then he pointed out into the stream, for there embers and living and dead beasts began to drift and sweep down the swift waters from above. the indians now gathered up the packs and saddles and made a barricade above, for it was clear that many a living thing would now be borne down upon us. the two englishmen looked one another in the face long and thoughtfully, pulling their feet under them to keep from being trodden on. then, after another avalanche of creatures of all sorts and sizes, a sort of noah's ark this time, one of them said to the other: "beastly, you know!" "awful beastly, don't you know!" as they were talking entirely to themselves and in their own language, i did not trouble myself to call their attention to an enormous yellow rattlesnake which had suddenly and noiselessly slid down, over the steep little bluff of rocks behind us, into our midst. but now note this fact--every man there, red or white, saw or felt that huge and noiseless monster the very second she slid among us. for as i looked, even as i first looked, and then turned to see what the others would say or do, they were all looking at the glittering eyes set in that coffin-like head. the indians did not move back or seem nearly so much frightened as when they saw the drift of embers and dead beasts in the river before them; but the florid englishmen turned white! they resolutely arose, thrust their hands in their pockets and stood leaning their backs hard against the steep bluff. then another snake, long, black and beautiful, swept his supple neck down between them and thrust his red tongue forth--as if a bit of the flames had already reached us. fortunately, this particular "wisest of all the beasts of the field," was not disposed to tarry. in another second he had swung to the ground and was making a thousand graceful curves in the swift water for the further bank. the world, even the world of books, seems to know nothing at all about the wonderful snakes that live in the woods. the woods rattlesnake is as large as at least twenty ordinary rattlesnakes; and indians say it is entirely harmless. the enormous black snake, i know, is entirely without venom. in all my life, spent mostly in the camp, i have seen only three of those monstrous yellow woods rattlesnakes; one in indiana, one in oregon and the other on this occasion here on the banks of the mccloud. such bright eyes! it was hard to stop looking at them. meantime a good many bears had come and gone. the bear is a good swimmer, and takes to the water without fear. he is, in truth, quite a fisherman; so much of a fisherman, in fact, that in salmon season here his flesh is unfit for food. the pitiful part of it all was to see such little creatures as could not swim clinging all up and down and not daring to take to the water. unlike his domesticated brother, we saw several wild-cats take to the water promptly. the wild-cat, you must know, has no tail to speak of. but the panther and californian lion are well equipped in this respect and abhor the water. i constantly kept an eye over my shoulder at the ledge or little bluff of rocks, expecting to see a whole row of lions and panthers sitting there, almost "cheek by jowl" with my english friends, at any moment. but strangely enough, we saw neither panther nor lion; nor did we see a single grizzly among all the bears that came that way. we now noticed that one of the indians had become fascinated or charmed by looking too intently at the enormous serpent in our midst. the snake's huge, coffin-shaped head, as big as your open palm, was slowly swaying from side to side. the indian's head was doing the same, and their eyes were drawing closer and closer together. whatever there may be in the bible story of eve and the serpent, whether a figure or a fact, who shall say?--but it is certainly, in some sense, true. an indian will not kill a rattlesnake. but to break the charm, in this case, they caught their companion by the shoulders and forced him back flat on the ground. and there he lay, crying like a child, the first and only indian i ever saw cry. and then suddenly boom! boom! boom! as if heaven burst. it began to rain in torrents. and just then, as we began to breathe freely and feel safe, there came a crash and bump and bang above our heads, and high over our heads from off the ledge behind us! over our heads like a rocket, in an instant and clear into the water, leaped a huge black bear, a ball of fire! his fat sides in flame. he sank out of sight but soon came up, spun around like a top, dived again, then again spun around. but he got across, i am glad to say. and this always pleases my little girl, juanita. he sat there on the bank looking back at us quite a time. finally he washed his face, like a cat, then quietly went away. the rattlesnake was the last to cross. [illustration: into the water leaped a black bear.--page 26.] the beautiful yellow beast was not at all disconcerted, but with the serenest dignity lifted her yellow folds, coiled and uncoiled slowly, curved high in the air, arched her glittering neck of gold, widened her body till broad as your two hands, and so slid away over the water to the other side through the wild white rain. the cloudburst put out the fire instantly, showing that, though animals have superhuman foresight, they don't know everything before the time. "beastly! i didn't get a blawsted sketch, you know." "awful beastly! neither did i, don't you know." and that was all my english friends said. the indians made their moaning and whimpering friend who had been overcome by the snake pull himself together and they swam across and gathered up the "cattle." some men say a bear cannot leap; but i say there are times when a bear can leap like a tiger. this was one of the times. ii. music-loving bears. no, don't despise the bear, either in his life or his death. he is a kingly fellow, every inch a king; a curious, monkish, music-loving, roving robin hood of his somber woods--a silent monk, who knows a great deal more than he tells. and please don't go to look at him and sit in judgment on him behind the bars. put yourself in his place and see how much of manhood or kinghood would be left in you with a muzzle on your mouth, and only enough liberty left to push your nose between two rusty bars and catch the peanut which the good little boy has found to be a bad one and so generously tosses it to the bear. of course, the little boy, remembering the experience of about forty other little boys in connection with the late baldheaded elijah, has a prejudice against the bear family, but why the full-grown man should so continually persist in caging this shaggy-coated, dignified, kingly and ancient brother of his, i cannot see, unless it is that he knows almost nothing at all of his better nature, his shy, innocent love of a joke, his partiality for music and his imperial disdain of death. and so, with a desire that man may know a little more about this storied and classic creature which, with noiseless and stately tread, has come down to us out of the past, and is as quietly passing away from the face of the earth, these fragmentary facts are set down. but first as to his love of music. a bear loves music better than he loves honey, and that is saying that he loves music better than he loves his life. we were going to mill, father and i, and lyte howard, in oregon, about forty years ago, with ox-teams, a dozen or two bags of wheat, threshed with a flail and winnowed with a wagon cover, and were camped for the night by the calipoola river; for it took two days to reach the mill. lyte got out his fiddle, keeping his gun, of course, close at hand. pretty soon the oxen came down, came very close, so close that they almost put their cold, moist noses against the backs of our necks as we sat there on the ox-yokes or reclined in our blankets, around the crackling pine-log fire and listened to the wild, sweet strains that swept up and down and up till the very tree tops seemed to dance and quiver with delight. then suddenly father seemed to feel the presence of something or somebody strange, and i felt it, too. but the fiddler felt, heard, saw nothing but the divine, wild melody that made the very pine trees dance and quiver to their tips. oh, for the pure, wild, sweet, plaintive music once more! the music of "money musk," "zip coon," "ol' dan tucker" and all the other dear old airs that once made a thousand happy feet keep time on the puncheon floors from hudson's bank to the oregon. but they are no more, now. they have passed away forever with the indian, the pioneer, and the music-loving bear. it is strange how a man--i mean the natural man--will feel a presence long before he hears it or sees it. you can always feel the approach of a--but i forget. you are of another generation, a generation that only reads, takes thought at second hand only, if at all, and you would not understand; so let us get forward and not waste time in explaining the unexplainable to you. father got up, turned about, put me behind him like, as an animal will its young, and peered back and down through the dense tangle of the deep river bank between two of the huge oxen which had crossed the plains with us to the water's edge; then he reached around and drew me to him with his left hand, pointing between the oxen sharp down the bank with his right forefinger. a bear! two bears! and another coming; one already more than half way across on the great, mossy log that lay above the deep, sweeping waters of the calipoola; and lyte kept on, and the wild, sweet music leaped up and swept through the delighted and dancing boughs above. then father reached back to the fire and thrust a long, burning bough deeper into the dying embers and the glittering sparks leaped and laughed and danced and swept out and up and up as if to companion with the stars. then lyte knew. he did not hear, he did not see, he only felt; but the fiddle forsook his fingers and his chin in a second, and his gun was to his face with the muzzle thrust down between the oxen. and then my father's gentle hand reached out, lay on that long, black, kentucky rifle barrel, and it dropped down, slept once more at the fiddler's side, and again the melodies; and the very stars came down, believe me, to listen, for they never seemed so big and so close by before. the bears sat down on their haunches at last, and one of them kept opening his mouth and putting out his red tongue, as if he really wanted to taste the music. every now and then one of them would lift up a paw and gently tap the ground, as if to keep time with the music. and both my papa and lyte said next day that those bears really wanted to dance. and that is all there is to say about that, except that my father was the gentlest gentleman i ever knew and his influence must have been boundless; for who ever before heard of any hunter laying down his rifle with a family of fat black bears holding the little snow-white cross on their breasts almost within reach of its muzzle? the moon came up by and by, and the chin of the weary fiddler sank lower and lower, till all was still. the oxen lay down and ruminated, with their noses nearly against us. then the coal-black bears melted away before the milk-white moon, and we slept there, with the sweet breath of the cattle, like incense, upon us. but how does a bear die? ah, i had forgotten. i must tell you of death, then. well, we have different kinds of bears. i know little of the polar bear, and so say nothing positively of him. i am told, however, that there is not, considering his size, much snap or grit about him; but as for the others, i am free to say that they live and die like gentlemen. i shall find time, as we go forward, to set down many incidents out of my own experience to prove that the bear is often a humorist, and never by any means a bad fellow. judge highton, odd as it may seem, has left the san francisco bar for the "bar" of mount shasta every season for more than a quarter of a century, and he probably knows more about bears than any other eminently learned man in the world, and henry highton will tell you that the bear is a good fellow at home, good all through, a brave, modest, sober old monk. a monkish robin hood in his good green wood. iii. my first grizzly. one of fremont's men, mountain joe, had taken a fancy to me down in oregon, and finally, to put three volumes in three lines, i turned up as partner in his soda springs ranch on the sacramento, where the famous shasta-water is now bottled, i believe. then the indians broke out, burned us up and we followed and fought them in castle rocks, and i was shot down. then my father came on to watch by my side, where i lay, under protection of soldiers, at the mouth of shot creek canyon. as the manzanita berries began to turn the mountain sides red and the brown pine quills to sift down their perfumed carpets at our feet, i began to feel some strength and wanted to fight, but i had had enough of indians. i wanted to fight grizzly bears this time. the fact is, they used to leave tracks in the pack trail every night, and right close about the camp, too, as big as the head of a barrel. now father was well up in woodcraft, no man better, but he never fired a gun. never, in his seventy years of life among savages, did that gentle quaker, school-master, magistrate and christian ever fire a gun. but he always allowed me to have my own way as a hunter, and now that i was getting well of my wound he was so glad and grateful that he willingly joined in with the soldiers to help me kill one of these huge bears that had made the big tracks. do you know why a beast, a bear of all beasts, is so very much afraid of fire? well, in the first place, as said before, a bear is a gentleman, in dress as well as address, and so likes a decent coat. if a bear should get his coat singed he would hide away from sight of both man and beast for half a year. but back of his pride is the fact that a fat bear will burn like a candle; the fire will not stop with the destruction of his coat. and so, mean as it was, in the olden days, when bears were as common in california as cows are now, men used to take advantage of this fear and kindle pine-quill fires in and around his haunts in the head of canyons to drive him out and down and into ambush. read two or three chapters here between the lines--lots of plans, preparations, diagrams. i was to hide near camp and wait--to place the crescent of pine-quill fires and all that. then at twilight they all went out and away on the mountain sides around the head of the canyon, and i hid behind a big rock near by the extinguished camp-fire, with my old muzzle-loading kentucky rifle, lifting my eyes away up and around to the head of the manzanita canyon looking for the fires. a light! one, two, three, ten! a sudden crescent of forked flames, and all the fight and impetuosity of a boy of only a dozen years was uppermost, and i wanted a bear! all alone i waited; got hot, cold, thirsty, cross as a bear and so sick of sitting there that i was about to go to my blankets, for the flames had almost died out on the hills, leaving only a circle of little dots and dying embers, like a fading diadem on the mighty lifted brow of the glorious manzanita mountain. and now the new moon came, went softly and sweetly by, like a shy, sweet maiden, hiding down, down out of sight. crash! his head was thrown back, not over his shoulder, as you may read but never see, but down by his left foot, as he looked around and back up the brown mountain side. he had stumbled, or rather, he had stepped on himself, for a bear gets down hill sadly. if a bear ever gets after you, you had better go hill and go down hill fast. it will make him mad, but that is not your affair. i never saw a bear go down hill in a good humor. what nature meant by making a bear so short in the arms i don't know. indians say he was first a man and walked upright with a club on his shoulder, but sinned and fell. as evidence of this, they show that he can still stand up and fight with his fists when hard pressed, but more of this later on. this huge brute before me looked almost white in the tawny twilight as he stumbled down through the steep tangle of chaparral into the opening on the stony bar of the river. he had evidently been terribly tangled up and disgusted while in the bush and jungle, and now, well out of it, with the foamy, rumbling, roaring sacramento river only a few rods beyond him, into which he could plunge with his glossy coat, he seemed to want to turn about and shake his huge fists at the crescent of fire in the pine-quills that had driven him down the mountain. he threw his enormous bulk back on his haunches and rose up, and rose up, and rose up! oh, the majesty of this king of our continent, as he seemed to still keep rising! then he turned slowly around on his great hinder feet to look back; he pushed his nose away out, then drew it back, twisted his short, thick neck, like that of a beer-drinking german, and then for a final observation he tiptoed up, threw his high head still higher in the air and wiggled it about and sniffed and sniffed and--bang! i shot at him from ambush, with his back toward me, shot at his back! for shame! henry highton would not have done that; nor, indeed, would i or any other real sportsman do such a thing now; but i must plead the "baby act," and all the facts, and also my sincere penitence, and proceed. the noble brute did not fall, but let himself down with dignity and came slowly forward. hugely, ponderously, solemnly, he was coming. and right here, if i should set down what i thought about--where father was, the soldiers, anybody, everybody else, whether i had best just fall on my face and "play possum" and put in a little prayer or two on the side, like--well, i was going on to say that if i should write all that flashed and surged through my mind in the next three seconds, you would be very tired. i was certain i had not hit the bear at all. as a rule, you can always see the "fur fly," as hunters put it; only it is not fur, but dust, that flies. but this bear was very fat and hot, and so there could have been no dust to fly. after shuffling a few steps forward and straight for the river, he suddenly surged up again, looked all about, just as before, then turned his face to the river and me, the tallest bear that ever tiptoed up and up and up in the sierras. one, two, three steps--on came the bear! and my gun empty! then he fell, all at once and all in a heap. no noise, no moaning or groaning at all, no clutching at the ground, as men have seen indians and even white men do; as if they would hold the earth from passing away--nothing of that sort. he lay quite still, head down hill, on his left side, gave just one short, quick breath, and then, pulling up his great right paw, he pushed his nose and eyes under it, as if to shut out the light forever, or, maybe, to muffle up his face as when "great cã¦sar fell." and that was all. i had killed a grizzly bear; nearly as big as the biggest ox. iv. twin babies. these twin babies were black. they were black as coal. indeed, they were blacker than coal, for they glistened in their oily blackness. they were young baby bears; and so exactly alike that no one could, in any way, tell the one from the other. and they were orphans. they had been found at the foot of a small cedar tree on the banks of the sacramento river, near the now famous soda springs, found by a tow-headed boy who was very fond of bears and hunting. but at the time the twin babies were found soda springs was only a wild camp, or way station, on the one and only trail that wound through the woods and up and down mountains for hundreds of miles, connecting the gold fields of california with the pastoral settlements away to the north in oregon. but a railroad has now taken the place of that tortuous old packtrail, and you can whisk through these wild and woody mountains, and away on down through oregon and up through washington, montana, dakota, minnesota, wisconsin and on to chicago without even once getting out of your car, if you like. yet such a persistent ride is not probable, for fish, pheasants, deer, elk, and bear still abound here in their ancient haunts, and the temptation to get out and fish or hunt is too great to be resisted. [illustration: he threw his enormous bulk back on his haunches, and rose up.--page 40.] this place where the baby bears were found was first owned by three men or, rather, by two men and a boy. one of the men was known as mountain joe. he had once been a guide in the service of general fremont, but he was now a drunken fellow and spent most of his time at the trading post, twenty miles down the river. he is now an old man, almost blind, and lives in oregon city, on a pension received as a soldier of the mexican war. the other man's name was sil reese. he, also, is living and famously rich--as rich as he is stingy, and that is saying that he is very rich indeed. the boy preferred the trees to the house, partly because it was more pleasant and partly because sil reese, who had a large nose and used it to talk with constantly, kept grumbling because the boy, who had been wounded in defending the ranch, was not able to work--wash the dishes, make fires and so on, and help in a general and particular way about the so-called "soda spring hotel." this sil reese was certainly a mean man, as has, perhaps, been set down in this sketch before. the baby bears were found asleep, and alone. how they came to be there, and, above all, how they came to be left long enough alone by their mother for a feeble boy to rush forward at sight of them, catch them up in his arms and escape with them, will always be a wonder. but this one thing is certain, you had about as well take up two rattlesnakes in your arms as two baby bears, and hope to get off unharmed, if the mother of the young bears is within a mile of you. this boy, however, had not yet learned caution, and he probably was not born with much fear in his make-up. and then he was so lonesome, and this man reese was so cruel and so cross, with his big nose like a sounding fog-horn, that the boy was glad to get even a bear to love and play with. they, so far from being frightened or cross, began to root around under his arms and against his breast, like little pigs, for something to eat. possibly their mother had been killed by hunters, for they were nearly famished. when he got them home, how they did eat! this also made sil reese mad. for, although the boy, wounded as he was, managed to shoot down a deer not too far from the house almost every day, and so kept the "hotel" in meat, still it made reese miserable and envious to see the boy so happy with his sable and woolly little friends. reese was simply mean! before a month the little black boys began to walk erect, carry stick muskets, wear paper caps, and march up and down before the door of the big log "hotel" like soldiers. but the cutest trick they learned was that of waiting on the table. with little round caps and short white aprons, the little black boys would stand behind the long bench on which the guests sat at the pine board table and pretend to take orders with all the precision and solemnity of southern negroes. of course, it is to be confessed that they often dropped things, especially if the least bit hot; but remember we had only tin plates and tin or iron dishes of all sorts, so that little damage was done if a dish did happen to fall and rattle down on the earthen floor. men came from far and near and often lingered all day to see these cunning and intelligent creatures perform. about this time mountain joe fought a duel with another mountaineer down at the trading post, and this duel, a bloodless and foolish affair, was all the talk. why not have the little black fellows fight a duel also? they were surely civilized enough to fight now! and so, with a very few days' training, they fought a duel exactly like the one in which poor, drunken old mountain joe was engaged; even to the detail of one of them suddenly dropping his stick gun and running away and falling headlong in a prospect hole. when joe came home and saw this duel and saw what a fool he had made of himself, he at first was furiously angry. but it made him sober, and he kept sober for half a year. meantime reese was mad as ever, more mad, in fact, than ever before. for he could not endure to see the boy have any friends of any kind. above all, he did not want mountain joe to stay at home or keep sober. he wanted to handle all the money and answer no questions. a drunken man and a boy that he could bully suited him best. ah, but this man reese was a mean fellow, as has been said a time or two before. as winter came on the two blacks were fat as pigs and fully half-grown. their appetites increased daily, and so did the anger and envy of mr. sil reese. "they'll eat us out o' house and hum," said the big, towering nose one day, as the snow began to descend and close up the pack trails. and then the stingy man proposed that the blacks should be made to hibernate, as others of their kind. there was a big, hollow log that had been sawed off in joints to make bee gums; and the stingy man insisted that they should be put in there with a tight head, and a pack of hay for a bed, and nailed up till spring to save provisions. soon there was an indian outbreak. some one from the ranch, or "hotel," must go with the company of volunteers that was forming down at the post for a winter campaign. of course reese would not go. he wanted mountain joe to go and get killed. but joe was sober now and he wanted to stay and watch reese. and that is how it came about that the two black babies were tumbled headlong into a big, black bee gum, or short, hollow log, on a heap of hay, and nailed up for the winter. the boy had to go to the war. it was late in the spring when the boy, having neglected to get himself killed, to the great disgust of mr. sil reese, rode down and went straight up to the big black bee gum in the back yard. he put his ear to a knothole. not a sound. he tethered his mule, came back and tried to shake the short, hollow log. not a sound or sign or movement of any kind. then he kicked the big black gum with all his might. nothing. rushing to the wood-pile, he caught up an ax and in a moment had the whole end of the big gum caved in, and, to his infinite delight, out rolled the twins! but they were merely the ghosts of themselves. they had been kept in a month or more too long, and were now so weak and so lean that they could hardly stand on their feet. "kill 'em and put 'em out o' misery," said reese, for run from him they really could not, and he came forward and kicked one of them flat down on its face as it was trying hard to stand on its four feet. the boy had grown some; besides, he was just from the war and was now strong and well. he rushed up in front of reese, and he must have looked unfriendly, for sil reese tried to smile, and then at the same time he turned hastily to go into the house. and when he got fairly turned around, the boy kicked him precisely where he had kicked the bear. and he kicked him hard, so hard that he pitched forward on his face just as the bear had done. he got up quickly, but he did not look back. he seemed to have something to do in the house. in a month the babies, big babies now, were sleek and fat. it is amazing how these creatures will eat after a short nap of a few months, like that. and their cunning tricks, now! and their kindness to their master! ah! their glossy black coats and their brilliant black eyes! and now three men came. two of these men were italians from san francisco. the third man was also from that city, but he had an amazing big nose and refused to eat bear meat. he thought it was pork. they took tremendous interest in the big black twins, and stayed all night and till late next day, seeing them perform. "seventy-five dollars," said one big nose to the other big nose, back in a corner where they thought the boy did not hear. "one hundred and fifty. you see, i'll have to give my friends fifty each. yes, it's true i've took care of 'em all winter, but i ain't mean, and i'll only keep fifty of it." the boy, bursting with indignation, ran to mountain joe with what he had heard. but poor joe had been sober for a long time, and his eyes fairly danced in delight at having $50 in his own hand and right to spend it down at the post. and so the two italians muzzled the big, pretty pets and led them kindly down the trail toward the city, where they were to perform in the streets, the man with the big nose following after the twins on a big white mule. and what became of the big black twin babies? they are still performing, seem content and happy, sometimes in a circus, sometimes in a garden, sometimes in the street. they are great favorites and have never done harm to anyone. and what became of sil reese? well, as said before, he still lives, is very rich and very miserable. he met the boy--the boy that was--on the street the other day and wanted to talk of old times. he told the boy he ought to write something about the old times and put him, sil reese, in it. he said, with that same old sounding nose and sickening smile, that he wanted the boy to be sure and put his, sil reese's name, in it so that he could show it to his friends. and the boy has done so. the boy? you want to know what the boy is doing? well, in about a second he will be signing his autograph to the bottom of this story about his twin babies. v. in swimming with a bear. what made these ugly rows of scars on my left hand? well, it might have been buckshot; only it wasn't. besides, buckshot would be scattered about, "sort of promiscuous like," as backwoodsmen say. but these ugly little holes are all in a row, or rather in two rows. now a wolf might have made these holes with his fine white teeth, or a bear might have done it with his dingy and ugly teeth, long ago. i must here tell you that the teeth of a bear are not nearly so fine as the teeth of a wolf. and the teeth of a lion are the ugliest of them all. they are often broken and bent; and they are always of a dim yellow color. it is from this yellow hue of the lion's teeth that we have the name of one of the most famous early flowers of may: dent de lion, tooth of the lion; dandelion. get down your botany, now, find the anglo-asian name of the flower, and fix this fact on your mind before you read further. i know of three men, all old men now, who have their left hands all covered with scars. one is due to the wolf; the others owe their scars to the red mouths of black bears. you see, in the old days, out here in california, when the sierras were full of bold young fellows hunting for gold, quite a number of them had hand-to-hand battles with bears. for when we came out here "the woods were full of 'em." of course, the first thing a man does when he finds himself face to face with a bear that won't run and he has no gun--and that is always the time when he finds a bear--why, he runs, himself; that is, if the bear will let him. but it is generally a good deal like the old crusader who "caught a tartar" long ago, when on his way to capture jerusalem, with peter the hermit. "come on!" cried peter to the helmeted and knightly old crusader, who sat his horse with lance in rest on a hill a little in the rear. "come on!" "i can't! i've caught a tartar." "well, bring him along." "he won't come." "well, then, come without him." "he won't let me." and so it often happened in the old days out here. when a man "caught" his bear and didn't have his gun he had to fight it out hand-to-hand. but fortunately, every man at all times had a knife in his belt. a knife never gets out of order, never "snaps," and a man in those days always had to have it with him to cut his food, cut brush, "crevice" for gold, and so on. oh! it is a grim picture to see a young fellow in his red shirt wheel about, when he can't run, thrust out his left hand, draw his knife with his right, and so, breast to breast, with the bear erect, strike and strike and strike to try to reach his heart before his left hand is eaten off to the elbow! we have five kinds of bears in the sierras. the "boxer," the "biter," the "hugger," are the most conspicuous. the other two are a sort of "all round" rough and tumble style of fighters. the grizzly is the boxer. a game old beast he is, too, and would knock down all the john l. sullivans you could put in the sierras faster than you could set them up. he is a kingly old fellow and disdains familiarity. whatever may be said to the contrary, he never "hugs" if he has room to box. in some desperate cases he has been known to bite, but ordinarily he obeys "the rules of the ring." the cinnamon bear is a lazy brown brute, about one-half the size of the grizzly. he always insists on being very familiar, if not affectionate. this is the "hugger." next in order comes the big, sleek, black bear; easily tamed, too lazy to fight, unless forced to it. but when "cornered" he fights well, and, like a lion, bites to the bone. after this comes the small and quarrelsome black bear with big ears, and a white spot on his breast. i have heard hunters say, but i don't quite believe it, that he sometimes points to this white spot on his breast as a sort of free mason's sign, as if to say, "don't shoot." next in order comes the smaller black bear with small ears. he is ubiquitous, as well as omniverous; gets into pig-pens, knocks over your beehives, breaks open your milk-house, eats more than two good-sized hogs ought to eat, and is off for the mountain top before you dream he is about. the first thing you see in the morning, however, will be some muddy tracks on the door steps. for he always comes and snuffles and shuffles and smells about the door in a good-natured sort of way, and leaves his card. the fifth member of the great bear family is not much bigger than an ordinary dog; but he is numerous, and he, too, is a nuisance. dog? why not set the dog on him? let me tell you. the california dog is a lazy, degenerate cur. he ought to be put with the extinct animals. he devotes his time and his talent to the flea. not six months ago i saw a coon, on his way to my fish-pond in the pleasant moonlight, walk within two feet of my dog's nose and not disturb his slumbers. we hope that it is impossible ever to have such a thing as hydrophobia in california. but as our dogs are too lazy to bite anything, we have thus far been unable to find out exactly as to that. this last-named bear has a big head and small body; has a long, sharp nose and longer and sharper teeth than any of the others; he is a natural thief, has low instincts, carries his nose close to the ground, and, wherever possible, makes his road along on the mossy surface of fallen trees in humid forests. he eats fish--dead and decaying salmon--in such abundance that his flesh is not good in the salmon season. it was with this last described specimen of the bear family that a precocious old boy who had hired out to some horse drovers, went in swimming years and years ago. the two drovers had camped to recruit and feed their horses on the wild grass and clover that grew at the headwaters of the sacramento river, close up under the foot of mount shasta. a pleasant spot it was, in the pleasant summer weather. this warm afternoon the two men sauntered leisurely away up soda creek to where their horses were grazing belly deep in grass and clover. they were slow to return, and the boy, as all boys will, began to grow restless. he had fished, he had hunted, had diverted himself in a dozen ways, but now he wanted something new. he got it. a little distance below camp could be seen, through the thick foliage that hung and swung and bobbed above the swift waters, a long, mossy log that lay far out and far above the cool, swift river. why not go down through the trees and go out on that log, take off his clothes, dangle his feet, dance on the moss, do anything, everything that a boy wants to do? in two minutes the boy was out on the big, long, mossy log, kicking his boots off, and in two minutes more he was dancing up and down on the humid, cool moss, and as naked as the first man, when he was first made. and it was very pleasant. the great, strong river splashed and dashed and boomed below; above him the long green branches hung dense and luxuriant and almost within reach. far off and away through their shifting shingle he caught glimpses of the bluest of all blue skies. and a little to the left he saw gleaming in the sun and almost overhead the everlasting snows of mount shasta. putting his boots and his clothes all carefully in a heap, that nothing might roll off into the water, he walked, or rather danced on out to where the further end of the great fallen tree lay lodged on a huge boulder in the middle of the swift and surging river. his legs dangled down and he patted his plump thighs with great satisfaction. then he leaned over and saw some gold and silver trout, then he flopped over and lay down on his breast to get a better look at them. then he thought he heard something behind him on the other end of the log! he pulled himself together quickly and stood erect, face about. there was a bear! it was one of those mean, sneaking, long-nosed, ant-eating little fellows, it is true, but it was a bear! and a bear is a bear to a boy, no matter about his size, age or character. the boy stood high up. the boy's bear stood up. and the boy's hair stood up! the bear had evidently not seen the boy yet. but it had smelled his boots and clothes, and had got upon his dignity. but now, dropping down on all fours, with nose close to the mossy butt of the log, it slowly shuffled forward. that boy was the stillest boy, all this time, that has ever been. pretty soon the bear reached the clothes. he stopped, sat down, nosed them about as a hog might, and then slowly and lazily got up; but with a singular sort of economy of old clothes, for a bear, he did not push anything off into the river. what next? would he come any farther? would he? could he? will he? the long, sharp little nose was once more to the moss and sliding slowly and surely toward the poor boy's naked shins. then the boy shivered and settled down, down, down on his haunches, with his little hands clasped till he was all of a heap. he tried to pray, but somehow or another, all he could think of as he sat there crouched down with all his clothes off was: "now i lay me down to sleep." but all this could not last. the bear was almost on him in half a minute, although he did not lift his nose six inches till almost within reach of the boy's toes. then the surprised bear suddenly stood up and began to look the boy in the face. as the terrified youth sprang up, he thrust out his left hand as a guard and struck the brute with all his might between the eyes with the other. but the left hand lodged in the two rows of sharp teeth and the boy and bear rolled into the river together. but they were together only an instant. the bear, of course, could not breathe with his mouth open in the water, and so had to let go. instinctively, or perhaps because his course lay in that direction, the bear struck out, swimming "dog fashion," for the farther shore. and as the boy certainly had no urgent business on that side of the river he did not follow, but kept very still, clinging to the moss on the big boulder till the bear had shaken the water from his coat and disappeared in the thicket. then the boy, pale and trembling from fright and the loss of blood, climbed up the broken end of the log, got his clothes, struggled into them as he ran, and so reached camp. and he had not yelled! he tied up his hand in a piece of old flour sack, all by himself, for the men had not yet got back; and he didn't whimper! and what became of the boy? you ask. the boy grew up as all energetic boys do; for there seems to be a sort of special providence for such boys. and where is he now? out in california, trapping bear in the winter and planting olive trees in their season. and do i know him? yes, pretty well, almost as well as any old fellow can know himself. vi. a fat little editor and three little "browns." mount sinai, heart of the sierras--this place is one mile east and a little less than one mile perpendicular from the hot, dusty and dismal little railroad town down on the rocky banks of the foaming and tumbling sacramento river. some of the old miners are down there still--still working on the desolate old rocky bars with rockers. they have been there, some of them, for more than thirty years. a few of them have little orchards, or vineyards, on the steep, overhanging hills, but there is no home life, no white women to speak of, as yet. the battered and gray old miners are poor, lonely and discouraged, but they are honest, stout-hearted still, and of a much higher type than those that hang about the towns. it is hot down on the river--too hot, almost, to tell the truth. even here under mount shasta, in her sheets of eternal snow, the mercury is at par. this mount sinai is not a town; it is a great spring of cold water that leaps from the high, rocky front of a mountain which we have located as a summer home in the sierras--myself and a few other scribes of california. this is the great bear land. one of our party, a simple-hearted and honest city editor, who was admitted into our little mountain colony because of his boundless good nature and native goodness, had never seen a bear before he came here. city editors do not, as a rule, ever know much about bears. this little city editor is baldheaded, bow-legged, plain to a degree. and maybe that is why he is so good. "give me fat men," said caesar. but give me plain men for good men, any time. pretty women are to be preferred; but pretty men? bah! i must get on with the bear, however, and make a long story a short story. we found our fat, bent-legged editor from the city fairly broiling in the little railroad town, away down at the bottom of the hill in the yellow golden fields of the sacramento; and he was so limp and so lazy that we had to lay hold of him and get him out of the heat and up into the heart of the sierras by main force. only one hour of climbing and we got up to where the little mountain streams come tumbling out of snow-banks on every side. the sacramento, away down below and almost under us, from here looks dwindled to a brawling brook; a foamy white thread twisting about the boulders as big as meeting houses, plunging forward, white with fear, as if glad to get away--as if there was a bear back there where it came from. we did not register. no, indeed. this place here on square creek, among the clouds, where the water bursts in a torrent from the living rock, we have named mount sinai. we own the whole place for one mile square--the tall pine trees, the lovely pine-wood houses; all, all. we proposed to hunt and fish, for food. but we had some bread, some bacon, lots of coffee and sugar. and so, whipping out our hooks and lines, we set off with the editor up a little mountain brook, and in less than an hour were far up among the fields of eternal snow, and finely loaded with trout. what a bed of pine quills! what long and delicious cones for a camp fire! some of those sugar-pine cones are as long as your arm. one of them alone will make a lofty pyramid of flame and illuminate the scene for half a mile about. i threw myself on my back and kicked up my heels. i kicked care square in the face. oh, what freedom! how we would rest after dinner here! of course we could not all rest or sleep at the same time. one of us would have to keep a pine cone burning all the time. bears are not very numerous out here; but the california lion is both numerous and large here. the wild-cat, too, is no friend to the tourist. but we were not tourists. the land was and is ours. we would and all could defend our own. the sun was going down. glorious! the shades of night were coming up out of the gorges below and audaciously pursuing the dying sun. not a sound. not a sign of man or of beast. we were scattered all up and down the hill. crash! something came tearing down the creek through the brush! the fat and simple-hearted editor, who had been dressing the homeopathic dose of trout, which inexperience had marked as his own, sprang up from the bank of the tumbling little stream above us and stood at his full height. his stout little knees for the first time smote together. i was a good way below him on the steep hillside. a brother editor was slicing bacon on a piece of reversed pine bark close by. "fall down," i cried, "fall flat down on your face." it was a small she bear, and she was very thin and very hungry, with cubs at her heels, and she wanted that fat little city editor's fish. i know it would take volumes to convince you that i really meant for the bear to pass by him and come after me and my friend with both fish and bacon, and so, with half a line, i assert this truth and pass on. nor was i in any peril in appropriating the little brown bear to myself. any man who knows what he is about is as safe with a bear on a steep hillside as is the best bull-fighter in any arena. no bear can keep his footing on a steep hillside, much less fight. and whenever an indian is in peril he always takes down hill till he comes to a steep plane, and then lets the bear almost overtake him, when he suddenly steps aside and either knifes the bear to the heart or lets the open-mouthed beast go on down the hill, heels over head. the fat editor turned his face toward me, and it was pale. "what! lie down and be eaten up while you lie there and kick up your heels and enjoy yourself? never. we will die together!" he shouted. he started for me as fast as his short legs would allow. the bear struck at him with her long, rattling claws. he landed far below me, and when he got up he hardly knew where he was or what he was. his clothes were in shreds, the back and bottom parts of them. the bear caught at his trout and was gone in an instant back with her two little cubs, and a moment later the little family had dined and was away, over the hill. she was a cinnamon bear, not much bigger than a big, yellow dog, and almost as lean and mean and hungry as any wolf could possibly be. we helped our inexperienced little friend slowly down to camp, forgetting all about the bacon and the fish till we came to the little board house, where we had coffee. of course the editor could not go to the table now. he leaned, or rather sat, against a pine, drank copious cups of coffee and watched the stars, while i heaped up great piles of leaves and built a big fire, and so night rolled by in all her starry splendor as the men slept soundly all about beneath the lordly pines. but alas for the fat little editor; he did not like the scenery, and he would not stay. we saw him to the station on his way back to his little sanctum. he said he was satisfied. he had seen the "bar." his last words were, as he pulled himself close together in a modest corner in the car and smiled feebly: "say, boys, you won't let it get in the papers, will you?" vii. treeing a bear. away back in the "fifties" bears were as numerous on the banks of the willamette river, in oregon, as are hogs in the hickory woods of kentucky in nut time, and that is saying that bears were mighty plenty in oregon about forty years ago. you see, after the missionaries established their great cattle ranches in oregon and gathered the indians from the wilderness and set them to work and fed them on beef and bread, the bears had it all their own way, till they literally overran the land. and this gave a great chance for sport to the sons of missionaries and the sons of new settlers "where rolls the oregon." and it was not perilous sport, either, for the grizzly was rarely encountered here. his home was further to the south. neither was the large and clumsy cinnamon bear abundant on the banks of the beautiful willamette in those dear old days, when you might ride from sun to sun, belly deep in wild flowers, and never see a house. but the small black bear, as indicated before, was on deck in great force, at all times and in nearly all places. it was the custom in those days for boys to take this bear with the lasso, usually on horseback. we would ride along close to the dense woods that grew by the river bank, and, getting between him and his base of retreat, would, as soon as we sighted a bear feeding out in the open plain, swing our lassos and charge him with whoop and yell. his habit of rearing up and standing erect and looking about to see what was the matter made him an easy prey to the lasso. and then the fun of taking him home through the long, strong grass! as a rule, he did not show fight when once in the toils of the lasso; but in a few hours, making the best of the situation like a little philosopher, he would lead along like a dog. there were, of course, exceptions to this exemplary conduct. on one occasion particularly, ed parish, the son of a celebrated missionary, came near losing his life by counting too confidently on the docility of a bear which he had taken with a lasso and was leading home. his bear suddenly stopped, stood up and began to haul in the rope, hand over hand, just like a sailor. and as the other end of the rope was fastened tightly to the big spanish pommel of the saddle, why of course the distance between the bear and the horse soon grew perilously short, and ed parish slid from his horse's back and took to the brush, leaving horse and bear to fight it out as best they could. when he came back, with some boys to help him, the horse was dead and the bear was gone, having cut the rope with his teeth. after having lost his horse in this way, poor little ed parish had to do his hunting on foot, and, as my people were immigrants and very poor, why we, that is my brother and i, were on foot also. this kept us three boys together a great deal, and many a peculiar adventure we had in those dear days "when all the world was young." ed parish was nearly always the hero of our achievements, for he was a bold, enterprising fellow, who feared nothing at all. in fact, he finally lost his life from his very great love of adventure. but this is too sad to tell now, and we must be content with the story about how he treed a bear for the present. we three boys had gone bear hunting up a wooded canyon near his father's ranch late one warm summer afternoon. ed had a gun, but, as i said before, my people were very poor, so neither brother nor i as yet had any other arms or implements than the inseparable lasso. ed, who was always the captain in such cases, chose the center of the dense, deep canyon for himself, and, putting my brother on the hillside to his right and myself on the hillside to his left, ordered a simultaneous "forward march." after a time we heard him shoot. then we heard him shout. then there was a long silence. then suddenly, high and wild, his voice rang out through the tree tops down in the deep canyon. "come down! come quick! i've treed a bear! come and help me catch him; come quick! oh, moses! come quick, and--and--and catch him!" my brother came tearing down the steep hill on his side of the canyon as i descended from my side. we got down about the same time, but the trees in their dense foliage, together with the compact underbrush, concealed everything. we could see neither bear nor boy. this oregon is a damp country, warm and wet; nearly always moist and humid, and so the trees are covered with moss. long, gray, sweeping moss swings from the broad, drooping boughs of fir and pine and cedar and nearly every bit of sunlight is shut out in these canyons from one year's end to the other. and it rains here nearly half of the year; and then these densely wooded canyons are as dark as caverns. i know of nothing so grandly gloomy as these dense oregon woods in this long rainy season. i laid my ear to the ground after i got a glimpse of my brother on the other side of the canyon, but could hear nothing at all but the beating of my heart. suddenly there was a wild yell away up in the dense boughs of a big mossy maple tree that leaned over toward my side of the canyon. i looked and looked with eagerness, but could see nothing whatever. then again came the yell from the top of the big leaning maple. then there was a moment of silence, and then the cry: "oh, moses! why don't you come, i say, and help me catch him?" by this time i could see the leaves rustling. and i could see the boy rustling, too. and just behind him was a bear. he had treed the bear, sure enough! my eyes gradually grew accustomed to the gloom and density, and i now saw the red mouth of the bear amid the green foliage high overhead. the bear had already pulled off one of ed's boots and was about making a bootjack of his big red mouth for the other. "why don't you come on, i say, and help me catch him?" he kicked at the bear, and at the same time hitched himself a little further along up the leaning trunk, and in doing so kicked his remaining boot into the bear's mouth. "oh, moses, moses! why don't you come? i've got a bear, i tell you." "where is it, ed?" shouted my brother on the other side. but ed did not tell him, for he had not yet got his foot from the bear's mouth, and was now too busy to do anything else but yell and cry "oh, moses!" then my brother and i shouted out to ed at the same time. this gave him great courage. he said something like "confound you!" to the bear, and getting his foot loose without losing the boot he kicked the bear right on the nose. this brought things to a standstill. ed hitched along a little higher up, and as the leaning trunk of the tree was already bending under his own and the bear's weight, the infuriated brute did not seem disposed to go further. besides, as he had been mortally wounded, he was probably growing too weak to do much now. my brother got to the bottom of the canyon and brought ed's gun to where i stood. but, as we had no powder or bullets, and as ed could not get them to us, even if he would have been willing to risk our shooting at the bear, it was hard to decide what to do. it was already dusk and we could not stay there all night. "boys," shouted ed, at last, as he steadied himself in the forks of a leaning and overhanging bough, "i'm going to come down on my laz rope. there, take that end of it, tie your laz ropes to it and scramble up the hill." we obeyed him to the letter, and as we did so, he fastened his lasso firmly to the leaning bough and descended like a spider to where we had stood a moment before. we all scrambled up out of the canyon together and as quickly as possible. when we went back next day to get our ropes we found the bear dead near the root of the old mossy maple. the skin was a splendid one, and ed insisted that my brother and i should have it, and we gladly accepted it. my brother, who was older and wiser than i, said that he made us take the skin so that we would not be disposed to tell how he had "treed a bear." but i trust not, for he was a very generous-hearted fellow. anyhow, we never told the story while he lived. viii. bill cross and his pet bear. when my father settled down at the foot of the oregon sierras with his little family, long, long years ago, it was about forty miles from our place to the nearest civilized settlement. people were very scarce in those days, and bears, as said before, were very plenty. we also had wolves, wild-cats, wild cattle, wild hogs, and a good many long-tailed and big-headed yellow californian lions. the wild cattle, brought there from spanish mexico, next to the bear, were most to be feared. they had long, sharp horns and keen, sharp hoofs. nature had gradually helped them out in these weapons of defense. they had grown to be slim and trim in body, and were as supple and swift as deer. they were the deadly enemies of all wild beasts; because all wild beasts devoured their young. when fat and saucy, in warm summer weather, these cattle would hover along the foothills in bands, hiding in the hollows, and would begin to bellow whenever they saw a bear or a wolf, or even a man or boy, if on foot, crossing the wide valley of grass and blue camas blossoms. then there would be music! they would start up, with heads and tails in the air, and, broadening out, left and right, they would draw a long bent line, completely shutting off their victim from all approach to the foothills. if the unfortunate victim were a man or boy on foot, he generally made escape up one of the small ash trees that dotted the valley in groves here and there, and the cattle would then soon give up the chase. but if it were a wolf or any other wild beast that could not get up a tree, the case was different. far away, on the other side of the valley, where dense woods lined the banks of the winding willamette river, the wild, bellowing herd would be answered. out from the edge of the woods would stream, right and left, two long, corresponding, surging lines, bellowing and plunging forward now and then, their heads to the ground, their tails always in the air and their eyes aflame, as if they would set fire to the long gray grass. with the precision and discipline of a well-ordered army, they would close in upon the wild beast, too terrified now to either fight or fly, and, leaping upon him, one after another, with their long, sharp hoofs, he would, in a little time, be crushed into an unrecognizable mass. not a bone would be left unbroken. it is a mistake to suppose that they ever used their long, sharp horns in attack. these were used only in defense, the same as elk or deer, falling on the knees and receiving the enemy on their horns, much as the old guard received the french in the last terrible struggle at waterloo. bill cross was a "tender foot" at the time of which i write, and a sailor, at that. now, the old pilgrims who had dared the plains in those days of '49, when cowards did not venture and the weak died on the way, had not the greatest respect for the courage or endurance of those who had reached oregon by ship. but here was this man, a sailor by trade, settling down in the interior of oregon, and, strangely enough, pretending to know more about everything in general and bears in particular than either my father or any of his boys! he had taken up a piece of land down in the pretty camas valley where the grass grew long and strong and waved in the wind, mobile and beautiful as the mobile sea. the good-natured and self-complacent old sailor liked to watch the waving grass. it reminded him of the sea, i reckon. he would sometimes sit on our little porch as the sun went down and tell us boys strange, wild sea stories. he had traveled far and seen much, as much as any man can see on water, and maybe was not a very big liar, for a sailor, after all. we liked his tales. he would not work, and so he paid his way with stories of the sea. the only thing about him that we did not like, outside of his chronic idleness, was his exalted opinion of himself and his unconcealed contempt for everybody's opinion but his own. "bill," said my father one day, "those black spanish cattle will get after that red sash and sailor jacket of yours some day when you go down in the valley to your claim, and they won't leave a grease spot. better go horseback, or at least take a gun, when you go down next time." "pshaw! squire. i wish i had as many dollars as i ain't afeard of all the black spanish cattle in oregon. why, if they're so blasted dangerous, how did your missionaries ever manage to drive them up here from mexico, anyhow?" still, for all that, the very next time that he saw the old sailor setting out at his snail pace for his ranch below, slow and indolent as if on the deck of a ship, my father insisted that he should go on horseback, or at least take a gun. "pooh, pooh! i wouldn't be bothered with a horse or a gun. say, i'm goin' to bring your boys a pet bear some day." and so, cocking his little hat down over his right eye and thrusting his big hands into his deep pockets almost to the elbows, he slowly and lazily whistled himself down the gradual slope of the foothills, waist deep in the waving grass and delicious wild flowers, and soon was lost to sight in the great waving sea. two things may be here written down. he wouldn't ride a horse because he couldn't, and for the same reason he wouldn't use a gun. again let it be written down, also, that the reason he was going away that warm autumn afternoon was that there was some work to do. these facts were clear to my kind and indulgent father; but of course we boys never thought of it, and laid our little shoulders to the hard work of helping father lift up the long, heavy poles that were to complete the corral around our pioneer log cabin, and we really hoped and half believed that he might bring home a little pet bear. this stout log corral had become an absolute necessity. it was high and strong, and made of poles or small logs stood on end in a trench, after the fashion of a primitive fort or stout stockade. there was but one opening, and that was a very narrow one in front of the cabin door. here it was proposed to put up a gate. we also had talked about port-holes in the corners of the corral, but neither gate nor port-holes were yet made. in fact, as said before, the serene and indolent man of the sea always slowly walked away down through the grass toward his untracked claim whenever there was anything said about port-holes, posts or gates. father and we three little boys had only got the last post set and solidly "tamped" in the ground as the sun was going down. suddenly we heard a yell; then a yelling, then a bellowing. the yelling was heard in the high grass in the camas valley below, and the bellowing of cattle came from the woody river banks far beyond. then up on the brown hills of the oregon sierras above us came the wild answer of the wild black cattle of the hills, and a moment later, right and left, the long black lines began to widen out; then down they came, like a whirlwind, toward the black and surging line in the grass below. we were now almost in the center of what would, in a little time, be a complete circle and cyclone of furious spanish cattle. and now, here is something curious to relate. our own cows, poor, weary, immigrant cows of only a year before, tossed their tails in the air, pawed the ground, bellowed and fairly went wild in the splendid excitement and tumult. one touch of nature made the whole cow world kin! father clambered up on a "buck-horse" and looked out over the stockade; and then he shouted and shook his hat and laughed as i had never heard him laugh before. for there, breathless, coatless, hatless, came william cross, esq., two small wolves and a very small black bear! they were all making good time, anywhere, anyway, to escape the frantic cattle. father used to say afterwards, when telling about this little incident, that "it was nip and tuck between the four, and hard to say which was ahead." the cattle had made quite a "round-up." they all four straggled in at the narrow little gate at about the same time, the great big, lazy sailor in a hurry, for the first time in his life. but think of the coolness of the man, as he turned to us children with his first gasp of breath, and said, "bo--bo--boys, i've bro--bro--brought you a little bear!" the wolves were the little chicken thieves known as coyotes, quite harmless, as a rule, so far as man is concerned, but the cattle hated them and they were terrified nearly to death. the cattle stopped a few rods from the stockade. we let the coyotes go, but we kept the little bear and named him bill cross. yet he was never a bit cross, despite his name. ix. the great grizzly bear. (ursus ferox.) "the indians have unbounded reverence for this bear. when they kill one, they make exculpating speeches to it, smoke tobacco to it, call it grandfather, ancestor, etc." p. martin duncan, m. b., f. r. s., f. g. s. kings college, london. the indians with whom i once lived in the californian sierras held the grizzly bear in great respect and veneration. some writers have said that this was because they were afraid of this terrible king of beasts. but this is not true. the indian, notwithstanding his almost useless bow and arrow in battles with this monster, was not controlled by fear. he venerated the grizzly bear as his paternal ancestor. and here i briefly set down the modoc and mount shasta indians' account of their own creation. they, as in the biblical account of the creation of all things, claim to have found the woods, wild beasts, birds and all things waiting for them, as did adam and eve. the indians say the great spirit made this mountain first of all. can you not see how it is? they say. he first pushed down snow and ice from the skies through a hole which he made in the blue heavens by turning a stone round and round, till he made this great mountain; then he stepped out of the clouds onto the mountain-top, and descended and planted the trees all around by putting his finger on the ground. the sun melted the snow, and the water ran down and nurtured the trees and made the rivers. after that he made the fish for the rivers out of the small end of his staff. he made the birds by blowing some leaves, which he took up from the ground, among the trees. after that he made the beasts out of the remainder of his stick, but made the grizzly bear out of the big end, and made him master over all the others. he made the grizzly so strong that he feared him himself, and would have to go up on top of the mountain out of sight of the forest to sleep at night, lest the grizzly, who, as will be seen, was much more strong and cunning then than now, should assail him in his sleep. afterwards, the great spirit, wishing to remain on earth and make the sea and some more land, converted mount shasta, by a great deal of labor, into a wigwam, and built a fire in the center of it and made it a pleasant home. after that, his family came down, and they all have lived in the mountain ever since. they say that before the white man came they could see the fire ascending from the mountain by night and the smoke by day, every time they chose to look in that direction. they say that one late and severe springtime, many thousand snows ago, there was a great storm about the summit of mount shasta, and that the great spirit sent his youngest and fairest daughter, of whom he was very fond, up to the hole in the top, bidding her to speak to the storm that came up from the sea, and tell it to be more gentle or it would blow the mountain over. he bade her do this hastily, and not put her head out, lest the wind should catch her in the hair and blow her away. he told her she should only thrust out her long red arm and make a sign, and then speak to the storm without. the child hastened to the top and did as she was bid, and was about to return, but having never yet seen the ocean, where the wind was born and made his home, when it was white with the storm, she stopped, turned and put her head out to look that way, when lo! the storm caught in her long red hair, and blew her out and away down and down the mountain side. here she could not fix her feet in the hard, smooth ice and snow, and so slid on and on down to the dark belt of firs below the snow rim. now, the grizzly bears possessed all the wood and all the land down to the sea at that time, and were very numerous and very powerful. they were not exactly beasts then, although they were covered with hair, lived in caves and had sharp claws; but they walked on two feet, and talked, and used clubs to fight with, instead of their teeth and claws, as they do now. at this time, there was a family of grizzlies living close up to the snows. the mother had lately brought forth, and the father was out in quest of food for the young, when, as he returned with his club on his shoulder and a young elk in his left hand, under his arm, he saw this little child, red like fire, hid under a fir-bush, with her long hair trailing in the snows, and shivering with fright and cold. not knowing what to make of her, he took her to the old mother, who was very learned in all things, and asked her what this fair and frail thing was that he had found shivering under a fir-bush in the snow. the old mother grizzly, who had things pretty much her own way, bade him leave the child with her, but never mention it to anyone, and she would share her breast with her, and bring her up with the other children, and maybe some great good would come of it. the old mother reared her as she promised to do, and the old hairy father went out every day, with his club on his shoulder, to get food for his family, till they were all grown up and able to do for themselves. "now," said the old mother grizzly to the old father grizzly, as he stood his club by the door and sat down one day, "our oldest son is quite grown up and must have a wife. now, who shall it be but the little red creature you found in the snow under the black fir-bush." so the old father grizzly kissed her, said she was very wise, then took up his club on his shoulder and went out and killed some meat for the marriage feast. they married and were very happy, and many children were born to them. but, being part of the great spirit and part of the grizzly bear, these children did not exactly resemble either of their parents, but partook somewhat of the nature and likeness of both. thus was the red man created; for these children were the first indians. all the other grizzlies throughout the black forests, even down to the sea, were very proud and very kind, and met together, and, with their united strength, built for the lovely little red princess a wigwam close to that of her father, the great spirit. this is what is now called "little mount shasta." after many years, the old mother grizzly felt that she soon must die, and, fearing that she had done wrong in detaining the child of the great spirit, she could not rest till she had seen him and restored to him his long-lost treasure and asked his forgiveness. with this object in view, she gathered together all the grizzlies at the new and magnificent lodge built for the princess and her children, and then sent her eldest grandson to the summit of mount shasta in a cloud, to speak to the great spirit and tell him where he could find his long-lost daughter. when the great spirit heard this, he was so glad that he ran down the mountain side on the south so fast and strong that the snow was melted off in places, and the tokens of his steps remain to this day. the grizzlies went out to meet him by thousands; and as he approached they stood apart in two great lines, with their clubs under their arms, and so opened a lane through which he passed in great state to the lodge where his daughter sat with her children. but when he saw the children, and learned how the grizzlies that he had created had betrayed him into the creation of a new race, he was very wroth, and frowned on the old mother grizzly till she died on the spot. at this, the grizzlies all set up a dreadful howl; but he took his daughter on his shoulder and, turning to all the grizzlies, bade them hold their tongues, get down on their hands and knees and so remain till he returned. they did as they were bid, and he closed the door of the lodge after him, drove all the children out into the world, passed out and up the mountain and never returned to the timber any more. so the grizzlies could not rise up any more, or make a noise, or use their clubs, but ever since have had to go on all-fours, much like other beasts, except when they have to fight for their lives; then the great spirit permits them to stand up and fight with their fists like men. that is why the indians about mount shasta will never kill or interfere in any way with a grizzly. whenever one of their number is killed by one of these kings of the forest, he is burned on the spot, and all who pass that way for years cast a stone on the place till a great pile is thrown up. fortunately, however, grizzlies are not now plentiful about the mountain. in proof of the story that the grizzly once stood and walked erect and was much like a man, they show that he has scarcely any tail, and that his arms are a great deal shorter than his legs, and that they are more like a man than any other animal. x. as a humorist. not long ago, about the time a party of americans were setting out for india to hunt the tiger, a young banker from new york came to california to hunt what he rightly considered the nobler beast. he chartered a small steamer in san francisco bay and taking with him a party of friends, as well as a great-grandson of daniel boone, a famous hunter, for a guide, he sailed up the coast to the redwood wilderness of humboldt. here he camped on the bank of a small stream in a madrona thicket and began to hunt for his bear. he found his bear, an old female with young cubs. as boone was naturally in advance when the beast was suddenly stumbled upon, he had to do the fighting, and this gave the banker from the states a chance to scramble up a small madrona. of course he dropped his gun. they always do drop their guns, by some singularly sad combination of accidents, when they start up a tree with two rows of big teeth in the rear, and it is hardly fair to expect the young bear-hunter from new york to prove an exception. poor boone was severely maltreated by the savage old mother grizzly in defense of her young. there was a crashing of brush and a crushing of bones, and then all was still. [illustration: of course he dropped his gun.--page 107.] suddenly the bear seemed to remember that there was a second party who had been in earnest search for a bear, and looking back down the trail and up in the boughs of a small tree, she saw a pair of boots. she left poor boone senseless on the ground and went for those boots. coming forward, she reared up under the tree and began to claw for the capitalist. he told me that she seemed to him, as she stood there, to be about fifty feet high. then she laid hold of the tree. fortunately this madrona tree is of a hard and unyielding nature, and with all her strength she could neither break nor bend it. but she kept thrusting up her long nose and longer claws, laying hold first of his boots, which she pulled off, one after the other, with her teeth, then with her claws she took hold of one garment and then another till the man of money had hardly a shred, and his legs were streaming with blood. fearing that he should faint from loss of blood, he lashed himself to the small trunk of the tree by his belt and then began to scream with all his might for his friends. when the bear became weary of clawing up at the dangling legs she went back and began to turn poor boone over to see if he showed any signs of life. then she came back and again clawed a while at the screaming man up the madrona tree. it was great fun for the bear! to cut a thrilling story short, the party in camp on the other side of the creek finally came in hail, when the old bear gathered up her babies and made safe exit up a gulch. boone, now in arizona, was so badly crushed and bitten that his life was long despaired of, but he finally got well. the bear, he informed me, showed no disposition to eat him while turning him over and tapping him with her foot and thrusting her nose into his bleeding face to see if he still breathed. story after story of this character could be told to prove that the grizzly at home is not entirely brutal and savage; but rather a good-natured lover of his family and fond of his sly joke. xi. a grizzly's sly little joke. i know an old indian who was terribly frightened by an old monster grizzly and her half-grown cub, one autumn, while out gathering manzanita berries. but badly as he was frightened, he was not even scratched. it seems that while he had his head raised, and was busy gathering and eating berries, he almost stumbled over an old bear and her cub. they had eaten their fill and fallen asleep in the trail on the wooded hillside. the old indian had only time to turn on his heel and throw himself headlong in the large end of a hollow log, which luckily lay at hand. this, however, was only a temporary refuge. he saw, to his delight, that the log was open at the other end, and corkscrewing his way along toward the further end, he was about to emerge, when, to his dismay, he saw the old mother sitting down quietly waiting for him! after recovering his breath as best he could in his hot and contracted quarters, he elbowed and corkscrewed himself back to the place by which he first entered. but lo! the bear was there, sitting down, half smiling, and waiting to receive him warmly. this, the old indian said, was repeated time after time, till he had no longer strength left to struggle further, and turned on his face to die, when she put her head in, touched the top of his head gently with her nose and then drew back, took her cub with her and shuffled on. i went to the spot with the indian a day or two afterward, and am convinced that his story was exactly as narrated. and when you understand that the bear could easily have entered the hollow log and killed him at any time, you will see that she had at least a faint sense of fun in that "cat and mouse" amusement with the frightened indian. xii. the grizzly as fremont found him. general fremont found this powerful brute to be a gregarious and confiding creature, fond of his family and not given to disturbing those who did not disturb him. in his report to the government--1847--he tells of finding a large family of grizzly bears gathering acorns very much as the native indians gathered them, and this not far from a small mexican town. he says that riding at the head of his troops he saw, on reaching the brow of a little grassy hill set with oaks, a great commotion in the boughs of one of the largest trees, and, halting to cautiously reconnoiter, he noticed that there were grouped about the base of the tree and under its wide boughs, several huge grizzlies, employed in gathering and eating the acorns which the baby grizzlies threw down from the thick branches overhead. more than this, he reports that the baby bears, on seeing him, became frightened, and attempted to descend to the ground and run away, but the older bears, which had not yet discovered the explorers, beat the young ones and drove them back up the tree, and compelled them to go on with their work, as if they had been children. in the early '50s, i, myself, saw the grizzlies feeding together in numbers under the trees, far up the sacramento valley, as tranquilly as a flock of sheep. a serene, dignified and very decent old beast was the full-grown grizzly as fremont and others found him here at home. this king of the continent, who is quietly abdicating his throne, has never been understood. the grizzly was not only every inch a king, but he had, in his undisputed dominion, a pretty fair sense of justice. he was never a roaring lion. he was never a man-eater. he is indebted for his character for ferocity almost entirely to tradition, but, in some degree, to the female bear when seeking to protect her young. of course, the grizzlies are good fighters, when forced to it; but as for lying in wait for anyone, like the lion, or creeping, cat-like, as the tiger does, into camp to carry off someone for supper, such a thing was never heard of in connection with the grizzly. the grizzly went out as the american rifle came in. i do not think he retreated. he was a lover of home and family, and so fell where he was born. for he is still found here and there, all up and down the land, as the indian is still found, but he is no longer the majestic and serene king of the world. his whole life has been disturbed, broken up; and his temper ruined. he is a cattle thief now, and even a sheep thief. in old age, he keeps close to his canyon by day, deep in the impenetrable chaparral, and at night shuffles down hill to some hog-pen, perfectly careless of dogs or shots, and, tearing out a whole side of the pen, feeds his fill on the inmates. one of the interior counties kept a standing reward for the capture of an old grizzly of this character for several years. but he defied everything and he escaped everything but old age. some hunters finally crept in to where the old king lay, nearly blind and dying of old age, and dispatched him with a volley from several winchester rifles. it was found that he was almost toothless, his paws had been terribly mutilated by numerous steel traps, and it is said that his kingly old carcass had received nearly lead enough to sink a small ship. there were no means of ascertaining his exact weight, but it was claimed that skin, bone and bullets, as he was found, he would have weighed well nigh a ton. xiii. the bear with spectacles. and now let us go down to near the mouth of the father of waters, to "barra tarra land" or barren land, as it was called of old by cervantes, in the kingdom of sancho panza. strange how little the great men of the old world knew of this new world! in one of his plays shakespeare speaks of ships from mexico; in another he means to mention the bermudas. burns speaks of a newfoundland dog as "whelped in a country far abroad where boatmen gang to fish for cod," and byron gets in a whole lot about daniel boone; but as a rule we were ignored. barra tarra, so called, is the very richest part of this globe. it must have been rich always, rich as the delta of the nile; but now, with the fertility of more than a dozen states dumped along there annually, it is rich as cream is rich. the fish, fowl, oysters of barra tarra--ah, the oysters! no oysters in the world like these for flavor, size and sweetness. they are so enormous in size that--but let me illustrate their size by an anecdote of the war. a yankee captain, hungry and worn out hewing his way with his sword from chicago to the sea, as general logan had put it, sat down in a french restaurant in new orleans, and while waiting for a plate of the famous barra tarra raw oysters, saw that a french creole sitting at the same little side table was turning over and over with his fork a solitary and most tempting oyster of enormous size, eyeing it ruefully. "why don't you eat him?" "by gar! i find him too big for me. you like?" "certainly. not too big for me. see this!" and snatching the fork from the frenchman the oyster was gone at a gulp. the little frenchman shrugged his shoulders, looked at the gallant officer a moment and then said in a fit of enthusiastic admiration: "by gar, monsieur capitaine, you are one mighty brave man! i did try him t'ree times zat way, but he no stay." the captain threw up his arms and--his oyster!--so runs the story. the soil along the river bank is so rich that weeds, woods, vines, trench close and hard on the heels of the plowman. a plantation will almost perish from the earth, as it were, by a few years of abandonment. and so it is that you see miles and miles on either side--parishes on top of parishes, in fact--fast returning to barbarism, dragging the blacks by thousands down to below the level of brutes with them, as you descend from new orleans toward the mouth of the mighty river, nearly one hundred miles from the beautiful "crescent city." and, ah, the superstition of these poor blacks! you see hundreds of little white houses, old "quarters," and all tenantless now, save one or two on each plantation. cheap sugar and high wages, as compared with old times of slavery--but then the enormous cost of keeping up the levees, and above all, the continued peril to life and property, with a mile of swift, muddy water sweeping seaward high above your head--these things are making a desert of the richest lands on earth. we are gaining ground in the west, but we are losing ground in the south, the great, silent south. of course, the world, we, civilization, will turn back to this wondrous region some day, when we have settled the west; for the mouth of the mightiest river on the globe is a fact; it is the mouth by which this young nation was trained in its younger days, and we cannot ignore it in the end, however willing we may be to do so now. strange how wild beasts and all sorts of queer creatures are overrunning the region down there, too, growing like weeds, increasing as man decreases. i found a sort of marsh bear here. he looks like the sloth bear (ursus labiatus) of the ganges, india, as you see him in the zoo of london, only he is not a sloth, by any means. the negroes are superstitiously afraid of him, and their dogs, very numerous, and good coon dogs, too, will not touch him. his feet are large and flat, to accommodate him in getting over the soft ground, while his shaggy and misshapen body is very thin and light. his color is as unlovely as his shape--a sort of faded, dirty brown or pale blue, with a rim of dirty white about the eyes that makes him look as if he wore spectacles when he stops and looks at you. as he is not fit to eat because he lives on fish and oysters, sportsmen will not fire at him; and as the poor, superstitious, voodoo-worshiping negroes, and their dogs, too, run away as soon as he is seen, he has quite a habit of stopping and looking at you through his queer spectacles as long as you are in sight. he looks to be a sort of second-hand bear, his shaggy, faded, dirty coat of hair looking as if he had been stuffed, like an old sofa, with the stuffing coming out--a very second-hand appearance, to be sure. now, as i have always had a fondness for skins--having slept on them and under them all my life, making both bed and carpet of them--i very much wanted a skin of this queer marsh bear which the poor negroes both adore and dread as a sort of devil. but, as no one liked him well enough to kill him, i must do it myself; and with this object, along with my duty to describe the drowning plantations, i left new orleans with colonel bloom, two good guns, and something to eat and to drink, and swept down the great river to the landing in the outer edge of the timber belt. and how strange this landing! as a rule you have to climb up to the shore from a ship. here, after setting foot on the levee, we walked down, down, down to reach the level land--a vast field of fevers. i had a letter of introduction to the "preacher." he was a marvel of rags, preached every day and night, up and down the river, and received 25 cents a day from the few impoverished white planters, too poor to get away, for his influence for good among the voodoo blacks. not that they could afford to care for the negroes, those few discouraged and fever-stricken planters on their plantations of weeds and water, but they must, now and then, have these indolent and retrograding blacks to plant or cut down their cane, or sow and gather their drowning patches of rice, and the preacher could preach them into working a little, when right hungry. the ragged black took my letter and pretended to read it. poor fellow, he could not read, but pride, or rather vanity, made him act a lie. seeing the fact, i contrived to tell him that it was from a colored clergyman, and that i had come to get him and his dogs to help me kill a bear. the blacks now turned white; or at least white around the lips. the preacher shuddered and shrugged his shoulders and finally groaned in his grief. [illustration: the bear was waiting there.--page 111.] let us omit the mosquitoes, the miserable babies, nude as nature, and surely very hungry in this beauteous place of fertility. they hung about my door, a "quarters" cabin with grass knee high through the cracks in the floor, like flies, till they got all my little store of supplies, save a big flask of "provisions" which general beauregard had given me for colonel bloom, as a preventive against the deadly fever. no, it was not whiskey, not all whiskey, at least, for it was bitter as gall with quinine. i had to help the colonel sample it at first, but i only helped him sample it once. it tasted so vilely that it seemed to me i should, as between the two, prefer fever. and such a moon! the ragged minister stood whooping up his numerous dogs and gathering his sullen clan of blacks to get that bear and that promised $5. away from up toward new orleans, winding, sweeping, surging, flashing like a mighty sword of silver, the father of waters came through the air, high above our heads and level with the topmost limit of his artificial banks. the blacks were silent, ugly, sullen, and so the preacher asked for and received the five silver dollars in advance. this made me suspicious, and, out of humor, i went into my cabin and took colonel bloom into a corner and told him what had been done. he did not say one word but took a long drink of preventive against the fever, as general beauregard had advised and provided. then we set out for the woods, through weeds that reached to our shoulders, the negroes in a string, slow, silent, sullen and ugly, the brave bear dogs only a little behind the negroes. the preacher kept muttering a monotonous prayer. but that moon and that mighty sword of silver in the air, the silence, the large solemnity, the queer line of black heads barely visible above the sea of weeds! i was not right certain that i had lost any bear as we came to the edge of the moss-swept cypress woods, for here the negroes all suddenly huddled up and muttered and prayed with one voice. aye, how they prayed in their piteous monotone! how sad it all was! the dogs had sat down a few rods back, a line of black dots along the path through the tall weeds, and did not seem to care for anything at all. i had to lay my hand on the preacher's shoulder and ask him to please get on; then they all started on together, and oh, the moon, through the swaying cypress moss, the mighty river above! it was with great effort that i got them to cross a foot-log that lay across a lagoon only a little way in the moss-hung woods, the brave dogs all the time only a short distance behind us still. it was a hot night and the mosquitoes were terrible in the woods, but i doubt if they bite the blacks as they did me. surely not, else they would not be even as nearly alive as they are. having got them across the lagoon, i gave them each 25 cents more, and this made them want to go home. the dogs had all sat down in a queer row on the foot-log. such languor, such laziness, such idiotic helplessness i never saw before, even on the nile. the blacks, as well as the dogs, seemed to be afraid to move now. the preacher again began to mumble a prayer, and the whole pack with him; and then they prayed again, this time not so loudly. and although there was melody of a sort in their united voices, i am certain they used no words, at least no words of any real language. suddenly the dogs got up and came across and hid among the men, and the men huddled up close; for right there on the other end of the log, with his broad right foot resting on it, was the shaggy little beast we were hunting for. we had found our bear, or rather, he had found us, and it was clear that he meant to come over and interview us at once. the preacher crouched behind me as i cocked and raised my gun, the blacks hid behind the preacher, and i think, though i had not time to see certainly, that the dogs hid behind the blacks. i fired at the dim white spot on the bear's breast and sent shot after shot into his tattered coat, for he was not ten lengths of an old kentucky ramrod distant, and he fell dead where he stood, and i went over and dragged him safely up on the higher bank. then the wild blacks danced and sang and sang and danced, till one of them slipped and fell into the lagoon. they fished him out and all returned to where i was, with the dead bear, dogs and all in great good spirits. tying the bear's feet together with a withe they strung him on a pole and we all went back home, the blacks singing all the way some barbaric half french song at the top of their melodious voices. but colonel bloom was afraid that the one who had fallen in the river might take the fever, and so as soon as we got safe back he drank what was left in the bottle general beauregard had sent him and he went to sleep; while the superstitious blacks huddled together under the great levee and skinned the bear in the silver moonlight, below the mighty river. i gave them each a silver dollar--very bright was the brand new silver from the mint of new orleans, but not nearly so bright as the moon away down there by the glowing rim of the mexican seas where the spectacled bear abides in the classic land, barra tarra, kingdom of sancho panza. xiv. the bear-slayer of san diego. let us now leave the great grizzly and the little marsh bear in spectacles behind us and tell about a boy, a bear-slayer; not about a bear, mind you. for the little fish-eating black bear which he killed and by which he got his name is hardly worth telling about. this bear lives in the brush along the sea-bank on the mexican and southern california coast and has huge feet but almost no hair. i don't know any name for him, but think he resembles the "sun bear" (ursus titanus) more than any other. his habit of rolling himself up in a ball and rolling down hill after you is like that of the porcus or pig bear. you may not know that a bear, any kind of a bear, finds it hard work running down hill, because of his short arms, so when a man who knows anything about bears is pursued, or thinks he is pursued, he always tries, if he knows himself, to run down hill. a man can escape almost any bear by running down hill, except this little fellow along the foothills by the mexican seas. you see, he has good bear sense, like the rest of the bear family, and gets along without regard to legs of any sort, sometimes. this boy that i am going to tell about was going to school on the mexican side of the line between the two republics, near san diego, california, when a she bear which had lost her cub caught sight of the boys at play down at the bottom of a high, steep hill, and she rolled for them, rolled right among the little, half-naked fellows, and knocked numbers of them down. but before she could get the dust out of her eyes and get up, this boy jumped on her and killed her with his knife. the governor remembered the boy for his pluck and presence of mind and he was quite a hero and was always called "the bear-slayer" after that. some rich ladies from boston, hearing about his brave act, put their heads together and then put their hands in their pockets and sent him to a higher school, where the following incident took place. i ought to mention that this little mexican bear, though he has but little hair on his body, has a great deal on his feet, making him look as if he wore pantalets, little short pantalets badly frayed out at the bottoms. san diego is one of the great new cities of southern california. it lies within only a few minutes' ride of mexico. there is a pretty little mexican town on the line between mexico and california--tia juana--pronounced te wanna. translated, the name means "aunt jane." in the center of one of the streets stands a great gray stone monument, set there by the government to mark the line between the united states and mexico. to the south, several hundred miles distant, stretches the long sea of cortez, as the conquerors of ancient mexico once called the gulf of california. beyond the sea of cortez is the long and rock-bound reach of the west coast of mexico. then a group of little central american republics; then colombia, peru and so on, till at last patagonia points away like a huge giant's finger straight toward the south pole. but i must bear in mind that i set out in this story to tell you about "the bear-slayer of san diego," and the south pole is a long way from the subject in hand. i have spoken of san diego as one of the great new cities, and great it is, but altogether new it certainly is not, for it was founded by a spanish missionary, known as father junipero, more than one hundred years ago. these old spanish missionaries were great men in their day; brave, patient and very self-sacrificing in their attempts to settle the wild countries and civilize the indians. this father junipero walked all the way from the city of mexico to san diego, although he was more than fifty years old; and finally, after he had spent nearly a quarter of a century in founding missions up and down the coast of california, he walked all the way back to mexico, where he died. when it is added that he was a lame man, that he was more than threescore and ten years of age, and that he traveled all the distance on this last journey on foot and alone, with neither arms nor provisions, trusting himself entirely to providence, one can hardly fail to remember his name and speak it with respect. this new city, san diego, with its most salubrious clime, is set all over and about with waving green palms, with golden oranges, red pomegranates, great heavy bunches of green and golden bananas, and silver-laden olive orchards. the leaf of the olive is of the same soft gray as the breast of the dove. as if the dove and the olive branch had in some sort kept companionship ever since the days of the deluge. san diego is nearly ten miles broad, with its base resting against the warm, still waters of the pacific ocean. the most populous part of the city is to the south, toward mexico. then comes the middle part of san diego city. this is called "the old town," and here it was that father junipero planted some palm trees that stand to this day--so tall that they almost seem to be dusting the stars with their splendid plumes. here also you see a great many old adobe houses in ruins, old forts, churches, fortresses, barracks, built by the mexicans nearly a century ago, when spain possessed california, and her gaudy banner floated from oregon to the isthmus of darien. the first old mission is a little farther on up the coast, and the new college, known as the san diego college of letters, is still farther on up the warm sea bank. san francisco lies several hundred miles on up the coast beyond los angeles. then comes oregon, then washington, one of the newest states, and then canada, then alaska, and at last the north pole, which, by the way, is almost as far as the south pole from my subject: the bear-slayer of san diego. he was a little aztec indian, brown as a berry, slim and slender, very silent, very polite and not at all strong. it was said that he had spanish blood in his veins, but it did not show through his tawny skin. it is to be conceded, however, that he had all the politeness and serene dignity of the proudest spanish don in the land. he was now, by the kind favor of those good ladies who had heard of his daring address in killing the bear with his knife, a student of the san diego college of letters, where there were several hundred other boys of all grades and ages, from almost all parts of the earth. a good many boys came here from boston and other eastern cities to escape the rigors of winter. i remember one boy in particular from philadelphia. he was a small boy with a big nose, very bright and very brave. he was not a friend of the little aztec indian, the bear-slayer of san diego. the name of this boy from philadelphia was peterson; the boston boys called him bill peterson. his name, perhaps, was william p. peterson; william penn peterson, most likely. but this is merely detail, and can make but little difference in the main facts of the case. as i said before, these college grounds are on the outer edge of the city. the ocean shuts out the world on the west, but the huge chaparral hills roll in on the east, and out of these hills the jack-rabbits come down in perfect avalanches at night, and devour almost everything that grows. wolves howl from these hills of chaparral at night by hundreds, but they are only little bits of shaggy, gray coyotes and do little or no harm in comparison with the innumerable rabbits. for these big fellows, on their long, bent legs, and with ears like those of a donkey, can cut down with their teeth a young orchard almost in a single night. the new college, of course, had new grounds, new bananas, oranges, olives, all things, indeed, that wealth and good taste could contribute in this warm, sweet soil. but the rabbits! you could not build a fence so high that they would not leap over it. "they are a sort of jumbo grasshopper," said the smart boy from boston. the head gardener of the college campus and environment grew desperate. "look here, sir," he said to the president, "these big-eared fellows are lazy and audacious things. why can't they live up in the chaparral, as they did before we came here to plant trees and try to make the world beautiful? now, either these jack-rabbits must go or we must go." "very well," answered the president. "offer a reward for their ears and let the boys destroy them." "how much reward can i offer?" "five cents apiece, i think, would do," answered the head of the college, as he passed on up the great stone steps to his study. the gardener got the boys together that evening and said, "i will give you five cents apiece for the ears of these dreadful rabbits." "that makes ten cents for each rabbit, for each rabbit has two ears!" shouted the smart boy from boston. before the dumfounded gardener could protest, the boys had broken into shouts of enthusiasm, and were running away in squads and in couples to borrow, buy or beg firearms for their work. the smart boy from boston, however, with an eye to big profits and a long job, went straight to the express office, and sent all the way to the east for a costly and first-class shotgun. the little brown aztec indian did nothing of that sort; he kept by himself, kept his own counsel, and so far as any of the boys could find out, paid no attention to the proffered reward for scalps. bill peterson borrowed his older brother's gun and brought in two rabbits the next day. the boston boy, with an eye wide open to future profits to himself, went with peterson to the head gardener, and holding up first one dead jack-rabbit by the ear, and then the other, coolly and deliberately counted off four ears. the gardener grudgingly counted out two dimes, and then, with a grunt of satisfaction, carried away the two big rabbits by their long hind legs. as the weeks wore by, several other dead rabbits were reported, and despite the grumbling of the head gardener, the tumultuous and merry students had quite a revenue, and their hopes for the future were high, especially when that artillery should arrive from boston! meantime, the little brown aztec boy had done nothing at all. however, when friday afternoon came, he earnestly begged, and finally obtained, leave to go down to his home at tia juana. he wanted very much to see his mexican mother and his six little mexican brothers, and his sixty, more or less, little mexican cousins. but lo! on saturday morning, bright and early, back came the little bear-slayer, as he was called by the boys, and at his heels came toddling and tumbling not only his six half-naked little brown brothers, but dozens of his cousins. each carried a bundle on his back. these bundles were long, finely woven bird-nets, and these nets were made of the fiber of the misnamed century plant, the agave. this queer looking line of barefooted, bareheaded, diminutive beings, headed by the silent little aztec, hastily dispersed itself along the outer edge of the grounds next to the chaparral abode of the jack-rabbits, and then, while grave professors leaned from their windows, and a hundred curious white boys looked on, these little brown fellows fastened all their long bird-nets together, and stretched two wide wings out and up the hill. very quiet but very quick they were, and when all the nets had been unwound and stretched out in a great letter v far up the hill, it was seen that each brown boy had a long, heavy manzanita wood club in his hand. suddenly and silently as they had come they all disappeared up and over the hills beyond, and in the dense black chaparral. where had they gone and what did all this silent mystery mean? one, two, three hours! what had become of this strange little army of silent brown boys? another hour passed. not a boy, not a sign, not a sound. what did it all mean? suddenly, down came a rabbit, jumping high in the air, his huge ears flapping forward and back, as if they had wilted in the hot sun. then another rabbit, then another! then ten, twenty, forty, fifty, five hundred, a thousand, all jumping over each other and upon each other, and against the nets, with their long legs thrust through the meshes, and wriggling and struggling till the nets shook as in a gale. then came the long lines of half-naked brown boys tumbling down after them out of the brush, and striking right and left, up and down, with their clubs. in less than ten minutes from the time they came out of the brush, the little fellows had laid down their clubs and were dragging the game together. the grave professors shook their hats and handkerchiefs, and shouted with delight from their windows overhead, and all the white boys danced about, wild with excitement. that is, all but one or two. the boy from boston said savagely to the little aztec, as he stood directing the counting of the ears, "you're a brigand! you're the black brigand of san diego city, and i can whip you!" the brigand said nothing, but kept on with his work. in a little time the president and head gardener came forward, and roughly estimated that about one thousand of the pests had been destroyed. then the kindly president went to the bank and brought out one hundred silver dollars, which he handed to the little bear-slayer of san diego in a cotton handkerchief. the poor, timid little fellow's lips quivered. he had never seen so much money in all his life. he held his head down in silence for a long time and seemed to be thinking hard. his half-naked little brothers and cousins grouped about and seemed to be waiting for a share of the money. the boy's schoolmates also crowded around, just as boys will, but they did not want any of the silver, and i am sure that all, save only one or two, were very glad because of his good luck. finally, lifting up his head and looking about the crowd of his school-fellows, he said, "now, look here; i want every one of you to take a dollar apiece, and i will take what is left." he laid the handkerchief that held the silver dollars down on the grass and spread it wide open. hastily but orderly, his schoolmates began to take up the silver, his own little brown fellows timidly holding back. then one of the white boys who had hastily helped himself saw, after a time, that the bottom was almost reached, and, with the remark that he was half ashamed of himself for taking it, he quietly put his dollar back. then all the others, fine, impulsive fellows who had hardly thought what they were about at first, did the same; and then the little brown boys came forward. they kept coming and kept taking, till there was not very much but his handkerchief left. one of the professors then took a piece of gold from his pocket and gave it to the little bear-slayer. the boy was so glad that tears came into his eyes and he turned to go. "see here! i'm sorry for what i said. yes, i am. i ought to be ashamed, and i am ashamed." it was the smart boy from boston who had been looking on all this time, and who now came forward with his hand held out. "see here!" he said. "i've got a forty-dollar shotgun to give away, and i want you to have it. yes, i do. there's my hand on it. take my hand, and you shall have the gun just as soon as it gets here." the two shook hands, and the boys all shouted with delight; and on the very next saturday one of these two boys went out hunting quail with a fine shotgun on his shoulder. it was the silent little hero, the bear-slayer of san diego. xv. alaskan and polar bear. "and round about the bleak north pole glideth the lean, white bear." nearly forty years ago, when down from the indian country to sell some skins in san francisco, i saw a great commotion around a big ship in the bay, and was told that a polar bear had been discovered floating on an iceberg in the arctic, and had been taken alive by the ship's crew. i went out in a boat, and on boarding the ship, just down from alaska with a cargo of ice, i saw the most beautiful specimen of the bear family i ever beheld. a long body and neck, short legs, small head, cream-white and clean as snow, this enormous creature stood before us on the deck, as docile as a lamb. this is as near as ever i came to encountering the polar bear, although i have lived in the arctic and have more than one trophy of the bear family from the land of everlasting snows. bear are very plenty in alaska and the klondike country, and they are, perhaps, a bit more ferocious than in california, for i have seen more than one man hobbling about the klondike mines on one leg, having lost the other in an argument with bear. as a rule, the flesh is not good, here, in the salmon season, for the bear is in all lands a famous fisherman. he sits by the river and, while you may think he is asleep, he thrusts his paw deep down, and, quick as wink, he lands a huge salmon in his bunch of long, hooded claws. a friend and i watched a bear fishing for hours on the yukon, trying to learn his habits. i left my friend, finally, and went to camp to cook supper. then, it seems, my friend shot him, for his skin, i think. thinking the bear dead, he called to me and went up to the bear, knife in hand. but the bear rose up when he felt the knife, caught the man in his arms and they rolled in the river together. the poor man could not get away. when we recovered his body far down the river next day, the bear still held him in her arms. she was a long, slim cinnamon, said to be the most savage fighter in that region. all the bear of the far north seem to me to have longer bodies and shorter legs than in other lands. the black bear (there are three kinds of them) are bow-legged, i think; at least they "toe in," walk as an indian walks, and even step one foot over the other when taking their time on the trail. we cultivated the acquaintance of a black bear for some months, on the klondike, in the winter of '97-'98, and had a good chance to learn his habits. he was a persistent robber and very cunning. he would eat anything he could get, which was not much, of course, and when he could not get anything thrown to him from a door he would go and tear down a stump and eat ants. i don't know why he did not hibernate, as other bears in that region do. he may have been a sort of crank. no one who knew about him, or who had been in camp long, would hurt him; but a crowd of strangers, passing up the trail near our klondike cabin, saw him, and as he did not try to get away he was soon dead. he weighed 400 pounds, and they sold him where he lay for one dollar a pound. i fell in with a famous bear-hunter, a few miles up from the mouth of the klondike early in september, before the snow fell, and with him made a short hunt. he has wonderful bear sense. he has but one eye and but one side of a face, the rest of him having been knocked off by the slash of a bear's paw. he is known as bear bill. the moss is very deep and thick and elastic in that region, so that no tracks are made except in a worn trail. but bill saw where a bit of moss had been disturbed away up on a mountain side, and he sat right down and turned his one eye and all his bear sense to the solution of the mystery. at last he decided that a bear had been gathering moss for a bed. then he went close up under a cliff of rocks and in a few minutes was peering and pointing down into a sunken place in the earth. and behold, we could see the moss move! a bear had covered himself up and was waiting to be snowed under. bill walked all around the spot, then took position on a higher place and shouted to the bear to come out. the bear did not move. then he got me to throw some rocks. no response. then bill fired his winchester down into the moss. in a second the big brown fellow was on his hind feet looking us full in the face and blinking his little black eyes as if trying to make us out. bill dropped him at once, with a bullet in his brain. i greatly regret that i never had the good fortune to encounter a polar bear, so that i might be able to tell you more about him and his habits; for men of science and writers of books are not bear-hunters, as a rule, and so real information about this white robber-monk of the cold, blue north is meager indeed. but here is what the most eminent english authority says about the nature and habits of this one bear that i have not shaken hands with, or encountered in some sort of way on his native heath: "the great white bear of the arctic regions--the 'nennok' of the eskimo--is the largest as well as one of the best known of the whole family. it is a gigantic animal, often attaining a length of nearly nine feet and is proportionally strong and fierce. it is found over the whole of greenland; but its numbers seem to be on the decrease. it is distinguished from other bears by its narrow head, its flat forehead in a line with its prolonged muzzle, its short ears and long neck. it is of a light, creamy color, rarely pure white, except when young, hence the scottish whalers call it the 'brounie' and sometimes the 'farmer,' from its very agricultural appearance as it stalks leisurely over the furrowed fields of ice. its principal food consists of seals, which it persecutes most indefatigably; but it is somewhat omniverous in its diet, and will often clear an islet of eider duck eggs in the course of a few hours. i once saw it watch a seal for half a day, the seal continually escaping, just as the bear was about putting his foot on it, at the atluk (or escape hole) in the ice. finally, it tried to circumvent its prey in another maneuver. it swam off to a distance, and when the seal was again half asleep at its atluk, the bear swam under the ice, with a view to cut off its retreat. it failed, however, and the seal finally escaped. the rage of the animal was boundless; it moaned hideously, tossing the snow in the air, and at last trotted off in a most indignant state of mind. "being so fond of seal-flesh, the polar bear often proves a great nuisance to sealhunters, whose occupation he naturally regards as a catering to his wants. he is also glad of the whale carcasses often found floating in the arctic seas, and travelers have seen as many as twenty bears busily discussing the huge body of a dead whalebone whale. "as the polar bear is able to obtain food all through the arctic winter, there is not the same necessity, as in the case of the vegetable-eating bears, for hibernating. in fact, the males and young females roam about through the whole winter, and only the older females retire for the season. these--according to the eskimo account, quoted by captain lyon--are very fat at the commencement of winter, and on the first fall of snow lie down and allow themselves to be covered, or else dig a cave in a drift, and then go to sleep until the spring, when the cubs are born. by this time the animal's heat has melted the snow for a considerable distance, so that there is plenty of room for the young ones, who tumble about at their ease and get fat at the expense of their parent, who, after her long abstinence, becomes gradually very thin and weak. the whole family leave their abode of snow when the sun is strong enough to partially melt its roof. "the polar bear is regularly hunted with dogs by the eskimo. the following extract gives an account of their mode of procedure: "let us suppose a bear scented out at the base of an iceberg. the eskimo examines the track with sagacious care, to determine its age and direction, and the speed with which the animal was moving when he passed along. the dogs are set upon the trail, and the hunter courses over the ice in silence. as he turns the angle of the berg his game is in view before him, stalking along, probably, with quiet march, sometimes snuffing the air suspiciously, but making, nevertheless, for a nest of broken hummocks. the dogs spring forward, opening a wild, wolfish yell, the driver shrieking 'nannook! nannook!' and all straining every nerve in pursuit. [illustration: pressed more severely, the bear stands at bay.--page 155.] "the bear rises on his haunches, then starts off at full speed. the hunter, as he runs, leaning over his sledge, seizes the traces of a couple of his dogs and liberates them from their burthen. it is the work of a minute, for the motion is not checked, and the remaining dogs rush on with apparent ease. "now, pressed more severely, the bear makes for an iceberg, and stands at bay, while his two foremost pursuers halt at a short distance and await the arrival of the hunter. at this moment the whole pack are liberated; the hunter grasps his lance, and, tumbling through the snow and ice, prepares for the encounter. "if there be two hunters, the bear is killed easily; for one makes a feint of thrusting the spear at the right side, and, as the animal turns with his arms toward the threatened attack, the left is unprotected and receives the death wound." xvi. monnehan, the great bear-hunter of oregon. he wore a tall silk hat, the first one i had ever seen, not at all the equipment of "a mighty hunter before the lord;" but phineas monnehan, esq., late of some castle (i forget the name now), county of cork, ireland, would have been quite another personage with another sort of hat. and mighty pretension made he to great estates and titles at home, but greatest of all his claims was that of "a mighty hunter." clearly he had been simply a schoolmaster at home, and had picked up all his knowledge of wild beasts from books. he had very impressive manners and had come to oregon with an eye to political promotion, for he more than once hinted to my quiet quaker father, on whose hospitality he had fastened himself, that he would not at all dislike going to congress, and would even consent to act as governor of this far-off and half-savage land known as oregon. but, as observed a time or two before, monnehan most of all things desired the name and the renown, like nimrod, the builder of babylon, of a "mighty hunter." he had brought no firearms with him, nor was my father at all fond of guns, but finally we three little boys, my brother john, two years older than i, my brother james, two years younger, and myself, had a gun between us. so with this gun, monnehan, under his tall hat, a pipe in his teeth and a tremendously heavy stick in his left hand would wander about under the oaks, not too far away from the house, all the working hours of the day. not that he ever killed anything. in truth, i do not now recall that he ever once fired off the gun. but he got away from work, all the same, and a mighty hunter was monnehan. he carried this club and kept it swinging and sweeping in a semi-circle along before him all the time because of the incredible number of rattlesnakes that infested our portion of oregon in those early days. i shall never forget the terror in this brave stranger's face when he first found out that all the grass on all our grounds was literally alive with snakes. but he had found a good place to stay, and he was not going to be driven out by snakes. you see, we lived next to a mountain or steep stony hill known as rattlesnake butte, and in the ledges of limestone rock here the rattlesnakes hibernated by thousands. in the spring they would crawl out of the cracks in the cliffs, and that was the beginning of the end of rattlesnakes in oregon. it was awful! but he had a neighbor by the name of wilkins, an old man now, and a recent candidate for governor of oregon, who was equal to the occasion. he sent back to the states and had some black, bristly, razor-backed hogs brought out to oregon. these hogs ate the rattlesnakes. but we must get on with the bear story; for this man monnehan, who came to us the year the black, razor-backed hogs came, was, as i may have said before, "a mighty hunter." the great high hills back of our house, black and wild and woody, were full of bear. there were several kinds of bear there in those days. "how big is this ere brown bear, squire?" asked monnehan. "well," answered my father, "almost as big as a small sawmill when in active operation." "oi think oi'll confine me operations, for this hunting sayson, to the smaller spacies o' bear," said mr. monnehan, as he arose with a thoughtful face and laid his pipe on the mantel-piece. a few mornings later you would have thought, on looking at our porch, that a very large negro from a very muddy place had been walking bare-footed up and down the length of it. this was not a big bear by the sign, only a small black cub; but we got the gun out, cleaned and loaded it, and by high noon we three little boys, my father and monnehan, the mighty hunter, were on the track of that little black bear. we had gone back up the narrow canyon with its one little clump of dense woods that lay back of our house and reached up toward the big black hills. monnehan took the gun and his big club and went along up and around above the edge of the brush. my father took the pitchfork and my younger brother james kept on the ridge above the brush on the other side of the canyon, while my older brother john and myself were directed to come on a little later, after mr. monnehan had got himself in position to do his deadly work, and, if possible, drive the terrible beast within range of his fatal rifle. slowly and cautiously my brother and i came on, beating the brush and the tall rye grass. as we advanced up the canyon, mr. monnehan was dimly visible on the high ridge to the right, and father now and then was to be seen with little brother and his pitchfork to the left. suddenly there was such a shout as almost shook the walls of the canyon about our ears. it was the voice of monnehan calling from the high ridge close above the clump of dense wood; and it was a wild and a desperate and a continuous howl, too. at last we could make out these words: "oi've thrade the bear! oi've thrade the bear! oi've thrade the bear!" down the steep walls came father like an avalanche, trailing his pitchfork in one hand and half dragging little brother james with the other. "run, boys, run! right up the hill! he's got him treed, he's got him treed! keep around the bush and go right up the hill, fast as you can. he's got him treed, he's got him treed! hurrah for monnehan, at last! he's got him treed, he's got him treed!" out of breath from running, my father sat down at the foot of the steep wall of the canyon below monnehan and we boys clambered on up the grassy slope like goats. meantime, monnehan kept shouting wildly and fearfully as before. such lungs as monnehan had! a mighty hunter was monnehan. at last we got on the ridge up among the scattering and storm-bent and low-boughed oaks; breathless and nearly dead from exhaustion. "here, byes, here!" we looked up the hill a little ahead of us from where the voice came, and there, straddled across the leaning bough of a broad oak tree hung monnehan, the mighty hunter. his hat was on the ground underneath him, his club was still in his daring hand, but his gun was in the grass a hundred yards away. "here, boys, right up here. come up here an' get a look at 'im! thot's vaght oi got up 'ere fur, to get a good look at 'im! right up now, byes, an' get a good look at 'im! look out fur me hat there!" my brother hastily ran and got and handed me the gun and instantly was up the tree along with monnehan, peering forward and back, left and right, everywhere. but no sign, no sound or scent of any bear anywhere. by this time my father had arrived with his pitchfork and a very tired little boy. he sat down on the grass, and, wearily wiping his forehead, he said to monnehan, "mr. monnehan, how big was the bear that you saw?" "well, now, squire, upon the sowl o' me, he was fully the size of a very extraordinary black dog," answered mr. monnehan, as he descended and came and stood close to my father, as if to defend him with his club. father rose soon after and, with just the least tinge of impatience and vexation in his voice, said to brother john and me, "boys, go up and around the thicket with your gun and beat the bush down the canyon as you come down. mr. monnehan and i will drop down to the bottom of the canyon here between the woods and the house and catch him as he comes out." brother and i were greatly cheered at this; for it was evident that father had faith that we would find the bear yet. and believing that the fun was not over, we, tired as we were, bounded forward and on and up and around the head of the canyon with swift feet and beating hearts. here we separated, and each taking a half of the dense copse of wood and keeping within hailing distance, we hastily descended through the steep tangle of grapevine, wild hops, wild gourdvines and all sorts of things, shouting and yelling as we went. but no bear or sign of bear as yet. we were near the edge of the brush. i could see, from a little naked hillock in the copse where i paused to take breath, my father with his pitchfork standing close to the cow path below the brush, while a little further away and a little closer to the house stood mr. monnehan, club in hand and ready for the raging bear. suddenly i heard the brush break and crackle over in the direction of my brother. i dropped on my knee and cocked my gun. i got a glimpse of something black tearing through the brush like a streak, but did not fire. then i heard my brother shout, and i thought i heard him laugh, too. just then there burst out of the thicket and on past my father and his pitchfork a little black, razor-backed sow, followed by five black, squealing pigs! monnehan's bear! xvii. the bear "monarch." how he was captured. much having been said about bears of late, a young californian of great fortune and enterprise resolved to set some questions at rest, and, quite regardless of cost or consequences, sent into the mountains for a live grizzly. the details of his capture, the plain story of the long, wild quest, the courage, the cunning, the final submission of the monster, and then the last bulletin about his health, habits and all that, make so instructive and pleasing a narrative that i have asked for permission to add it to my own stories. the bear described is at present in our san francisco zoo, a fine and greatly admired monarch. * * * * * "are there any true grizzly bears in california?" "undoubtedly there are." "i don't know about it. i have a great deal of doubt. where are they?" "in the sierra madre, in touloumne canyon, in siskiyou county and probably in many other mountain districts." "that may be so, but nobody can find them. now, do you think you could find them?" "i think i could if i should try." "would you undertake to get a genuine grizzly in this state?" "yes, if you want one. how will you have him--dead or alive?" "alive." this conversation was held last may between the proprietor of the examiner and special reporter allen kelly. a week ago kelly brought home an enormous grizzly bear, lodged the animal temporarily in one of the cages in woodward's gardens and reported to the editor that he had finished that assignment. the following is his account of the hunt and capture. the examiner expedition began the search for a grizzly early in june, starting from santa paula and striking into the mountains at tar creek, where the sespe oil wells are bored. the examiner correspondent detailed to catch a bear was accompanied by de moss bowers of ventura, who was moved by love of adventure to offer his assistance. during the first part of the trip the party numbered five persons, including dad coffman, a spry old gentleman of seventy-two years, who was out for the benefit of his health, a packer and guide, and a person from santa paula called "doc," who was loaded to the muzzle with misinformation and inspired with the notion that it was legitimate to plunder the expedition because the examiner had plenty of money. the packer was "doc's" son, a good man to work, but unfortunately afflicted with similar hallucinations. the expedition was plundered because these persons were trusted on the recommendation of a gentleman who ought to have known better. at tar creek the correspondent was told that the stone corral bear, a somewhat noted grizzly that had killed his man, had been recently on squaw flat, and had prowled about an old cabin at night, sorting over the garbage heap and pile of tin cans at the door, but when the expedition passed the cabin no fresh sign was found, and the tracks on squaw flat were at least a week old. the first camp was in a clump of chincapin brush at stone corral. there were bear tracks in the soft ground at the edge of the creek, which induced the hunters to spend two days in prospecting that part of the country. one of the proposed plans for capturing the bear was to run him out of the rocks and brush to some reasonably open bit of country like squaw flat or one of the small level patches near camp and lasso him, but the impracticable nature of that scheme was soon demonstrated. on the next day after making camp the examiner's own bear catcher went out on a nervous black horse called "nig" to find out where the stone corral bear was spending the summer and incidentally to get some venison. the stone corral bear was there or thereabouts beyond any doubt. he ran the correspondent out of the brush and showed a perverse disposition to do all the hunting himself. "nig" would not stand to let his rider take a shot, but when the bear gave notice of his presence by growling and smashing down the brush twenty yards away, he wheeled and bolted towards camp. near the camp dad was found rounding up the other horses, who had just been scared from their pasturage by another wandering bear. it was clear that not a horse in the outfit could be ridden to within roping distance of a bear, and it is doubtful if three horses fit for such a job could be found in the country. some years ago the ranchmen and vaqueros frequently caught bears with a rope, but even then it was difficult to train horses to the work, and only one horse out of a hundred could be cured of his instinctive dread of a grizzly. it was clear also that there were some defects in the plan of driving the stone corral bear out of the brush, chief of which was the bear's inconsiderate desire to do the driving himself. as the hunting would have to be done afoot, the prospects incident to an attempt to round up a big grizzly among the rocks and chaparral were not peculiarly alluring. trapping was the only other method that could be suggested, but the absence of any heavy timber would make that difficult. the stone corral is a singular arrangement of huge sandstone ledges on the slope of a mountain, forming a rough inclosure about a quarter of a mile wide and three or four times as long. the country is very rugged and broken for miles around, and except along the creek and on the trail a horse cannot be ridden through it. the problem of how to catch a bear in such a place was not solved, because the bear cut short its consideration by marching past the camp and lumbering down the creek bed toward the alder creek canyon and the sespe country. the correspondent stood upon the sandstone ledge as he went by, and yelled at him, but he did not quicken his pace. when it became evident that the bear was bound for the sespe, the horses were saddled. balaam the burro was concealed under a mountainous pack, and the march was resumed over the alder creek trail to the deep gorge through which the sespe river runs. the man who made the alder creek trail was not born to build roads. he laid it out right over the top of a high and steep mountain, when by making a slight detour, he could have avoided a difficult and unnecessary climb. in the broiling hot sun of a breezeless day in june, the march over the mountains was hard on men and horses, and the pace was necessarily slow. the heat coaxed the rattlesnakes out of their holes, and the angry hum of their rattles was an almost incessant accompaniment to the hoof beats of the horses. where the trail wound along a steep slope, affording but slight foothold for an animal, a more than unusually strenuous and insistent singing of a snake, disturbed from his sunny siesta, caused balaam to jump aside. balaam avoided the snake, but he lost his balance and rolled down the slope, heels in the air and pack underneath. the acrobatic feats achieved by balaam in his struggles to regain his footing were watched by an admiring and solicitous audience, and when he cleverly took advantage of the slight obstruction offered by a manzanita bush, and got safely upon his feet, he was loudly applauded. the deep solicitude of the party for the safety of balaam and his pack was accounted for when he scrambled back to the trail and gravely walked up to the packer to have his pack straightened. every man anxiously felt of the pack, and heaved a sigh of relief. the bottles containing o. p. s., antidote for snake bite, were not broken, but it was a narrow escape. "great beeswax!" said the doctor, "suppose those bottles had been smashed and then some one of us should go to work and bite himself with a snake! wouldn't that be a fix?" "dogdurn if it don't make my blood run cold to think of it," said dad. everybody's blood seemed to be congealing, and as the pack was loose and the antidote accessible, an ounce of prevention was administered to each man, and balaam was rewarded for his timely agility with a handful of sugar. no more accidents occurred, and late in the afternoon the cavalcade slid, coasted and scrambled down the last steep hill into the sespe canyon, where a camp was made under an immense oak beside a deep, rocky pool. that evening, around the camp-fire, some strange bear stories were evolved from either the memories or imagination of the hunters. in the morning the search for bear signs was resumed and prosecuted until noon without success. dad was lured by the swarms of trout in the stream, and went fishing. dad is not a scientific fly fisherman. his favorite method is to select a shady nook on the bank, sit down with his back against a rock, tie a sinker to a large and gaudy fly, and angle on the bottom for the biggest trout he can see. he generally carries a book in his pocket, and when the trout remains unresponsive to the allurements of the gaudy fly, he fastens his rod to a bush and reads until he falls asleep. in the afternoon one of the party went out over a long, brushy ridge, and the correspondent pushed on down the gorge in search of bear signs. all the bear tracks led up toward the hot springs canyon, indicating that the grizzlies had begun their annual migration to the alamo, frazier and pine mountains, where large bands of sheep are herded through the summer. some of the tracks were large and fresh, and a person might come upon a bear at any time in the bottom of the canyon. preparations were made for following the bears and directions given for an early start in the morning. the doctor recollected that he had important business in santa paula that required his immediate attention, and he wouldn't have time to follow the grizzlies through the rugged passes of the mountains. accordingly, he and dad decided to remain in the sespe camp a day or two, enjoy the fishing, and then return to santa paula, and the bear hunting party that saddled up and struck out on the trail of the grizzly in the morning was reduced to three. the trail led through the hot springs canyon, where boiling hot sulphur water flows out of the ground in a stream large enough to sensibly affect the temperature of the sespe river, into which it runs. this canyon was formerly a beautiful camping spot, and was resorted to by many persons who believed that bathing in sulphur water would restore their health, but about three years ago a cloudburst uprooted all the trees and converted the green cienaga into a rocky desolate flat, as barren and unattractive as the sharp, treeless peaks surrounding the canyon. a few mountain sheep inhabit the mountains about the hot springs, and occasionally one is seen standing upon some high and inaccessible cliff, but it is very seldom that a hunter succeeds in getting a pair of big horns. the next camp was on the piru creek, where it runs through the mutaw ranch. one of the most promising mining districts in this part of the state takes its name from the piru, and in years gone by a great deal of gold was taken from the diggings along the stream. one of the most successful miners was mike brannan, whose cabins and mining appliances lie unused and decaying about six miles from the place where the expedition camped. from the camp on the mutaw the expedition followed piru creek down to lockwood, and the latter up to the divide between lockwood valley and the cuddy ranch at the foot of mount pinos, called sawmill mountain by the settlers. the mountain is about 10,000 feet high, and is covered with heavy pine timber. ever since haggin & carr's sheep have been on the mountain, the bears from forty miles around have made annual marauding expeditions, and kept the herders on the jump all the summer. the first band of sheep and the examiner expedition arrived at the old sawmill simultaneously this year, and the basque who was herding the band, having a very lively sense of the danger of his situation, pitched his tent close to the camp, where he would be under the protection of three rifles. the basque had never been on the mountain before, but he had heard about the bears and their audacious raids, and he was not at all enamored of his job. when the campfires were started, and the forest became an enclosing wall of gloom, behind which lurked all the mysteries and menaces of the mountains, the basque came shyly into camp, bringing a shoulder of mutton with which to establish friendly relations, and under the mellowing influence of a glass of something hot he became confidential and as communicative as his broken jargon of french and california spanish would permit. he had come to the mountain reluctantly, and having been told about the herder whose hand was torn off by a grizzly last year, he was still more unwilling to remain. he would stay as long as the examiner party remained near him, but when the hunters went away he proposed to quit and hasten back to the plains, where he would have nothing worse than the coyotes to encounter. every night after that, so long as the hunters were in that camp, the basque came and sat at the fire until bedtime, talking about _los osos_, and when the grass and water gave out and the expedition was obliged to move camp about two miles, the gentle shepherd packed his blankets over the trail to bakersfield, leaving his flock in the care of a leathery skinned bear-hardened mexican. the bears were later this year than usual in coming to the mountain, probably because the warm weather was longer delayed, and for many days the hunters scanned the trails in the canyons in vain for the footprints of grizzlies. the first indication of their arrival was given in a somewhat startling way to the correspondent one evening as he was slowly toiling through a deep, rocky ravine back to camp, after a weary tramp over the foothills of the big mountain. the sun had set and the bottom of the ravine was dark as night. the belated searcher for bear signs skirted a dense willow thicket, and brushed against the bushes with his elbow. "woof! woof!" snorted a bear within ten feet of him, invisible in the thicket. his heart thumped and his rifle lock clicked, together, and which sound was the louder he could not tell. for a few seconds he stood at the edge of the thicket with his rifle ready, expecting the rush of the bear, but the animal was not in a warlike mood and did not rush, and the hunter cautiously backed away about twenty yards up the steep side of the ravine. the cracking of brush indicated that bruin was moving in the thicket, but nothing could be seen in the gathering gloom. two or three large rocks rolled down into the willows started the bear out on a run and he could be heard crashing his way down the ravine and splashing into the pools as he went. the remainder of the journey back to camp was made through the open pine forest on the top of the mountain. superintendent mccullough, who has charge of haggin & carr's sheep camps on pinos mountain, stopped at the examiner camp when he made his inspecting tours, and consultations were held with him about the bears. from the reports given him by the herders he judged that only the bears that lived on the mountain were prowling about, and that the invading army had not arrived from the alamo and the sespe region. a large cinnamon bear had walked into one camp about ten miles distant and killed two sheep in daylight, but the grizzlies had not begun to eat mutton. in july or august there would be bears enough to keep a man busy shinning up trees. last year, he said, there were at least forty bears on the mountain, and they visited some of the sheep camps every night. sometimes two or three bears would raid a camp, tree the herder and kill several sheep. the herders were not expected to fight bears or attempt to drive them away, and the owners reckoned upon the loss of several hundred sheep every summer. shortly before the first of july the camp was moved to seymore spring, about two miles from the mill, where good water and feed were plenty, and search for bear sign was continued. every day some deep gorge or rocky ravine was visited and thoroughly hunted, and a deer was killed occasionally, but no sign of bears was found until the 3d of july, when the tracks of a very large grizzly were discovered crossing a ridge between the lockwood valley and the seymour. the tracks were followed across the seymour valley to a spur of the mountain between the mill ravine and a deep canyon to the westward. camp was moved to a green cienaga at the head of the latter, which was christened bear canyon, and the building of a trap was begun near the mouth--about half a mile from camp. three large pine trees served as corner posts for a pen built of twenty-inch logs, "gained" at the corners and fastened together with stout oak pins. the pen was about twelve feet long, four feet high and five feet wide inside, and the door was made of pine logs sunk into the ground and wedged and pinned securely. a door of four-inch planks, so heavy that it required three men to raise it, was set in front, between oak guides pinned vertically to the trees and suspended by a rope running over a pulley and back to a trigger that engaged with a pivoted stick of oak, to which the bait was to be fastened. five days were consumed in the construction of the trap, and while the work was going on a bear visited the camp at night and stampeded all the saddle and pack animals out of the canyon. a german prospector named sparkuhle, who was staying temporarily in the camp, was cured of a severe case of skepticism that night. sparkuhle believed nothing that he could not see, and he declared, with exasperating iteration, "i believe there don't vas any bears in der gountry. i look for 'em every day, thinking perhaps might i could see one, but i don't could see any." and every night before he turned in, sparkuhle said: "vell, might did a bear come tonight. i wish i could see one, but i think there don't vas any bears at all." sparkuhle scorned the shelter of the bough shed, under which the examiner outfit slept, and spread his blankets on top of a bank about six feet above a rocky shelf that was used as a pantry and kitchen. his only weapon was his pick, and he was not afraid of being disturbed by any prowling animal. it was about midnight when the camp was alarmed by the snorting of the horses and the clatter of hoofs galloping down the canyon, but before the cause of the disturbance could be learned a yell of surprise came from sparkuhle, followed by a crash and a terrible clatter among the pots and pans below the bank. in another moment sparkuhle ran into the camp and began to tell excitedly what had happened to him. he was so intensely interested in his story that he paid no attention to a three-tined fork that was sticking in him just below the end of his back. he said he was awakened by the noise in camp, and looking up thought he saw the burro standing over him. seizing his pillow he made a swipe at the animal, and said, "get away, balaam!" and then the supposed burro hit him a clip and knocked him spinning over the edge of the bank, but the blow did no further damage because sparkuhle was rolled up in half a dozen blankets. the noise of his arrival among the tinware alarmed the bear and when the party got out with lights and guns he was out of sight. sparkuhle slept in the cabin after that. two days later the big bear went into a sheep camp near the mill, while the herder was cooking supper, stampeded the sheep right over the fire, caught one and killed it, and sat down within thirty yards of the herder and leisurely gorged himself with mutton. the mexican herder described him as "grande" and "muy blanco" and said he was as tall as a mule. on the following day at noon the same bear went into another sheep camp about three miles from the mill, and stole a freshly killed sheep, which the herder had hung up for his own use. then he suddenly ceased his raids and disappeared and for the next three weeks the mountain seemed to be deserted by the bears. the herders had put strychnine into the carcasses of several sheep that had died of eating poisonous weeds, and mccullough thought the bears must have eaten the poisoned mutton and become sick. it requires a strong dose of strychnine to kill a grizzly, and frequently the bears get only enough to make them ill and send them into temporary retirement in some dark gorge. but while the bears were away the mountain lions and panthers managed to keep things from becoming dull. they came into camp several times and made the canyon ring with their yowling, but they always kept brush between themselves and the fire-light, and it was impossible to get a shot at them. their raids became so annoying that two hounds were procured and brought into camp; after that the nightprowling beasts kept at a respectful distance. being unable to steal any more provisions from the examiner outfit, the lions turned their attention to the sheep camps. one night a lion sneaked up through a willow thicket to the nearest sheep camp and killed three sheep. he was a dainty lion, evidently, as he only cut the throats of the sheep and drank their blood and did not eat any mutton. the same lion followed the scent of a carcass that had been dragged to the bear trap for bait, but he stopped twenty yards from the trap, and went away, not caring to risk his neck by going into any such contrivance. wherever bait was dragged over the mountain, and it was dragged many miles for the purpose of enticing bear to the trap, the lions followed the trail, but they would not go into the trap. still it is not safe to generalize from this fact and assume that the cougar or mountain lion never will go into a trap, for he is a most erratic and uncertain beast. sometimes he is an arrant coward, and again he is as bold as a genuine lion. generally a dog will keep cougars away from a camp or house, but once in a while the cougar hunts the dog and kills him. one afternoon a cougar jumped into joe dye's dooryard at his ranch on the sespe, picked up joe's baby and sprang over the fence with it. joe seized his rifle and shot the animal as it ran, and when the cougar felt the sting of the bullet he dropped the baby and ran up the mountain. he had seized the baby's clothes only, and the little one was not hurt. the next night the cougar returned, captured joe's hound, carried it into the mountains and killed it. on the 1st of august, the report reached camp that the bears were having a picnic on the mutaw ranch and were killing hogs by the score. john f. cuddy's sons, the best vaqueros and bronco-riders in this part of the country, offered to go over to the mutaw with the correspondent and lasso a bear if one could be found on open ground; accordingly, the party saddled up and took the trail up the piru, arriving at the mutaw meadows late in the night, after a rough ride of twenty miles. in the morning mr. taylor, one of the owners of the ranch, was found skinning a grizzly that had eaten strychnine in pork during the night. mr. taylor had put poison out all over the ranch and the prospect of catching a live bear seemed dubious, but all the poisoned meat that could be found was buried at once, and bowers and the correspondent began building a trap to catch a bear that had been making twelve-inch tracks around the cabins. the cuddy boys rode about looking for bear, and one of them lassoed an eagle that had waterlogged himself and was sitting stupidly on a rock by the creek. the bird measured nine feet across the wings. messrs. louis and taylor, owners of the mutaw, received the party hospitably and assisted in the work of preparing the trap. but mr. taylor forgot where he had put some of his poison, and in forty-eight hours all the dogs in the place, including the examiner's two hounds, were stiffened out and turned up their toes. chopping off their tails and pouring sweet oil down their throats did not restore them. no chance to lasso a bear presented itself, and as soon as the trap was completed and baited with two live pigs the party returned to pine mountain. at last it became evident that the bears on mount pinos could not be enticed into a trap while they had their pick and choice of the thousands of sheep that grazed on the mountain. they preferred to do their own butchering and would not touch mutton that was killed for them by anybody else. a cougar raided a camp one night, sprang upon the sheep from a willow thicket and killed three within twenty yards of the sleeping herder. the fastidious cougar cut their throats, sucked their blood and left their carcasses at the edge of the thicket without eating the meat. but the bears would not touch what the cougar left. shortly after this the herders reported that the bears were avoiding the sheep and passing around the bands without making an attack. apparently bruin had made a miscalculation in his calendar and was keeping lent in the wrong season, but his erratic conduct was explained when some of the herders admitted that they had put strychnine into several carcasses. some of the bears had got doses of poison large enough to make them mortally unwell, but had survived and sworn off eating mutton. they disappeared from the vicinity of the camps and grazing ground, and went into solitary confinement in remote and deep gorges, where nobody but a lunatic would follow them. the result of many weeks' hard work on mount pinos was the acquirement of some knowledge of the nature and eccentricities of ursus ferox, which was glibly imparted by tom, dick and harry, who assumed that the mere fact of their having lived near the mountains qualified them to speak as authorities on the habits of bears. one inspired idiot declared that the best way to catch a grizzly was to give him atropia, which would make him blind for a day or two, and lead him along like a tame calf. this genius was so enamored of his great discovery that he went about the country telling everybody that the examiner man was going to catch a grizzly with atropia, and that he (the aforesaid lunatic) was the inventor of the scheme and general boss of the outfit. "a bear will do this," said one. "he will do so and so," said another, and "you just do that and he'll go right into the trap," said a dozen more. everybody seemed to be loaded to the guards with an assorted cargo of general ignorance about bears, which they were anxious to discharge upon the examiner expedition, but not one man in the whole lot ever caught a grizzly, and very few ever saw one. as a matter of fact, determined by experience and observation, a grizzly will do none of the things laid down as rules of conduct for him by the wise men of the mountains, but will do pretty much as he pleases, and act as his individual whim or desire moves him. it is a mistake to generalize about bears from the actions of one of the species. one bear will be bold and inquisitive, and will walk right into a camp to gratify his curiosity, while another will carefully avoid man and all his works. the predictions of an ursine invasion of mount pinos were not fulfilled and when it became clear that the few grizzlies in the neighborhood were too timid and wary to be caught, the expedition struck camp and moved on, leaving the traps set for luck. considerable annoyance was caused by a discharged mule-packer, who carried away tools required in trap building, and embezzled quite a sum of money. the fellow had attempted to impose upon the correspondent by whittling out pine-bark models of bear's feet, with which to make tracks around the trap; and had proposed various swindling jobs to others of the party, explaining that the "examiner was rich and they might as well get a hack at the money." he had opened and read letters intrusted to him for mailing, and had proved himself generally a faithless scamp and an unconscionable liar. a written demand upon him, for restitution of his plunder, elicited only a coarse and abusive letter, but there was no time to waste in prosecuting the fellow and he was left in the enjoyment of his booty and in such satisfaction as the rascal mind of him could derive from the fact that he had succeeded in robbing his employer. the big bear on the mutaw never came near the trap built for his special accommodation, notwithstanding the confident assurances of the bear experts on the ranch that he was sure to show up within forty-eight hours. for two months after the poisoning of his campanero no signs of the large grizzly were seen anywhere near the mutaw, and the hogs roamed about the hills unmolested. after leaving mount pinos the expedition built several traps in the mountains near trails frequented by bears. an old grizzly that lived among the unsurveyed and unnamed peaks between castac lake and the liebra mountain absorbed the attention of the hunters for some time. he was an audacious marauder and killed his beef almost within sight of the camp-fire. often at night a cow or steer could be heard bellowing in terror, and in the morning a freshly killed animal would be found in some hollow not far away, bearing marks of bear's claws. whitened bones scattered all over the hills showed that the bear had been the boss butcher of general beal's ranch for a long time. his average allowance of beef appeared to be about two steers a week, but he usually ate only half a carcass, leaving the rest to the coyotes and vultures. one morning bowers returned from a hunt for the horses, two of which had been struck and slightly wounded by the bear a few nights before, and had run away, and reported the discovery of a dead steer within 150 yards of an unfinished trap, about a quarter of a mile from camp. the animal appeared to have been killed two nights before, and the bear had made but one meal off the carcass. as he might be expected to return that night, all haste was made to finish the trap. bowers rode out to gorman's station to get some nails and honey, while the correspondent paid a visit to one of general beal's old corrals and stole some planks to make a door. he packed the planks up the mountain, and was using the hammer and saw with great diligence and a tremendous amount of noise, when bruin sauntered down the ridge, looked curiously at him and calmly began eating an early supper, wholly indifferent to the noise of the hammer and the presence of the man. it was nearly dark when bowers rode up to the trap, his horse in a lather composed of equal parts of perspiration and honey, the latter having leaked profusely from the cans tied to the saddle. tossing the nails to the correspondent, bowers hastily dismounted and went afoot up the ridge toward the dead steer, intending to place a can of honey near it. in about a minute bowers was seen running from the ridge in fifteen-foot jumps, and as he approached the trap he shouted: "the bear is there now!" "is that so?" said the correspondent. "i thought he had finished his supper and had gone away by this time." bowers had approached to within forty yards of the bear before seeing him, and the bear had merely raised his head, taken a look at the intruder and resumed his eating. as it had become too dark to drive nails, and there was no longer any reason for finishing the door that night, bowers fetched the rifles from camp and the two men went up the ridge to take a better look at the bear. had there been light enough to make the rifle sights visible, it would have been hard to resist the temptation of turning loose at the old fellow from behind a convenient log; but it was impossible to draw a bead on him, and it would have been sheer foolhardiness to shoot and take the chances of a fight in the dark with a wounded grizzly. besides, if shot at and missed, the bear would probably not return, and all the chances of getting him into the trap would be lost. so the two sat on a log and watched the grizzly till the night came on thick and dark, when they returned to camp. the trap was finished the next day, but a somewhat ludicrous accident destroyed its possibilities of usefulness, and made it quite certain that bruin would never be caught in it. not expecting a visit from the bear, for at least two days, the correspondent went up to the ridge just before dark, made a rope fast to the remains of a steer, and dragged him down to the trap. bowers had gone back to ventura on business, and the correspondent was alone on the mountain; when he went into the trap to fix a can of honey upon the trigger, he placed a stick under the door, in such a way that if the door should fall he could use the stick as a lever to pry it up, and so avoid an experience like dad coffman's. the precaution was well taken. while he was arranging the bait he heard snuffling and the movement of some animal outside. supposing that some cow or perhaps the burro was wandering about, he paid no particular attention to the noise, but when the bait was arranged and he turned to go out he saw the muzzle of old bruin poked into the door and his eyes blinking curiously at the dark interior of the trap. bruin had come down for a feast and had followed the trail of the steer's remains with unexpected promptness. he had scented the honey, which was more alluring than stale beef, and evidently was considering the propriety of entering the trap to get his supper, which might consist of honeycomb _au naturel_, with examiner man on the side. the man in the trap deemed it highly improper for the bear to intrude at that time, and quickly decided the etiquette of the case by kicking the trigger and letting the door fall with a dull thud plump upon the old grizzly's nose. a hundred and sixty pounds falling four feet is no laughing affair when it hits one on the nose, and bruin did not make light of it. he was pained and surprised, and he went away more in sorrow than in anger, judging from the tone of his expostulating grunts and snorts. when the snorts of the bear died away in the distance, the correspondent pried up the door, crawled out and cautiously made his way through the dark woods to his lonely camp. at this time there were six traps scattered through the mountains within a radius of sixty miles, all of them set and baited, and the more distant ones watched by men employed for that purpose. one of the traps was on a mountain that was not pastured by cattle, or sheep, and as there were no acorns in that part of the country, the bears had to rustle for a living and were unable to withstand the temptation offered by quarters of beef judiciously exposed to their raids. the bait scattered around this trap was discovered by four bears, but for some time they regarded it with suspicion, and were afraid to touch it, possibly because they detected the scent of man near it. gradually they became accustomed to it and the signs of man's presence, and then they began to quarrel over the meat, as was plainly indicated by the disturbance of the ground where their tracks met. two of the tracks were of medium size, one was quite large and evidently made by a grizzly, and the fourth was enormous, being fourteen inches long and nine inches wide. the last-named track was not made by a grizzly however. there were six toes on the forefoot, and this peculiar deformity was the distinguishing mark of a gigantic cinnamon bear known to hunters as "six-toed pete." it was almost invariably found, during the long campaign in the wilderness, that tracks over eleven inches in length were made by cinnamon bears, and not by genuine grizzlies, although some hunters declare that the cinnamon is only a variety of grizzly, and that the color is not the mark of a different species. however that may be, the difference between the two varieties is very distinct, and as the object of the expedition was the capture of an indubitable california grizzly, no special effort was made to trap any of the big cinnamons. the smaller bears soon gave up the contest for the beef and left the field to pete and the grizzly, who quarreled and fought around it for several nights. at last the grizzly gave pete a thorough licking and established his own right to the title of monarch of the mountain. the decisive battle occurred one moonlight night and was witnessed from a safe perch in a fork of a tree near the trap. it was nearly 9 o'clock when the snapping of dry sticks indicated the approach of a heavy animal through the brush, and in a few moments the big grizzly came into sight, walking slowly and sniffing suspiciously. a smart breeze was drawing down the canyon, and the bear, being to the windward, could not smell the man up the tree, but he approached the meat cautiously and seemed in no hurry for his supper. while he was reconnoitering another animal was heard smashing through the thicket, and presently the huge bulk of six-toed pete loomed up in the moonlight at the edge of the opening. at the approach of the cinnamon the grizzly rose upon his haunches and uttered low, hoarse growls, and when the big fellow appeared within twenty feet of him, he launched himself forward with surprising swiftness and struck pete a blow on the neck that staggered him. it was like one of sullivan's rushes in the ring, and the blow of that ponderous paw would have knocked out an ox; but pete was no slouch of a slugger himself, and he quickly recovered and returned the blow with such good will that had the grizzly's head been in the way it would have ached for a week afterward. then the fur began to fly. it was impossible to follow the movements of the combatants in detail, as they sparred, clinched and rolled about, but in a general way six-toed pete seemed to be trying to make his superior weight tell by rushing at the grizzly and knocking him over, while the latter avoided the direct impact of the cinnamon's great bulk by quick turns and a display of agility that was scarcely credible in so unwieldy looking an animal. once the cinnamon seized the grizzly by the throat and for a moment hushed the latter's fierce growls by choking off his wind, but the grizzly sat down, threw his arm over pete's neck, placed his other forepaw upon pete's nose, sunk his claws in deep, and instantly broke the hold. as they parted, the grizzly made a vicious sweep with his right paw and caught pete on the side of the head. the blow either destroyed the cinnamon's left eye or tore the flesh around it, so that the blood blinded him on that side, for during the rest of the fight he tried to keep his right side toward the grizzly and seemed unable to avoid blows delivered on his left. for at least a quarter of an hour the combat raged, without an instant's cessation, both belligerents keeping up a terrific growling, punctuated with occasional howls of pain. neither could get a fair blow at the other's head. had the grizzly struck the cinnamon with the full force of his tremendous arm, pete's skull would have surely been smashed. pete finally got enough, broke away from the monarch and fled into the brush, a badly used up bear; and he never came back. having won his supper by force of arms, the grizzly was no longer suspicious of the bait, and he ate up the best part of a quarter of beef before he left the battle ground. he soon became accustomed to the trap, and regularly came there for his meals, which were gradually placed nearer the door and finally inside the structure. a piece of meat was tied to the trigger, and one morning the door was found closed, and a great ripping and tearing was heard going on inside. the monarch was caught at last. upon the approach of the men, the grizzly became furious and made the heavy logs tremble and shake in his efforts to get out and resent the indignity that had been placed upon him. had he concentrated his attack on any one spot and been left to wreak his rage without interruption he would have been out in a few hours, but he was not permitted to work long at any place. wherever he began work he encountered the end of a heavy stake which was jabbed against his nose and head with all the power of a man's arms. day and night from the moment he was found in the trap, the monarch was watched and guarded, and he kept two men busy all the time. although his attention was distracted from the trap as much as possible, he found time to gnaw and rip a ten-inch log almost in two, and sometimes he made the bark and splinters fly in a way that was calculated to make a nervous man loathe the job of standing guard over him. for six days the monarch was so busy trying to break jail that he had no time to fool away in eating. solitary confinement developed in him a most malicious temper and he flew into a rage whenever food was thrown to him. but his applications for a writ of habeas corpus were persistently denied by a man with a club, and the monarch at last cooled down a little and condescended to take a light lunch of raw venison. he was given two days for reflection and meditation, and when he seemed to be in a more reasonable mood, the work of preparing him for a visit to the city was begun. a running noose was made in a stout chain and put into the trap between two of the logs, and when the bear stepped his forepaw into the noose it was drawn taut and held by four men outside. despite the strain upon the chain the bear easily threw the noose off with his other paw, letting the men fall backwards in a heap on the ground. again and again the trick was tried but the noose would not hold. then the method of working the chain was changed and the noose let down through the top of the trap, and after many failures it was drawn sharply up round his arm near the shoulder, where it held. ten hours were consumed in the effort to secure one leg and the monarch fought furiously every minute of the time, biting the chain, seizing it with his paws and charging about in his prison as though he were crazy. he was utterly reckless of consequences to himself, and he bit the iron so savagely that he splintered his teeth and wholly destroyed his longer tushes. having secured one leg, it was comparatively easy to get another chain around his other paw and two ropes around his hind legs, and then he was stretched out, spread-eagle fashion, on the floor of the trap. [illustration: large black bear.--page 250.] the next move was to fasten a heavy chain around his neck in such a way that it could not choke him, and to accomplish this it was necessary to muzzle the monarch. a stick about eighteen inches long and two inches thick was held under his nose, and he promptly seized it in his jaws. before he dropped it a stout cord was made fast to one end of the stick, passed over his nose, around the other end of the stick, under his jaw, and then wound around his muzzle and the stick in such a way as to bind his jaws together, a turn back of his head holding the gag firmly in place. the monarch was now bound, gagged and utterly helpless, but he never ceased roaring with rage at his captors and struggling to get just one blow at them with his paw. it was an easy matter for a man to get upon his back, put a chain collar around his neck, and fasten the heavy chain with a swivel to the collar. the collar was kept in place by a chain rigged like a martingale and passed under his arms and over his back. a stout rope made fast about his body completed the monarch's fetters and the gag was then removed from the royal mouth. the king of the mountains was a hopeless prisoner--gulliver, tied hand and foot by the lilliputians. the next morning monarch was lashed upon a rough sled--a contrivance known to lumbermen as a "go-devil"--to make the journey down the mountain. the first team of horses procured to haul him could not be driven anywhere near the bear. they plunged and snorted and became utterly unmanageable, and finally they broke away and ran home. the next team was but little better, and small progress was made the first day. at night the monarch was released from the "go-devil" and secured only by his chains to a large tree. the ropes were removed from his legs, and he was allowed considerable freedom to move about, but a close watch was kept upon him. after several futile efforts to break away, he accepted the situation, stretched himself at the foot of the tree and watched the camp-fire all night. in the morning the ropes were replaced, after a lively combat, and the bear was again lashed to the sled. four horses were harnessed to it and the journey was resumed. men with axes and bars went ahead to make a road, and it was with no small amount of labor that they made it passable. the poor old bear was slammed along over the rocks and through the brush, but he never whimpered at the hardest jolts. with all the care that could be observed, it was impossible to make his ride anything but a series of bumps, slides and capsizes, and the progress was slow. at the steep places men held the sled back with ropes and tried to keep it right side up. four days on a "go-devil" is no pleasure excursion, even for a tough grizzly, and when the monarch was released from his uncomfortable vehicle, at the foot of the mountain, he seemed glad to get a chance to stretch himself and rest. for nearly a week he was left free of all fetters except the chain on his neck and the rope around his body, and he spent his days in slumber and his nights eating and digging a great hole in the ground. having convinced himself that he could neither break his chain nor bite it in two, he accepted the situation with surly resignation and asked only to be let alone and fed decently. while the bear was recuperating and becoming reconciled to what couldn't be helped, a cage was being built of oregon pine lumber with an iron-barred door, and when it was finished he was dragged into it by the heels. as soon as he saw the ropes, monarch knew that mischief was afoot, and when a man began throwing back into the hole the dirt that he had dug out, he mounted the heap and silently but strenuously began to dig for himself a new hole. he worked twice as fast as two men with shovels, and in his efforts to escape he only assisted in filling up the old hole. for some time he baffled all attempts to get ropes on his forepaws, having learned the trick of throwing them off and seizing the loops with his teeth, but he was soon secured and stretched out on his back. the monarch roared his remonstrances and did his best to get even for the outrages that had been done to his rights and his feelings, but the ropes were tough and he could not get a chance to use his enormous strength. he was dragged on his back into the cage, the door was dropped and the ropes were removed, but the chain remained around his neck and that was made fast to the bars. as soon as he found himself shut up in a box the angry and insulted bear ceased roaring and in a short time he philosophically stretched himself on the floor and wondered what would happen next. the next thing that happened to him was the standing of his cage on end, but that did not appear to disturb him. a wagon was backed up, and the cage was tilted down again and placed upon the wagon, which was then hauled down the canyon and along the river bed to a little water station on the southern pacific railroad, where the cage was put upon a stock car. the car was provisioned with a quarter of beef, and a lot of watermelons, and attached to a freight train, then men who had helped to bring the bear out of the mountains waved their hats, and the monarch caught a last glimpse of his native hills as the train whirled him and the correspondent northward. it must have been a very strange, perhaps terrifying, thing to the wild grizzly to be jolted along for two days on a rattling, bumping, lurching freight train, with the shrieking of steam whistles and the ringing of bells, but he endured it all heroically and gave no sign of fear. he ate well when food was given him, taking meat from his captor's hands through the bars, and slept soundly when he was tired. he seemed to know and yield a sort of obedience to the correspondent, but resented with menacing growls the impertinent curiosity of strangers who came to look at him through the bars. in every crowd that, came to see him there was at least one fool afflicted with a desire to poke the bear with a stick, and constant vigilance was necessary to prevent such witless persons from enraging him. at mojave, when the correspondent went to the car, he found a dozen idlers inside, and one inspired lunatic was stirring up the monarch, who was rapidly losing his temper. the cage would not have held him five minutes had he once tackled the bars in a rage, and it was only the moral influence of the chain around his neck that kept him quiet. when the correspondent sprang into the car, the grizzly's eyes were green with anger, and in a moment more there would have been the liveliest kind of a circus on that freight train. hustling the crowd out with unceremonious haste--incidentally throwing a few maledictions at the man with the stick--the correspondent drove the monarch back from the bars, and ordered him to lie down, and for the next half hour rode in the car with him and talked him into a peaceable frame of mind. from the freight depot on townsend street the cage was hauled on a truck to woodward's gardens, and under the directions of louis ohnimus, superintendent of the gardens, the monarch was transferred to more comfortable quarters. his cage was backed up to one of the permanent cages, both doors were opened, and he was invited to move, but he refused to budge until his chain was passed around the bars and hauled by four stout men. the grizzly resisted for a few minutes, but suddenly decided to change his quarters and went with a rush and a roar, wheeling about and striking savagely through the bars at the men. but mr. ohnimus had expected just such a performance and taken such precautions that nobody was hurt and no damage done. the monarch had shown himself a brave fighter and an animal of unusual courage in every way. he had endured the roughest kind of a journey without weakening, and compelled respect and admiration from the moment of his capture. but when the strain and excitement were over, and he was left to himself, the effects became apparent, and for two or three days he was a sick bear. he had a fever and would not eat for a time, but mr. ohnimus took charge of him, doctored him with medicines good for the ills of bear flesh, and soon tempted back his appetite with rabbits and pigeons. soon the monarch was sufficiently convalescent to rip the sheet iron from the side of his cage and break a hole through into the hyena's quarters. by night he was on his muscle in great shape, and superintendent ohnimus sent for the correspondent to sit up with him all night and help keep the half-ton grizzly from tearing things to pieces. by watching the old fellow and talking to him now and then they managed to distract his attention from mischief most of the time, but he got in considerable work and rolled up several sheets of iron as though they were paper. it was evident that no ordinary cage would hold him, and men were at once employed to line one of the compartments with heavy iron of the toughest quality and to strengthen it with bars and angle iron. this made a perfectly secure place of confinement. a watch was kept on the monarch by the garden keepers during the day, and by the superintendent and the correspondent every night, until the work was finished and the monarch transferred. the grizzly is now safely housed in the first apartment of the line of cages, and under the watchful care of mr. ohnimus will soon recover his lost flesh and energy and again be the magnificent animal that he was when he was the undisputed monarch of the sierra madre. latest bulletin. monarch a true grizzly. "monarch," the examiner's big grizzly, received many visitors yesterday, but, having been up all night trying the strength of his new house, he declined to stand up, and paid but little attention to the crowd. his chain had been fastened to the bars of his cage with three half hitches and a knot, and the knot was held in place by a piece of wire. during the night he removed the wire, untied all the knots and half hitches and hauled the chain inside, where nobody could meddle with it. having the chain all to himself, monarch was indifferent to his visitors and lazily stretched himself on his back, with one arm thrown back over his head. he had a good appetite yesterday and got away with a leg of lamb and a lot of bread and apples. he ate a little too heartily and had the symptoms of fever. today he will not get so much food. the best time to see him is when he eats, because he lies down all other times of the day. he has breakfast at 10 a. m., lunch at 1 p. m. and dinner at 3 p. m. monarch still looks travelworn and thin, but he is brightening up, and when the abrasions of the skin, made by ropes and chains, are healed up and his hair grown again on the bare spots he will be more presentable. his broken teeth trouble him some and it will be some time before he will feel as well as he did before he was caught. several artists went to woodward's gardens today to sketch and photograph the bear, but he refused to pose, so they did not get the best results. it would be unwise to stir him up and excite him at present, and unless the artists can catch him at his meals they will have to wait a little while for a chance to study the grizzly under favorable conditions. sculptor rupert schmidt has made an excellent model in clay of monarch, which will be a valuable assistance in designs requiring the introduction of the california emblem. mr. schmidt said: "i am very glad to have the opportunity to study the real grizzly, and i find him very different from the models generally accepted. i have modeled many bears, but never one like this. you see in this design some figures of bears (showing a wax model of decorative capitals). these were intended to be grizzlies, but you see they have the roman nose, which is characteristic of the black bear. no other bear that i ever saw had the broad forehead and strong, straight nose of the grizzly. he has a magnificent head, and i think all artists will be glad of a chance to study him. i have inquired for grizzlies in zoã¶logical gardens all over the world, but never found one before." monarch has a big, intelligent-looking head and a kindly eye, and is not disposed to quarrel with visitors, but he objects to any meddling with his chain, and will not submit to any insults. it was necessary yesterday to keep a watchman between the cage and the crowd to prevent people from throwing things at the bear and stirring him up. monarch is getting along very well and taking his troubles quite philosophically; but he has had a rough experience, is worn out with fighting and worry, is sore in body and spirit and needs rest. it is a difficult thing to keep alive in captivity a wild bear of his age, and undue excitement might throw him into a fatal fever. if superintendent ohnimus succeeds in his efforts to cure the monarch of his bruises and put him into good condition, he will deserve great credit, and the visitors are requested not to make the task more difficult by worrying the captive. no other zoã¶logical garden in the world has a california grizzly, and it would be a great loss to the menagerie to be established in the park if the monarch should die. it is not surprising that many people cannot tell a grizzly bear, even when they see one, as many zoã¶logists even differ widely in regard to the characteristics of the king of bears. it is astonishing how little is really known in regard to the grizzly bear. many text-books contain only a general notice of the great animal, while those naturalists who have written descriptions of him do by no means agree. this is due to their lack of specimens. the grizzly is so powerful and unyielding a beast that but few have been captured alive. there have not been individuals enough of the species studied to admit of their being fully generalized. different naturalists described the grizzly from the single specimen that came within their notice, and hence their various descriptions are far apart. it is a fact that hardly two of the animals taken are exactly alike in color or habits. in order to definitely settle the question, prof. walter e. bryant, of the academy of sciences, was yesterday induced to visit the bear. he has made the mammals of the pacific coast his study for years, and probably knows more than anyone else about california bears. he examined monarch very carefully, noted his every point, and then examined just as carefully the other bears at the gardens. when he had completed his investigation and stood once more before monarch's cage, he was asked: "well, what is he?" "he is a true grizzly bear," answered professor bryant, and he added, "a mighty big one, too. "i never before saw one of the animals with as dark a coat as his," he continued; "but that is nothing. the bear is a true grizzly, and has all the characteristics of one. as far as his color is concerned, grizzlies are of all colors; there is almost as much variety in that regard among bears as among dogs." "how do you know it is a grizzly?" was asked. "well, in the first place, the claws on his forefeet are longer and stronger than those of any other species. then his head is larger than that of other bears, and his muzzle is longer and heavier. another and more distinguishing feature is the height of his shoulders. just back of his neck is the tallest point. from there his back slopes down towards his haunches. the black bear, on the other hand, has low shoulders, and is tallest at a point rather back of the middle of the body. there are numerous other means of distinguishing this bear. his teeth are very much larger and stronger than those of the others, and the entire structure of the skull is peculiar to the grizzly. he has neither the short muzzle of the european bear such as you see in the pit, nor the rounded muzzle of the black bear. there are, of course, many minor points that only a naturalist would observe, but it is sufficient to say that he lacks none of the essential qualities of the grizzly bear, and has none of those of the other varieties. "his coat is almost black, to be sure, but it is very different from the glossy black of his neighbor. if you observe the grizzly's hair, you will see that a great deal of it is a rusty brown and in certain lights seems to be very far from black. this variation in the color of the hair is a peculiar characteristic of the grizzly. that lanky mane is another. his legs, you observe, are darker than his body. this is another characteristic of the california grizzly. "this animal is thin now, doubtless from the hard time he had while he was being brought here. when he gets fat his hair will have a very different appearance. it will be interesting to watch him when he sheds his hair. the coat that comes after may be altogether of another color. that grizzly, i should say, is comparatively a young bear, and when he gets older the gray that originally gave him his name will very likely be pronounced." the end. scientific classification of bears. edited by pierre n. beringer. i. the louisiana spectacled bear. _tremarctos ornatus._ some of our scientists have very carefully divided the _genus ursus_ into _twelve_ species. while i will admit that these gentlemen are conscientious and that they are thorough in their researches, i wish to point to the fact that they have entirely overlooked three or four species found on the pacific coast. many writers have completely ignored the spectacled bear of louisiana. is he the representative of another genus? does he belong to the _genus helarctos_ (_helios_, the "sun," and _arctos_, "bear") credited by the majority of writers with basking in the sun, or because of the peculiar markings of his chest, representing a sunburst? he resembles the _helarctos malayanus_ of the malayan archipelago or the _bruang_ of java. or is he the sloth bear, _prochilous_ (or _melursus_) _labiatus_? this bear has been carefully classified as a separate genus found from the ganges to ceylon. his description fits rather loosely the so-called sloth of louisiana. possibly the louisiana specimen is of the _genus tremarctos_, of which the learned people tell us there is but a solitary species carefully isolated in the andes of chile and peru. i shall call the louisiana specimen by the name given him by our poet, the spectacled bear, _tremarctos ornatus_, and the professors who have entirely overlooked his existence may classify him later when they find time. at one time the honey bear was classified as a "bradipus," or sloth, because of its liability to lose its incisors. it was therefore set down as one of the _edentata_. it has also been styled the jungle bear, the lipped bear, and names as various as the investigators' fancy. the _tremarctos ornatus_ of louisiana, or spectacled bear, is not a sloth. he does not belong to the _edentata_, neither is he lazy. he is essentially the clown of all bears, a very intelligent animal, and in many cases the intellectual superior of his keeper. he is active to a degree, and will perform the queerest antics for the amusement of the onlooker. he is quaintly conscious of his mirth-provoking powers, much as a child playing "smarty." he will quickly climb an inclined log or tree, and then slide down either in an upright position, clasping the log with the knees, or he will slide "down the banister" as a child might. i have seen the merry fellow grab his tail in his mouth and roll over and over until dizzy. his snout is almost hairless, narrow and proboscis like, and the nostrils and lips are mobile. he shapes these almost into a pipe, through which his long tongue is shot out, drawing things in or sucking them up. it has claws of a bluish gray that are longer than those of any other of the ursidae. the hair is very long, of a deep brown black. there is a sunburst upon the chest of a white or fulvous hue. the ears are small and scarcely distinguishable, owing to the shaggy mane. the fur is rather coarse and very long. it lives mainly upon honey and vegetables and sugar cane. in captivity it will very gratefully subsist upon oatmeal and occasional sweets. the animal is easily tamed, and will become attached to its keeper, giving an exhibition of exuberant joy at his approach. it is a jolly good fellow, and shows a marked preference for liquors, refusing all others when it may have champagne. it will sit on its hind legs and make faces at the onlooker, waving its arms in the most grotesque fashion, while it rolls its body from side to side. this is one of the characteristics that has impressed the negro with the sacredness of this "voodoo bear." ii. the grizzly. _ursus horribilis or ferox._ this is the great grizzly of california, whose habits have been described by many writers. it is a shy animal, not nearly as ferocious as has been claimed. "it will always run away if it can," says general dodge, "and never attacks unless it is cornered or wounded." johnson says "the grizzly is the king of all our animals, and can destroy by blows from his paws the powerful bison of the plains; wolves will not even touch the carcass of the dreaded monster, and, it is said, stand in such awe that they refrain from molesting deer that he has slain. horses also require careful training before they can be taught to allow its hide to be placed upon their backs." in the beautiful legend of the good poet the grizzly is the forefather of the indian, and the indian gives many proofs to show his descent from the grizzly and the spirit of the mountain. i want to add a curious fact: the grizzly is the only one of the ursidae that moves his toes and fingers independently of one another just like a _man_. also the bear walks with his foot full upon the ground. in further proof the grizzly, when young, and all other bears, except one, descend a tree backward and head up, as a man would. the clown bear, or spectacled bear, will sometimes descend head down and enjoy a good laugh over it. at least he seems to laugh. after the grizzly has attained bulk and weight with age, he cannot climb trees, as his claws are not strong enough to sustain his weight. a short time after "monarch," the large grizzly, arrived in san francisco, my model, a very considerate young person, who loved all animals, came to the studio one day with the story that she had made friends with the great beast. it was about the time when "monarch" was being starved. he had been removed from the pit to the cage. with very little forethought the cage was built without a cover, and "monarch" was found one night making an attempt to escape. he was prodded back with red-hot irons. it was not possible to work about the cage, and "monarch" must be confined in smaller quarters. a very small cage was dropped into the enclosure; this had a slide door and was to serve as a trap. i believe the grizzly is the quickest of all animals. six times a live chicken was fastened in the small cage, and six times "monarch's" long arm had literally "swiped" that fowl. so quick was he that the slide fell only as he was already safely crunching its bones. at the seventh attempt he was a little slow and was caught. after that the iron workers placed the roof in position. the trapping of the monster took six days, and "monarch" received only the food he managed to get from the trap, and that which my tender-hearted model was feeding him (apples and candy) surreptitiously. as this was against the orders of the keeper, the young woman could feed the bear only at irregular intervals. she continued her kindnesses to him after he had been again given the freedom of the larger cage. then she went away from the city. she was gone for two years. she married and assumed the rotund proportions of a staid matron, and when next i saw her i joked her about this, saying that she was nearly as fat as her old friend "monarch." at this she was indignant. "indeed," she said, "animals are less forgetful than man, and 'monarch' undoubtedly will remember me, even if i am not the slim artist's model i once was." i told her "monarch" was far too much like a man, and that he was now satisfied to look upon the world as well lost, and that short of his dinner there was little that could move him from a comfortable position upon his back, his toes in the air, apparently content, and like a philosopher, wondering why the human displays so much curiosity. "i'll bet he won't stir," i said. the upshot of this conversation was that we found ourselves just outside the railing gazing at his lazy majesty. he rolled his head slowly from side to side, eyeing each newcomer with his bead-like eyes. suddenly the lady in the case said, "oh, you dear old darling!" "monarch" seemed electrified; he rose as quickly as possible--certainly he had grown fat--and then he rushed to the side of the cage. he was not satisfied with looking at her from his ordinary standpoint, but rose upon his feet, extending himself his entire height, that he might better look upon the friend of times of trouble. she held up an apple. "monarch" dropped to his feet, placed his snout as far out as the bars allowed, and opened his immense jaws. she threw the apple, and the bear sat himself down contentedly to chew it. i firmly believe that young woman could have walked into the cage with an apron full of apples and escaped without injury. "monarch" remembered his friend. iii. the polar bear. _thalassarctos maritimus._ much uncertainty prevails respecting the generic classification of the bears. wallace has divided them into five genera or subgenera, and fifteen species. wood gives eighteen, and gray says twelve. the appearance of the bear at different seasons has led to much error in classification. the practical mountaineer will tell you of some three or four species in california that have been given notice of as the young of another species, or that have never been mentioned by the learned gentlemen who usually study bear life in the seclusion of a library or with the help of a strong field telescope. a glance at the teeth of the bear will tell you that they incline rather to the vegetable diet. their ferocity is almost always exaggerated. their courage is desperate in self-defense, but it is seldom that they become the aggressor. the brain of the bear is very highly developed, and they soon learn all kinds of accomplishments. the lion is an uncouth boor in comparison. the polar bear, _thalassarctos maritimus_, is the only representative of the genus. he is an almost wholly carnivorous animal, his food consisting of fishes and seals, which he skillfully captures. he can swim better than any other bear, and has been known to swim a strait forty miles wide. the fur is silver white tinged with yellow. this color is variable in specimens, and according to the seasons. the head is much smaller than that of the grizzly or black bear, and is ferret-like, with a decided downward curve to the nose. the nose does not possess the flexibility of that of the rest of the bear family, although the polar bear has the higher development of the sense of smell. johnson says that the flesh is good to eat, but other writers do not agree with him. kane was poisoned by eating of the liver. in speaking of a capture de vere wrote as follows: "we dressed her liver and ate it, which in taste liked us well, but it made us all sick * * * for all their skins came off, from the foot to the head, but they recovered again, for which we gave god hearty thanks." hall says that the eskimos of cumberland sound likewise believe the liver to be poisonous, even for the dogs. ross says all who partook of the meat suffered from severe headaches, and later the skin peeled from the body. greely says his party largely lived upon the meat, and that it was coarse, tough, the fat having a decidedly rank flavor. i believe that the physiognomist may follow the characteristics of an animal by his facial expression, and that with the aid of a knowledge of the cranial development he can gauge the mental caliber of the beast. following this system and adding to it the testimony of credible explorers, it is quickly shown that the polar bear is treacherous and intractable. while he is not the wise animal the grizzly is, he is more cunning and is certainly not a coward. there are times when he is not content with being let alone, but will take the aggressive. greely writes: "doctor copeland was surprised only fifty yards from the ship by a bear which broke from a barrier of ice hummocks, galloped up to within five paces, reared up and struck him down with both forepaws. copeland had no time to load his gun, but as the animal caught his clothes, he swung the butt across his snout. this and the noise of approaching comrades put the bear to flight, and he started off with the swinging gallop peculiar with him." the mother bear and cubs display a great fondness for one another. koldeway says: "no sooner did the young ones perceive the hunter than they galloped toward their mother, who in two strides turned and stood by them, with such rage expressed in all her actions that we knew we must be careful. finding, however, that they were unhurt, she seemed to think only of bringing them to a place of safety." some authorities have it that only the she bear hibernates and that the male continues in the active exercise of all his faculties. ross weighed a polar bear which tipped the scales at 1,131 pounds; lyon saw one which weighed 1,600 pounds; dr. neale tells of one measuring eleven feet exclusive of the tail. senator wm. p. frye has the skin of one, presented to him by an explorer, which measures nine feet seven inches exclusive of the tail of two inches. its girth around the body just back of the forelegs is ten feet. iv. the cinnamon bear. _ursus cinnamoneous._ the cinnamon bear has been called a variety of black bear. i am inclined to believe it a separate genus. the head has many points of difference. it is wider. the eyes are set deeper, and closer together. there is a better breadth of brain. the feet are smaller. the fur is rather longer than that of the black bear and much softer. the color is dark chestnut, and as the bear ages there is an occasional gray hair. the cinnamon is more dignified than the black bear, and he also remembers an injury longer. a baby cinnamon was captured by a friend of mine and brought to the city. a chain was placed about its neck, and this was attached to a peg that was hammered in the ground. as soon as i heard of the coming of his bearship i hurried over and made his acquaintance. he ate a quart of milk soaked into as much bread as it would hold, and enjoyed it greatly. he chewed on my finger every time i dipped it into sugared water without biting. i left him fast asleep. when i returned in the afternoon he was walking from side to side, shaking his head, and howling most dolefully. the cry was much like that of a child, only louder and more disagreeable. he was hungry. i went to him and i said, "stop it." at this he howled so it made my head ache. i picked him up, and with the aid of a shingle, i gave him a spanking, just as you would a bad boy. this stopped his howling, and then his master came and fed him. after this spanking it was very evident that he did not care for my acquaintance. he persistently refused to recognize me. as i approached him his ears would go back, and his fur would rise. he had decided to cut my acquaintance. some days after, i was watching a tennis game in the next yard, standing with my back to baby bruin. he couldn't overlook the opportunity to get even, and, watching his chance, he fastened his teeth in the calf of my leg. v. the black bear of california. _ursus californiensis._ this bear we will label for convenience _ursus californiensis_, because the title of _ursus americanus_ has dignified the small black bear of the eastern states. there are, however, three species of the black bear in california that are known, and there may be more. the large black bear of california reaches very large proportions. i have seen some that might weigh from 800 to 1,000 pounds. it is hunted for its fur, which is uniform in color, and for its flesh, which is quite good, either smoked or fresh. this animal will never seek an encounter with man. i remember my original introduction to a bear of this species. it was in the state of washington. owing to ill health i had been staying at what is known there as a ranch. a ranch in the western washington forests generally consists of a shake hut or log house, and a promise by the "rancher" that he will soon clear enough ground to raise _something_. generally this vague something is a mortgage. this particular rancher had a cow, and this cow often strayed away into the timber and had to be looked after when milking time came. one day, in the exuberance of new found health, i was taking the greatest of pleasure in chasing that cow toward the "shed" road to the ranch. i was feeling especially good, and i was jumping over fallen trees, making short cuts and throwing broken branches and an occasional stone at the old jersey. suddenly i stopped before an extra high log, and gathering myself together, i jumped high over it. i landed upon the upturned belly of an old she bear. there was a sound like the escape of gas from a rubber bag. i passed the cow like a streak of lightning. when i had run a considerable distance i turned my head and saw the bear running in the opposite direction. i did not stop, however, and i got to the ranch nearly an hour before the old cow. in the shingle mills of the north the norwegian hands have the same veneration for the bear as the indian. they always speak of him not as a bear, but as "the old man with the fur coat on." vi. quaint indian lore in regard to the mystical power of the bear as a great medicine. this is a legend of the ojibwa indians as told by sikassige, the officiating priest of the ojibwas at white earth, minnesota: in the beginning were created two men and two women. they had no power of thought or reason. then the almighty took them into his hands that they might multiply, and he made them reasonable beings. he paired them, and from this sprung the indians. then when there were people the great spirit placed them upon the earth; but he soon observed that they were subject to sickness, misery and death. then the manitou called upon the sun spirit (the bear) and asked him to instruct the people in the sacred medicine. the sun spirit, in the form of a little boy, went to the earth and was adopted by a woman who had a little boy of her own. this family went away in the autumn to hunt, and during the winter the woman's son died. the parents were much distressed and decided to return to the village and bury the body there. so they made preparation to return, and as they traveled along they would each evening erect poles upon which the body was placed, to prevent the wild beasts from devouring it. when the dead boy was thus hanging upon the poles, the adopted child, the bear spirit, or sun child, would play about the camp and amuse himself, and finally told his adopted father he pitied him and his mother for their sorrow. the adopted son said he could bring his dead brother to life, whereupon the parents expressed great surprise and desired to know how that could be accomplished. the adopted boy then had the party hasten to the village, when he said: "get the woman to the wigwam of bark, put the dead body in a covering of birch bark, and place the body on the ground in the middle of the wigwam." on the next morning, when this had been done, the family and friends went into the lodge and seated themselves around the corpse. then they saw, through the doorway, the approach of a bear, which gradually came toward the wigwam, entered it, and placed itself before the dead body, and said "hu, hu, hu," when he passed around toward the left side, with a trembling motion, and as he did so, the body began quivering, which increased as the bear continued, until he had passed around four times, when the body came to life and stood up. then the bear called to the father, who was sitting in the distant right hand corner of the wigwam, and said: "my father is not an indian. you are a spirit son. insomuch my fellow spirit now as you are. my father now tobacco you shall put. he speaks of only once to be able to do it. why he shall live here now that he scarcely lives; my fellow spirit i shall now go home." the little bear boy was the one who did this. he then remained among the indians and taught them the mysteries of the grand medicine, which would assist them to live. he also said his spirit could bring a body to life but once, and he would now return to the sun, from which they would feel his influence. this is called "kwi-wi-senswed-di-tshi-ge-wi-nip"--"little boy, his work." vii. curious facts about the bear. with the different seasons the bear presents a varied appearance. there are times when you would scarce recognize the same animal. in the autumn of the year the bear takes on fat in preparation for hibernating. at this time the fur is glossy and long, and in the grizzly almost a seal brown. a curious phenomenon now takes place in the animal's digestive organs, which gives it the capability of remaining the entire winter in a state of lethargy, without food and yet without losing condition. as the stomach is no longer furnished with food, it soon becomes quite empty, and, together with the intestines, is contracted into a very small space. no food can now pass through the system, for an obstruction, a mechanical one--technically called the "tappen"--blocks the entrance to the passage and remains in this position until spring. the "tappen" is composed almost entirely of pine leaves and the various substances which the bear scratches out of the ants' nests or the hives of bees. during the season of hibernation, the bear gains a new skin on its feet. it will remain in its den until about the middle of april or the beginning of may, and will emerge almost as fat as when it entered, unless it has lost the "tappen" too soon. it will now be seen that the fur has undergone a change. with the grizzly it has the real grizzly hue; with the brown or black bear it has a dead look. this is the hungry season for the bear, and until fall, when the berries are ripe and the salmon run in the streams, his bearship has a hard time of it. by the end of july and until the middle of august the fur undergoes a further change. the old coat is hanging upon him in shreds, he is much emaciated, and there is a hungry look in his eye. his ears appear abnormally large, and his paws seem enormous. when the berries are ripe and there are fish in the streams, the preparation for winter begins, the fur is sleek and greasy-looking again. mr. bear is fat and contented and ready to go into his long sleep. when he awakes one of the first things he does is to suck his feet. this is done because the skin is new and tender. in the picture illustrating the fight between the bear and the boy upon the log, the bear is shown as he appears during the emaciated season, a caricature of himself when well fed. the bear in captivity receives his food at regular intervals and in large quantities, and he loses many of the marked characteristics of the bear in his wild or untamed state. there is just as much difference between a society leader and a man who lives close to nature. transcriber's notes: archaic and inconsistent spelling and punctuation retained. nomads of the north a story of romance and adventure under the open stars by james oliver curwood chapter one it was late in the month of march, at the dying-out of the eagle moon, that neewa the black bear cub got his first real look at the world. noozak, his mother, was an old bear, and like an old person she was filled with rheumatics and the desire to sleep late. so instead of taking a short and ordinary nap of three months this particular winter of little neewa's birth she slept four, which, made neewa, who was born while his mother was sound asleep, a little over two months old instead of six weeks when they came out of den. in choosing this den noozak had gone to a cavern at the crest of a high, barren ridge, and from this point neewa first looked down into the valley. for a time, coming out of darkness into sunlight, he was blinded. he could hear and smell and feel many things before he could see. and noozak, as though puzzled at finding warmth and sunshine in place of cold and darkness, stood for many minutes sniffing the wind and looking down upon her domain. for two weeks an early spring had been working its miracle of change in that wonderful country of the northland between jackson's knee and the shamattawa river, and from north to south between god's lake and the churchill. it was a splendid world. from the tall pinnacle of rock on which they stood it looked like a great sea of sunlight, with only here and there patches of white snow where the winter winds had piled it deep. their ridge rose up out of a great valley. on all sides of them, as far as a man's eye could have reached, there were blue and black patches of forest, the shimmer of lakes still partly frozen, the sunlit sparkle of rivulet and stream, and the greening open spaces out of which rose the perfumes of the earth. these smells drifted up like tonic and food to the nostrils of noozak the big bear. down there the earth was already swelling with life. the buds on the poplars were growing fat and near the bursting point; the grasses were sending out shoots tender and sweet; the camas were filling with juice; the shooting stars, the dog-tooth violets, and the spring beauties were thrusting themselves up into the warm glow of the sun, inviting noozak and neewa to the feast. all these things noozak smelled with the experience and the knowledge of twenty years of life behind her--the delicious aroma of the spruce and the jackpine; the dank, sweet scent of water-lily roots and swelling bulbs that came from a thawed-out fen at the foot of the ridge; and over all these things, overwhelming their individual sweetnesses in a still greater thrill of life, the smell of the heart itself! and neewa smelled them. his amazed little body trembled and thrilled for the first time with the excitement of life. a moment before in darkness, he found himself now in a wonderland of which he had never so much as had a dream. in these few minutes nature was at work upon him. he possessed no knowledge, but instinct was born within him. he knew this was his world, that the sun and the warmth were for him, and that the sweet things of the earth were inviting him into his heritage. he puckered up his little brown nose and sniffed the air, and the pungency of everything that was sweet and to be yearned for came to him. and he listened. his pointed ears were pricked forward, and up to him came the drone of a wakening earth. even the roots of the grasses must have been singing in their joy, for all through that sunlit valley there was the low and murmuring music of a country that was at peace because it was empty of men. everywhere was the rippling sound of running water, and he heard strange sounds that he knew was life; the twittering of a rock-sparrow, the silver-toned aria of a black-throated thrush down in the fen, the shrill paean of a gorgeously coloured canada jay exploring for a nesting place in a brake of velvety balsam. and then, far over his head, a screaming cry that made him shiver. it was instinct again that told him in that cry was danger. noozak looked up, and saw the shadow of upisk, the great eagle, as it flung itself between the sun and the earth. neewa saw the shadow, and cringed nearer to his mother. and noozak--so old that she had lost half her teeth, so old that her bones ached on damp and chilly nights, and her eyesight was growing dim--was still not so old that she did not look down with growing exultation upon what she saw. her mind was travelling beyond the mere valley in which they had wakened. off there beyond the walls of forest, beyond the farthest lake, beyond the river and the plain, were the illimitable spaces which gave her home. to her came dully a sound uncaught by neewa--the almost unintelligible rumble of the great waterfall. it was this, and the murmur of a thousand trickles of running water, and the soft wind breathing down in the balsam and spruce that put the music of spring into the air. at last noozak heaved a great breath out of her lungs and with a grunt to neewa began to lead the way slowly down among the rocks to the foot of the ridge. in the golden pool of the valley it was even warmer than on the crest of the ridge. noozak went straight to the edge of the slough. half a dozen rice birds rose with a whir of wings that made neewa almost upset himself. noozak paid no attention to them. a loon let out a squawky protest at noozak's soft-footed appearance, and followed it up with a raucous screech that raised the hair on neewa's spine. and noozak paid no attention to this. neewa observed these things. his eye was on her, and instinct had already winged his legs with the readiness to run if his mother should give the signal. in his funny little head it was developing very quickly that his mother was a most wonderful creature. she was by all odds the biggest thing alive--that is, the biggest that stood on legs, and moved. he was confident of this for a space of perhaps two minutes, when they came to the end of the fen. and here was a sudden snort, a crashing of bracken, the floundering of a huge body through knee-deep mud, and a monstrous bull moose, four times as big as noozak, set off in lively flight. neewa's eyes all but popped from his head. and still noozak paid no attention! it was then that neewa crinkled up his tiny nose and snarled, just as he had snarled at noozak's ears and hair and at sticks he had worried in the black cavern. a glorious understanding dawned upon him. he could snarl at anything he wanted to snarl at, no matter how big. for everything ran away from noozak his mother. all through this first glorious day neewa was discovering things, and with each hour it was more and more impressed upon him that his mother was the unchallenged mistress of all this new and sunlit domain. noozak was a thoughtful old mother of a bear who had reared fifteen or eighteen families in her time, and she travelled very little this first day in order that neewa's tender feet might toughen up a bit. they scarcely left the fen, except to go into a nearby clump of trees where noozak used her claws to shred a spruce that they might get at the juice and slimy substance just under the bark. neewa liked this dessert after their feast of roots and bulbs, and tried to claw open a tree on his own account. by mid-afternoon noozak had eaten until her sides bulged out, and neewa himself--between his mother's milk and the many odds and ends of other things--looked like an over-filled pod. selecting a spot where the declining sun made a warm oven of a great white rock, lazy old noozak lay down for a nap, while neewa, wandering about in quest of an adventure of his own, came face to face with a ferocious bug. the creature was a giant wood-beetle two inches long. its two battling pincers were jet black, and curved like hooks of iron. it was a rich brown in colour and in the sunlight its metallic armour shone in a dazzling splendour. neewa, squatted flat on his belly, eyed it with a swiftly beating heart. the beetle was not more than a foot away, and advancing! that was the curious and rather shocking part of it. it was the first living thing he had met with that day that had not run away. as it advanced slowly on its two rows of legs the beetle made a clicking sound that neewa heard quite distinctly. with the fighting blood of his father, soominitik, nerving him on to the adventure he thrust out a hesitating paw, and instantly chegawasse, the beetle, took upon himself a most ferocious aspect. his wings began humming like a buzz-saw, his pincers opened until they could have taken in a man's finger, and he vibrated on his legs until it looked as though he might be performing some sort of a dance. neewa jerked his paw back and after a moment or two chegawasse calmed himself and again began to advance! neewa did not know, of course, that the beetle's field of vision ended about four inches from the end of his nose; the situation, consequently, was appalling. but it was never born in a son of a father like soominitik to run from a bug, even at nine weeks of age. desperately he thrust out his paw again, and unfortunately for him one of his tiny claws got a half nelson on the beetle and held chegawasse on his shining back so that he could neither buzz not click. a great exultation swept through neewa. inch by inch he drew his paw in until the beetle was within reach of his sharp little teeth. then he smelled of him. that was chegawasse's opportunity. the pincers closed and noozak's slumbers were disturbed by a sudden bawl of agony. when she raised her head neewa was rolling about as if in a fit. he was scratching and snarling and spitting. noozak eyed him speculatively for some moments, then reared herself slowly and went to him. with one big paw she rolled him over--and saw chegawasse firmly and determinedly attached to her offspring's nose. flattening neewa on his back so that he could not move she seized the beetle between her teeth, bit slowly until chegawasse lost his hold, and then swallowed him. from then until dusk neewa nursed his sore nose. a little before dark noozak curled herself up against the big rock, and neewa took his supper. then he made himself a nest in the crook of her big, warm forearm. in spite of his smarting nose he was a happy bear, and at the end of his first day he felt very brave and very fearless, though he was but nine weeks old. he had come into the world, he had looked upon many things, and if he had not conquered he at least had gone gloriously through the day. chapter two that night neewa had a hard attack of mistu-puyew, or stomach-ache. imagine a nursing baby going direct from its mother's breast to a beefsteak! that was what neewa had done. ordinarily he would not have begun nibbling at solid foods for at least another month, but nature seemed deliberately at work in a process of intensive education preparing him for the mighty and unequal struggle which he would have to put up a little later. for hours neewa moaned and wailed, and noozak muzzled his bulging little belly with her nose, until finally he vomited and was better. after that he slept. when he awoke he was startled by opening his eyes full into the glare of a great blaze of fire. yesterday he had seen the sun, golden and shimmering and far away. but this was the first time he had seen it come up over the edge of the world on a spring morning in the northland. it was as red as blood, and as he stared it rose steadily and swiftly until the flat side of it rounded out and it was a huge ball of something. at first he thought it was life--some monstrous creature sailing up over the forest toward them--and he turned with a whine of enquiry to his mother. whatever it was, noozak was unafraid. her big head was turned toward it, and she was blinking her eyes in solemn comfort. it was then that neewa began to feel the pleasing warmth of the red thing, and in spite of his nervousness he began to purr in the glow of it. from red the sun turned swiftly to gold, and the whole valley was transformed once more into a warm and pulsating glory of life. for two weeks after this first sunrise in neewa's life noozak remained near the ridge and the slough. then came the day, when neewa was eleven weeks old, that she turned her nose toward the distant black forests and began the summer's peregrination. neewa's feet had lost their tenderness, and he weighed a good six pounds. this was pretty good considering that he had only weighed twelve ounces at birth. from the day when noozak set off on her wandering trek neewa's real adventures began. in the dark and mysterious caverns of the forests there were places where the snow still lay unsoftened by the sun, and for two days neewa yearned and whined for the sunlit valley. they passed the waterfall, where neewa looked for the first tune on a rushing torrent of water. deeper and darker and gloomier grew the forest noozak was penetrating. in this forest neewa received his first lessons in hunting. noozak was now well in the "bottoms" between the jackson's knee and shamattawa waterway divides, a great hunting ground for bears in the early spring. when awake she was tireless in her quest for food, and was constantly digging in the earth, or turning over stones and tearing rotting logs and stumps into pieces. the little gray wood-mice were her piece de resistance, small as they were, and it amazed neewa to see how quick his clumsy old mother could be when one of these little creatures was revealed. there were times when noozak captured a whole family before they could escape. and to these were added frogs and toads, still partly somnambulent; many ants, curled up as if dead, in the heart of rotting logs; and occasional bumble-bees, wasps, and hornets. now and then neewa took a nibble at these things. on the third day noozak uncovered a solid mass of hibernating vinegar ants as large as a man's two fists, and frozen solid. neewa ate a quantity of these, and the sweet, vinegary flavour of them was delicious to his palate. as the days progressed, and living things began to crawl out from under logs and rocks, neewa discovered the thrill and excitement of hunting on his own account. he encountered a second beetle, and killed it. he killed his first wood-mouse. swiftly there were developing in him the instincts of soominitik, his scrap-loving old father, who lived three or four valleys to the north of their own, and who never missed an opportunity to get into a fight. at four months of age, which was late in may, neewa was eating many things that would have killed most cubs of his age, and there wasn't a yellow streak in him from the tip of his saucy little nose to the end of his stubby tail. he weighed nine pounds at this date and was as black as a tar-baby. it was early in june that the exciting event occurred which brought about the beginning of the big change in neewa's life, and it was on a day so warm and mellow with sunshine that noozak started in right after dinner to take her afternoon nap. they were out of the lower timber country now, and were in a valley through which a shallow stream wriggled and twisted around white sand-bars and between pebbly shores. neewa was sleepless. he had less desire than ever to waste a glorious afternoon in napping. with his little round eyes he looked out on a wonderful world, and found it calling to him. he looked at his mother, and whined. experience told him that she was dead to the world for hours to come, unless he tickled her foot or nipped her ear, and then she would only rouse herself enough to growl at him. he was tired of that. he yearned for something more exciting, and with his mind suddenly made up he set off in quest of adventure. in that big world of green and golden colours he was a little black ball nearly as wide as he was long. he went down to the creek, and looked back. he could still see his mother. then his feet paddled in the soft white sand of a long bar that edged the shore, and he forgot noozak. he went to the end of the bar, and turned up on the green shore where the young grass was like velvet under his paws. here he began turning over small stones for ants. he chased a chipmunk that ran a close and furious race with him for twenty seconds. a little later a huge snow-shoe rabbit got up almost under his nose, and he chased that until in a dozen long leaps wapoos disappeared in a thicket. neewa wrinkled up his nose and emitted a squeaky snarl. never had soominitik's blood run so riotously within him. he wanted to get hold of something. for the first time in his life he was yearning for a scrap. he was like a small boy who the day after christmas has a pair of boxing gloves and no opponent. he sat down and looked about him querulously, still wrinkling his nose and snarling defiantly. he had the whole world beaten. he knew that. everything was afraid of his mother. everything was afraid of him. it was disgusting--this lack of something alive for an ambitious young fellow to fight. after all, the world was rather tame. he set off at a new angle, came around the edge of a huge rock, and suddenly stopped. from behind the other end of the rock protruded a huge hind paw. for a few moments neewa sat still, eyeing it with a growing anticipation. this time he would give his mother a nip that would waken her for good! he would rouse her to the beauty and the opportunities of this day if there was any rouse in him! so he advanced slowly and cautiously, picked out a nice bare spot on the paw, and sank his little teeth in it to the gums. there followed a roar that shook the earth. now it happened that the paw did not belong to noozak, but was the personal property of makoos, an old he-bear of unlovely disposition and malevolent temper. but in him age had produced a grouchiness that was not at all like the grandmotherly peculiarities of old noozak. makoos was on his feet fairly before neewa realized that he had made a mistake. he was not only an old bear and a grouchy bear, but he was also a hater of cubs. more than once in his day he had committed the crime of cannibalism. he was what the indian hunter calls uchan--a bad bear, an eater of his own kind, and the instant his enraged eyes caught sight of neewa he let out another roar. at that neewa gathered his fat little legs under his belly and was off like a shot. never before in his life had he run as he ran now. instinct told him that at last he had met something which was not afraid of him, and that he was in deadly peril. he made no choice of direction, for now that he had made this mistake he had no idea where he would find his mother. he could hear makoos coming after him, and as he ran he set up a bawling that was filled with a wild and agonizing prayer for help. that cry reached the faithful old noozak. in an instant she was on her feet--and just in time. like a round black ball shot out of a gun neewa sped past the rock where she had been sleeping, and ten jumps behind him came makoos. out of the corner of his eye he saw his mother, but his momentum carried him past her. in that moment noozak leapt into action. as a football player makes a tackle she rushed out just in time to catch old makoos with all her weight full broadside in the ribs, and the two old bears rolled over and over in what to neewa was an exciting and glorious mix-up. he had stopped, and his eyes bulged out like shining little onions as he took in the scene of battle. he had longed for a fight but what he saw now fairly paralyzed him. the two bears were at it, roaring and tearing each other's hides and throwing up showers of gravel and earth in their deadly clinch. in this first round noozak had the best of it. she had butted the wind out of makoos in her first dynamic assault, and now with her dulled and broken teeth at his throat she was lashing him with her sharp hind claws until the blood streamed from the old barbarian's sides and he bellowed like a choking bull. neewa knew that it was his pursuer who was getting the worst of it, and with a squeaky cry for his mother to lambast the very devil out of makoos he ran back to the edge of the arena, his nose crinkled and his teeth gleaming in a ferocious snarl. he danced about excitedly a dozen feet from the fighters, soominitik's blood filling him with a yearning for the fray and yet he was afraid. then something happened that suddenly and totally upset the maddening joy of his mother's triumph. makoos, being a he-bear, was of necessity skilled in fighting, and all at once he freed himself from noozak's jaws, wallowed her under him, and in turn began ripping the hide off old noozak's carcass in such quantities that she let out an agonized bawling that turned neewa's little heart into stone. it is a matter of most exciting conjecture what a small boy will do when he sees his father getting licked. if there is an axe handy he is liable to use it. the most cataclysmic catastrophe that cam come into his is to have a father whom some other boy's father has given a walloping. next to being president of the united states the average small boy treasures the desire to possess a parent who can whip any other two-legged creature that wears trousers. and there were a lot of human things about neewa. the louder his mother bawled the more distinctly he felt the shock of his world falling about him. if noozak had lost a part of her strength in her old age her voice, at least, was still unimpaired, and such a spasm of outcry as she emitted could have been heard at least half a mile away. neewa could stand no more. blind with rage, he darted in. it was chance that closed his vicious little jaws on a toe that belonged to makoos, and his teeth sank into the flesh like two rows of ivory needles. makoos gave a tug, but neewa held on, and bit deeper. then makoos drew up his leg and sent it out like a catapault, and in spite of his determination to hang on neewa found himself sailing wildly through the air. he landed against a rock twenty feet from the fighters with a force that knocked the wind out of him, and for a matter of eight or ten seconds after that he wobbled dizzily in his efforts to stand up. then his vision and his senses returned and he gazed on a scene that brought all the blood pounding back into his body again. makoos was no longer fighting, but was running away--and there was a decided limp in his gait! poor old noozak was standing on her feet, facing the retreating enemy. she was panting like a winded calf. her jaws were agape. her tongue lolled out, and blood was dripping in little trickles from her body to the ground. she had been thoroughly and efficiently mauled. she was beyond the shadow of a doubt a whipped bear. yet in that glorious flight of the enemy neewa saw nothing of noozak's defeat. their enemy was running away! therefore, he was whipped. and with excited little squeaks of joy neewa ran to his mother. chapter three as they stood in the warm sunshine of this first day of june, watching the last of makoos as he fled across the creek bottom, neewa felt very much like an old and seasoned warrior instead of a pot-bellied, round-faced cub of four months who weighed nine pounds and not four hundred. it was many minutes after neewa had sunk his ferocious little teeth deep into the tenderest part of the old he-bear's toe before noozak could get her wind sufficiently to grunt. her sides were pumping like a pair of bellows, and after makoos had disappeared beyond the creek neewa sat down on his chubby bottom, perked his funny ears forward, and eyed his mother with round and glistening eyes that were filled with uneasy speculation. with a wheezing groan noozak turned and made her way slowly toward the big rock alongside which she had been sleeping when neewa's fearful cries for help had awakened her. every bone in her aged body seemed broken or dislocated. she limped and sagged and moaned as she walked, and behind her were left little red trails of blood in the green grass. makoos had given her a fine pummeling. she lay down, gave a final groan, and looked at neewa, as if to say: "if you hadn't gone off on some deviltry and upset that old viper's temper this wouldn't have happened. and now--look at me!" a young bear would have rallied quickly from the effects of the battle, but noozak lay without moving all the rest of that afternoon, and the night that followed. and that night was by all odds the finest that neewa had ever seen. now that the nights were warm, he had come to love the moon even more than the sun, for by birth and instinct he was more a prowler in darkness than a hunter of the day. the moon rose out of the east in a glory of golden fire. the spruce and balsam forests stood out like islands in a yellow sea of light, and the creek shimmered and quivered like a living thing as it wound its way through the glowing valley. but neewa had learned his lesson, and though the moon and the stars called to him he hung close to his mother, listening to the carnival of night sound that came to him, but never moving away from her side. with the morning noozak rose to her feet, and with a grunting command for neewa to follow she slowly climbed the sun-capped ridge. she was in no mood for travel, but away back in her head was an unexpressed fear that villainous old makoos might return, and she knew that another fight would do her up entirely, in which event makoos would make a breakfast of neewa. so she urged herself down the other side of the ridge, across a new valley, and through a cut that opened like a wide door into a rolling plain that was made up of meadows and lakes and great sweeps of spruce and cedar forest. for a week noozak had been making for a certain creek in this plain, and now that the presence of makoos threatened behind she kept at her journeying until neewa's short, fat legs could scarcely hold up his body. it was mid-afternoon when they reached the creek, and neewa was so exhausted that he had difficulty in climbing the spruce up which his mother sent him to take a nap. finding a comfortable crotch he quickly fell asleep--while noozak went fishing. the creek was alive with suckers, trapped in the shallow pools after spawning, and within an hour she had the shore strewn with them. when neewa came down out of his cradle, just at the edge of dusk, it was to a feast at which noozak had already stuffed herself until she looked like a barrel. this was his first meal of fish, and for a week thereafter he lived in a paradise of fish. he ate them morning, noon, and night, and when he was too full to eat he rolled in them. and noozak stuffed herself until it seemed her hide would burst. wherever they moved they carried with them a fishy smell that grew older day by day, and the older it became the more delicious it was to neewa and his mother. and neewa grew like a swelling pod. in that week he gained three pounds. he had given up nursing entirely now, for noozak--being an old bear--had dried up to a point where she was hopelessly disappointing. it was early in the evening of the eighth day that neewa and his mother lay down in the edge of a grassy knoll to sleep after their day's feasting. noozak was by all odds the happiest old bear in all that part of the northland. food was no longer a problem for her. in the creek, penned up in the pools, were unlimited quantities of it, and she had encountered no other bear to challenge her possession of it. she looked ahead to uninterrupted bliss in their happy hunting grounds until midsummer storms emptied the pools, or the berries ripened. and neewa, a happy little gourmand, dreamed with her. it was this day, just as the sun was setting, that a man on his hands and knees was examining a damp patch of sand five or six miles down the creek. his sleeves were rolled up, baring his brown arms halfway to the shoulders and he wore no hat, so that the evening breeze ruffled a ragged head of blond hair that for a matter of eight or nine months had been cut with a hunting knife. close on one side of this individual was a tin pail, and on the other, eying him with the keenest interest, one of the homeliest and yet one of the most companionable-looking dog pups ever born of a mackenzie hound father and a mother half airedale and half spitz. with this tragedy of blood in his veins nothing in the world could have made the pup anything more than "just dog." his tail,--stretched out straight on the sand, was long and lean, with a knot at every joint; his paws, like an overgrown boy's feet, looked like small boxing-gloves; his head was three sizes too big for his body, and accident had assisted nature in the perfection of her masterpiece by robbing him of a half of one of his ears. as he watched his master this half of an ear stood up like a galvanized stub, while the other--twice as long--was perked forward in the deepest and most interested enquiry. head, feet, and tail were mackenzie hound, but the ears and his lank, skinny body was a battle royal between spitz and airedale. at his present inharmonious stage of development he was the doggiest dog-pup outside the alleys of a big city. for the first time in several minutes his master spoke, and miki wiggled from stem to stern in appreciation of the fact that it was directly to him the words were uttered. "it's a mother and a cub, as sure as you're a week old, miki," he said. "and if i know anything about bears they were here some time to-day!" he rose to his feet, made note of the deepening shadows in the edge of the timber, and filled his pail with water. for a few moments the last rays of the sun lit up his face. it was a strong, hopeful face. in it was the joy of life. and now it was lighted up with a sudden inspiration, and a glow that was not of the forest alone came into his eyes, as he added: "miki, i'm lugging your homely carcass down to the girl because you're an unpolished gem of good nature and beauty--and for those two things i know she'll love you. she is my sister, you know. now, if i could only take that cub along with you----" he began to whistle as he turned with his pail of water in the direction of a thin fringe of balsams a hundred yards away. close at his heels followed miki. challoner, who was a newly appointed factor of the great hudson's bay company, had pitched his camp at tie edge of the lake dose to the mouth of the creek. there was not much to it--a battered tent, a still more battered canoe, and a small pile of dunnage. but in the last glow of the sunset it would have spoken volumes to a man with an eye trained to the wear and the turmoil of the forests. it was the outfit of a man who had gone unfearing to the rough edge of the world. and now what was left of it was returning with him. to challoner there was something of human comradeship in these remnants of things that had gone through the greater part of a year's fight with him. the canoe was warped and battered and patched; smoke and storm had blackened his tent until it was the colour of rusty char, and his grub sacks were next to empty. over a small fire title contents of a pan and a pot were brewing when he returned with miki at his heels, and close to the heat was a battered and mended reflector in which a bannock of flour and water was beginning to brown. in one of the pots was coffee, in the other a boiling fish. miki sat down on his angular haunches so that the odour of the fish filled his nostrils. this, he had discovered, was the next thing to eating. his eyes, as they followed challoner's final preparatory movements, were as bright as garnets, and every third or fourth breath he licked his chops, and swallowed hungrily. that, in fact, was why miki had got his name. he was always hungry, and apparently always empty, no matter how much he ate. therefore his name, miki, "the drum." it was not until they had eaten the fish and the bannock, and challoner had lighted his pipe, that he spoke what was in his mind. "to-morrow i'm going after that bear," he said. miki, curled up near the dying embers, gave his tail a club-like thump in evidence of the fact that he was listening. "i'm going to pair you up with the cub, and tickle the girl to death." miki thumped his tail harder than before. "fine," he seemed to say. "just think of it," said challoner, looking over miki's head a thousand miles away, "fourteen months--and at last we're going home. i'm going to train you and the cub for that sister of mine. eh, won't you like that? you don't know what she's like, you homely little devil, or you wouldn't sit there staring at me like a totem-pole pup! and it isn't in your stupid head to imagine how pretty she is. you saw that sunset to-night? well, she's prettier than that if she is my sister. got anything to add to that, miki? if not, let's say our prayers and go to bed!" challoner rose and stretched himself. his muscles cracked. he felt life surging like a giant within him. and miki, thumping his tail until this moment, rose on his overgrown legs and followed his master into their shelter. it was in the gray light of the early summer dawn when challoner came forth again, and rekindled the fire. miki followed a few moments later, and his master fastened the end of a worn tent-rope around his neck and tied the rope to a sapling. another rope of similar length challoner tied to the corners of a grub sack so that it could be carried over his shoulder like a game bag. with the first rose-flush of the sun he was ready for the trail of neewa and his mother. miki set up a melancholy wailing when he found himself left behind, and when challoner looked back the pup was tugging and somersaulting at the end of his rope like a jumping-jack. for a quarter of a mile up the creek he could hear miki's entreating protest. to challoner the business of the day was not a matter of personal pleasure, nor was it inspired alone by his desire to possess a cub along with miki. he needed meat, and bear pork thus early in the season would be exceedingly good; and above all else he needed a supply of fat. if he bagged this bear, time would be saved all the rest of the way down to civilization. it was eight o'clock when he struck the first unmistakably fresh signs of noozak and neewa. it was at the point where noozak had fished four or five days previously, and where they had returned yesterday to feast on the "ripened" catch. challoner was elated. he was sure that he would find the pair along the creek, and not far distant. the wind was in his favour, and he began to advance with greater caution, his rifle ready for the anticipated moment. for an hour he travelled steadily and quietly, marking every sound and movement ahead of him, and wetting his finger now and then to see if the wind had shifted. after all, it was not so much a matter of human cunning. everything was in challoner's favour. in a wide, flat part of the valley where the creek split itself into a dozen little channels, and the water rippled between sandy bars and over pebbly shallows, neewa and his mother were nosing about lazily for a breakfast of crawfish. the world had never looked more beautiful to neewa. the sun made the soft hair on his back fluff up like that of a purring cat. he liked the plash of wet sand under his feet and the singing gush of water against his legs. he liked the sound that was all about him, the breath of the wind, the whispers that came out of the spruce-tops and the cedars, the murmur of water, the twit-twit of the rock rabbits, the call of birds; and more than all else the low, grunting talk of his mother. it was in this sun-bathed sweep of the valley that noozak caught the first whiff of danger. it came to her in a sudden twist of the wind--the smell of man! instantly she was turned into rock. there was still the deep scar in her shoulder which had come, years before, with that same smell of the one enemy she feared. for three summers she had not caught the taint in her nostrils and she had almost forgotten its existence. now, so suddenly that it paralyzed her, it was warm and terrible in the breath of the wind. in this moment, too, neewa seemed to sense the nearness of an appalling danger. two hundred yards from challoner he stood a motionless blotch of jet against the white of the sand about him, his eyes on his mother, and his sensitive little nose trying to catch the meaning of the menace in the air. then came a thing he had never heard before--a splitting, cracking roar--something that was almost like thunder and yet unlike it; and he saw his mother lurch where she stood and crumple down all at once on her fore legs. the next moment she was up, with a wild whoof in her voice that was new to him--a warning for him to fly for his life. like all mothers who have known the comradeship and love of a child, noozak's first thought was of him. reaching out a paw she gave him a sudden shove, and neewa legged it wildly for the near-by shelter of the timber. noozak followed. a second shot came, and close over her head there sped a purring, terrible sound. but noozak did not hurry. she kept behind neewa, urging him on even as that pain of a red-hot iron in her groin filled her with agony. they came to the edge of the timber as challoner's third shot bit under noozak's feet. a moment more and they were within the barricade of the timber. instinct guided neewa into the thickest part of it, and close behind him noozak fought with the last of her dying strength to urge him on. in her old brain there was growing a deep and appalling shadow, something that was beginning to cloud her vision so that she could not see, and she knew that at last she had come to the uttermost end of her trail. with twenty years of life behind her, she struggled now for a last few seconds. she stopped neewa close to a thick cedar, and as she had done many times before she commanded him to climb it. just once her hot tongue touched his face in a final caress. then she turned to fight her last great fight. straight into the face of challoner she dragged herself, and fifty feet from the spruce she stopped and waited for him, her head drooped between her shoulders, her sides heaving, her eyes dimming more and more, until at last she sank down with a great sigh, barring the trail of their enemy. for a space, it may be, she saw once more the golden moons and the blazing suns of those twenty years that were gone; it may be that the soft, sweet music of spring came to her again, filled with the old, old song of life, and that something gracious and painless descended upon her as a final reward for a glorious motherhood on earth. when challoner came up she was dead. from his hiding place in a crotch of the spruce neewa looked down on the first great tragedy of his life, and the advent of man. the two-legged beast made him cringe deeper into his refuge, and his little heart was near breaking with the terror that had seized upon him. he did not reason. it was by no miracle of mental process that he knew something terrible had happened, and that this tall, two-legged creature was the cause of it. his little eyes were blazing, just over the level of the crotch. he wondered why his mother did not get up and fight when this new enemy came. frightened as he was he was ready to snarl if she would only wake up--ready to hurry down the tree and help her as he had helped her in the defeat of makoos, the old he-bear. but not a muscle of noozak's huge body moved as challoner bent over her. she was stone dead. challoner's face was flushed with exultation. necessity had made of him a killer. he saw in noozak a splendid pelt, and a provision of meat that would carry him all the rest of the way to the southland. he leaned his rifle against a tree and began looking about for the cub. knowledge of the wild told him it would not be far from its mother, and he began looking into the trees and the near-by thickets. in the shelter of his crotch, screened by the thick branches, neewa made himself as small as possible during the search. at the end of half an hour challoner disappointedly gave up his quest, and went back to the creek for a drink before setting himself to the task of skinning noozak. no sooner was he gone than neewa's little head shot up alertly. for a few moments he watched, and then slipped backward down the trunk of the cedar to the ground. he gave his squealing call, but his mother did not move. he went to her and stood beside her motionless head, sniffing the man-tainted air. then he muzzled her jowl, butted his nose under her neck, and at last nipped her ear--always his last resort in the awakening process. he was puzzled. he whined softly, and climbed upon his mother's big, soft back, and sat there. into his whine there came a strange note, and then out of his throat there rose a whimpering cry that was like the cry of a child. challoner heard that cry as he came back, and something seemed to grip hold of his heart suddenly, and choke him. he had heard children crying like that; and it was the motherless cub! creeping up behind a dwarf spruce he looked where noozak lay dead, and saw neewa perched on his mother's back. he had killed many things in his time, for it was his business to kill, and to barter in the pelts of creatures that others killed. but he had seen nothing like this before, and he felt all at once as if he had done murder. "i'm sorry," he breathed softly, "you poor little devil; i'm sorry!" it was almost a prayer--for forgiveness. yet there was but one thing to do now. so quietly that neewa failed to hear him he crept around with the wind and stole up behind. he was within a dozen feet of neewa before the cub suspected danger. then it was too late. in a swift rush challoner was upon him and, before neewa could leave the back of his mother, had smothered him in the folds of the grub sack. in all his life challoner had never experienced a livelier five minutes than the five that followed. above neewa's grief and his fear there rose the savage fighting blood of old soominitik, his father. he clawed and bit and kicked and snarled. in those five minutes he was five little devils all rolled into one, and by the time challoner had the rope fastened about neewa's neck, and his fat body chucked into the sack, his hands were scratched and lacerated in a score of places. in the sack neewa continued to fight until he was exhausted, while challoner skinned noozak and cut from her the meat and fats which he wanted. the beauty of noozak's pelt brought a glow into his eyes. in it he rolled the meat and fats, and with babiche thong bound the whole into a pack around which he belted the dunnage ends of his shoulder straps. weighted under the burden of sixty pounds of pelt and meat he picked up his rifle--and neewa. it had been early afternoon when he left. it was almost sunset when he reached camp. every foot of the way, until the last half mile, neewa fought like a spartan. now he lay limp and almost lifeless in his sack, and when miki came up to smell suspiciously of his prison he made no movement of protest. all smells were alike to him now, and of sounds he made no distinction. challoner was nearly done for. every muscle and bone in his body had its ache. yet in his face, sweaty and grimed, was a grin of pride. "you plucky little devil," he said, contemplating the limp sack as he loaded his pipe for the first time that afternoon. "you--you plucky little devil!" he tied the end of neewa's rope halter to a sapling, and began cautiously to open the grub sack. then he rolled neewa out on the ground, and stepped back. in that hour neewa was willing to accept a truce so far as challoner was concerned. but it was not challoner that his half-blinded eyes saw first as he rolled from his bag. it was miki! and miki, his awkward body wriggling with the excitement of his curiosity, was almost on the point of smelling of him! neewa's little eyes glared. was that ill-jointed lop-eared offspring of the man-beast an enemy, too? were those twisting convolutions of this new creature's body and the club-like swing of his tail an invitation to fight? he judged so. anyway, here was something of his size, and like a flash he was at the end of his rope and on the pup. miki, a moment before bubbling over with friendship and good cheer, was on his back in an instant, his grotesque legs paddling the air and his yelping cries for help rising in a wild clamour that filled the golden stillness of the evening with an unutterable woe. challoner stood dumbfounded. in another moment he would have separated the little fighters, but something happened that stopped him. neewa, standing squarely over miki, with miki's four over-grown paws held aloft as if signalling an unqualified surrender, slowly drew his teeth from the pup's loose hide. again he saw the man-beast. instinct, keener than a clumsy reasoning, held him for a few moments without movement, his beady eyes on challoner. in midair miki wagged his paws; he whined softly; his hard tail thumped the ground as he pleaded for mercy, and he licked his chops and tried to wriggle, as if to tell neewa that he had no intention at all to do him harm. neewa, facing challoner, snarled defiantly. he drew himself slowly from over miki. and miki, afraid to move, still lay on his back with his paws in the air. very slowly, a look of wonder in his face, challoner drew back into the tent and peered through a rent in the canvas. the snarl left neewa's face. he looked at the pup. perhaps away back in some corner of his brain the heritage of instinct was telling him of what he had lost because of brothers and sisters unborn--the comradeship of babyhood, the play of children. and miki must have sensed the change in the furry little black creature who a moment ago was his enemy. his tail thumped almost frantically, and he swung out his front paws toward neewa. then, a little fearful of what might happen, he rolled on his side. still neewa did not move. joyously miki wriggled. a moment later, looking through the slit in the canvas, challoner saw them cautiously smelling noses. chapter four that night came a cold and drizzling rain from out of the north and the east. in the wet dawn challoner came out to start a fire, and in a hollow under a spruce root he found miki and neewa cuddled together, sound asleep. it was the cub who first saw the man-beast, and for a brief space before the pup roused himself neewa's shining eyes were fixed on the strange enemy who had so utterly changed his world for him. exhaustion had made him sleep through the long hours of that first night of captivity, and in sleep he had forgotten many things. but now it all came back to him as he cringed deeper into his shelter under the root, and so softly that only miki heard him he whimpered for his mother. it was the whimper that roused miki. slowly he untangled himself from the ball into which he had rolled, stretched his long and overgrown legs, and yawned so loudly that the sound reached challoner's ears. the man turned and saw two pairs of eyes fixed upon him from the sheltered hollow under the root. the pup's one good ear and the other that was half gone stood up alertly, as he greeted his master with the boundless good cheer of an irrepressible comradeship. challoner's face, wet with the drizzle of the gray skies and bronzed by the wind and storm of fourteen months in the northland, lighted up with a responsive grin, and miki wriggled forth weaving and twisting himself into grotesque contortions expressive of happiness at being thus directly smiled at by his master. with all the room under the root left to him neewa pulled himself back until only his round head was showing, and from this fortress of temporary safety his bright little eyes glared forth at his mother's murderer. vividly the tragedy of yesterday was before him again--the warm, sun-filled creek bottom in which he and noozak, his mother, were hunting a breakfast of crawfish when the man-beast came; the crash of strange thunder, their flight into the timber, and the end of it all when his mother turned to confront their enemy. and yet it was not the death of his mother that remained with him most poignantly this morning. it was the memory of his own terrific fight with the white man, and his struggle afterward in the black and suffocating depths of the bag in which challoner had brought him to his camp. even now challoner was looking at the scratches on his hands. he advanced a few steps, and grinned down at neewa, just as he had grinned good-humouredly at miki, the angular pup. neewa's little eyes blazed. "i told you last night that i was sorry," said challoner, speaking as if to one of his own kind. in several ways challoner was unusual, an out-of-the-ordinary type in the northland. he believed, for instance, in a certain specific psychology of the animal mind, and had proven to his own satisfaction that animals treated and conversed with in a matter-of-fact human way frequently developed an understanding which he, in his unscientific way, called reason. "i told you i was sorry," he repeated, squatting on his heels within a yard of the root from under which neewa's eyes were glaring at him, "and i am. i'm sorry i killed your mother. but we had to have meat and fat. besides, miki and i are going to make it up to you. we're going to take you along with us down to the girl, and if you don't learn to love her you're the meanest, lowest-down little cuss in all creation and don't deserve a mother. you and miki are going to be brothers. his mother is dead, too--plum starved to death, which is worse than dying with a bullet in your lung. and i found miki just as i found you, hugging up close to her an' crying as if there wasn't any world left for him. so cheer up, and give us your paw. let's shake!" challoner held out his hand. neewa was as motionless as a stone. a few moments before he would have snarled and bared his teeth. but now he was dead still. this was by all odds the strangest beast he had ever seen. yesterday it had not harmed him, except to put him into the bag. and now it did not offer to harm him. more than that, the talk it made was not unpleasant, or threatening. his eyes took in miki. the pup had squeezed himself squarely between challoner's knees and was looking at him in a puzzled, questioning sort of way, as if to ask: "why don't you come out from under that root and help get breakfast?" challoner's hand came nearer, and neewa crowded himself back until there was not another inch of room for him to fill. then the miracle happened. the man-beast's paw touched his head. it sent a strange and terrible thrill through him. yet it did not hurt. if he had not wedged himself in so tightly he would have scratched and bitten. but he could do neither. slowly challoner worked his fingers to the loose hide at the back of neewa's neck. miki, surmising that something momentous was about to happen, watched the proceedings with popping eyes. then challoner's fingers closed and the next instant he dragged neewa forth and held him at arm's length, kicking and squirming, and setting up such a bawling that in sheer sympathy miki raised his voice and joined in the agonized orgy of sound. half a minute later challoner had neewa once more in the prison-sack, but this time he left the cub's head protruding, and drew in the mouth of the sack closely about his neck, fastening it securely with a piece of babiche string. thus three quarters of neewa was imprisoned in the sack, with only his head sticking out. he was a cub in a poke. leaving the cub to roll and squirm in protest challoner went about the business of getting breakfast. for once miki found a proceeding more interesting than that operation, and he hovered about neewa as he struggled and bawled, trying vainly to offer him some assistance in the matter of sympathy. finally neewa lay still, and miki sat down close beside him and eyed his master with serious questioning if not actual disapprobation. the gray sky was breaking with the promise of the sun when challoner was ready to renew his long journey into the southland. he packed his canoe, leaving neewa and miki until the last. in the bow of the canoe he made a soft nest of the skin taken from the cub's mother. then he called miki and tied the end of a worn rope around his neck, after which he fastened the other end of this rope around the neck of neewa. thus he had the cub and the pup on the same yard-long halter. taking each of the twain by the scruff of the neck he carried them to the canoe and placed them in the nest he had made of noozak's hide. "now you youngsters be good," he warned. "we're going to aim at forty miles to-day to make up for the time we lost yesterday." as the canoe shot out a shaft of sunlight broke through the sky low in the east. chapter five during the first few moments in which the canoe moved swiftly over the surface of the lake an amazing change had taken place in neewa. challoner did not see it, and miki was unconscious of it. but every fibre in neewa's body was atremble, and his heart was thumping as it had pounded on that glorious day of the fight between his mother and the old he-bear. it seemed to him that everything that he had lost was coming back to him, and that all would be well very soon--for he smelled his mother! and then he discovered that the scent of her was warm and strong in the furry black mass under his feet, and he smothered himself down in it, flat on his plump little belly, and peered at challoner over his paws. it was hard for him to understand--the man-beast back there, sending the canoe through the water, and under him his mother, warm and soft, but so deadly still! he could not keep the whimper out of his throat--his low and grief-filled call for her. and there was no answer, except miki's responsive whine, the crying of one child for another. neewa's mother did not move. she made no sound. and he could see nothing of her but her black and furry skin--without head, without feet, without the big, bald paws he had loved to tickle, and the ears he had loved to nip. there was nothing of her but the patch of black skin--and the smell. but a great comfort warmed his frightened little soul. he felt the protecting nearness of an unconquerable and abiding force and in the first of the warm sunshine his back fluffed up, and he thrust his brown nose between his paws and into his mother's fur. miki, as if vainly striving to solve the mystery of his new-found chum, was watching him closely from between his own fore-paws. in his comical head--adorned with its one good ear and its one bad one, and furthermore beautified by the outstanding whiskers inherited from his airedale ancestor--he was trying to come to some sort of an understanding. at the outset he had accepted neewa as a friend and a comrade--and neewa had thanklessly given him a good mauling for his trouble. that much miki could forgive and forget. what he could not forgive was the utter lack of regard which neewa seemed to possess for him. his playful antics had gained no recognition from the cub. when he had barked and hopped about, flattening and contorting himself in warm invitation for him to join in a game of tag or a wrestling match, neewa had simply stared at him like an idiot. he was wondering, perhaps, if neewa would enjoy anything besides a fight. it was a long time before he decided to make another experiment. it was, as a matter of fact, halfway between breakfast and noon. in all that time neewa had scarcely moved, and miki was finding himself bored to death. the discomfort of last night's storm was only a memory, and overhead there was a sun unshadowed by cloud. more than an hour before challoner's canoe had left the lake, and was now in the clear-running water of a stream that was making its way down the southward slope of the divide between jackson's knee and the shamattawa. it was a new stream to challoner, fed by the large lake above, and guarding himself against the treachery of waterfall and rapid he kept a keen lookout ahead. for a matter of half an hour the water had been growing steadily swifter, and challoner was satisfied that before very long he would be compelled to make a portage. a little later he heard ahead of him the low and steady murmur which told him he was approaching a danger zone. as he shot around the next bend, hugging fairly close to shore, he saw, four or five hundred yards below him, a rock-frothed and boiling maelstrom of water. swiftly his eyes measured the situation. the rapids ran between an almost precipitous shore on one side and a deep forest on the other. he saw at a glance that it was the forest side over which he must make the portage, and this was the shore opposite him and farthest away. swinging his canoe at a 45-degree angle he put all the strength of body and arms into the sweep of his paddle. there would be just time to reach the other shore before the current became dangerous. above the sweep of the rapids he could now hear the growling roar of a waterfall below. it was at this unfortunate moment that miki decided to venture one more experiment with neewa. with a friendly yip he swung out one of his paws. now miki's paw, for a pup, was monstrously big, and his foreleg was long and lanky, so that when the paw landed squarely on the end of neewa's nose it was like the swing of a prize-fighter's glove. the unexpectedness of it was a further decisive feature in the situation; and, on top of this, miki swung his other paw around like a club and caught neewa a jolt in the eye. this was too much, even from a friend, and with a sudden snarl neewa bounced out of his nest and clinched with the pup. now the fact was that miki, who had so ingloriously begged for mercy in their first scrimmage, came of fighting stock himself. mix the blood of a mackenzie hound--which is the biggest-footed, biggest-shouldered, most powerful dog in the northland--with the blood of a spitz and an airedale and something is bound to come of it. while the mackenzie dog, with his ox-like strength, is peaceable and good-humoured in all sorts of weather, there is a good deal of the devil in the northern spitz and airedale and it is a question which likes a fight the best. and all at once good-humoured little miki felt the devil rising in him. this time he did not yap for mercy. he met neewa's jaws, and in two seconds they were staging a first-class fight on the bit of precarious footing in the prow of the canoe. vainly challoner yelled at them as he paddled desperately to beat out the danger of the rapids. neewa and miki were too absorbed to hear him. miki's four paws were paddling the air again, but this time his sharp teeth were firmly fixed in the loose hide under neewa's neck, and with his paws he continued to kick and bat in a way that promised effectively to pummel the wind out of neewa had not the thing happened which challoner feared. still in a clinch they rolled off the prow of the canoe into the swirling current of the stream. for ten seconds or so they utterly disappeared. then they bobbed up, a good fifty feet below him, their heads close together as they sped swiftly toward the doom that awaited them, and a choking cry broke from challoner's lips. he was powerless to save them, and in his cry was the anguish of real grief. for many weeks miki had been his only chum and comrade. held together by the yard-long rope to which they were fastened, miki and neewa swept into the frothing turmoil of the rapids. for miki it was the kindness of fate that had inspired his master to fasten him to the same rope with neewa. miki, at three months of age--weight, fourteen pounds--was about 80 per cent. bone and only a half of 1 per cent. fat; while neewa, weight thirteen pounds, was about 90 per cent. fat. therefore miki had the floating capacity of a small anchor, while neewa was a first-class life-preserver, and almost unsinkable. in neither of the youngsters was there a yellow streak. both were of fighting stock, and, though miki was under water most of the time during their first hundred-yard dash through the rapids, never for an instant did he give up the struggle to keep his nose in the air. sometimes he was on his back and sometimes on his belly; but no matter what his position, he kept his four overgrown paws going like paddles. to an extent this helped neewa in the heroic fight he was making to keep from shipping too much water himself. had he been alone his ten or eleven pounds of fat would have carried him down-stream like a toy balloon covered with fur, but, with the fourteen-pound drag around his neck, the problem of not going under completely was a serious one. half a dozen times he did disappear for an instant when some undertow caught miki and dragged him down--head, tail, legs, and all. but neewa always rose again, his four fat legs working for dear life. then came the waterfall. by this time miki had become accustomed to travelling under water, and the full horror of the new cataclysm into which they were plunged was mercifully lost to him. his paws had almost ceased their motion. he was still conscious of the roar in his ears, but the affair was less unpleasant than it was at the beginning. in fact, he was drowning. to neewa the pleasant sensations of a painless death were denied. no cub in the world was wider awake than he when the final catastrophe came. his head was well above water and he was clearly possessed of all his senses. then the river itself dropped out from under him and he shot down in an avalanche of water, feeling no longer the drag of miki's weight at his neck. how deep the pool was at the bottom of the waterfall challoner might have guessed quite accurately. could neewa have expressed an opinion of his own, he would have sworn that it was a mile. miki was past the stage of making estimates, or of caring whether it was two feet or two leagues. his paws had ceased to operate and he had given himself up entirely to his fate. but neewa came up again, and miki followed, like a bobber. he was about to gasp his last gasp when the force of the current, as it swung out of the whirlpool, flung neewa upon a bit of partly submerged driftage, and in a wild and strenuous effort to make himself safe neewa dragged miki's head out of water so that the pup hung at the edge of the driftage like a hangman's victim at the end of his rope. chapter six it is doubtful whether in the few moments that followed, any clear-cut mental argument passed through neewa's head. it is too much to suppose that he deliberately set about assisting the half-dead and almost unconscious miki from his precarious position. his sole ambition was to get himself where it was safe and dry, and to do this he of necessity had to drag the pup with him. so neewa tugged at the end of his rope, digging his sharp little claws into the driftwood, and as he advanced miki was dragged up head foremost out of the cold and friendless stream. it was a simple process. neewa reached a log around which the water was eddying, and there he flattened himself down and hung on as he had never hung to anything else in his life. the log was entirely hidden from shore by a dense growth of brushwood. otherwise, ten minutes later challoner would have seen them. as it was, miki had not sufficiently recovered either to smell or hear his master when challoner came to see if there was a possibility of his small comrade being alive. and neewa only hugged the log more tightly. he had seen enough of the man-beast to last him for the remainder of his life. it was half an hour before miki began to gasp, and cough, and gulp up water, and for the first time since their scrap in the canoe the cub began to take a live interest in him. in another ten minutes miki raised his head and looked about him. at that neewa gave a tug on the rope, as if to advise him that it was time to get busy if they were expected to reach shore. and miki, drenched and forlorn, resembling more a starved bone than a thing of skin and flesh, actually made an effort to wag his tail when he saw neewa. he was still in a couple of inches of water, and with a hopeful eye on the log upon which neewa was squatted he began to work his wobbly legs toward it. it was a high log, and a dry log, and when miki reached it his unlucky star was with him again. cumbrously he sprawled himself against it, and as he scrambled and scraped with his four awkward legs to get up alongside neewa he gave to the log the slight push which it needed to set it free of the sunken driftage. slowly at first the eddying current carried one end of the log away from its pier. then the edge of the main current caught at it, viciously--and so suddenly that miki almost lost his precarious footing, the log gave a twist, righted itself, and began, to scud down stream at a speed that would have made challoner hug his breath had he been in their position with his faithful canoe. in fact, challoner was at this very moment portaging the rapids below the waterfall. to have set his canoe in them where miki and neewa were gloriously sailing he would have considered an inexcusable hazard, and as a matter of safety he was losing the better part of a couple of hours by packing his outfit through the forest to a point half a mile below. that half mile was to the cub and the pup a show which was destined to live in their memories for as long as they were alive. they were facing each other about amidships of the log, neewa flattened tight, his sharp claws dug in like hooks, and his little brown eyes half starting from his head. it would have taken a crowbar to wrench him from the log. but with miki it was an open question from the beginning whether he would weather the storm. he had no claws that he could dig into the wood, and it was impossible for him to use his clumsy legs as neewa used his--like two pairs of human arms. all he could do was to balance himself, slipping this way or that as the log rolled or swerved in its course, sometimes lying across it and sometimes lengthwise, and every moment with the jaws of uncertainty open wide for him. neewa's eyes never left him for an instant. had they been gimlets they would have bored holes. from the acuteness of this life-and-death stare one would have given neewa credit for understanding that his own personal safety depended not so much upon his claws and his hug as upon miki's seamanship. if miki went overboard there would be left but one thing for him to do--and that would be to follow. the log, being larger and heavier at one end than at the other, swept on without turning broadside, and with the swiftness and appearance of a huge torpedo. while neewa's back was turned toward the horror of frothing water and roaring rock behind him, miki, who was facing it, lost none of its spectacular beauty. now and then the log shot into one of the white masses of foam and for an instant or two would utterly disappear; and at these intervals miki would hold his breath and close his eyes while neewa dug his toes in still deeper. once the log grazed a rock. six inches more and they would have been without a ship. their trip was not half over before both cub and pup looked like two round balls of lather out of which their eyes peered wildly. swiftly the roar of the cataract was left behind; the huge rocks around which the current boiled and twisted with a ferocious snarling became fewer; there came open spaces in which the log floated smoothly and without convulsions, and then, at last, the quiet and placid flow of calm water. not until then did the two balls of suds make a move. for the first time neewa saw the whole of the thing they had passed through, and miki, looking down stream, saw the quiet shores again, the deep forest, and the stream aglow with the warm sun. he drew in a breath that filled his whole body and let it out again with a sigh of relief so deep and sincere that it blew out a scatter of foam from the ends of his nose and whiskers. for the first time he became conscious of his own discomfort. one of his hind legs was twisted under him, and a foreleg was under his chest. the smoothness of the water and the nearness of the shores gave him confidence, and he proceeded to straighten himself. unlike neewa he was an experienced voyageur. for more than a month he had travelled steadily with challoner in his canoe, and of ordinarily decent water he was unafraid. so he perked up a little, and offered neewa a congratulatory yip that was half a whine. but neewa's education had travelled along another line, and while his experience in a canoe had been confined to that day he did know what a log was. he knew from more than one adventure of his own that a log in the water is the next thing to a live thing, and that its capacity for playing evil jokes was beyond any computation that he had ever been able to make. that was where miki's store of knowledge was fatally defective. inasmuch as the log had carried them safely through the worst stretch of water he had ever seen he regarded it in the light of a first-class canoe--with the exception that it was unpleasantly rounded on top. but this little defect did not worry him. to neewa's horror he sat up boldly, and looked about him. instinctively the cub hugged the log still closer, while miki was seized with an overwhelming desire to shake from himself the mass of suds in which, with the exception of the end of his tail and his eyes, he was completely swathed. he had often shaken himself in the canoe; why not here? without either asking or answering the question he did it. like the trap of a gibbet suddenly sprung by the hangman, the log instantly responded by turning half over. without so much as a wail miki was off like a shot, hit the water with a deep and solemn chug, and once more disappeared as completely as if he had been made of lead. finding himself completely submerged for the first time, neewa hung on gloriously, and when the log righted itself again he was tenaciously hugging his old place, all the froth washed from him. he looked for miki--but miki was gone. and then he felt once more that choking drag on his neck! of necessity, because his head was pulled in the direction of the rope, he saw where the rope disappeared in the water. but there was no miki. the pup was down too far for neewa to see. with the drag growing heavier and heavier--for here there was not much current to help miki along--neewa hung on like grim death. if he had let go, and had joined miki in the water, the good fortune which was turning their way would have been missed. for miki, struggling well under water, was serving both as an anchor and a rudder; slowly the log shifted its course, was caught in a beach-eddy, and drifted in close to a muddy bank. with one wild leap neewa was ashore. feeling the earth under his feet he started to run, and the result was that miki came up slowly through the mire and spread himself out like an overgrown crustacean while he got the wind back into his lungs. neewa, sensing the fact that for a few moments his comrade was physically unfit for travel, shook himself, and waited. miki picked up quickly. within five minutes he was on his feet shaking himself so furiously that neewa became the centre of a shower of mud and water. had they remained where they were, challoner would have found them an hour or so later, for he paddled that way, close inshore, looking for their bodies. it may be that the countless generations of instinct back of neewa warned him of that possibility, for within a quarter of an hour after they had landed he was leading the way into the forest, and miki was following. it was a new adventure for the pup. but neewa began to recover his good cheer. for him the forest was home even if his mother was missing. after his maddening experiences with miki and the man-beast the velvety touch of the soft pine-needles under his feet and the familiar smells of the silent places filled him with a growing joy. he was back in his old trails. he sniffed the air and pricked up his ears, thrilled by the enlivening sensations of knowing that he was once more the small master of his own destiny. it was a new forest, but neewa was undisturbed by this fact. all forests were alike to him, inasmuch as several hundred thousand square miles were included in his domain and it was impossible for him to landmark them all. with miki it was different. he not only began to miss challoner and the river, but became more and more disturbed the farther neewa led him into the dark and mysterious depths of the timber. at last he decided to set up a vigorous protest, and in line with this decision he braced himself so suddenly that neewa, coming to the end of the rope, flopped over on his back with an astonished grunt. seizing his advantage miki turned, and tugging with the horse-like energy of his mackenzie father he started back toward the river, dragging neewa after him for a space of ten or fifteen feet before the cub succeeded in regaining his feet. then the battle began. with their bottoms braced and their forefeet digging into the soft earth, they pulled on the rope in opposite directions until their necks stretched and their eyes began to pop. neewa's pull was steady and unexcited, while miki, dog-like, yanked and convulsed himself in sudden backward jerks that made neewa give way an inch at a time. it was, after all, only a question as to which possessed the most enduring neck. under neewa's fat there was as yet little real physical strength. miki had him handicapped there. under the pup's loose hide and his overgrown bones there was a lot of pull, and after bracing himself heroically for another dozen feet neewa gave up the contest and followed in the direction chosen by miki. while the instincts of neewa's breed would have taken him back to the river as straight as a die, miki's intentions were better than was his sense of orientation. neewa followed in a sweeter temper when he found that his companion was making an unreasonable circle which was taking them a little more slowly, but just as surely, away from the danger-ridden stream. at the end of another quarter of an hour miki was utterly lost; he sat down on his rump, looked at neewa, and confessed as much--with a low whine. neewa did not move. his sharp little eyes were fixed suddenly on an object that hung to a low bush half a dozen paces from them. before the man-beast's appearance the cub had spent three quarters of his time in eating, but since yesterday morning he had not swallowed so much as a bug. he was completely empty, and the object he saw hanging to the bush set every salivary gland in his mouth working. it was a wasp's nest. many times in his young life he had seen noozak, his mother, go up to nests like that, tear them down, crush them under her big paw, and then invite him to the feast of dead wasps within. for at least a month wasps had been included in his daily fare, and they were as good as anything he knew of. he approached the nest; miki followed. when they were within three feet of it miki began to take notice of a very distinct and peculiarly disquieting buzzing sound. neewa was not at all alarmed; judging the distance of the nest from the ground, he rose on his hind feet, raised his arms, and gave it a fatal tug. instantly the drone which miki had heard changed into the angry buzzing of a saw. quick as a flash neewa's mother would have had the nest under her paws and the life crushed out of it, while neewa's tug had only served partly to dislodge the home of ahmoo and his dangerous tribe. and it happened that ahmoo was at home with three quarters of his warriors. before neewa could give the nest a second tug they were piling out of it in a cloud and suddenly a wild yell of agony rose out of miki. ahmoo himself had landed on the end of the dog's nose. neewa made no sound, but stood for a moment swiping at his face with both paws, while miki, still yelling, ran the end of his crucified nose into the ground. in another moment every fighter in ahmoo's army was busy. suddenly setting up a bawling on his own account neewa turned tail to the nest and ran. miki was not a hair behind him. in every square inch of his tender hide he felt the red-hot thrust of a needle. it was neewa that made the most noise. his voice was one continuous bawl, and to this bass miki's soprano wailing added the touch which would have convinced any passing indian that the loup-garou devils were having a dance. now that their foes were in disorderly flight the wasps, who are rather a chivalrous enemy, would have returned to their upset fortress had not miki, in his mad flight, chosen one side of a small sapling and neewa the other--a misadventure that stopped them with a force almost sufficient to break their necks. thereupon a few dozen of ahmoo's rear guard started in afresh. with his fighting blood at last aroused, neewa swung out and caught miki where there was almost no hair on his rump. already half blinded, and so wrought up with pain and terror that he had lost all sense of judgment or understanding, miki believed that the sharp dig of neewa's razor-like claws was a deeper thrust than usual of the buzzing horrors that overwhelmed him, and with a final shriek he proceeded to throw a fit. it was the fit that saved them. in his maniacal contortions he swung around to neewa's side of the sapling, when, with their halter once more free from impediment, neewa bolted for safety. miki followed, yelping at every jump. no longer did neewa feel a horror of the river. the instinct of his kind told him that he wanted water, and wanted it badly. as straight as challoner might have set his course by a compass he headed for the stream, but he had proceeded only a few hundred feet when they came upon a tiny creek across which either of them could have jumped. neewa jumped into the water, which was four or five inches deep, and for the first time in his life miki voluntarily took a plunge. for a long time they lay in the cooling rill. the light of day was dim and hazy before miki's eyes, and he was beginning to swell from the tip of his nose to the end of his bony tail. neewa, being so much fat, suffered less. he could still see, and, as the painful hours passed, a number of things were adjusting themselves in his brain. all this had begun with the man-beast. it was the man-beast who had taken his mother from him. it was the man-beast who had chucked him into the dark sack, and it was the man-beast who had fastened the rope around his neck. slowly the fact was beginning to impinge itself upon him that the rope was to blame for everything. after a long time they dragged themselves out of the rivulet and found a soft, dry hollow at the foot of a big tree. even to neewa, who had the use of his eyes, it was growing dark in the deep forest. the sun was far in the west. and the air was growing chilly. flat on his belly, with his swollen head between his fore paws, miki whined plaintively. again and again neewa's eyes went to the rope as the big thought developed itself in his head. he whined. it was partly a yearning for his mother, partly a response to miki. he drew closer to the pup, filled with the irresistible desire for comradeship. after all, it was not miki who was to blame. it was the man-beast--and the rope! the gloom of evening settled more darkly about them, and snuggling himself still closer to the pup neewa drew the rope between his fore paws. with a little snarl he set his teeth in it. and then, steadily, he began to chew. now and then he growled, and in the growl there was a peculiarly communicative note, as if he wished to say to miki: "don't you see?--i'm chewing this thing in two. i'll have it done by morning. cheer up! there's surely a better day coming." chapter seven the morning after their painful experience with the wasp's nest, neewa and miki rose on four pairs of stiff and swollen legs to greet a new day in the deep and mysterious forest into which the accident of the previous day had thrown them. the spirit of irrepressible youth was upon them, and, though miki was so swollen from the stings of the wasps that his lank body and overgrown legs were more grotesque than ever, he was in no way daunted from the quest of further adventure. the pup's face was as round as a moon, and his head was puffed up until neewa might reasonably have had a suspicion that it was on the point of exploding. but miki's eyes--as much as could be seen of them--were as bright as ever, and his one good ear and his one half ear stood up hopefully as he waited for the cub to give some sign of what they were going to do. the poison in his system no longer gave him discomfort. he felt several sizes too large--but, otherwise, quite well. neewa, because of his fat, exhibited fewer effects of his battle with the wasps. his one outstanding defect was an entirely closed eye. with the other, wide open and alert, he looked about him. in spite of his one bad eye and his stiff legs he was inspired with the optimism of one who at last sees fortune turning his way. he was rid of the man-beast, who had killed his mother; the forests were before him again, open and inviting, and the rope with which challoner had tied him and miki together he had successfully gnawed in two during the night. having dispossessed himself of at least two evils it would not have surprised him much if he had seen noozak, his mother, coming up from out of the shadows of the trees. thought of her made him whine. and miki, facing the vast loneliness of his new world, and thinking of his master, whined in reply. both were hungry. the amazing swiftness with which their misfortunes had descended upon them had given them no time in which to eat. to miki the change was more than astonishing; it was overwhelming, and he held his breath in anticipation of some new evil while neewa scanned the forest about them. as if assured by this survey that everything was right, neewa turned his back to the sun, which had been his mother's custom, and set out. miki followed. not until then did he discover that every joint in his body had apparently disappeared. his neck was stiff, his legs were like stilts, and five times in as many minutes he stubbed his clumsy toes and fell down in his efforts to keep up with the cub. on top of this his eyes were so nearly closed that his vision was bad, and the fifth time he stumbled he lost sight of neewa entirely, and sent out a protesting wail. neewa stopped and began prodding with his nose under a rotten log. when miki came up neewa was flat on his belly, licking up a colony of big red vinegar ants as fast as he could catch them. miki studied the proceeding for some moments. it soon dawned upon him that neewa was eating something, but for the life of him he couldn't make out what it was. hungrily he nosed close to neewa's foraging snout. he licked with his tongue where neewa licked, and he got only dirt. and all the time neewa was giving his jolly little grunts of satisfaction. it was ten minutes before he hunted out the last ant and went on. a little later they came to a small open space where the ground was wet, and after sniffing about a bit, and focussing his one good eye here and there, neewa suddenly began digging. very shortly he drew out of the ground a white object about the size of a man's thumb and began to crunch it ravenously between his jaws. miki succeeded in capturing a fair sized bit of it. disappointment followed fast. the thing was like wood; after rolling it in his mouth a few times he dropped it in disgust, and neewa finished the remnant of the root with a thankful grunt. they proceeded. for two heartbreaking hours miki followed at neewa's heels, the void in his stomach increasing as the swelling in his body diminished. his hunger was becoming a torture. yet not a bit to eat could he find, while neewa at every few steps apparently discovered something to devour. at the end of the two hours the cub's bill of fare had grown to considerable proportions. it included, among other things, half a dozen green and black beetles; numberless bugs, both hard and soft; whole colonies of red and black ants; several white grubs dug out of the heart of decaying logs; a handful of snails; a young frog; the egg of a ground-plover that had failed to hatch; and, in the vegetable line, the roots of two camas and one skunk cabbage. now and then he pulled down tender poplar shoots and nipped the ends off. likewise he nibbled spruce and balsam gum whenever he found it, and occasionally added to his breakfast a bit of tender grass. a number of these things miki tried. he would have eaten the frog, but neewa was ahead of him there. the spruce and balsam gum clogged up his teeth and almost made him vomit because of its bitterness. between a snail and a stone he could find little difference, and as the one bug he tried happened to be that asafoetida-like creature known as a stink-bug he made no further efforts in that direction. he also bit off a tender tip from a ground-shoot, but instead of a young poplar it was fox-bite, and shrivelled up his tongue for a quarter of an hour. at last he arrived at the conclusion that, up to date, the one thing in neewa's menu that he could eat was grass. in the face of his own starvation his companion grew happier as he added to the strange collection in his stomach. in fact, neewa considered himself in clover and was grunting his satisfaction continually, especially as his bad eye was beginning to open and he could see things better. half a dozen times when he found fresh ant nests he invited miki to the feast with excited little squeals. until noon miki followed like a faithful satellite at his heels. the end came when neewa deliberately dug into a nest inhabited by four huge bumble-bees, smashed them all, and ate them. from that moment something impressed upon miki that he must do his own hunting. with the thought came a new thrill. his eyes were fairly open now, and much of the stiffness had gone from his legs. the blood of his mackenzie father and of his half spitz and half airedale mother rose up in him in swift and immediate demand, and he began to quest about for himself. he found a warm scent, and poked about until a partridge went up with a tremendous thunder of wings. it startled him, but added to the thrill. a few minutes later, nosing under a pile of brush, he came face to face with his dinner. it was wahboo, the baby rabbit. instantly miki was at him, and had a firm hold at the back of wahboo's back. neewa, hearing the smashing of the brush and the squealing of the rabbit, stopped catching ants and hustled toward the scene of action. the squealing ceased quickly and miki backed himself out and faced neewa with wahboo held triumphantly in his jaws. the young rabbit had already given his last kick, and with a fierce show of growling miki began tearing the fur off. neewa edged in, grunting affably. miki snarled more fiercely. neewa, undaunted, continued to express his overwhelming regard for miki in low and supplicating grunts--and smelled the rabbit. the snarl in miki's throat died away. he may have remembered that neewa had invited him more than once to partake of his ants and bugs. together they ate the rabbit. not until the last bit of flesh and the last tender bone were gone did the feast end, and then neewa sat back on his round bottom and stuck out his little red tongue for the first time since he had lost his mother. it was the cub sign of a full stomach and a blissful mind. he could see nothing to be more desired at the present time than a nap, and stretching himself languidly he began looking about for a tree. miki, on the other hand, was inspired to new action by the pleasurable sensation of being comfortably filled. inasmuch as neewa chewed his food very carefully, while miki, paying small attention to mastication, swallowed it in chunks, the pup had succeeded in getting away with about four fifths of the rabbit. so he was no longer hungry. but he was more keenly alive to his changed environment than at any time since he and neewa had fallen out of challoner's canoe into the rapids. for the first time he had killed, and for the first time he had tasted warm blood, and the combination added to his existence an excitement that was greater than any desire he might have possessed to lie down in a sunny spot and sleep. now that he had learned the game, the hunting instinct trembled in every fibre of his small being. he would have gone on hunting until his legs gave way under him if neewa had not found a napping-place. astonished half out of his wits he watched neewa as he leisurely climbed the trunk of a big poplar. he had seen squirrels climb trees--just as he had seen birds fly--but neewa's performance held him breathless; and not until the cub had stretched himself out comfortably in a crotch did miki express himself. then he gave an incredulous yelp, sniffed at the butt of the tree, and made a half-hearted experiment at the thing himself. one flop on his back convinced him that neewa was the tree-climber of the partnership. chagrined, he wandered back fifteen or twenty feet and sat down to study the situation. he could not perceive that neewa had any special business up the tree. certainly he was not hunting for bugs. he yelped half a dozen times, but neewa made no answer. at last he gave it up and flopped himself down with a disconsolate whine. but it was not to sleep. he was ready and anxious to go on. he wanted to explore still further the mysterious and fascinating depths of the forest. he no longer felt the strange fear that had been upon him before he killed the rabbit. in two minutes under the brush-heap nature had performed one of her miracles of education. in those two minutes miki had risen out of whimpering puppyhood to new power and understanding. he had passed that elemental stage which his companionship with challoner had prolonged. he had killed, and the hot thrill of it set fire to every instinct that was in him. in the half hour during which he lay flat on his belly, his head alert and listening, while neewa slept, he passed half way from puppyhood to dogdom. he would never know that hela, his mackenzie hound father, was the mightiest hunter in all the reaches of the little fox country, and that alone he had torn down a bull caribou. but he felt it. there was something insistent and demanding in the call. and because he was answering that call, and listening eagerly to the whispering voices of the forest, his quick ears caught the low, chuckling monotone of kawook, the porcupine. miki lay very still. a moment later he heard the soft clicking of quills, and then kawook came out in the open and stood up on his hind feet in a patch of sunlight. for thirteen years kawook had lived undisturbed in this particular part of the wilderness, and in his old age he weighed thirty pounds if he weighed an ounce. on this afternoon, coming for his late dinner, he was feeling even more than usually happy. his eyesight at best was dim. nature had never intended him to see very far, and had therefore quilted him heavily with the barbed shafts of his protecting armour. thirty feet away he was entirely oblivious of miki, at least apparently so; and miki hugged the ground closer, warned by the swiftly developing instinct within him that here was a creature it would be unwise to attack. for perhaps a minute kawook stood up, chuckling his tribal song without any visible movement of his body. he stood profile to miki, like a fat alderman. he was so fat that his stomach bulged out in front like the half of a balloon, and over this stomach his hands were folded in a peculiarly human way, so that he looked more like an old she-porcupine than a master in his tribe. it was not until then that miki observed iskwasis, the young female porcupine, who had poked herself slyly out from under a bush near kawook. in spite of his years the red thrill of romance was not yet gone from the old fellow's bones, and he immediately started to give an exhibition of his good breeding and elegance. he began with his ludicrous love-making dance, hopping from one foot to the other until his fat stomach shook, and chuckling louder than ever. the charms of iskwasis were indeed sufficient to turn the head of an older beau than kawook. she was a distinctive blonde; in other words, one of those unusual creatures of her kind, an albino. her nose was pink, the palms of her little feet were pink, and each of her pretty pink eyes was set in an iris of sky-blue. it was evident that she did not regard old kawook's passion-dance with favour and sensing this fact kawook changed his tactics and falling on all four feet began to chase his spiky tail as if he had suddenly gone mad. when he stopped, and looked to see what effect he had made he was clearly knocked out by the fact that iskwasis had disappeared. for another minute he sat stupidly, without making a sound. then to miki's consternation he started straight for the tree in which neewa was sleeping. as a matter of fact, it was kawook's dinner-tree, and he began climbing it, talking to himself all the time. miki's hair began to stand on end. he did not know that kawook, like all his kind, was the best-natured fellow in the world, and had never harmed anything in his life unless assaulted first. lacking this knowledge he set up a sudden frenzy of barking to warn neewa. neewa roused himself slowly, and when he opened his eyes he was looking into a spiky face that sent him into a convulsion of alarm. with a suddenness that came within an ace of toppling him from his crotch he swung over and scurried higher up the tree. kawook was not at all excited. now that iskwasis was gone he was entirely absorbed in the anticipation of his dinner. he continued to clamber slowly upward, and at this the horrified neewa backed himself out on a limb in order that kawook might have an unobstructed trail up the tree. unfortunately for neewa it was on this limb that kawook had eaten his last meal, and he began working himself out on it, still apparently oblivious of the fact that the cub was on the same branch. at this miki sent up such a series of shrieking yelps from below that kawook seemed at last to realize that something unusual was going on. he peered down at miki who was making vain efforts to jump up the trunk of the tree; then he turned and, for the first time, contemplated neewa with some sign of interest. neewa was hugging the limb with both forearms and both hind legs. to retreat another foot on the branch that was already bending dangerously under his weight seemed impossible. it was at this point that kawook began to scold fiercely. with a final frantic yelp miki sat back on his haunches and watched the thrilling drama above him. a little at a time kawook advanced, and inch by inch neewa retreated, until at last he rolled clean over and was hanging with his back toward the ground. it was then that kawook ceased his scolding and calmly began eating his dinner. for two or three minutes neewa kept his hold. twice he made efforts to pull himself up so that he could get the branch under him. then his hind feet slipped. for a dozen seconds he hung with his two front paws--then shot down through fifteen feet of space to the ground. close to miki he landed with a thud that knocked the wind out of him. he rose with a grunt, took one dazed look up the tree, and without further explanation to miki began to leg it deeper into the forest--straight into the face of the great adventure which was to be the final test for these two. chapter eight not until he had covered at least a quarter of a mile did neewa stop. to miki it seemed as though they had come suddenly out of day into the gloom of evening. that part of the forest into which neewa's flight had led them was like a vast, mysterious cavern. even challoner would have paused there, awed by the grandeur of its silence, held spellbound by the enigmatical whispers that made up its only sound. the sun was still high in the heavens, but not a ray of it penetrated the dense green canopy of spruce and balsam that hung like a wall over the heads of miki and neewa. about them was no bush, no undergrowth; under their feet was not a flower or a spear of grass. nothing but a thick, soft carpet of velvety brown needles under which all life was smothered. it was as if the forest nymphs had made of this their bedchamber, sheltered through all the seasons of the year from wind and rain and snow; or else that the were-wolf people--the loup-garou--had chosen it as their hiding-place and from its weird and gloomy fastnesses went forth on their ghostly missions among the sons of men. not a bird twittered in the trees. there was no flutter of life in their crowded branches. everything was so still that miki heard the excited throbbing of life in his own body. he looked at neewa, and in the gloom the cub's eyes were glistening with a strange fire. neither of them was afraid, yet in that cavernous silence their comradeship was born anew, and in it there was something now that crept down into their wild little souls and filled the emptiness that was left by the death of neewa's mother and the loss of miki's master. the pup whined gently, and in his throat neewa made a purring sound and followed it with a squeaky grunt that was like the grunt of a little pig. they edged nearer, and stood shoulder to shoulder facing their world. they went on after a little, like two children exploring the mystery of an old and abandoned house. they were not hunting, yet every hunting instinct in their bodies was awake, and they stopped frequently to peer about them, and listen, and scent the air. to neewa it all brought back a memory of the black cavern in which he was born. would noozak, his mother, come up presently out of one of those dark forest aisles? was she sleeping here, as she had slept in the darkness of their den? the questions may have come vaguely in his mind. for it was like the cavern, in that it was deathly still; and a short distance away its gloom thickened into black pits. such a place the indians called muhnedoo--a spot in the forest blasted of all life by the presence of devils; for only devils would grow trees so thick that sunlight never penetrated. and only owls held the companionship of the evil spirits. where neewa and miki stood a grown wolf would have paused, and turned back; the fox would have slunk away, hugging the ground; even the murderous-hearted little ermine would have peered in with his beady red eyes, unafraid, but turned by instinct back into the open timber. for here, in spite of the stillness and the gloom, there was life. it was beating and waiting in the ambush of those black pits. it was rousing itself, even as neewa and miki went on deeper into the silence, and eyes that were like round balls were beginning to glow with a greenish fire. still there was no sound, no movement in the dense overgrowth of the trees. like the imps of muhnedoo the monster owls looked down, gathering their slow wits--and waiting. and then a huge shadow floated out of the dark chaos and passed so close over the heads of neewa and miki that they heard the menacing purr of giant wings. as the wraith-like creature disappeared there came back to them a hiss and the grating snap of a powerful beak. it sent a shiver through miki. the instinct that had been fighting to rouse itself within him flared up like a powder-flash. instantly he sensed the nearness of an unknown and appalling danger. there was sound about them now--movement in the trees, ghostly tremours in the air, and the crackling, metallic snap--snap--snap over their heads. again miki saw the great shadow come and go. it was followed by a second, and a third, until the vault under the trees seemed filled with shadows; and with each shadow came nearer that grating menace of powerfully beaked jaws. like the wolf and the fox he cringed down, hugging the earth. but it was no longer with the whimpering fear of the pup. his muscles were drawn tight, and with a snarl he bared his fangs when one of the owls swooped so low that he felt the beat of its wings. neewa responded with a sniff that a little later in his life would have been the defiant whoof of his mother. bear-like he was standing up. and it was upon him that one of the shadows descended--a monstrous feathered bolt straight out of darkness. six feet away miki's blazing eyes saw his comrade smothered under a gray mass, and for a moment or two he was held appalled and lifeless by the thunderous beat of the gargantuan wings. no sound came from neewa. flung on his back, he was digging his claws into feathers so thick and soft that they seemed to have no heart or flesh. he felt upon him the presence of the thing that was death. the beat of the wings was like the beat of clubs: they drove the breath out of his body, they blinded his senses, yet he continued to tear fiercely with his claws into a fleshless breast. in his first savage swoop oohoomisew, whose great wings measured five feet from tip to tip, had missed his death-grip by the fraction of an inch. his powerful talons that would have buried themselves like knives in neewa's vitals closed too soon, and were filled with the cub's thick hair and loose hide. now he was beating his prey down with his wings until the right moment came for him to finish the killing with the terrific stabbing of his beak. half a minute of that and neewa's face would be torn into pieces. it was the fact that neewa made no sound, that no cry came from him, that brought miki to his feet with his lips drawn back and a snarl in his throat. all at once fear went out of him and in its place came a wild and almost joyous exultation. he recognized their enemy--a bird. to him birds were a prey, and not a menace. a dozen times in their journey down from the upper country challoner had shot big canada geese and huge-winged cranes. miki had eaten their flesh. twice he had pursued wounded cranes, yapping at the top of his voice, and they had run from him. he did not bark or yelp now. like a flash he launched himself into the feathered mass of the owl. his fourteen pounds of flesh and bone landed with the force of a stone, and oohoomisew was torn from his hold and flung with a great flutter of wings upon his side. before he could recover his balance miki was at him again, striking full at his head, where he had struck at the wounded crane. oohoomisew went flat on his back--and for the first time miki let out of his throat a series of savage and snarling yelps. it was a new sound to oohoomisew and his blood-thirsty brethren watching the struggle from out of the gloom. the snapping beaks drifted farther away, and oohoomisew, with a sudden sweep of wings, vaulted into the air. with his big forefeet planted firmly and his snarling face turned up to the black wall of the tree-tops miki continued to bark and howl defiantly. he wanted the bird to come back. he wanted to tear and rip at its feathers, and as he sent out his frantic challenge neewa rolled over, got on his feet, and with a warning squeal to miki once more set off in flight. if miki was ignorant in the matter, he at least understood the situation. again it was the instinct born of countless generations. he knew that in the black pits about them hovered death--and he ran as he had never run before in his life. as miki followed, the shadows were beginning to float nearer again. ahead of them they saw a glimmer of sunshine. the trees grew taller, and soon the day began breaking through so that there were no longer the cavernous hollows of gloom about them. if they had gone on another hundred yards they would have come to the edge of the big plain, the hunting grounds of the owls. but the flame of self-preservation was hot in neewa's head; he was still dazed by the thunderous beat of wings; his sides burned where oohoomisew's talons had scarred his flesh; so, when he saw in his path a tangled windfall of tree trunks he dived into the security of it so swiftly that for a moment or two miki wondered where he had gone. crawling into the windfall after him miki turned and poked out his head. he was not satisfied. his lips were still drawn back, and he continued to growl. he had beaten his enemy. he had knocked it over fairly, and had filled his jaws with its feathers. in the face of that triumph he sensed the fact that he had run away in following neewa, and he was possessed with the desire to go back and have it out to a finish. it was the blood of the airedale and the spitz growing stronger in him, fearless of defeat; the blood of his father, the giant hunting-hound hela. it was the demand of his breed, with its mixture of wolfish courage and fox-like persistency backed by the powerful jaws and herculean strength of the mackenzie hound, and if neewa had not drawn deeper under the windfall he would have gone out again and yelped his challenge to the feathered things from which they had fled. neewa was smarting under the red-hot stab of oohoomisew's talons, and he wanted no more of the fight that came out of the air. he began licking his wounds, and after a while miki went back to him and smelled of the fresh, warm blood. it made him growl. he knew that it was neewa's blood, and his eyes glowed like twin balls of fire as they watched the opening through which they had entered into the dark tangle of fallen trees. for an hour he did not move, and in that hour, as in the hour after the killing of the rabbit, he grew. when at last he crept out cautiously from under the windfall the sun was sinking behind the western forests. he peered about him, watching for movement and listening for sound. the sagging and apologetic posture of puppyhood was gone from him. his overgrown feet stood squarely on the ground; his angular legs were as hard as if carven out of knotty wood; his body was tense, his ears stood up, his head was rigidly set between the bony shoulders that already gave evidence of gigantic strength to come. about him he knew was the big adventure. the world was no longer a world of play and of snuggling under the hands of a master. something vastly more thrilling had come into it now. after a time he dropped on his belly close to the opening under the windfall and began chewing at the end of rope which dragged from about his neck. the sun sank lower. it disappeared. still he waited for neewa to come out and lie with him in the open. as the twilight thickened into deeper gloom he drew himself into the edge of the door under the windfall and found neewa there. together they peered forth into the mysterious night. for a time there was the utter stillness of the first hour of darkness in the northland. up in the clear sky the stars came out in twos and then in glowing constellations. there was an early moon. it was already over the edge of the forests, flooding the world with a golden glow, and in that glow the night was filled with grotesque black shadows that had neither movement nor sound. then the silence was broken. from out of the owl-infested pits came a strange and hollow sound. miki had heard the shrill screeching and the tu-who-o-o, tu-who-o-o, tu-who-o-o of the little owls, the trap-pirates, but never this voice of the strong-winged jezebels and frankensteins of the deeper forests--the real butchers of the night. it was a hollow, throaty sound--more a moan than a cry; a moan so short and low that it seemed born of caution, or of fear that it would frighten possible prey. for a few minutes pit after pit gave forth each its signal of life, and then there was a silence of voice, broken at intervals by the faint, crashing sweep of great wings in the spruce and balsam tops as the hunters launched themselves up and over them in the direction of the plain. the going forth of the owls was only the beginning of the night carnival for neewa and miki. for a long time they lay side by side, sleepless, and listening. past the windfall went the padded feet of a fisher-cat, and they caught the scent of it; to them came the far cry of a loon, the yapping of a restless fox, and the mooing of a cow moose feeding in the edge of a lake on the farther side of the plain. and then, at last, came the thing that made their blood run faster and sent a deeper thrill into their hearts. it seemed a vast distance away at first--the hot throated cry of wolves on the trail of meat. it was swinging northward into the plain, and this shortly brought the cry with the wind, which was out of the north and the west. the howling of the pack was very distinct after that, and in miki's brain nebulous visions and almost unintelligible memories were swiftly wakening into life. it was not challoner's voice that he heard, but it was a voice that he knew. it was the voice of hela, his giant father; the voice of numa, his mother; the voice of his kind for a hundred and a thousand generations before him, and it was the instinct of those generations and the hazy memory of his earliest puppyhood that were impinging the thing upon him. a little later it would take both intelligence and experience to make him discriminate the hair-breadth difference between wolf and dog. and this voice of his blood was coming! it bore down upon them swiftly, fierce and filled with the blood-lust of hunger. he forgot neewa. he did not observe the cub when he slunk back deeper under the windfall. he rose up on his feet and stood stiff and tense, unconscious of all things but that thrilling tongue of the hunt-pack. wind-broken, his strength failing him, and his eyes wildly searching the night ahead for the gleam of water that might save him, ahtik, the young caribou bull, raced for his life a hundred yards ahead of the wolves. the pack had already flung itself out in the form of a horse-shoe, and the two ends were beginning to creep up abreast of ahtik, ready to close in for the hamstring--and the kill. in these last minutes every throat was silent, and the young bull sensed the beginning of the end. desperately he turned to the right and plunged into the forest. miki heard the crash of his body and he hugged close to the windfall. ten seconds later ahtik passed within fifty feet of him, a huge and grotesque form in the moonlight, his coughing breath filled with the agony and hopelessness of approaching death. as swiftly as he had come he was gone, and in his place followed half a score of noiseless shadows passing so quickly that to miki they were like the coming and the going of the wind. for many minutes after that he stood and listened but again silence had fallen upon the night. after a little he went back into the windfall and lay down beside neewa. hours that followed he passed in restless snatches of slumber. he dreamed of things that he had forgotten. he dreamed of challoner. he dreamed of chill nights and the big fires; he heard his master's voice and he felt again the touch of his hand; but over it all and through it all ran that wild hunting voice of his own kind. in the early dawn he came out from under the windfall and smelled of the trail where the wolves and the caribou had passed. heretofore it was neewa who had led in their wandering; now it was neewa that followed. his nostrils filled with the heavy scent of the pack, miki travelled steadily in the direction of the plain. it took him half an hour to reach the edge of it. after that he came to a wide and stony out-cropping of the earth over which he nosed the spoor to a low and abrupt descent into the wider range of the valley. here he stopped. twenty feet under him and fifty feet away lay the partly devoured carcass of the young bull. it was not this fact that thrilled him until his heart stood still. from out of the bushy plain had come maheegun, a renegade she-wolf, to fill herself of the meat which she had not helped to kill. she was a slinking, hollow-backed, quick-fanged creature, still rib-thin from the sickness that had come of eating a poison-bait; a beast shunned by her own kind--a coward, a murderess even of her own whelps. but she was none of these things to miki. in her he saw in living flesh and bone what his memory and his instinct recalled to him of his mother. and his mother had come before challoner, his master. for a minute or two he lay trembling, and then he went down, as he would have gone to challoner; with great caution, with a wilder suspense, but with a strange yearning within him that the man's presence would have failed to rouse. he was very close to maheegun before she was conscious that he was near. the mother-smell was warm in his nose now; it filled him with a great joy; and yet--he was afraid. but it was not a physical fear. flattened on the ground, with his head between his fore-paws, he whined. like a flash the she-wolf turned, her fangs bared the length of her jaws and her bloodshot eyes aglow with menace and suspicion. miki had no time to make a move or another sound. with the suddenness of a cat the outcast creature was upon him. her fangs slashed him just once--and she was gone. her teeth had drawn blood from his shoulder, but it was not the smart of the wound that held him for many moments as still as if dead. the mother-smell was still where maheegun had been. but his dreams had crumbled. the thing that had been memory died away at last in a deep breath that was broken by a whimper of pain. for him, even as for neewa, there was no more a challoner, and no longer a mother. but there remained--the world! in it the sun was rising. out of it came the thrill and the perfume of life. and close to him--very close--was the rich, sweet smell of meat. he sniffed hungrily. then he turned, and saw neewa's black and pudgy body tumbling down the slope of the dip to join him in the feast. chapter nine had makoki, the leather-faced old cree runner between god's lake and fort churchill, known the history of miki and neewa up to the point where they came to feast on the fat and partly devoured carcass of the young caribou bull, he would have said that iskoo wapoo, the good spirit of the beasts, was watching over them most carefully. for makoki had great faith in the forest gods as well as in those of his own tepee. he would have given the story his own picturesque version, and would have told it to the little children of his son's children; and his son's children would have kept it in their memory for their own children later on. it was not in the ordained nature of things that a black bear cub and a mackenzie hound pup with a dash of airedale and spitz in him should "chum up" together as neewa and miki had done. therefore, he would have said, the beneficent spirit who watched over the affairs of four-legged beasts must have had an eye on them from the beginning. it was she--iskoo wapoo was a goddess and not a god--who had made challoner kill neewa's mother, the big black bear; and it was she who had induced him to tie the pup and the cub together on the same piece of rope, so that when they fell out of the white man's canoe into the rapids they would not die, but would be company and salvation for each other. neswa-pawuk ("two little brothers") makoki would have called them; and had it come to the test he would have cut off a finger before harming either of them. but makoki knew nothing of their adventures, and on this morning when they came down to the feast he was a hundred miles away, haggling with a white man who wanted a guide. he would never know that iskoo wapoo was at his side that very moment, planning the thing that was to mean so much in the lives of neewa and miki. meanwhile neewa and miki went at their breakfast as if starved. they were immensely practical. they did not look back on what had happened, but for the moment submerged themselves completely in the present. the few days of thrill and adventure through which they had gone seemed like a year. neewa's yearning for his mother had grown less and less insistent, and miki's lost master counted for nothing now, as things were going with him. last night was the big, vivid thing in their memories--their fight for life with the monster owls, their flight, the killing of the young caribou bull by the wolves, and (with miki) the short, bitter experience with maheegun, the renegade she-wolf. his shoulder burned where she had torn at him with her teeth. but this did not lessen his appetite. growling as he ate, he filled himself until he could hold no more. then he sat back on his haunches and looked in the direction maheegun had taken. it was eastward, toward hudson bay, over a great plain that lay between two ridges that were like forest walls, yellow and gold in the morning sun. he had never seen the world as it looked to him now. the wolves had overtaken the caribou on a scarp on the high ground that thrust itself out like a short fat thumb from the black and owl-infested forest, and the carcass lay in a meadowy dip that overhung the plain. from the edge of this dip miki could look down--and so far away that the wonder of what he saw dissolved itself at last into the shimmer of the sun and the blue of the sky. within his vision lay a paradise of marvellous promise; wide stretches of soft, green meadow; clumps of timber, park-like until they merged into the deeper forest that began with the farther ridge; great patches of bush radiant with the colouring of june; here and there the gleam of water, and half a mile away a lake that was like a giant mirror set in a purplish-green frame of balsam and spruce. into these things maheegun, the she-wolf, had gone. he wondered whether she would come back. he sniffed the air for her. but there was no longer the mother-yearning in his heart. something had already begun to tell him of the vast difference between the dog and the wolf. for a few moments, still hopeful that the world held a mother for him, he had mistaken her for the one he had lost. but he understood now. a little more and maheegun's teeth would have snapped his shoulder, or slashed his throat to the jugular. tebah-gone-gawin (the one great law) was impinging itself upon him, the implacable law of the survival of the fittest. to live was to fight--to kill; to beat everything that had feet or wings. the earth and the air held menace for him. nowhere, since he had lost challoner, had he found friendship except in the heart of neewa, the motherless cub. and he turned toward neewa now, growling at a gay-plumaged moose-bird that was hovering about for a morsel of meat. a few minutes before, neewa had weighed a dozen pounds; now he weighed fourteen or fifteen. his stomach was puffed out like the sides of an overfilled bag, and he sat humped up in a pool of warm sunshine licking his chops and vastly contented with himself and the world. miki rubbed up to him, and neewa gave a chummy grunt. then he rolled over on his fat back and invited miki to play. it was the first time; and with a joyous yelp miki jumped into him. scratching and biting and kicking, and interjecting their friendly scrimmage with ferocious growling on miki's part and pig-like grunts and squeals on neewa's, they rolled to the edge of the dip. it was a good hundred feet to the bottom--a steep, grassy slope that ran to the plain--and like two balls they catapulted the length of it. for neewa it was not so bad. he was round and fat, and went easily. with miki it was different. he was all legs and skin and angular bone, and he went down twisting and somersaulting and tying himself into knots until by the time he struck the hard strip of shale at the edge of the plain he was drunk with dizziness and the breath was out of his body. he staggered to his feet with a gasp. for a space the world was whirling round and round in a sickening circle. then he pulled himself together, and made out neewa a dozen feet away. neewa was just awakening to the truth of an exhilarating discovery. next to a boy on a sled, or a beaver on its tail, no one enjoys a "slide" more than a black bear cub, and as miki rearranged his scattered wits neewa climbed twenty or thirty feet up the slope and deliberately rolled down again! miki's jaws fell apart in amazement. again neewa climbed up and rolled down--and miki ceased to breathe altogether. five times he watched neewa go that twenty or thirty feet up the grassy slope and tumble down. the fifth time he waded into neewa and gave him a rough-and-tumble that almost ended in a fight. after that miki began exploring along the foot of the slope, and for a scant hundred yards neewa humoured him by following, but beyond that point he flatly refused to go. in the fourth month of his exciting young life neewa was satisfied that nature had given him birth that he might have the endless pleasure of filling his stomach. for him, eating was the one and only excuse for existing. in the next few months he had a big job on his hands if he kept up the record of his family, and the fact that miki was apparently abandoning the fat and juicy carcass of the young bull filled him with alarm and rebellion. straightway he forgot all thought of play and started back up the slope on a mission that was 100 per cent. business. observing this, miki gave up his idea of exploration and joined him. they reached the shelf of the dip twenty yards from the carcass of the bull, and from a clutter of big stones looked forth upon their meat. in that moment they stood dumb and paralyzed. two gigantic owls were tearing at the carcass. to miki and neewa these were the monsters of the black forest out of which they had escaped so narrowly with their lives. but as a matter of fact they were not of oohoomisew's breed of night-seeing pirates. they were snowy owls, unlike all others of their kind in that their vision was as keen as a hawk's in the light of broad day. mispoon, the big male, was immaculately white. his mate, a size or two smaller, was barred with brownish-slate colour--and their heads were round and terrible looking because they had no ear-tufts. mispoon, with his splendid wings spread half over the carcass of ahtik, the dead bull, was rending flesh so ravenously with his powerful beak that neewa and miki could hear the sound of it. newish, his mate, had her head almost buried in ahtik's bowels. the sight of them and the sound of their eating were enough to disturb the nerves of an older bear than neewa, and he crouched behind a stone, with just his head sticking out. in miki's throat was a sullen growl. but he held it back, and flattened himself on the ground. the blood of the giant hunter that was his father rose in him again like fire. the carcass was his meat, and he was ready to fight for it. besides, had he not whipped the big owl in the forest? but here there were two. the fact held him flattened on his belly a moment or two longer, and in that brief space the unexpected happened. slinking up out of the low growth of bush at the far edge of the dip lie saw maheegun, the renegade she-wolf. hollow-backed, red-eyed, her bushy tail hanging with the sneaky droop of the murderess, she advanced over the bit of open, a gray and vengeful shadow. furtive as she was, she at least acted with great swiftness. straight at mispoon she launched herself with a snarl and snap of fangs that made miki hug the ground still closer. deep into mispoon's four-inch armour of feathers maheegun buried her fangs. taken at a disadvantage mispoon's head would have been torn from his body before he could have gathered himself for battle had it not been for newish. pulling her blood stained head from ahtik's flesh and blood she drove at maheegun with a throaty, wheezing scream--a cry that was like the cry of no other thing that lived. into the she-wolf's back she sank her beak and talons and maheegun gave up her grip on mispoon and tore ferociously at her new assailant. for a space mispoon was saved, but it was at a terrible sacrifice to newish. with a single lucky slash of her long-fanged jaws, maheegun literally tore one of newish's great wings from her body. the croak of agony that came out of her may have held the death-note for mispoon, her mate; for he rose on his wings, poised himself for an instant, and launched himself at the she-wolf's back with a force that drove maheegun off her feet. deep into her loins the great owl sank his talons, gripping at the renegade's vitals with an avenging and ferocious tenacity. in that hold maheegun felt the sting of death. she flung herself on her back; she rolled over and over, snarling and snapping and clawing the air in her efforts to free herself of the burning knives that were sinking still deeper into her bowels. mispoon hung on, rolling as she rolled, beating with his giant wings, fastening his talons in that clutch that death could not shake loose. on the ground his mate was dying. her life's blood was pouring out of the hole in her side, but with the dimming vision of death she made a last effort to help mispoon. and mispoon, a hero to the last, kept his grip until he was dead. into the edge of the bush maheegun dragged herself. there she freed herself of the big owl. but the deep wounds were still in her sides. the blood dripped from her belly as she made her way down into the thicker cover, leaving a red trail behind her. a quarter of a mile away she lay down under a clump of dwarf spruce; and there, a little later, she died. to neewa and miki--and especially to the son of hela--the grim combat had widened even more that subtle and growing comprehension of the world as it existed for them. it was the unforgettable wisdom of experience backed by an age-old instinct and the heredity of breed. they had killed small things--neewa, his bugs and his frogs and his bumble-bees; miki, his rabbit--they had fought for their lives; they had passed through experiences that, from the beginning, had been a gamble with death; but it had needed the climax of a struggle such as they had seen with their own eyes to open up the doors that gave them a new viewpoint of life. it was many minutes before miki went forth and smelled of newish, the dead owl. he had no desire now to tear at her feathers in the excitement of an infantile triumph and ferocity. along with greater understanding a new craft and a new cunning were born in him. the fate of mispoon and his mate had taught him the priceless value of silence and of caution, for he knew now that in the world there were many things that were not afraid of him, and many things that would not run away from him. he had lost his fearless and blatant contempt for winged creatures; he had learned that the earth was not made for him alone, and that to hold his small place on it he must fight as maheegun and the owls had fought. this was because in miki's veins was the red fighting blood of a long line of ancestors that reached back to the wolves. in neewa the process of deduction was vastly different. his breed was not the fighting breed, except as it fought among its own kind. it did not make a habit of preying upon other beasts, and no other beast preyed upon it. this was purely an accident of birth--the fact that no other creature in all his wide domain was powerful enough, either alone or in groups, to defeat a grown black bear in open battle. therefore neewa learned nothing of fighting in the tragedy of maheegun and the owls. his profit, if any, was in a greater caution. and his chief interest was in the fact that maheegun and the two owls had not devoured the young bull. his supper was still safe. with his little round eyes on the alert for fresh trouble he kept himself safely hidden while he watched miki investigating the scene of battle. from the body of the owl miki went to ahtik, and from ahtik he sniffed slowly over the trail which maheegun had taken into the bush. in the edge of the cover he found mispoon. he did not go farther, but returned to neewa, who by this time had made up his mind that he could safely come out into the open. fifty times that day miki rushed to the defense of their meat. the big-eyed, clucking moose-birds were most annoying. next to them the canada jays were most persistent. twice a little gray-coated ermine, with eyes as red as garnets, came in to get his fill of blood. miki was at him so fiercely that he did not return a third time. by noon the crows had got scent or sight of the carcass and were circling overhead, waiting for neewa and miki to disappear. later, they set up a raucous protest from the tops of the trees in the edge of the forest. that night the wolves did not return to the dip. meat was too plentiful, and those that were over their gorge were off on a fresh kill far to the west. once or twice neewa and miki heard their distant cry. again through a star-filled radiant night they watched and listened, and slept at times. in the soft gray dawn they went forth once more to their feast. and here is where makoki, the old cree runner, would have emphasized the presence of the beneficent spirit. for day followed day, and night followed night, and ahtik's flesh and blood put into neewa and miki a strength and growth that developed marvellously. by the fourth day neewa had become so fat and sleek that he was half again as big as on the day he fell out of the canoe. miki had begun to fill out. his ribs could no longer be counted from a distance. his chest was broadening and his legs were losing some of their angular clumsiness. practice on ahtik's bones had strengthened his jaws. with his development he felt less and less the old puppyish desire to play--more and more the restlessness of the hunter. the fourth night he heard again the wailing hunt-cry of the wolves, and it held a wild and thrilling note for him. with neewa, fat and good humour and contentment were all synonymous. as long as the meat held out there was no very great temptation for him beyond the dip and the slope. two or three times a day he went down to the creek; and every morning and afternoon--especially about sunset--he had his fun rolling downhill. in addition to this he began taking his afternoon naps in the crotch of a small sapling. as miki could see neither sense nor sport in tobogganing, and as he could not climb a tree, he began to spend more and more time in venturing up and down the foot of the ridge. he wanted neewa to go with him on these expeditions. he never set out until he had entreated neewa to come down out of his tree, or until he had made an effort to coax him away from the single trail he had made to the creek and back. neewa's obstinacy would never have brought about any real unpleasantness between them. miki thought too much of him for that; and if it had come to a final test, and neewa had thought that miki would not return, he would undoubtedly have followed him. it was another and a more potent thing than an ordinary quarrel that placed the first great barrier between them. now it happened that miki was of the breed which preferred its meat fresh, while neewa liked his "well hung." and from the fourth day onward, what was left of ahtik's carcass was ripening. on the fifth day miki found the flesh difficult to eat; on the sixth, impossible. to neewa it became increasingly delectable as the flavour grew and the perfume thickened. on the sixth day, in sheer delight, he rolled in it. that night, for the first time, miki could not sleep with him. the seventh day brought the climax. ahtik now fairly smelled to heaven. the odour of him drifted up and away on the soft june wind until all the crows in the country were gathering. it drove miki, slinking like a whipped cur, down into the creek bottom. when neewa came down for a drink after his morning feast miki sniffed him over for a moment and then slunk away from him again. as a matter of fact, there was small difference between ahtik and neewa now, except that one lay still and the other moved. both smelled dead; both were decidedly "well hung." even the crows circled over neewa, wondering why it was that he walked about like a living thing. that night miki slept alone under a clump of bush in the creek bottom. he was hungry and lonely, and for the first time in many days he felt the bigness and emptiness of the world. he wanted neewa. he whined for him in the starry silence of the long hours between sunset and dawn. the sun was well up before neewa came down the hill. he had finished his breakfast and his morning roll, and he was worse than ever. again miki tried to coax him away but neewa was disgustingly fixed in his determination to remain in his present glory. and this morning he was more than usually anxious to return to the dip. all of yesterday he had found it necessary to frighten the crows away from his meat, and to-day they were doubly persistent in their efforts to rob him. with a grunt and a squeal to miki he hustled back up the hill after he had taken his drink. his trail entered the dip through the pile of rocks from which miki and he had watched the battle between maheegun and the two owls, and as a matter of caution he always paused for a few moments among these rocks to make sure that all was well in the open. this morning he received a decided shock. ahtik's carcass was literally black with crows. kakakew and his ethiopic horde of scavengers had descended in a cloud, and they were tearing and fighting and beating their wings about ahtik as if all of them had gone mad. another cloud was hovering in air; every bush and near-by sapling was bending under the weight of them, and in the sun their jet-black plumage glistened as if they had just come out of the bath of a tinker's pot. neewa stood astounded. he was not frightened; he had driven the cowardly robbers away many times. but never had there been so many of them. he could see no trace of his meat. even the ground about it was black. he rushed out from the rocks with his lips drawn back, just as he had rushed a dozen or more times before. there was a mighty roar of wings. the air was darkened by them, and the ravenish screaming that followed could have been heard a mile away. this time kakakew and his mighty crew did not fly back to the forest. their number gave them courage. the taste of ahtik's flesh and the flavour of it in their nostrils intoxicated them, to the point of madness, with desire. neewa was dazed. over him, behind him, on all sides of him they swept and circled, croaking and screaming at him, the boldest of them swooping down to beat at him with their wings. thicker grew the menacing cloud, and then suddenly it descended like an avalanche. it covered ahtik again. in it neewa was fairly smothered. he felt himself buried under a mass of wings and bodies, and he began fighting, as he had fought the owls. a score of pincer-like black beaks fought to get at his hair and hide; others stabbed at his eyes; he felt his ears being pulled from his head, and the end of his nose was a bloody cushion within a dozen seconds. the breath was beaten out of him; he was blinded, and dazed, and every square inch of him was aquiver with its own excruciating pain. he forgot ahtik. the one thing in the world he wanted most was a large open space in which to run. putting all his strength into the effort he struggled to his feet and charged through the mass of living things about him. at this sign of defeat many of the crows left him to join in the feast. by the time he was half way to the cover into which maheegun had gone all but one had left him. that one may have been kakakew himself. he had fastened himself like a rat-trap to neewa's stubby tail, and there he hung on like grim death while neewa ran. he kept his hold until his victim was well into the cover. then he flopped himself into the air and rejoined his brethren at the putrified carcass of the bull. if ever neewa had wanted miki he wanted him now. again his entire viewpoint of the world was changed. he was stabbed in a hundred places. he burned as if afire. even the bottoms of his feet hurt him when he stepped on them, and for half an hour he hid himself under a bush, licking his wounds and sniffing the air for miki. then he went down the slope into the creek bottom, and hurried to the foot of the trail he had made to and from the dip. vainly he quested about him for his comrade. he grunted and squealed, and tried to catch the scent of him in the air. he ran up the creek a distance, and back again. ahtik counted as nothing now. miki was gone. chapter ten a quarter of a mile away miki had heard the clamour of the crows. but he was in no humour to turn back, even had he guessed that neewa was in need of his help. he was hungry from long fasting and, for the present, his disposition had taken a decided turn. he was in a mood to tackle anything in the eating line, no matter how big, but he was a good mile from the dip in the side of the ridge before he found even a crawfish. he crunched this down, shell and all. it helped to take the bad taste out of his mouth. the day was destined to hold for him still another unforgettable event in his life. now that he was alone the memory of his master was not so vague as it had been yesterday, and the days before. brain-pictures came back to him more vividly as the morning lengthened into afternoon, bridging slowly but surely the gulf that neewa's comradeship had wrought. for a time the exciting thrill of his adventure was gone. half a dozen times he hesitated on the point of turning back to neewa. it was hunger that always drove him on a little farther. he found two more crawfish. then the creek deepened and its water ran slowly, and was darker. twice he chased old rabbits, that got away from him easily. once he came within an ace of catching a young one. frequently a partridge rose with a thunder of wings. he saw moose-birds, and jays, and many squirrels. all about him was meat which it was impossible for him to catch. then fortune turned his way. poking his head into the end of a hollow log he cornered a rabbit so completely that there was no escape. during the next few minutes he indulged in the first square meal he had eaten for three days. so absorbed was he in his feast that he was unconscious of a new arrival on the scene. he did not hear the coming of oochak, the fisher-cat; nor, for a few moments, did he smell him. it was not in oochak's nature to make a disturbance. he was by birth and instinct a valiant hunter and a gentleman, and when he saw miki (whom he took to be a young wolf) feeding on a fresh kill, he made no move to demand a share for himself. nor did he run away. he would undoubtedly have continued on his way very soon if miki had not finally sensed his presence, and faced him. oochak had come from the other side of the log, and stood not more than six feet distant. to one who knew as little of his history as miki there was nothing at all ferocious about him. he was shaped like his cousins, the weazel, the mink, and the skunk. he was about half as high as miki, and fully as long, so that his two pairs of short legs seemed somewhat out of place, as on a dachshund. he probably weighed between eight and ten pounds, had a bullet head, almost no ears, and atrocious whiskers. also he had a bushy tail and snapping little eyes that seemed to bore clean through whatever he looked at. to miki his accidental presence was a threat and a challenge. besides, oochak looked like an easy victim if it came to a fight. so he pulled back his lips and snarled. oochak accepted this as an invitation for him to move on, and being a gentleman who respected other people's preserves he made his apologies by beginning a velvet-footed exit. this was too much for miki, who had yet to learn the etiquette of the forest trails. oochak was afraid of him. he was running away! with a triumphant yelp miki took after him. after all, it was simply a mistake in judgment. (many two-footed animals with bigger brains than miki's had made similar mistakes.) for oochak, attending always to his own business, was, for his size and weight, the greatest little fighter in north america. just what happened in the one minute that followed his assault miki would never be able quite to understand. it was not in reality a fight; it was a one-sided immolation, a massacre. his first impression was that he had tackled a dozen oochaks instead of one. beyond that first impression his mind did not work, nor did his eyes visualize. he was whipped as he would never be whipped again in his life. he was cut and bruised and bitten; he was strangled and stabbed; he was so utterly mauled that for a space after oochak had gone he continued to rake the air with his paws, unconscious of the fact that the affair was over. when he opened his eyes, and found himself alone, he slunk into the hollow log where he had cornered the rabbit. in there he lay a good half hour, trying hard to comprehend just what had happened. the sun was setting when he dragged himself out. he limped. his one good ear was bitten clean through. there were bare spots on his hide where oochak had scraped the hair off. his bones ached, his throat was sore, and there was a lump over one eye. he looked longingly back over the "home" trail. up there was neewa. with the lengthening shadows of the day's end a great loneliness crept upon him and a desire to turn back to his comrade. but oochak had gone that way--and he did not want to meet oochak again. he wandered a little farther south and east, perhaps a quarter of a mile, before the sun disappeared entirely. in the thickening gloom of twilight he struck the big rock portage between the beaver and the loon. it was not a trail. only at rare intervals did wandering voyageurs coming down from the north make use of it in their passage from one waterway to the other. three or four times a year at the most would a wolf have caught the scent of man in it. it was there tonight, so fresh that miki stopped when he came to it as if another oochak had risen before him. for a space he was turned into the rigidity of rock by a single overwhelming emotion. all other things were forgotten in the fact that he had struck the trail of a man--and, therefore, the trail of challoner, his master. he began to follow it--slowly at first, as if fearing that it might get away from him. darkness came, and he was still following it. in the light of the stars he persisted, all else crowded from him but the homing instinct of the dog and the desire for a master. at last he came almost to the shore of the loon, and there he saw the campfire of makoki and the white man. he did not rush in. he did not bark or yelp; the hard schooling of the wilderness had already set its mark upon him. he slunk in cautiously--then stopped, flat on his belly, just outside the rim of firelight. then he saw that neither of the men was challoner. but both were smoking, as challoner had smoked. he could hear their voices, and they were like challoner's voice. and the camp was the same--a fire, a pot hanging over it, a tent, and in the air the odours of recently cooked things. another moment or two and he would have gone into the firelight. but the white man rose to his feet, stretched himself as he had often seen challoner stretch, and picked up a stick of wood as big as his arm. he came within ten feet of miki, and miki wormed himself just a little toward him, and stood up on his feet. it brought him into a half light. his eyes were aglow with the reflection of the fire. and the man saw him. in a flash the club he held was over his head; it swung through the air with the power of a giant arm behind it and was launched straight at miki. had it struck squarely it would have killed him. the big end of it missed him; the smaller end landed against his neck and shoulder, driving him back into the gloom with such force and suddenness that the man thought he had done for him. he called out loudly to makoki that he had killed a young wolf or a fox, and dashed out into the darkness. the club had knocked miki fairly into the heart of a thick ground spruce. there he lay, making no sound, with a terrible pain in his shoulder. between himself and the fire he saw the man bend over and pick up the club. he saw makoki hurrying toward him with another club, and under his shelter he made himself as small as he could. he was filled with a great dread, for now he understood the truth. these men were not challoner. they were hunting for him--with clubs in their hands. he knew what the clubs meant. his shoulder was almost broken. he lay very still while the men searched about him. the indian even poked his stick into the thick ground spruce. the white man kept saying that he was sure he had made a hit, and once he stood so near that miki's nose almost touched his boot. he went back and added fresh birch to the fire, so that the light of it illumined a greater space about them. miki's heart stood still. but the men searched farther on, and at last went back to the fire. for an hour miki did not move. the fire burned itself low. the old cree wrapped himself in a blanket, and the white man went into his tent. not until then did miki dare to crawl out from under the spruce. with his bruised shoulder making him limp at every step he hurried back over the trail which he had followed so hopefully a little while before. the man-scent no longer made his heart beat swiftly with joy. it was a menace now. a warning. a thing from which he wanted to get away. he would sooner have faced oochak again, or the owls, than the white man with his club. with the owls he could fight, but in the club he sensed an overwhelming superiority. the night was very still when he dragged himself back to the hollow log in which he had killed the rabbit. he crawled into it, and nursed his wounds through all the rest of the hours of darkness. in the early morning he came out and ate the rest of the rabbit. after that he faced the north and west--where neewa was. there was no hesitation now. he wanted neewa again. he wanted to muzzle him with his nose and lick his face even though he did smell to heaven. he wanted to hear him grunt and squeal in his funny, companionable way; he wanted to hunt with him again, and play with him, and lie down beside him in a sunny spot and sleep. neewa, at last, was a necessary part of his world. he set out. and neewa, far up the creek, still followed hopefully and yearningly over the trail of miki. half way to the dip, in a small open meadow that was a glory of sun, they met. there was no very great demonstration. they stopped and looked at each other for a moment, as if to make sure that there was no mistake. neewa grunted. miki wagged his tail. they smelled noses. neewa responded with a little squeal, and miki whined. it was as if they had said, "hello, miki!" "hello, neewa!" and then neewa lay down in the sun and miki sprawled himself out beside him. after all, it was a funny world. it went to pieces now and then, but it always came together again. and to-day their world had thoroughly adjusted itself. once more they were chums--and they were happy. chapter eleven it was the flying-up moon--deep and slumbering midsummer--in all the land of keewatin. from hudson bay to the athabasca and from the hight of land to the edge of the great barrens, forest, plain, and swamp lay in peace and forgetfulness under the sun-glowing days and the star-filled nights of the august mukoo-sawin. it was the breeding moon, the growing moon, the moon when all wild life came into its own once more. for the trails of this wilderness world--so vast that it reached a thousand miles east and west and as far north and south--were empty of human life. at the hudson bay company's posts--scattered here and there over the illimitable domain of fang and claw--had gathered the thousands of hunters and trappers, with their wives and children, to sleep and gossip and play through the few weeks of warmth and plenty until the strife and tragedy of another winter began. for these people of the forests it was mukoo-sawin--the great play day of the year; the weeks in which they ran up new debts and established new credits at the posts; the weeks in which they foregathered at every post as at a great fair--playing, and making love, and marrying, and fattening up for the many days of hunger and gloom to come. it was because of this that the wild things had come fully into the possession of their world for a space. there was no longer the scent of man in all the wilderness. they were not hunted. there were no traps laid for their feet, no poison-baits placed temptingly where they might pass. in the fens and on the lakes the wildfowl squawked and honked unfearing to their young, just learning the power of wing; the lynx played with her kittens without sniffing the air for the menace of man; the cow moose went openly into the cool water of the lakes with their calves; the wolverine and the marten ran playfully over the roofs of deserted shacks and cabins; the beaver and the otter tumbled and frolicked in their dark pools; the birds sang, and through all the wilderness there was the drone and song of nature as some great power must at first have meant that nature should be. a new generation of wild things had been born. it was a season of youth, with tens of thousands and hundreds of thousands of little children of the wild playing their first play, learning their first lessons, growing up swiftly to face the menace and doom of their first winter. and the beneficent spirit of the forests, anticipating what was to come, had prepared well for them. everywhere there was plenty. the blueberries, the blackberries, the mountain-ash and the saskatoons were ripe; tree and vine were bent low with their burden of fruit. the grass was green and tender from the summer rains. bulbous roots were fairly popping out of the earth; the fens and the edges of the lakes were rich with things to eat, overhead and underfoot the horn of plenty was emptying itself without stint. in this world neewa and miki found a vast and unending contentment. they lay, on this august afternoon, on a sun-bathed shelf of rock that overlooked a wonderful valley. neewa, stuffed with luscious blueberries, was asleep. miki's eyes were only partly closed as he looked down into the soft haze of the valley. up to him came the rippling music of the stream running between the rocks and over the pebbly bars below, and with it the soft and languorous drone of the valley itself. he napped uneasily for half an hour, and then his eyes opened and he was wide awake. he took a sharp look over the valley. then he looked at neewa, who, fat and lazy, would have slept until dark. it was always miki who kept him on the move. and now miki barked at him gruffly two or three times, and nipped at one of his ears. "wake up!" he might have said. "what's the sense of sleeping on a day like this? let's go down along the creek and hunt something." neewa roused himself, stretched his fat body, and yawned. sleepily his little eyes took in the valley. miki got up and gave the low and anxious whine which always told his companion that he wanted to be on the move. neewa responded, and they began making their way down the green slope into the rich bottom between the two ridges. they were now almost six months of age, and in the matter of size had nearly ceased to be a cub and a pup. they were almost a dog and a bear. miki's angular legs were getting their shape; his chest had filled out; his neck had grown until it no longer seemed too small for his big head and jaws, and his body had increased in girth and length until he was twice as big as most ordinary dogs of his age. neewa had lost his round, ball-like cubbishness, though he still betrayed far more than miki the fact that he was not many months lost from his mother. but he was no longer filled with that wholesome love of peace that had filled his earlier cubhood. the blood of soominitik was at last beginning to assert itself, and he no longer sought a place of safety in time of battle--unless the grimness of utter necessity made it unavoidable. in fact, unlike most bears, he loved a fight. if there were a stronger term at hand it might be applied to miki, the true son of hela. youthful as they were, they were already covered with scars that would have made a veteran proud. crows and owls, wolf-fang and fisher-claw had all left their marks, and on miki's side was a bare space eight inches long left as a souvenir by a wolverine. in neewa's funny round head there had grown, during the course of events, an ambition to have it out some day with a citizen of his own kind; but the two opportunities that had come his way were spoiled by the fact that the other cubs' mothers were with them. so now, when miki led off on his trips of adventure, neewa always followed with another thrill than that of getting something to eat, which so long had been his one ambition. which is not to say that neewa had lost his appetite. he could eat more in one day than miki could eat in three, mainly because miki was satisfied with two or three meals a day while neewa preferred one--a continuous one lasting from dawn until dark. on the trail he was always eating something. a quarter of a mile along the foot of the ridge, in a stony coulee down which a tiny rivulet trickled, there grew the finest wild currants in all the shamattawa country. big as cherries, black as ink, and swelling almost to the bursting point with luscious juice, they hung in clusters so thick that neewa could gather them by the mouthful. nothing in all the wilderness is quite so good as one of these dead-ripe black currants, and this coulee wherein they grew so richly neewa had preempted as his own personal property. miki, too, had learned to eat the currants; so to the coulee they went this afternoon, for such currants as these one can eat even when one is already full. besides, the coulee was fruitful for miki in other ways. there were many young partridges and rabbits in it--"fool hens" of tender flesh and delicious flavour which he caught quite easily, and any number of gophers and squirrels. to-day they had scarcely taken their first mouthful of the big juicy currants when an unmistakable sound came to them. unmistakable because each recognized instantly what it meant. it was the tearing down of currant bushes twenty or thirty yards higher up the coulee. some robber had invaded their treasure-house, and instantly miki bared his fangs while neewa wrinkled up his nose in an ominous snarl. soft-footed they advanced toward the sound until they came to the edge of a small open space which was as flat as a table. in the centre of this space was a clump of currant bushes not more than a yard in girth, and black with fruit; and squatted on his haunches there, gathering the laden bushes in his arms, was a young black bear about four sizes larger than neewa. in that moment of consternation and rage neewa did not take size into consideration. he was much in the frame of mind of a man returning home to discover his domicile, and all it contained, in full possession of another. at the same time here was his ambition easily to be achieved--his ambition to lick the daylight out of a member of his own kind. miki seemed to sense this fact. under ordinary conditions he would have led in the fray, and before neewa had fairly got started, would have been at the impudent interloper's throat. but now something held him back, and it was neewa who first shot out--like a black bolt--landing squarely in the ribs of his unsuspecting enemy. (old makoki, the cree runner, had he seen that attack, would instantly have found a name for the other bear--"petoot-a-wapis-kum," which means, literally: "kicked-off-his-feet." perhaps he would have called him "pete" for short. for the cree believes in fitting names to fact, and petoot-a-wapis-kum certainly fitted the unknown bear like a glove.) taken utterly by surprise, with his mouth full of berries, he was bowled over like an overfilled bag under the force of neewa's charge. so complete was his discomfiture for the moment that miki, watching the affair with a yearning interest, could not keep back an excited yap of approbation. before pete could understand what had happened, and while the berries were still oozing from his mouth, neewa was at his throat--and the fun began. now bears, and especially young bears, have a way of fighting that is all their own. it reminds one of a hair-pulling contest between two well-matched ladies. there are no rules to the game--absolutely none. as pete and neewa clinched, their hind legs began to do the fighting, and the fur began to fly. pete, being already on his back--a first-class battling position for a bear--would have possessed an advantage had it not been for neewa's ferocious hold at his throat. as it was, neewa sank his fangs in to their full length, and scrubbed away for dear life with his sharp hind claws. miki drew nearer at sight of the flying fur, his soul filled with joy. then pete got one leg into action, and then the other, and miki's jaws came together with a sudden click. over and over the two fighters rolled, neewa holding to his throat-grip, and not a squeal or a grunt came from either of them. pebbles and dirt flew along with hair and fur. stones rolled with a clatter down the coulee. the very air trembled with the thrill of combat. in miki's attitude of tense waiting there was something now of suspicious anxiety. with eight furry legs scratching and tearing furiously, and the two fighters rolling and twisting and contorting themselves like a pair of windmills gone mad, it was almost impossible for miki to tell who was getting the worst of it--neewa or pete; at least he was in doubt for a matter of three or four minutes. then he recognized neewa's voice. it was very faint, but for all that it was an unmistakable bawl of pain. smothered under pete's heavier body neewa began to realize, at the end of those three or four minutes, that he had tackled more than was good for him. it was altogether pete's size and not his fighting qualities, for neewa had him outpointed there. but he fought on, hoping for some good turn of luck, until at last pete got him just where he wanted him and began raking him up and down his sides until in another three minutes he would have been half skinned if miki hadn't judged the moment ripe for intervention. even then neewa was taking his punishment without a howl. in another instant miki had pete by the ear. it was a grim and terrible hold. old soominitik himself would have bawled lustily in the circumstances. pete raised his voice in a howl of agony. he forgot everything else but the terror and the pain of this new something that had him by the ear, and he rent the air with his outcry. his lamentation poured in an unbroken spasm of sound from his throat. neewa knew that miki was in action. he pulled himself from under the young interloper's body--and not a second too soon. down the coulee, charging like a mad bull, came pete's mother. neewa was off like a shot just as she made a powerful swing at him. the blow missed, and the old bear turned excitedly to her bawling offspring. miki, hanging joyously to his victim, was oblivious of his danger until pete's mother was almost upon him. he caught sight of her just as her long arm shot out like a wooden beam. he dodged; and the blow intended for him landed full against the side of the unfortunate pete's head with a force that took him clean off his feet and sent him flying like a football twenty yards down the coulee. miki did not wait for further results. quick as a flash he was in a currant thicket tearing down the little gulch after neewa. they came out on the plain together, and for a good ten minutes they did not halt in their flight long enough to look back. when they did, the coulee was a mile away. they sat down, panting. neewa's red tongue was hanging out in his exhaustion. he was scratched and bleeding; loose hair hung all over him. as he looked at miki there was something in the dolorous expression of neewa's face which was a confession of the fact that he realized pete had licked him. chapter twelve after the fight in the coulee there was no longer a thought on the part of neewa and miki of returning to the garden of eden in which the black currants grew so lusciously. from the tip of his tail to the end of his nose miki was an adventurer, and like the nomadic rovers of old he was happiest when on the move. the wilderness had claimed him now, body and soul, and it is probable that he would have shunned a human camp at this stage of his life, even as neewa would have shunned it. but in the lives of beasts, as well as in the lives of men, fate plays her pranks and tricks, and even as they turned into the vast and mystery-filled spaces of the great lake and waterway-country, to the west, events were slowly shaping themselves into what was to be perhaps the darkest hour of gloom in the life of miki, son of hela. through six glorious and sun-filled weeks of late summer and early autumn--until the middle of september--miki and neewa ranged the country westward, always heading toward the setting sun, the country of jackson's knee, of the touchwood and the clearwater, and god's lake. in this country they saw many things. it was a region a hundred miles square which the handiwork of nature had made into a veritable kingdom of the wild. they came upon great beaver colonies in the dark and silent places; they watched the otter at play; they came upon moose and caribou so frequently that they no longer feared or evaded them, but walked out openly into the meadows or down to the edge of the swamps where they were feeding. it was here that miki learned the great lesson that claw and fang were made to prey upon cloven hoof and horn, for the wolves were thick, and a dozen times they came upon their kills, and even more frequently heard the wild tongue of the hunting-packs. since his experience with maheegun he no longer had the desire to join them. and now neewa no longer insisted on remaining near meat when they found it. it was the beginning of the kwaska-hao in neewa--the instinctive sensing of the big change. until early in october miki could see but little of this change in his comrade. it was then that neewa became more and more restless, and this restlessness grew as the chill nights came, and autumn breathed more heavily in the air. it was neewa who took the lead in their peregrinations now, and he seemed always to be questing for something--a mysterious something which miki could neither smell nor see. he no longer slept for hours at a time. by mid-october he slept scarcely at all, but roved through most of the hours of night as well as day, eating, eating, eating, and always smelling the wind for that elusive thing which nature was commanding him to seek and find. ceaselessly he was nosing under windfalls and among the rocks, and miki was always near him, always on the qui vive for battle with the thing that neewa was hunting out. and it seemed to be never found. then neewa turned back to the east, drawn by the instinct of his forefathers; back toward the country of noozak, his mother, and of soominitik, his father; and miki followed. the nights grew more and more chill. the stars seemed farther away, and no longer was the forest moon red like blood. the cry of the loon had a moaning note in it, a note of grief and lamentation. and in their shacks and tepees the forest people sniffed the air of frosty mornings, and soaked their traps in fish-oil and beaver-grease, and made their moccasins, and mended snow-shoe and sledge, for the cry of the loon said that winter was creeping down out of the north. and the swamps grew silent. the cow moose no longer mooed to her young. in place of it, from the open plain and "burn" rose the defiant challenge of bull to bull and the deadly clash of horn against horn under the stars of night. the wolf no longer howled to hear his voice. in the travel of padded feet there came to be a slinking, hunting caution. in all the forest world blood was running red again. and then--november. perhaps miki would never forget that first day when the snow came. at first he thought all the winged things in the world were shedding their white feathers. then he felt the fine, soft touch of it under his feet, and the chill. it sent the blood rushing like a new kind of fire through his body; a wild and thrilling joy--the exultation that leaps through the veins of the wolf when the winter comes. with neewa its effect was different--so different that even miki felt the oppression of it, and waited vaguely and anxiously for what was to come. and then, on this day of the first snow, he saw his comrade do a strange and unaccountable thing. he began to eat things that he had never touched as food before. he lapped up soft pine needles, and swallowed them. he ate of the dry, pulpy substance of rotted logs. and then he went into a great cleft broken into the heart of a rocky ridge, and found at last the thing for which he had been seeking. it was a cavern--deep, and dark, and warm. nature works in strange ways. she gives to the birds of the air eyes which men may never have, and she gives to the beasts of the earth an instinct which men may never know. for neewa had come back to sleep his first long sleep in the place of his birth--the cavern in which noozak, his mother, had brought him into the world. his old bed was still there, the wallow in the soft sand, the blanket of hair noozak had shed; but the smell of his mother was gone. in the nest where he was born neewa lay down, and for the last time he grunted softly to miki. it was as if he felt upon him the touch of a hand, gentle but inevitable, which he could no longer refuse to obey, and to miki was saying, for the last time: "good-night!" that night the pipoo kestin--the first storm of winter--came like an avalanche from out of the north. with it came a wind that was like the roaring of a thousand bulls, and over all the land of the wild there was nothing that moved. even in the depth of the cavern miki heard the beat and the wail of it and the swishing of the shot-like snow beyond the door through which they had come, and he snuggled close to neewa, content that they had found shelter. with the day he went to the slit in the face of the rock, and in his astonishment he made no sound, but stared forth upon a world that was no longer the world he had left last night. everywhere it was white--a dazzling, eye-blinding white. the sun had risen. it shot a thousand flashing shafts of radiant light into miki's eyes. so far as his vision could reach the earth was as if covered with a robe of diamonds. from rock and tree and shrub blazed the fire of the sun; it quivered in the tree-tops, bent low with their burden of snow; it was like a sea in the valley, so vivid that the unfrozen stream running through the heart of it was black. never had miki seen a day so magnificent. never had his heart pounded at the sight of the sun as it pounded now, and never had his blood burned with a wilder exultation. he whined, and ran back to neewa. he barked in the gloom of the cavern and gave his comrade a nudge with his nose. neewa grunted sleepily. he stretched himself, raised his head for an instant, and then curled himself into a ball again. vainly miki protested that it was day, and time for them to be moving. neewa made no response, and after a while miki returned to the mouth of the cavern, and looked back to see if neewa was following him. then, disappointed, he went out into the snow. for an hour he did not move farther than ten feet away from the den. three times he returned to neewa and urged him to get up and come out where it was light. in that far corner of the cavern it was dark, and it was as if he were trying to tell neewa that he was a dunce to lie there still thinking it was night when the sun was up outside. but he failed. neewa was in the edge of his long sleep--the beginning of uske-pow-a-mew, the dream land of the bears. annoyance, the desire almost to sink his teeth in neewa's ear, gave place slowly to another thing in miki. the instinct that between beasts is like the spoken reason of men stirred in a strange and disquieting way within him. he became more and more uneasy. there was almost distress in his restlessness as he hovered about the mouth of the cavern. a last time he went to neewa, and then he started alone down into the valley. he was hungry, but on this first day after the storm there was small chance of him finding anything to eat. the snowshoe rabbits were completely buried under their windfalls and shelters, and lay quietly in their warm nests. nothing had moved during the hours of the storm. there were no trails of living things for him to follow, and in places he sank to his shoulders in the soft snow. he made his way to the creek. it was no longer the creek he had known. it was edged with ice. there was something dark and brooding about it now. the sound it made was no longer the rippling song of summer and golden autumn. there was a threat in its gurgling monotone--a new voice, as if a black and forbidding spirit had taken possession of it and was warning him that the times had changed, and that new laws and a new force had come to claim sovereignty in the land of his birth. he drank of the water cautiously. it was cold--ice-cold. slowly it was being impinged upon him that in the beauty of this new world that was his there was no longer the warm and pulsing beat of the heart that was life. he was alone. alone! everything else was covered up; everything else seemed dead. he went back to neewa and lay close to him all through the day. and through the night that followed he did not move again from the cavern. he went only as far as the door and saw celestial spaces ablaze with stars and a moon that rode up into the heavens like a white sun. they, too, seemed no longer like the moon and stars he had known. they were terribly still and cold. and under them the earth was terribly white and silent. with the coming of dawn he tried once more to awaken neewa. but this time he was not so insistent. nor did he have the desire to nip neewa with his teeth. something had happened--something which he could not understand. he sensed the thing, but he could not reason it. and he was filled with a strange and foreboding fear. he went down again to hunt. under the glory of the moon and stars it had been a wild night of carnival for the rabbits, and in the edge of the timber miki found the snow beaten hard in places with their tracks. it was not difficult for him to stalk his breakfast this morning. he made his kill, and feasted. he killed again after that, and still again. he could have gone on killing, for now that the snow betrayed them, the hiding-places of the rabbits were so many traps for them. miki's courage returned. he was fired again with the joy of life. never had he known such hunting, never had he found such a treasure-house before--not even in the coulee where the currants grew. he ate until he could eat no more, and then he went back to neewa, carrying with him one of the rabbits he had slain. he dropped it in front of his comrade, and whined. even then neewa did not respond, except to draw a deeper breath, and change his position a little. that afternoon, for the first time in many hours, neewa rose to his feet, stretched himself, and sniffed of the dead rabbit. but he did not eat. to miki's consternation he rolled himself round and round in his nest of sand and went to sleep again. the next day, at about the same time, neewa roused himself once more. this time he went as far as the mouth of the den, and lapped up a few mouthfuls of snow. but he still refused to eat the rabbit. again it was nature telling him that he must not disturb the pine needles and dry bark with which he had padded his stomach and intestines. and he went to sleep again. he did not get up after that. day followed day, and, growing lonelier as the winter deepened, miki hunted alone. all through november he came back each night and slept with neewa. and neewa was as if dead, except that his body was warm, and he breathed, and made little sounds now and then in his throat. but this did not satisfy the great yearning that was becoming more and more insistent in miki's soul, the overwhelming desire for company, for a brotherhood on the trail. he loved neewa. through the first long weeks of winter he returned to him faithfully; he brought him meat. he was filled with a strange grief--even greater than if neewa had been dead. for miki knew that he was alive, and he could not account for the thing that had happened. death he would have understood, and from death he would have gone away--for good. so it came that one night, having hunted far, miki remained away from the den for the first time, and slept under a deep windfall. after that it was still harder for him to resist the call. a second and a third night he went away; and then came the time--inevitable as the coming and going of the moon and stars--when understanding at last broke its way through his hope and his fear, and something told him that neewa would never again travel with him as through those glorious days of old, when shoulder to shoulder they had faced together the comedies and tragedies of life in a world that was no longer soft and green and warm with a golden sun, but white, and still, and filled with death. neewa did not know when miki went away from the den for the last time. and yet it may be that even in his slumber the beneficent spirit may have whispered that miki was going, for there were restlessness and disquiet in neewa's dreamland for many days thereafter. "be quiet--and sleep!" the spirit may have whispered. "the winter is long. the rivers are black and chill, the lakes are covered with floors of ice, and the waterfalls are frozen like great white giants. sleep! for miki must go his way, just as the waters of the streams must go their way to the sea. for he is dog. and you are bear. sleep!" chapter thirteen in many years there had not been such a storm in all the northland as that which followed swiftly in the trail of the first snows that had driven neewa into his den--the late november storm of that year which will long be remembered as kusketa pippoon (the black year), the year of great and sudden cold, of starvation and of death. it came a week after miki had left the cavern wherein neewa was sleeping so soundly. preceding that, when all the forest world lay under its mantle of white, the sun shone day after day, and the moon and stars were as clear as golden fires in the night skies. the wind was out of the west. the rabbits were so numerous they made hard floors of the snow in thicket and swamp. caribou and moose were plentiful, and the early cry of wolves on the hunt was like music in the ears of a thousand trappers in shack and teepee. with appalling suddenness came the unexpected. there was no warning. the day had dawned with a clear sky, and a bright sun followed the dawn. then the world darkened so swiftly that men on their traplines paused in amazement. with the deepening gloom came a strange moaning, and there was something in that sound that seemed like the rolling of a great drum--the knell of an impending doom. it was thunder. the warning was too late. before men could turn back to safety, or build themselves shelters, the big storm was upon them. for three days and three nights it raged like a mad bull from out of the north. in the open barrens no living creature could stand upon its feet. the forests were broken, and all the earth was smothered. all things that breathed buried themselves--or died; for the snow that piled itself up in windrows and mountains was round and hard as leaden shot, and with it came an intense cold. on the third day it was sixty degrees below zero in the country between the shamattawa and jackson's knee. not until the fourth day did living things begin to move. moose and caribou heaved themselves up out of the thick covering of snow that had been their protection; smaller animals dug their way out of the heart of deep drifts and mounds; a half of the rabbits and birds were dead. but the most terrible toll was of men. many of those who were caught out succeeded in keeping the life within their bodies, and dragged themselves back to teepee and shack. but there were also many who did not return--five hundred who died between hudson bay and the athabasca in those three terrible days of the kusketa pippoon. in the beginning of the big storm miki found himself in the "burnt" country of jackson's knee, and instinct sent him quickly into deeper timber. here he crawled into a windfall of tangled trunks and tree-tops, and during the three days he did not move. buried in the heart of the storm, there came upon him an overwhelming desire to return to neewa's den, and to snuggle up to him once more, even though neewa lay as if dead. the strange comradeship that had grown up between the two--their wanderings together all through the summer, the joys and hardships of the days and months in which they had fought and feasted like brothers--were memories as vivid in his brain as if it had all happened yesterday. and in the dark wind-fall, buried deeper and deeper under the snow, he dreamed. he dreamed of challoner, who had been his master in the days of his joyous puppyhood; he dreamed of the time when neewa, the motherless cub, was brought into camp, and of the happenings that had come to them afterward; the loss of his master, of their strange and thrilling adventures in the wilderness, and last of all of neewa's denning-up. he could not understand that. awake, and listening to the storm, he wondered why it was that neewa no longer hunted with him, but had curled himself up into a round ball, and slept a sleep from which he could not rouse him. through the long hours of the three days and nights of storm it was loneliness more than hunger that ate at his vitals. when on the morning of the fourth day he came out from under the windfall his ribs were showing and there was a reddish film over his eyes. first of all he looked south and east, and whined. through twenty miles of snow he travelled back that day to the ridge where he had left neewa. on this fourth day the sun shone like a dazzling fire. it was so bright that the glare of the snow pricked his eyes, and the reddish film grew redder. there was only a cold glow in the west when he came to the end of his journey. dusk had already begun to settle over the roofs of the forests when he reached the ridge where neewa had found the cavern. it was no longer a ridge. the wind had piled the snow up over it in grotesque and monstrous shapes. rocks and bushes were obliterated. where the mouth of the cavern should have been was a drift ten feet deep. cold and hungry, thinned by his days and nights of fasting, and with his last hope of comradeship shattered by the pitiless mountains of snow, miki turned back over his trail. there was nothing left for him now but the old windfall, and his heart was no longer the heart of the joyous comrade and brother of neewa, the bear. his feet were sore and bleeding, but still he went on. the stars came out; the night was ghostly white in their pale fire; and it was cold--terribly cold. the trees began to snap. now and then there came a report like a pistol-shot as the frost snapped at the heart of timber. it was thirty degrees below zero. and it was growing colder. with the windfall as his only inspiration miki drove himself on. never had he tested his strength or his endurance as he strained them now. older dogs would have fallen in the trail or have sought shelter or rest. but miki was the true son of hela, his giant mackenzie hound father, and he would have continued until he triumphed--or died. but a strange thing happened. he had travelled twenty miles to the ridge, and fifteen of the twenty miles back, when a shelf of snow gave way under his feet and he was pitched suddenly downward. when he gathered his dazed wits and stood up on his half frozen legs he found himself in a curious place. he had rolled completely into a wigwam-shaped shelter of spruce boughs and sticks, and strong in his nostrils was the smell of meat. he found the meat not more than a foot from the end of his nose. it was a chunk of frozen caribou flesh transfixed on a stick, and without questioning the manner of its presence he gnawed at it ravenously. only jacques le beau, who lived eight or ten miles to the east, could have explained the situation. miki had rolled into one of his trap-houses, and it was the bait he was eating. there was not much of it, but it fired miki's blood with new life. there was smell in his nostrils now, and he began clawing in the snow. after a little his teeth struck something hard and cold. it was steel--a fisher trap. he dragged it up from under a foot of snow, and with it came a huge rabbit. the snow had so protected the rabbit that, although several days dead, it was not frozen stiff. not until the last bone of it was gone did miki's feast end. he even devoured the head. then he went on to the windfall, and in his warm nest slept until another day. that day jacques le beau--whom the indians called "muchet-ta-aao" (the one with an evil heart)--went over his trapline and rebuilt his snow-smothered "houses" and re-set his traps. it was in the afternoon that miki, who was hunting, struck his trail in a swamp several miles from the windfall. no longer was his soul stirred by the wild yearning for a master. he sniffed, suspiciously, of le beau's snowshoe tracks and the crest along his spine trembled as he caught the wind, and listened. he followed cautiously, and a hundred yards farther on came to one of le beau's kekeks or trap-shelters. here too, there was meat--fixed on a peg. miki reached in. from under his fore-paw came a vicious snap and the steel jaws of a trap flung sticks and snow into his face. he snarled, and for a few moments he waited, with his eyes on the trap. then he stretched himself until he reached the meat, without advancing his feet. thus he had discovered the hidden menace of the steel jaws, and instinct told him how to evade them. for another third of a mile he followed le beau's tracks. he sensed the presence of a new and thrilling danger, and yet he did not turn off the trail. an impulse which he was powerless to resist drew him on. he came to a second trap, and this time he robbed the bait-peg without springing the thing which he knew was concealed close under it. his long fangs clicked as he went on. he was eager for a glimpse of the man-beast. but he did not hurry. a third, a fourth, and a fifth trap he robbed of their meat. then, as the day ended, he swung westward and covered quickly the five miles between the swamp and his windfall. half an hour later le beau came back over the line. he saw the first empty kekek, and the tracks in the snow. "tonnerre!--a wolf!" he exclaimed. "and in broad day!" then a slow look of amazement crept into his face, and he fell upon his knees in the snow and examined the tracks. "non!" he gasped. "it is a dog! a devil of a wild dog--robbing my traps!" he rose to his feet, cursing. from the pocket of his coat he drew a small tin box, and from this box he took a round ball of fat. in the heart of the fat was a strychnine capsule. it was a poison-bait, to be set for wolves and foxes. le beau chuckled exultantly as he stuck the deadly lure on the end of the bait-peg. "ow, a wild dog," he growled. "i will teach him. to-morrow he will be dead." on each of the five ravished bait-pegs he placed a strychnine capsule rolled in its inviting little ball of fat. chapter fourteen the next morning miki set out again for the trapline of jacques le beau. it was not the thought of food easily secured that tempted him. there would have been a greater thrill in killing for himself. it was the trail, with its smell of the man-beast, that drew him like a magnet. where that smell was very strong he wanted to lie down, and wait. yet with his desire there was also fear, and a steadily growing caution. he did not tamper with the first kekek, nor with the second. at the third le beau had fumbled in the placing of his bait, and for that reason the little ball of fat was strong with the scent of his hands. a fox would have turned away from it quickly. miki, however, drew it from the peg and dropped it in the snow between his forefeet. then he looked about him, and listened for a full minute. after that he licked the ball of fat with his tongue. the scent of le beau's hands kept him from swallowing it as he had swallowed the caribou meat. a little suspiciously he crushed it slowly between his jaws. the fat was sweet. he was about to gulp it down when he detected another and less pleasant taste, and what remained in his mouth he spat out upon the snow. but the acrid bite of the poison remained upon his tongue and in his throat. it crept deeper--and he caught up a mouthful of snow and swallowed it to put out the burning sensation that was crawling nearer to his vitals. had he devoured the ball of fat as he had eaten the other baits he would have been dead within a quarter of an hour, and le beau would not have gone far to find his body. as it was, he was beginning to turn sick at the end of the fifteen minutes. a premonition of the evil that was upon him drew him off the trail and in the direction of the windfall. he had gone only a short distance when suddenly his legs gave way under him, and he fell. he began to shiver. every muscle in his body trembled. his teeth clicked. his eyes grew wide, and it was impossible for him to move. and then, like a hand throttling him, there came a strange stiffness in the back of his neck, and his breath hissed chokingly out of his throat. the stiffness passed like a wave of fire through his body. where his muscles had trembled and shivered a moment before they now became rigid and lifeless. the throttling grip of the poison at the base of his brain drew his head back until his muzzle was pointed straight up to the sky. still he made no cry. for a space every nerve in his body was at the point of death. then came the change. as though a string had snapped, the horrible grip left the back of his neck; the stiffness shot out of his body in a flood of shivering cold, and in another moment he was twisting and tearing up the snow in mad convulsions. the spasm lasted for perhaps a minute. when it was over miki was panting. streams of saliva dripped from his jaws into the snow. but he was alive. death had missed him by a hair, and after a little he staggered to his feet and continued on his way to the windfall. thereafter jacques le beau might place a million poison capsules in his way and he would not touch them. never again would he steal the meat from a bait-peg. two days later le beau saw where miki had fought his fight with death in the snow and his heart was black with rage and disappointment. he began to follow the footprints of the dog. it was noon when he came to the windfall and saw the beaten path where miki entered it. on his knees he peered into the cavernous depths--and saw nothing. but miki, lying watchfully, saw the man, and he was like the black, bearded monster who had almost killed him with a club a long time ago. and in his heart, too, there was disappointment, for away back in his memory of things there was always the thought of challoner--the master he had lost; and it was never challoner whom he found when he came upon the man smell. le beau heard his growl, and the man's blood leapt excitedly as he rose to his feet. he could not go in after the wild dog, and he could not lure him out. but there was another way. he would drive him out with fire! deep back in his fortress, miki heard the crunch of le beau's feet in the snow. a few minutes later he saw the man-beast again peering into his lair. "bete, bete," he called half tauntingly, and again miki growled. jacques was satisfied. the windfall was not more than thirty or forty feet in diameter, and about it the forest was open and clear of undergrowth. it would be impossible for the wild dog to get away from his rifle. a second time he went around the piled-up mass of fallen timber. on three sides it was completely smothered under the deep snow. only where miki's trail entered was it open. getting the wind behind him le beau made his iskoo of birch-bark and dry wood at the far end of the windfall. the seasoned logs and tree-tops caught the fire like tinder, and within a few minutes the flames began to crackle and roar in a manner that made miki wonder what was happening. for a space the smoke did not reach him. le beau, watching, with his rifle in his bare hands, did not for an instant let his eyes leave the spot where the wild dog must come out. suddenly a pungent whiff of smoke filled miki's nostrils, and a thin white cloud crept in a ghostly veil between him and the opening. a crawling, snake-like rope of it began to pour between two logs within a yard of him, and with it the strange roaring grew nearer and more menacing. then, for the first time, he saw lightning flashes of yellow flame through the tangled debris as the fire ate into the heart of a mass of pitch-filled spruce. in another ten seconds the flames leapt twenty feet into the air, and jacques le beau stood with his rifle half to his shoulder, ready to kill. appalled by the danger that was upon him, miki did not forget le beau. with an instinct sharpened to fox-like keenness his mind leapt instantly to the truth of the matter. it was the man-beast who had set this new enemy upon him; and out there, just beyond the opening, the man-beast was waiting. so, like the fox, he did what le beau least expected. he crawled back swiftly through the tangled tops until he came to the wall of snow that shut the windfall in, and through this he burrowed his way almost as quickly as the fox himself would have done it. with his jaws he tore through the half-inch outer crust, and a moment later stood in the open, with the fire between him and le beau. the windfall was a blazing furnace, and suddenly le beau ran back a dozen steps so that he could see on the farther side. a hundred yards away he saw miki making for the deeper forest. it was a clear shot. at that distance le beau would have staked his life that it was impossible for him to miss. he did not hurry. one shot, and it would be over. he raised his rifle, and in that instant a wisp of smoke came like the lash of a whip with the wind and caught him fairly in the eyes, and his bullet passed three inches over miki's head. the whining snarl of it was a new thing to miki. but he recognized the thunder of the gun--and he knew what a gun could do. to le beau, still firing at him through the merciful cloud of smoke, he was like a gray streak flashing to the thick timber. three times more le beau fired. from the edge of a dense clump of spruce miki flung back a defiant howl. he disappeared as le beau's last shot shovelled up the snow at his heels. the narrowness of his escape from the man-beast did not frighten miki out of the jackson's knee country. if anything, it held him more closely to it. it gave him something to think about besides neewa and his aloneness. as the fox returns to peer stealthily upon the deadfall that has almost caught him, so the trapline was possessed now of a new thrill for miki. heretofore the man-smell had held for him only a vague significance; now it marked the presence of a real and concrete danger. and he welcomed it. his wits were sharpened. the fascination of the trapline was deadlier than before. from the burned windfall he made a wide detour to a point where le beau's snowshoe trail entered the edge of the swamp; and here, hidden in a thick clump of bushes, he watched him as he travelled homeward half an hour later. from that day he hung like a grim, gray ghost to the trapline. silent-footed, cautious, always on the alert for the danger which threatened him, he haunted jacques le beau's thoughts and footsteps with the elusive persistence of a were-wolf--a loup-garou of the black forest. twice in the next week le beau caught a flash of him. three times he heard him howl. and twice he followed his trail until, in despair and exhaustion, he turned back. never was miki caught unaware. he ate no more baits in the trap-houses. even when le beau lured him with the whole carcass of a rabbit he would not touch it, nor would he touch a rabbit frozen dead in a snare. from le beau's traps he took only the living things, chiefly birds and squirrels and the big web-footed snowshoe rabbits. and because a mink jumped at him once, and tore open his nose, he destroyed a number of minks so utterly that their pelts were spoiled. he found himself another windfall, but instinct taught him now never to go to it directly, but to approach it, and leave it, in a roundabout way. day and night le beau, the man-brute, plotted against him. he set many poison-baits. he killed a doe, and scattered strychnine in its entrails. he built deadfalls, and baited them with meat soaked in boiling fat. he made himself a "blind" of spruce and cedar boughs, and sat for long hours, watching with his rifle. and still miki was the victor. one day miki found a huge fisher-cat in one of the traps. he had not forgotten the battle of long ago with oochak, the other fisher-cat, or the whipping he had received. but there was no thought of vengeance in his heart on the early evening he became acquainted with oochak the second. usually he was in his windfall at dusk, but this afternoon a great and devouring loneliness had held him on the trail. the spirit of kuskayetum--the hand of the mating-god--was pressing heavily upon him; the consuming desire of flesh and blood for the companionship of other flesh and blood. it burned in his veins like a fever. it took away from him all thought of hunger or of the hunt. in his soul was a vast, unfilled yearning. it was then that he came upon oochak. perhaps it was the same oochak of months ago. if so, he had grown even as miki had grown. he was splendid, with his long silken fur and his sleek body, and he was not struggling, but sat awaiting his fate without excitement. to miki he looked warm and soft and comfortable. it made him think of neewa, and the hundred and one nights they had slept together. his desire leapt out to oochak. he whined softly as he advanced. he would make friends. even with oochak, his old enemy, he would lie down in peace and happiness, so great was the gnawing emptiness in his heart. oochak made no response, nor did he move, but sat furred up like a huge soft ball, watching miki as he crept nearer on his belly. something of the old puppishness came back into the dog. he wriggled and thumped his tail, and as he whined again he seemed to say. "let's forget the old trouble, oochak. let's be friends. i've got a fine windfall--and i'll kill you a rabbit." and still oochak did not move or make a sound. at last miki could almost reach out with his forepaws and touch him. he dragged himself still nearer, and his tail thumped harder. "and i'll get you out of the trap," he may have been saying. "it's the man-beast's trap--and i hate him." and then, so suddenly that miki had no chance to guard himself, oochak sprang the length of the trap-chain and was at him. with teeth and razor-edged claws he tore deep gashes in miki's nose. even then the blood of battle rose slowly in him, and he might have retreated had not oochak's teeth got a hold in his shoulder. with a roar he tried to shake himself free, but oochak held on. then his jaws snapped at the back of the fisher-cat's neck. when he was done oochak was dead. he slunk away, but in him there was no more the thrill of the victor. he had killed, but in killing he had found no joy. upon him--the four-footed beast--had fallen at last the oppression of the thing that drives men mad. he stood in the heart of a vast world, and for him that world was empty. he was an outcast. his heart crying out for comradeship, he found that all things feared him or hated him. he was a pariah; a wanderer without a friend or a home. he did not reason these things but the gloom of them settled upon him like black night. he did not return to his windfall. in a little open he sat on his haunches, listening to the night sounds, and watching the stars as they came out. there was an early moon, and as it came up over the forest, a great throbbing red disc that seemed filled with life, he howled mournfully in the face of it. he wandered out into a big burn a little later, and there the night was like day, so clear that his shadow followed him and all other things about him cast shadows, and then, all at once, he caught in the night wind a sound which he had heard many times before. it came from far away, and it was like a whisper at first, an echo of strange voices riding on the wind, a hundred times he had heard that cry of the wolves. since maheegun, the she-wolf, had gashed his shoulder so fiercely away back in the days of his puppyhood he had evaded the path of that cry. he had learned, in a way, to hate it. but he could not wipe out entirely the thrill that came with that call of the blood. and to-night it rode over all his fear and hatred. out there was company. whence the cry came the wild brethren were running two by two, and three by three, and there was comradeship. his body quivered. an answering cry rose in his throat, dying away in a whine, and for an hour after that he heard no more of the wolf-cry in the wind. the pack had swung to the west--so far away that their voices were lost. and it passed--with the moon straight over them--close to the shack of pierrot, the halfbreed. in pierrot's cabin was a white man, on his way to fort o' god. he saw that pierrot crossed himself, and muttered. "it is the mad pack," explained pierrot then. "m'sieu, they have been keskwao since the beginning of the new moon. in them are the spirits of devils." he opened the cabin door a little, so that the mad cry of the beasts came to them plainly. when he closed it there was in his eyes a look of strange fear. "now and then wolves go like that--keskwao (stark mad)--in the dead of winter," he shuddered. "three days ago there were twenty of them, m'sieu, for i saw them with my own eyes, and counted their tracks in the snow. since then they been murdered and torn into strings by the others of the pack. listen to them ravin'! can you tell me why, m'sieu? can you tell me why wolves sometimes go mad in the heart of winter when there is no heat or rotten meat to turn them sick? non? but i can tell you. they are the loups-garous; in their bodies ride the spirits of devils, and there they will ride until the bodies die. for the wolves that go mad in the deep snows always die, m'sieu. that is the strange part of it. they die!" and then it was, swinging eastward from the cabin of pierrot, that the mad wolves of jackson's knee came into the country of the big swamp wherein trees bore the double-x blaze of jacques le beau's axe. there were fourteen of them running in the moonlight. what it is that now and then drives a wolf-pack mad in the dead of winter no man yet has wholly learned. possibly it begins with a "bad" wolf; just as a "bad" sledge-dog, nipping and biting his fellows, will spread his distemper among them until the team becomes an ugly, quarrelsome horde. such a dog the wise driver kills--or turns loose. the wolves that bore down upon le beau's country were red-eyed and thin. their bodies were covered with gashes, and the mouths of some frothed blood. they did not run as wolves run for meat. they were a sinister and suspicious lot, with a sneaking droop to their haunches, and their cry was not the deep-throated cry of the hunt-pack but a ravening clamour that seemed to have no leadership or cause. scarcely was the sound of their tongues gone beyond the hearing of pierrot's ears than one of the thin gray beasts rubbed against the shoulder of another, and the second turned with the swiftness of a snake, like the "bad" dog of the traces, and struck his fangs deep into the first wolf's flesh. could pierrot have seen, he would have understood then how the four he had found had come to their end. swift as the snap of a whip-lash the fight between the two was on. the other twelve of the pack stopped. they came back, circling in cautiously and grimly silent about their fighting comrades. they ranged themselves in a ring, as men gather about a fistic battle; and there they waited, their jaws drooling, their fangs clicking, a low and eager whining smothered in their throats. and then the thing happened. one of the fighting wolves went down. he was on his back--and the end came. the twelve wolves were upon him as one, and, like those pierrot had seen, he was torn to pieces, and his flesh devoured. after that the thirteen went on deeper into le beau's country. miki heard them again, after that hour's interval of silence. farther and farther he had wandered from the forest. he had crossed the "burn," and was in the open plain, with the rough ridges cutting through and the big river at the edge of it. it was not so gloomy out here, and his loneliness weighed upon him less heavily than in the deep timber. and across this plain came the voice of the wolves. he did not move away from it to-night. he waited, silhouetted against the vivid starlight at the crest of a rocky knoll, and the top of this knoll was so small that another could not have stood beside him without their shoulders touching. on all sides of him the plain swept away in the white light of the stars and moon; never had the desire to respond to the wild brethren urged itself upon him more fiercely than now. he flung back his head, until his black-tipped muzzle pointed up to the stars, and the voice rolled out of his throat. but it was only half a howl. even then, oppressed by his great loneliness, there gripped him that something instinctive which warned him against betrayal. after that he remained quiet, and as the wolves drew nearer his body grew tense, his muscles hardened, and in his throat there was the low whispering of a snarl instead of a howl. he sensed danger. he had caught, in the voice of the wolves, the ravening note that had made pierrot cross himself and mutter of the loups-garous, and he crouched down on his belly at the top of the rocky mound. then he saw them. they were sweeping like dark and swiftly moving shadows between him and the forest. suddenly they stopped, and for a few moments no sound came from them as they packed themselves closely on the scent of his fresh trail in the snow. and then they surged in his direction; this time there was a still fiercer madness in the wild cry that rose from their throats. in a dozen seconds they were at the mound. they swept around it and past it, all save one--a huge gray brute who shot up the hillock straight at the prey the others had not yet seen. there was a snarl in miki's throat as he came. once more he was facing the thrill of a great fight. once more the blood ran suddenly hot in his veins, and fear was driven from him as the wind drives smoke from a fire. if neewa were only there now, to fend at his back while he fought in front! he stood up on his feet. he met the up-rushing pack-brute head to head. their jaws clashed, and the wild wolf found jaws at last that crunched through his own as if they had been whelp's bone, and he rolled and twisted back to the plain in a dying agony. but not until another gray form had come to fill his place. into the throat of this second miki drove his fangs as the wolf came over the crest. it was the slashing, sabre-like stroke of the north-dog, and the throat of the wolf was torn open and the blood poured out as if emptied by the blade of a knife. down he plunged to join the first, and in that instant the pack swept up and over miki, and he was smothered under the mass of their bodies. had two or three attacked him at once he would have died as quickly as the first two of his enemies had come to their end. numbers saved him in the first rush. on the level of the plain he would have been torn into pieces like a bit of cloth, but on the space at the top of the kopje, no larger than the top of a table, he was lost for a few seconds under the snarling and rending horde of his enemies. fangs intended for him sank into other wolf-flesh; the madness of the pack became a blind rage, and the assault upon miki turned into a slaughter of the wolves themselves. on his back, held down by the weight of bodies, miki drove his fangs again and again into flesh. a pair of jaws seized him in the groin, and a shock of agony swept through him. it was a death-grip, sinking steadily into his vitals. just in time another pair of jaws seized the wolf who held him, and the hold in his groin gave way. in that moment miki felt himself plunging down the steep side of the knoll, and after him came a half of what was left alive of the pack. the fighting devils in miki's brain gave way all at once to that cunning of the fox which had served him even more than claw and fang in times of great danger. scarcely had he reached the plain before he was on his feet, and no sooner had he touched his feet than he was off like the wind in direction of the river. he had gained a fifty-yard start before the first of the wolves discovered his flight. there were only eight that followed him now. of the thirteen mad beasts five were dead or dying at the foot of the hillock. of these miki had slain two. the others had fallen at the fangs of their own brethren. half a mile away were the steep cliffs of the river, and at the edge of these cliffs was a great cairn of rocks in which for one night miki had sought shelter. he had not forgotten the tunnel into the tumbled mass of rock debris, nor how easily it could be defended from within. once in that tunnel he would turn in the door of it and slaughter his enemies one by one, for only one by one could they attack him. but he had not reckoned with that huge gray form behind him that might have been named lightning, the fiercest and swiftest of all the mad wolves of the pack. he sped ahead of his slower-footed companions like a streak of light, and miki had made but half the distance to the cairn when he heard the panting breath of lightning behind him. even hela, his father, could not have run more swiftly than miki, but great as was miki's speed, lightning ran more swiftly. two thirds of the distance to the cliff and the huge wolf's muzzle was at miki's flank. with a burst of speed miki gained a little. then steadily lightning drew abreast of him, a grim and merciless shadow of doom. a hundred yards farther on and a little to the right was the cairn. but miki could not run to the right without turning into lightning's jaws, and he realized now that if he reached the cairn his enemy would be upon him before he could dive into the tunnel and face about. to stop and fight would be death, for behind he could hear the other wolves. ten seconds more and the chasm of the river yawned ahead of them. at its very brink miki swung and struck at lightning. he sensed death now, and in the face of death all his hatred turned upon the one beast that had run at his side. in an instant they were down. two yards from the edge of the cliff, and miki's jaws were at lightning's throat when the pack rushed upon them. they were swept onward. the earth flew out from under their feet, and they were in space. grimly miki held to the throat of his foe. over and over they twisted in mid-air, and then came a terrific shock. lightning was under. yet so great was the shock, that, even though the wolf's huge body was under him like a cushion, miki was stunned and dazed. a minute passed before he staggered to his feet. lightning lay still, the life smashed out of him. a little beyond him lay the bodies of two other wolves that in their wild rush had swept over the cliff. miki looked up. between him and the stars he could see the top of the cliff, a vast distance above him. one after the other he smelled at the bodies of the three dead wolves. then he limped slowly along the base of the cliff until he came to a fissure between two huge rocks. into this he crept and lay down, licking his wounds. after all there were worse things in the world than le beau's trapline. perhaps there were even worse things than men. after a time he stretched his great head out between his fore-paws, and slowly the starlight grew dimmer, and the snow less white, and he slept. chapter fifteen in a twist of three jackpine river, buried in the deep of the forest between the shamattawa country and hudson bay, was the cabin in which lived jacques le beau, the trapper. there was not another man in all that wilderness who was the equal of le beau in wickedness--unless it was durant, who hunted foxes a hundred miles north, and who was jacques's rival in several things. a giant in size, with a heavy, sullen face and eyes which seemed but half-hidden greenish loopholes for the pitiless soul within him--if he had a soul at all--le beau was a "throw-back" of the worst sort. in their shacks and teepees the indians whispered softly that all the devils of his forebears had gathered in him. it was a grim kind of fate that had given to le beau a wife. had she been a witch, an evil-doer and an evil-thinker like himself, the thing would not have been such an abortion of what should have been. but she was not that. sweet-faced, with something of unusual beauty still in her pale cheeks and starving eyes--trembling at his approach and a slave in his presence--she was, like his dogs, the property of the brute. and the woman had a baby. one had already died; and it was the thought that this one might die, as the other had died, that brought at times the new flash of fire into her dark eyes. "le bon dieu--i pray to the blessed angels--i swear you shall live!" she would cry to it at times, hugging it close to her breast. and it was at these times that the fire came into her eyes, and her pale cheeks flushed with a smouldering bit of the flame that had once been her beauty. "some day--some day--" but she never finished, even to the child, what was in her mind. sometimes her dreams were filled with visions. the world was still young, and she was not old. she was thinking of that as she stood before the cracked bit of mirror in the cabin, brushing out her hair, that was black and shining and so long that it fell to her hips. of her beauty her hair had remained. it was defiant of the brute. and deep back in her eyes, and in her face, there were still the living, hidden traces of her girlhood heritage ready to bloom again if fate, mending its error at last, would only take away forever the crushing presence of the master. she stood a little longer before the bit of glass when she heard the crunching of footsteps in the snow outside. swiftly what had been in her face was gone. le beau had been away on his trapline since yesterday, and his return filled her with the old dread. twice he had caught her before the mirror and had called her vile names for wasting her time in admiring herself when she might have been scraping the fat from his pelts. the second time he had sent her reeling back against the wall, and had broken the mirror until the bit she treasured now was not much larger than her two slim hands. she would not be caught again. she ran with the glass to the place where she kept it in hiding, and then quickly she wove the heavy strands of her hair into a braid. the strange, dead look of fear and foreboding closed like a veil over the secrets her eyes had disclosed to herself. she turned, as she always turned in her woman's hope and yearning, to greet him when he entered. the brute entered, a dark and surly monster. he was in a wicked humour. his freshly caught furs he flung to the floor. he pointed to them, and his eyes were narrowed to menacing slits as they fell upon her. "he was there again--that devil!" he growled. "see, he has spoiled the fisher, and he has cleaned out my baits and knocked down the trap-houses. par les mille cornes du diable, but i will kill him! i have sworn to cut him into bits with a knife when i catch him--and catch him i will, to-morrow. see to it there--the skins--when you have got me something to eat. mend the fisher where he is torn in two, and cover the seam well with fat so that the agent over at the post will not discover it is bad. tonnerre de dieu!--that brat! why do you always keep his squalling until i come in? answer me, bete!" such was his greeting. he flung his snowshoes into a corner, stamped the snow off his feet, and got himself a fresh plug of black tobacco from a shelf over the stove. then he went out again, leaving the woman with a cold tremble in her heart and the wan desolation of hopelessness in her face as she set about getting him food. from the cabin le beau went to his dog-pit, a corral of saplings with a shelter-shack in the centre of it. it was the brute's boast that he had the fiercest pack of sledge-dogs between hudson bay and the athabasca. it was his chief quarrel with durant, his rival farther north; and his ambition was to breed a pup that would kill the fighting husky which durant brought down to the post with him each winter at new year. this season he had chosen netah ("the killer") for the big fight at god's lake. on the day he would gamble his money and his reputation against durant's, his dog would be just one month under two years of age. it was netah he called from out of the pack now. the dog slunk to him with a low growl in his throat, and for the first time something like joy shone in le beau's face. he loved to hear that growl. he loved to see the red and treacherous glow in netah's eyes, and hear the menacing click of his jaws. whatever of nobility might have been in netah's blood had been clubbed out by the man. they were alike, in that their souls were dead. and netah, for a dog, was a devil. for that reason le beau had chosen him to fight the big fight. le beau looked down at him, and drew a deep breath of satisfaction. "ow! but you are looking fine, netah," he exulted. "i can almost see running blood in those devil-eyes of yours; oui--red blood that smells and runs, as the blood of durant's poos shall run when you sink those teeth in its jugular. and to-morrow we are going to give you the test--such a beautiful test!--with the wild dog that is robbing my traps and tearing my fishers into bits. for i will catch him, and you shall fight him until he is almost dead; and then i shall cut his heart out alive, as i have promised, and you will eat it while it is still beating, so that there will be no excuse for your losing to that poos which m'sieu durant will bring down. comprenez? it will be a beautiful test--to-morrow. and if you fail i will kill you. oui; if you so much as let a whimper out of you, i will kill you--dead." chapter sixteen that same night, ten miles to the west, miki slept under a windfall of logs and treetops not more than half a mile from le beau's trapline. in the early dawn, when le beau left his cabin, accompanied by netah, the killer, miki came out from under his windfall after a night of troublous dreams. he had dreamed of those first weeks after he had lost his master, when neewa was always at his side; and the visions that had come to him filled him with an uneasiness and a loneliness that made him whine as he stood watching the dark shadows fading away before the coming of day. could le beau have seen him there, as the first of the cold sun struck upon him, the words which he had repeated over and over to the killer would have stuck in his throat. for at eleven months of age miki was a young giant of his breed. he weighed sixty pounds, and none of that sixty was fat. his body was as slim and as lean as a wolf's. his chest was massive, and over it the muscles rolled like babiche cord when he moved. his legs were like the legs of hela, the big mackenzie hound who was his father; and with his jaws he could crack a caribou bone as le beau might have cracked it with a stone. for eight of the eleven months of his life the wilderness had been his master; it had tempered him to the hardness of living steel; it had wrought him without abeyance to age in the mould of its pitiless schooling--had taught him to fight for his life, to kill that he might live, and to use his brain before he used his jaws. he was as powerful as netah, the killer, who was twice his age, and with his strength he possessed a cunning and a quickness which the killer would never know. thus had the raw wilderness prepared him for this day. as the sun fired up the forest with a cold flame miki set off in direction of le beau's trapline. he came to where le beau had passed yesterday and sniffed suspiciously of the man-smell that was still strong in the snowshoe tracks. he had become accustomed to this smell, but he had not lost his suspicion of it. it was repugnant to him, even as it fascinated him. it filled him with an inexplicable fear, and yet he found himself powerless to run away from it. three times in the last ten days he had seen the man-brute himself. once he had been hiding within a dozen yards of le beau when he passed. this morning he headed straight for the swamp through which le beau's traps were set. there the rabbits were thickest and it was in the swamp that they most frequently got in jacques's kekeks--the little houses he built of sticks and cedar boughs to keep the snow off his baits. they were so numerous that they were a pest, and each time that le beau made his trip over the line he found at least two out of every three traps sprung by them, and therefore made useless for the catching of fur. but, where there were many rabbits there were also fishers and lynx, and in spite of the rage which the plague of rabbits sent him into, le beau continued to set his traps there. and now, in addition to the rabbits, he had the wild dog to contend with. his heart was fired by a vengeful anticipation as he hurried on through the glow of the early sun, with the killer at his heels, led by a babiche thong. miki was nosing about the first trap-house as netah and le beau entered the edge of the swamp, three miles to the east. it was in this kekek that miki had killed the fisher-cat the previous morning. it was empty now. even the bait-peg was gone, and there was no sign of a trap. a quarter of a mile farther on he came to a second trap-house, and this also was empty. he was a bit puzzled. and then he went on to the third house. he stood for several minutes, sniffing the air still more suspiciously, before he drew close to it. the man-tracks were thicker here. the snow was beaten down with them, and the scent of le beau was so strong in the air that for a space miki believed he was near. then he advanced so that he got a look into the door of the trap-house. squatted there, staring at him with big round eyes, was a huge snowshoe rabbit. a premonition of danger held miki back. it was something in the attitude of wapoos, the old rabbit. he was not like the others he had caught along le beau's line. he was not struggling in a trap; he was not stretched out, half frozen, and he was not dangling at the end of a snare. he was all furred up into a warm and comfortable looking ball. as a matter of fact, le beau had caught him with his hands in a hollow log, and had tied him to the bait peg with a piece of buck-skin string; and after that, just out of wapoos's reach, he had set a nest of traps and covered them with snow. nearer and nearer to this menace drew miki, in spite of the unaccountable impulse that warned him to keep back. wapoos, fascinated by his slow and deadly advance, made no movement, but sat as if frozen into stone. then miki was at him. his powerful jaws closed with a crunch. in the same instant there came the angry snap of steel and a fisher-trap closed on one of his hind feet. with a snarl he dropped wapoos and turned upon it, snap--snap--snap went three more of jacques's nest of traps. two of them missed. the third caught him by a front paw. as he had caught wapoos, and as he had killed the fisher-cat, so now he seized this new and savage enemy between his jaws. his fangs crunched on the cold steel; he literally tore it from his paw so that blood streamed forth and strained the snow red. madly he twisted himself to get at his hind foot. on this foot the fisher-trap had secured a hold that was unbreakable. he ground it between his jaws until the blood ran from his mouth. he was fighting it when le beau came out from behind a clump of spruce twenty yards away with the killer at his heels. the brute stopped. he was panting, and his eyes were aflame. two hundred yards away he had heard the clinking of the trap-chain. "ow! he is there," he gasped, tightening his hold on the killer's lead thong. "he is there, netah, you red eye! that is the robber devil you are to kill--almost. i will unfasten you, and then--go to!" miki, no longer fighting the trap, was eyeing them as they advanced. in this moment of peril he felt no fear of the man. in his veins the hot blood raged with a killing madness. the truth leapt upon him in a flash of instinctive awakening. these two were his enemies instead of the thing on his foot--the man-beast, and netah, the killer. he remembered--as if it were yesterday. this was not the first time he had seen a man with a club in his hand. and le beau held a club. but he was not afraid. his steady eyes watched netah. unleashed by his master, the killer stood on stiff legs a dozen feet away, the wiry crest along his spine erect, his muscles tense. miki heard the man-beast's voice. "go to, you devil! go to!" miki waited, without the quiver of a muscle. thus much he had learned of his hard lessons in the wilderness--to wait, and watch, and use his cunning. he was flat on his belly, his nose between his forepaws. his lips were drawn back a little, just a little; but he made no sound, and his eyes were as steady as two points of flame. le beau stared. he felt suddenly a new thrill, and it was not the thrill of his desire for vengeance. never had he seen a lynx or a fox or a wolf in a trap like that. never had he seen a dog with eyes like the eyes that were on netah. for a moment he held his breath. foot by foot, and then almost inch by inch, the killer crept in. ten feet, eight, six--and all that time miki made no move, never winked an eye. with a snarl like that of a tiger, netah came at him. what happened then was the most marvellous thing that jacques le beau had ever seen. so swiftly that his eyes could scarcely follow the movement, miki had passed like a flash under the belly of netah, and turning then at the end of his trap chain he was at the killer's throat before le beau could have counted ten. they were down, and the brute gripped the club in his hand and stared like one fascinated. he heard the grinding crunch of jaws, and he knew they were the wild dog's jaws; he heard a snarl choking slowly into a wheezing sob of agony, and he knew that the sound came from the eller. the blood rose into his face. the red fire in his eyes grew livid--a blaze of exultation, of triumph. "tonnerre de dieu! he is choking the life out of netah!" he gasped. "non, i have never seen a dog like that. i will keep him alive; and he shall fight durant's poos over at post fort o' god! by the belly of saint gris, i say--" the killer was as good as dead if left another minute. with upraised club le beau advanced. as he sank his fangs deeper into netah's throat miki saw the new danger out of the corner of his eye. he loosed his jaws and swung himself free of the killer as the club descended. he only partly evaded the smashing blow, which caught him on the shoulder and knocked him down. quick as a flash he was on his feet and had lunged at le beau. the frenchman was a master with the club. all his life he had used it, and he brought it around in a sudden side-swing that landed with terrific force against miki's head. the blood spurted from his mouth and nostrils. he was dazed and half blinded. he leapt again, and the club caught him once more. he heard le beau's ferocious cry of joy. a third, a fourth, and a fifth time he went down under the club, and le beau no longer laughed, but swung his weapon with a look that was half fear in his eyes. the sixth time the club missed, and miki's jaws closed against the brute's chest, ripping away the thick coat and shirt as if they had been of paper, and leaving on le beau's skin a bleeding gash. ten inches more--a little better vision in his blood-dimmed eyes--and he would have reached the man's throat. a great cry rose out of le beau. for an instant he felt the appalling nearness of death. "netah! netah!" he cried, and swung the club wildly. netah did not respond. it may be that in this moment he sensed the fact that it was his master who had made him into a monster. about him was the wilderness, opening its doors of freedom. when le beau called again the killer was slinking away, dripping blood as he went--and this was the last that le beau saw of him. probably he joined the wolves, for the killer was a quarter-strain wild. le beau got no more than a glimpse of him as he disappeared. his club-arm shot out again, a clean miss; and this time it was pure chance that saved him. the trap-chain caught, and miki fell back when his hot breath was almost at the brute's jugular. he fell upon his side. before he could recover himself the club was pounding his head into the snow. the world grew black. he no longer had the power to move. lying as if dead he still heard over him the panting, exultant voice of the man-beast. for le beau, black though his heart was, could not keep back a prayerful cry of thankfulness that he was victor--and had missed death, though by a space no wider than the link of a chain. chapter seventeen nanette, the woman, saw jacques come out of the edge of the timber late in the afternoon, dragging something on the snow behind him. in her heart, ever since her husband had begun to talk about him, she had kept secret to herself a pity for the wild dog. long before the last baby had come she had loved a dog. it was this dog that had given her the only real affection she had known in the company of the brute, and with barbarous cruelty le beau had driven it from her. nanette herself had encouraged it to seek freedom in the wilderness, as netah had at last sought his. therefore she had prayed that the wild dog of the trapline might escape. as le beau came nearer she saw that what he drew after him upon the snow was a sledge-drag made of four lengths of sapling, and when, a moment later, she looked down at its burden, she gave a little cry of horror. miki's four feet were tied so firmly to the pieces of sapling that he could not move. a cord about his neck was fastened to one of the crossbars, and over his jaws le beau had improvised a muzzle of unbreakable babiche thong. he had done all this before miki regained consciousness after the clubbing. the woman stared, and there was a sudden catch in her breath after the little cry that had fallen from her lips. many times she had seen jacques club his dogs, but never had she seen one clubbed like this. miki's head and shoulders were a mass of frozen blood. and then she saw his eyes. they were looking straight up at her. she turned, fearing that jacques might see what was in her face. le beau dragged his burden straight into the cabin, and then stood back and rubbed his hands as he looked at miki on the floor. nanette saw that he was in a strangely good humour, and waited. "by the blessed saints, but you should have seen him kill netah--almost," he exulted. "oui; he had him down by the throat quicker than you could flash your eye, and twice he was within an inch of my life when i fought him with the club. dieu! i say, what will happen to durant's dog when they meet at post fort 0' god? i will make a side wager that he kills him before the second-hand of le facteur's watch, goes round twice. he is splendid! watch him, nanette, while i go make a corral for him alone. if i put him in with the pack he will kill them all." miki's eyes followed him as he disappeared through the cabin door. then he looked swiftly back to nanette. she had drawn nearer. her eyes were shining as she bent over him. a snarl rose in miki's throat, and died there. for the first time he was looking upon woman. he sensed, all at once, a difference as vast as the world itself. in his bruised and broken body his heart stood still. nanette spoke to him. never in his life had he heard a voice like hers--soft and gentle, with a breaking sob in it; and then--miracle of miracles--she had dropped on her knees and her hands were at his head! in that instant his spirit leapt back through the generations--back beyond his father, and his father's father; back to that far day when the blood in the veins of his race was "just dog," and he romped with children, and listened to the call of woman, and worshipped at the shrine of humankind. and now the woman had run quickly to the stove, and was back again with a dish of warm water and a soft cloth, and was bathing his head, talking to him all the time in that gentle, half-sobbing voice of pity and of love. he closed his eyes--no longer afraid. a great sigh heaved out of his body. he wanted to put out his tongue and lick the slim white hands that were bringing him peace and comfort. and then the strangest thing of all happened. in the crib the baby sat up and began to prattle. it was a new note to miki, a new song of life's spring-tide to him, but it thrilled him as nothing else in all the world had ever thrilled him before. he opened his eyes wide--and whined. a laugh of joy--new and strange even to herself--came into the woman's voice, and she ran to the crib and returned with the baby in her arms. she knelt down beside him again, and the baby, at sight of this strange plaything on the floor, thrust out its little arms, and kicked its tiny moccasined feet, and cooed and laughed and squirmed until miki strained at his thongs to get a little nearer that he might touch this wonderful creature with his nose. he forgot his pain. he no longer sensed the agony of his bruised and beaten jaws. he did not feel the numbness of his tightly bound and frozen legs. every instinct in him was centred in these two. and the woman, now, was beautiful. she understood; and the gentle heart throbbed in her bosom, forgetful of the brute. her eyes glowed with the soft radiance of stars. into her pale cheeks came a sweet flush. she sat the baby down, and with the cloth and warm water continued to bathe miki's head. le beau, had he been human, must have worshipped her then as she knelt there, all that was pure and beautiful in motherhood, an angel of mercy, radiant for a moment in her forgetfulness of him. and le beau did enter--and see her--so quietly that for a space she did not realize his presence; and with him staring down on her she continued to talk and laugh and half sob, and the baby kicked and prattled and flung out its little arms wildly in the joy of these exciting moments. le beau's thick lips drew back in an ugly leer, and he gave a savage curse. nanette flinched as if struck a blow. "get up, you fool!" he snarled. she obeyed, shrinking back with the baby in her arms. miki saw the change, and the greenish fire returned into his eyes when he caught sight of le beau. a deep and wolfish snarl rose in his throat. le beau turned on nanette. the glow and the flush had not quite gone from her eyes and cheeks as she stood with the baby hugged up to her breast, and her big shining braid had fallen over her shoulder, glistening with a velvety fire in the light that came through the western window. but le beau saw nothing of this. "if you make a poos (a house-kitten) of that dog--a thing like you made of minoo, the breed-bitch, i will--" he did not finish, but his huge hands were clinched, and there was an ugly passion in his eyes. nanette needed no more than that. she understood. she had received many blows, but there was the memory of one that never left her, night or day. some day, if she could ever get to post fort o' god, and had the courage, she would tell le facteur of that blow--how jacques le beau, her husband, struck it at the nursing time, and her bosom was so hurt that the baby of two years ago had died. she would tell it, when she knew she and the baby would be safe from the vengeance of the brute. and only le facteur--the big man at post fort o' god a hundred miles away--was powerful enough to save her. it was well that le beau did not read this thought in her mind now. with his warning he turned to miki and dragged him out of the cabin to a cage made of saplings in which the winter before he had kept two live foxes. a small chain ten feet in length he fastened around miki's neck and then to one of the sapling bars before he thrust his prisoner inside the door of the prison and freed him by cutting the babiche thongs with a knife. for several minutes after that miki lay still while the blood made its way slowly through his numbed and half-frozen limbs. at last he staggered to his feet, and then it was that le beau chuckled jubilantly and turned back to the cabin. and now followed many days that were days of hell and torment for him--an unequal struggle between the power of the brute and the spirit of the dog. "i must break you--ow! by the christ! i will break you!"--le beau would say time and again when he came with the club and the whip. "i will make you crawl to me--oui, and when i say fight you will fight!" it was a small cage, so small that miki could not get away from the reach of the club and the whip. they maddened him--for a time, and le beau's ugly soul was filled with joy as miki launched himself again and again at the sapling bars, tearing at them with his teeth and frothing blood like a wolf gone mad. for twenty years le beau had trained fighting dogs, and this was his way. so he had done with netah until the killer was mastered, and at his call crept to him on his belly. three times, from a window in the cabin, nanette looked forth on these horrible struggles between the man and the dog, and the third time she buried her face in her arms and sobbed; and when le beau came in and found her crying he dragged her to the window and made her look out again at miki, who lay bleeding and half dead in the cage. it was a morning on which he started the round of his traps, and he was always gone until late the following day. and never was he more than well out of sight than nanette would run out and go to the cage. it was then that miki forgot the brute. at times so beaten and blinded that he could scarcely stand or see, he would crawl to the bars of the cage and caress the soft hands that nanette held in fearlessly to him. and then, after a little, nanette began to bring the baby out with her, bundled up like a little eskimo, and in his joy miki whimpered and wagged his tail and grovelled in his worship before these two. it was in the second week of his captivity that the wonderful thing happened. le beau was gone, and there was a raging blizzard outside to which nanette dared not expose the baby. so she went to the cage, and with a heart that beat wildly, she unbarred the door--and brought miki into the cabin! if le beau should ever discover what she had done--! the thought made her shiver. after this first time she brought him into the cabin again and again. once her heart stood still when le beau saw blood on the floor, and his eyes shot at her suspiciously. then she lied. "i cut my finger she said," and a moment later, with her back to him, she did cut it, and when jacques looked at her hand he saw a cloth about the finger, with blood-stain on it. after that nanette always watched the floor carefully. more and more this cabin, with the woman and the baby in it, became a paradise for miki. then came the time when nanette dared to keep him in the cabin with her all night, and lying close to the precious cradle miki never once took his eyes from her. it was late when she prepared for bed. she changed into a long, soft robe, and then, sitting near miki, with her bare little feet in the fireglow, she took down her wonderful hair and began brushing it. it was the first time miki had seen this new and marvellous garment about her. it fell over her shoulders and breast and almost to the floor in a shimmering glory, and the scent of it was so sweet that miki crept a few inches nearer, and whimpered softly. after she had done brushing it miki watched her as her slim fingers plaited it into two braids; and then, before she put the light out, a still more curious thing happened. she went to her bed, made of saplings, against the wall, and from its hiding place under the blankets drew forth tenderly a little ivory crucifix. with this in her hands she knelt upon the log floor, and miki listened to her prayer. he did not know, but she was asking god to be good to her baby--the little nanette in the crib. after that she cuddled the baby up in her arms, and put out the light, and went to bed; and through all the hours of the night miki made no sound that would waken them. in the morning, when nanette opened her eyes, she found miki with his head resting on the edge of the bed, close to the baby that was nestled against her bosom. that morning, as she built the fire, something strange and stirring in nanette's breast made her sing. le beau would be away until dark that night, and she would never dare to tell him what she and the baby and the dog were going to do. it was her birthday. twenty-six; and it seemed to her that she had lived the time of two lives! and eight of those years with the brute! but to-day they would celebrate, they three. all the morning the cabin was filled with a new spirit--a new happiness. years ago, before she had met le beau, the indians away back on the waterfound had called nanette "tanta penashe" ("the little bird") because of the marvellous sweetness of her voice. and this morning she sang as she prepared the birthday feast; the sun flooded through the windows, and miki whimpered happily and thumped his tail, and the baby cackled and crowed, and the brute was forgotten. in that forgetfulness nanette was a girl again, sweet and beautiful as in those days when old jackpine, the cree--who was now dead--had told her that she was born of the flowers. the wonderful dinner was ready at last, and to the baby's delight nanette induced miki to sit on a chair at the table. he felt foolish there, and he looked so foolish that nanette laughed until her long dark lashes were damp with tears; and then, when miki slunk down from the chair, feeling his shame horribly, she ran to him and put her arms around him and pleaded with him until he took his place at the table again. so the day passed until mid-afternoon, when nanette cleared away all signs of the celebration and locked miki in his cage. it was fortunate she was ahead of time, for scarcely was she done when le beau came into the edge of the clearing, and with him was durant, his acquaintance and rival from the edge of the barrens farther north. durant had sent his outfit on to port o' god by an indian, and had struck south and west with two dogs and a sledge to visit a cousin for a day or two. he was on his way to the post when he came upon le beau on his trapline. thus much le beau told nanette, and nanette looked at durant with startled eyes. they were a good pair, jacques and his guest, only that durant was older. she had become somewhat accustomed to the brutality in le beau's face, but she thought that durant was a monster. he made her afraid, and she was glad when they went from the cabin. "now i will show you the bete that is going to kill your poos as easily as your lead-whelp killed that rabbit to-day, m'sieu," exulted jacques. "i have told you but you have not seen!" and he took with him the club and the whip. like a tiger fresh out of the jungles miki responded to the club and the whip to-day, until durant himself stood aghast, and exclaimed under his breath: "mon dieu! he is a devil!" from the window nanette saw what was happening, and out of her rose a cry of anguish. sudden as a burst of fire there arose in her--triumphant at last and unafraid--that thing which for years the brute had crushed back: her womanhood resurrected! her soul broken free of its shackles! her faith, her strength, her courage! she turned from the window and ran to the door, and out over the snow to the cage; and for the first time in her life she struck at le beau, and beat fiercely at the arm that was wielding the club. "you beast!" she cried. "i tell you, you shall not! do you hear? you shall not!" paralyzed with amazement, the brute stood still. was this nanette, his slave? this wonderful creature with eyes that were glowing fire and defiance, and a look in her face that he had never seen in any woman's face before? non--impossible! hot rage rose in him, and with a single sweep of his powerful arm he flung her back so that she fell to the earth. with a wild curse he lifted the bar of the cage door. "i will kill him, now; i will kill him!" he almost shrieked. "and it is you--you--you she-devil! who shall eat his heart alive! i will force it down your throat: i will--" he was dragging miki forth by the chain. the club rose as miki's head came through. in another instant it would have beaten his head to a pulp--but nanette was between it and the dog like a flash, and the blow went wild. it was with his fist that le beau struck out now, and the blow caught nanette on the shoulder and sent her frail body down with a crash. the brute sprang upon her. his fingers gripped in her thick, soft hair. and then-from durant came a warning cry. it was too late. a lean gray streak of vengeance and retribution, miki was at the end of his chain and at le beau's throat. nanette heard! through dazed eyes she saw! she reached out gropingly and struggled to her feet, and looked just once down upon the snow. then, with a terrible cry, she staggered toward the cabin. when durant gathered courage to drag le beau out of miki's reach miki made no movement to harm him. again, perhaps, it was the beneficent spirit that told him his duty was done. he went back into his cage, and lying there on his belly looked forth at durant. and durant, looking at the blood-stained snow and the dead body of the brute, whispered to himself again: "mon dieu! he is a devil!" in the cabin, nanette was upon her knees before the crucifix. chapter eighteen there are times when death is a shock, but not a grief. and so it was with nanette le beau. with her own eyes she had looked upon the terrible fate of her husband, and it was not in her gentle soul to weep or wish him alive again. at last there had overtaken him what le bon dieu had intended him to receive some day: justice. and for the baby's sake more than her own nanette was not sorry. durant, whose soul was only a little less wicked than the dead man's, had not even waited for a prayer--had not asked her what to do. he had chopped a hole in the frozen earth and had buried le beau almost before his body was cold. and nanette was not sorry for that. the brute was gone. he was gone for ever. he would never strike her again. and because of the baby she offered up a prayer of gratitude to god. in his prison-cage of sapling bars miki cringed on his belly at the end of his chain. he had scarcely moved since those terrible moments in which he had torn the life out of the man-brute's throat. he had not even growled at durant when he dragged the body away. upon him had fallen a fearful and overwhelming oppression. he was not thinking of his own brutal beatings, or of the death which le beau had been about to inflict upon him with the club; he did not feel the presence of pain in his bruised and battered body, nor in his bleeding jaws and whip-lashed eyes. he was thinking of nanette, the woman. why had she run away with that terrible cry when he killed the man-beast? was it not the man-beast who had struck her down, and whose hands were at her white throat when he sprang the length of his chain and tore out his jugular? then why was it that she ran away, and did not come back? he whimpered softly. the afternoon was almost gone, and the early gloom of mid-winter night in the northland was settling thickly over the forests. in that gloom the dark face of durant appeared at the bars of miki's prison. instinctively miki had hated this foxhunter from the edge of the barrens, just as he had hated le beau, for in their brutish faces as well as in their hearts they were like brothers. yet he did not growl at durant as he peered through. he did not even move. "ugh! le diable!" shuddered durant. then he laughed. it was a low, terrible laugh, half smothered in his coarse black beard, and it sent an odd chill through miki. he turned after that and went into the cabin. nanette rose to meet him, her great dark eyes glowing in a face dead white. she had not yet risen above the shock of le beau's tragic death, and yet in those eyes there was already something re-born. it had not been there when durant came to the cabin with le beau that afternoon. he looked at her strangely as she stood with the baby in her arms. she was another nanette. he felt uneasy. why was it that a few hours ago he had laughed boldly when her husband had cursed her and said vile things in her presence--and now he could not meet the steady gaze of her eyes? dieu! he had never before observed how lovely she was! he drew himself together, and stated the business in his mind. "you will not want the dog," he said. "i will take him away." nanette did not answer. she seemed scarcely to be breathing as she looked at him. it seemed to him that she was waiting for him to explain; and then the inspiration to lie leapt into his mind. "you know, there was to be the big fight between his dog and mine at post fort o' god at the new year carnival," he went on, shuffling his heavy feet. "for that, jacques--your husband--was training the wild dog. and when i saw that oochun--that wolf devil--tearing at the bars of the cage i knew he would kill my dog as a fox kills a rabbit. so we struck a bargain, and for the two cross foxes and the ten red which i have outside i bought him." (the vraisemblance of his lie gave him courage. it sounded like truth, and jacques, the dead man, was not there to repudiate his claim.) "so he is mine," he finished a little exultantly, "and i will take him to the post, and will fight him against any dog or wolf in all the north. shall i bring in the skins, madame?" "he is not for sale," said nanette, the glow in her eyes deepening. "he is my dog--mine and the baby's. do you understand, henri durant? he is not for sale!" "oui," gasped durant, amazed. "and when you reach post fort o' god, m'sieu, you will tell le facteur that jacques is dead, and how he died, and say that some one must be sent for the baby and me. we will stay here until then." "oui," said durant again, backing to the door. he had never seen her like that. he wondered how jacques le beau could swear at her, and strike her. for himself, he was afraid. standing there with those wonderful eyes and white face, with the baby in her arms, and her shining hair over her breasts, she made him think of a picture he had once seen of the blessed lady. he went out through the door and back to the sapling cage where miki lay. softly he spoke through the bars. "ow, bete" he called; "she will not sell you. she keeps you because you fought for her, and killed mon ami, jacques le beau. and so i must take you my own way. in a little while the moon will be up, and then i will slip a noose over your head at the end of a pole, and will choke you so quickly she will not hear a sound. and who will know where you are gone, if the cage door is left open? and you will fight for me at post fort 0' god. mon dieu! how you will fight! i swear it will do the ghost of jacques le beau good to see what happens there." he went away, to where he had left his light sledge and two dogs in the edge of the timber, and waited for the moon to rise. still miki did not move, a light had appeared in the window of the cabin, and his eyes were fixed on it yearningly as the low whine gathered in his throat again. his world no longer lay beyond that window. the woman and the baby had obliterated in him all desire but to be with them. in the cabin nanette was thinking of him--and of durant. the man's words came to her again, vividly, significantly: "you will not want the dog." yes, all the forest people would say that same thing--even le facteur himself, when he heard. she would not want the dog! and why not? because he had killed jacques le beau, her husband, in defence of her? because he had freed her from the bondage of the brute? because god had sent him to the end of his chain in that terrible moment that the baby nanette might live, as the other had not, and that she might grow up with laughter on her lips instead of sobs? in her there rose suddenly a thought that fanned the new flame in her heart. it must have been le bon dieu! others might doubt, but she--never. she recalled all that le beau had told her about the wild dog--how for many days he had robbed the traps, and the terrific fight he had made when at last he was caught. and of all that the brute had said there stood out most the words he had spoken one day. "he is a devil, but he was not born of wolf. non, some time, a long time ago, he was a white man's dog." a white man's dog! her soul thrilled. once--a long time ago--he had known a master with a white heart, just as she had known a girlhood in which the flowers bloomed and the birds sang. she tried to look back, but she could not see very far. she could not vision that day, less than a year ago, when miki, an angular pup, came down out of the farther north with challoner; she could not vision the strange comradeship between the pup and neewa, the little black bear cub, nor that tragic day when they had fallen out of challoner's canoe into the swift stream that had carried them over the waterfall and into the great adventure which had turned neewa into a grown bear and miki into a wild dog. but in her heart she felt the things which she could not see. miki had not come by chance. something greater than that had sent him. she rose quietly, so that she would not waken the baby in the crib, and opened the door. the moon was just rising over the forest and through the glow of it she went to the cage. she heard the dog's joyous whine, and then she felt the warm caress of his tongue upon her bare hands as she thrust them between the sapling bars. "non, non; you are not a devil," she cried softly, her voice filled with a strange tremble. "o-o-ee, my soketaao, i prayed, prayed--and you came. yes, on my knees each night i prayed to our blessed lady that she might have mercy on my baby, and make the sun in heaven shine for her through all time. and you came! and the dear god does not send devils in answer to prayer. non; never!" and miki, as though some spirit had given him the power to understand, rested the weight of his bruised and beaten head on her hands. from the edge of the forest durant was watching. he had caught the flash of light from the door and had seen nanette go to the cage, and his eyes did not leave her until she returned into the cabin. he laughed as he went to his fire and finished making the wahgun he was fastening to the end of a long pole. this wahgun and the pole added to his own cleverness were saving him twelve good fox skins, and he continued to chuckle there in the fireglow as he thought how easy it was to beat a woman's wits. nanette was a fool to refuse the pelts, and jacques was--dead. it was a most lucky combination of circumstances for him. fortune had surely come his way. on le bete, as he called the wild dog, he would gamble all that he possessed in the big fight. and he would win. he waited until the light in the cabin went out before he approached the cage again. miki heard him coming. at a considerable distance he saw him, for the moon was already turning the night into day. durant knew the ways of dogs. with them he employed a superior reason where le beau had used the club and the rawhide. so he came up openly and boldly, and, as if by accident, dropped the end of the pole between the bars. with his hands against the cage, apparently unafraid, he began talking in a casual way. he was different from le beau. miki watched him closely for a space and then let his eyes rest again on the darkened cabin window. stealthily durant began to take advantage of his opportunity. a little at a time he moved the end of the pole until it was over miki's head, with the deadly bowstring and its open noose hanging down. he was an adept in the use of the wahgun. many foxes and wolves, and even a bear, he had caught that way. miki, numbed by the cold, scarcely felt the babiche noose as it settled softly about his neck. he did not see durant brace himself, with his feet against the running-log of the cage. then, suddenly, durant lurched himself backward, and it seemed to miki as though a giant trap of steel had closed about his neck. instantly his wind was cut off. he could make no sound as he struggled frantically to free himself. hand over hand durant dragged him to the bars, and there, with his feet still braced, he choked with his whole weight until--when at last he let up on the wahgun--miki collapsed as if dead. ten seconds later durant was looping a muzzle over his closed jaws. he left the cage door open when he went back to his sledge, carrying miki in his arms. nanette's slow wits would never guess, he told himself. she would think that le bete had escaped into the forest. it was not his scheme to club miki into serfdom, as le beau had failed to do. durant was wiser than that. in his crude and merciless way he had come to know certain phenomena of the animal mind. he was not a psychologist; oh the other hand brutality had not utterly blinded him. so, instead of lashing miki to the sledge as le beau had fastened him to his improvised drag, durant made his captive comfortable, covering him with a warm blanket before he began his journey eastward. he made sure, however, that there was no flaw in the muzzle about miki's jaws, and that the free end of the chain to which he was still fastened was well hitched to the gee-bar of his sledge. when these things were done durant set off in the direction of fort o' god, and if jacques le beau could have seen him then he would have had good reason to guess at his elation. by taint of birth and blood durant was a gambler first, and a trapper afterward. he set his traps that he might have the thrill of wagering his profits, and for half a dozen successive years he had won at the big annual dog fight at post fort o' god. but this year he had been half afraid. his fear had not been of jacques le beau and netah, but of the halfbreed away over on red belly lake. grouse piet was the halfbreed's name, and the "dog" that he was going to put up at the fight was half wolf. therefore, in the foolish eagerness of his desire, had durant offered two cross foxes and ten reds--the price of five dogs and not one--for the possession of le beau's wild dog. and now that he had him for nothing, and nanette was poorer by twelve skins, he was happy. for he had now a good match for grouse piet's half wolf, and he would chance his money and his credit at the post to the limit. when miki came back to his senses durant stopped his dogs, for he had been watching closely for this moment. he bent over the sledge and began talking, not in le beau's brutal way, but in a careless chummy sort of voice, and with his mittened hand he patted his captive's head. this was a new thing to miki, for he knew that it was not the hand of nanette, but of a man-beast, and the softness of his nest in the blanket, over which henri had thrown a bear skin, was also new. a short time ago he was frozen and stiff. now he was warm and comfortable. so he did not move. and durant exulted in his cleverness. he did not travel far in the night, but stopped four or five miles from nanette's cabin, and built a fire. over this he boiled coffee and roasted meat. he allowed the meat to roast slowly, turning it round and round on a wooden spit, so that the aroma of it grew thick and inviting in the air. he had fastened his two sledge dogs fifty paces away, but the sledge was close to the fire, and he watched the effect on miki of the roasting meat. since the days of his puppyhood with challoner a smell like that which came from the meat had not filled miki's nostrils, and at last durant saw him lick his chops and heard the click of his teeth. he chuckled in his beard. still he waited another quarter of an hour. then he pulled the meat off the spit, cut it up, and gave a half of it to miki. and miki ate it ravenously. a clever man was henri durant! chapter nineteen during the last few days in december all trails for ten thousand square miles around led to post fort 0' god. it was the eve of ooske pipoon--of the new year--the mid-winter carnival time of the people of the wilderness, when from teepees and cabins far and near come the trappers and their families to sell their furs and celebrate for a few days with others of their kind. to this new year gathering men, women, and children look forward through long and weary months. the trapper's wife has no neighbour. her husband's "line" is a little kingdom inviolate, with no other human life within many miles of it; so for the women the ooske pipoon is a time of rejoicing; for the children it is the "big circus," and for the men a reward for the labour and hardship of catching their fur. during these few days old acquaintanceships are renewed and new ones are made. it is here that the "news" of the trackless wilderness is spread, the news of deaths, of marriages, and of births; of tragic happenings that bring horror and grief and tears, and of others that bring laughter and joy. for the first and last time in all the seven months' winter the people of the forests "come to town." indian, halfbreed, "blood," and white man, join in the holiday without distinction of colour or creed. this year there was to be a great caribou roast, a huge barbecue, at fort o' god, and by the time henri durant came within half a dozen miles of the post the trails from north and south and east and west were beaten hard by the tracks of dogs and men. that year a hundred sledges came in from the forests, and with them were three hundred men and women and children and half a thousand dogs. durant was a day later than he had planned to be, but he had made good use of his time. for miki, while still muzzled, now followed at the end of the babiche that was tied to henri's sledge. in the afternoon of the third day after leaving nanette le beau's cabin durant turned off the main-travelled trail until he came to the shack of andre ribon, who kept the factor and his people at the post supplied with fresh meat. andre, who was becoming over-anxious at durant's delay, was still waiting when his friend came. it was here that henri's indian had left his fighting dog, the big husky. and here he left miki, locked in andre's shack. then the two men went on to the post which was only a mile away. neither he nor ribon returned that night. the cabin was empty. and with the beginning of dusk miki began to hear weird and strange sounds which grew louder as darkness settled deeper. it was the sound of the carnival at the post--the distant tumult of human voice mingled with the howling of a hundred dogs. he had never heard anything like it before, and for a long time he listened without moving. then he stood up like a man before the window with this fore-paws resting against the heavy sash. ribon's cabin was at the crest of a knoll that over-looked the frozen lake, and far off, over the tops of the scrub timber that fringed the edge of it, miki saw the red glow in the sky made by a score of great camp fires. he whined, and dropped on his four feet again. it was a long wait between that and another day. but the cabin was more comfortable than le beau's prison-cage had been. all through the night his restless slumber was filled with visions of nanette and the baby. durant and ribon did not return until nearly noon the next day. they brought with them fresh meat, of which miki ate ravenously, for he was hungry. in an unresponsive way he tolerated the advances of these two. a second night he was left alone in the cabin. when durant and ribon came back again in the early dawn they brought with them a cage four feet square made of small birch saplings. the open door of this cage they drew close to the door of the cabin, and by means of a chunk of fresh meat miki was induced to enter through it. instantly the trap fell, and he was a prisoner. the cage was already fastened on a wide toboggan, and scarcely was the sun up when miki was on his way to fort o' god. this was the big day at the carnival--the day of the caribou-roast and the fight. for many minutes before they came in sight of fort o' god miki heard the growing sound. it amazed him, and he stood up on his feet in his cage, rigid and alert, utterly unconscious of the men who were pulling him. he was looking ahead of them, and durant chuckled exultantly as they heard him growl, and his teeth click. "oui, he will fight! he would fight now," he chuckled. they were following the shore of a lake. suddenly they came around the end of a point, and all of fort o' god lay on the rising shelf of the shore ahead of them. the growl died in miki's throat. his teeth shut with a last click. for an instant his heart seemed to grow dead and still. until this moment his world had held only half a dozen human beings. now, so suddenly that he had no flash of warning, he saw a hundred of them, two hundred, three hundred. at sight of durant and the cage a swarm of them began running down to the shore. and everywhere there were wolves, so many of them that his senses grew dazed as he stared. his cage was the centre of a clamouring, gesticulating horde of men and boys as it was dragged up the slope. women began joining the crowd, many of them with small children in their arms. then his journey came to an end. he was close to another cage, and in that cage was a beast like himself. beside this cage there stood a tall, swarthy, shaggy-headed halfbreed who looked like a pirate. the man was grouse piet, durant's rival. a contemptuous leer was on his thick-lipped face as he looked at miki. he turned, and to the group of dark-faced indians and breeds about him he said something that roused a guttural laugh. durant's face flamed red. "laugh, you heathen," he challenged, "but don't forget that henri durant is here to take your bets!" then he shook the two cross and ten red foxes in the face of grouse piet. "cover them, grouse piet," he cried. "and i have ten times more where they came from!" with his muzzle lifted, miki was sniffing the air. it was filled with strange scents, heavy with the odours of men, of dogs, and of the five huge caribou roasting on their spits fifteen feet over the big fires that were built under them. for ten hours those caribou would roast, turning slowly on spits as thick as a man's leg. the fight was to come before the feast. for an hour the clatter and tumult of voices hovered about the two cages. men appraised the fighters and made their bets, and grouse piet and henri durant made their throats hoarse flinging banter and contempt at each other. at the end of the hour the crowd began to thin out. in the place of men and women half a hundred dark-visaged little children crowded about the cages. it was not until then that miki caught glimpses of the hordes of beasts fastened in ones and twos and groups in the edge of the clearing. his nostrils had at last caught the distinction. they were not wolves. they were like himself. it was a long time before his eyes rested steadily on the wolf-dog in the other cage. he went to the edge of his bars and sniffed. the wolf-dog thrust his gaunt muzzle toward him. he made miki think of the huge wolf he had fought one day on the edge of the cliff, and instinctively he showed his fangs, and snarled. the wolf-dog snarled back. henri durant rubbed his hands exultantly, and grouse piet laughed softly. "oui; they will fight!" said henri again. "ze wolf, he will fight, oui," said grouse piet. "but your dog, m'sieu, he be vair seek, lak a puppy, w'en ze fight come!" a little later miki saw a white man standing close to his cage. it was macdonnell, the scotch factor. he gazed at miki and the wolf-dog with troubled eyes. ten minutes later, in the little room which he had made his office, he was saying to a younger man: "i'd like to stop it, but i can't. they wouldn't stand for it. it would lose us half a season's catch of fur. there's been a fight like this at fort o' god for the last fifty years, and i don't suppose, after all, that it's any worse than one of the prize fights down there. only, in this case--" "they kill," said the younger man. "yes, that's it. usually one of the dogs dies." the younger man knocked the ash out of his pipe. "i love dogs," he said, simply. "there'll never be a fight at my post, mac--unless it's between men. and i'm not going to see this fight, because i'm afraid i'd kill some one if i did." chapter twenty it was two o'clock in the afternoon. the caribou were roasting brown. in two more hours the feast would begin. the hour of the fight was at hand. in the centre of the clearing three hundred men, women, and children were gathered in a close circle about a sapling cage ten feet square. close to this cage, one at each side, were drawn the two smaller cages. beside one of these cages stood henri durant; beside the other, grouse piet. they were not bantering now. their faces were hard and set. and three hundred pairs of eyes were staring at them, and three hundred pairs of ears waiting for the thrilling signal. it came--from grouse piet. with a swift movement durant pulled up the door of miki's cage. then, suddenly, he prodded him from behind with a crotched stick, and with a single leap miki was in the big cage. almost at the same instant the wolf-dog leapt from grouse piet's cage, and the two faced each other in the arena. with the next breath he drew durant could have groaned. what happened in the following half minute was a matter of environment with miki. in the forest the wolf-dog would have interested him to the exclusion of everything else, and he would have looked upon him as another netah or a wild wolf. but in his present surroundings the idea of fighting was the last to possess him. he was fascinated by that grim and waiting circle of faces closing in the big cage; he scrutinized it, turning his head sharply from point to point, as if hoping to see nanette and the baby, or even challoner his first master. to the wolf-dog grouse piet had given the name of taao, because of the extraordinary length of his fangs; and of taao, to durant's growing horror, miki was utterly oblivious after that first head-on glance. he trotted to the edge of the cage and thrust his nose between the bars, and a taunting laugh rose out of grouse piet's throat. then he began making a circle of the cage, his sharp eyes on the silent ring of faces. taao stood in the centre of the cage, and not once did his reddish eyes leave miki. what was outside of the cage held small interest for him. he understood his business, and murder was bred in his heart. for a space during which durant's heart beat like a hammer taao turned, as if on a pivot, following miki's movement, and the crest on his spine stood up like bristles. then miki stopped, and in that moment durant saw the end of all his hopes. without a sound the wolf-dog was at his opponent. a bellow rose from grouse piet's lips. a deep breath passed through the circle of spectators, and durant felt a cold chill run up his back to the roots of his hair. what happened in the next instant made men's hearts stand still. in that first rush miki should have died. grouse piet expected him to die, and durant expected him to die. but in the last fractional bit of the second in which the wolf-dog's jaws closed, miki was transformed into a thing of living lightning. no man had ever seen a movement swifter than that with which he turned on taao. their jaws clashed. there was a sickening grinding of bone, and in another moment they were rolling and twisting together on the earth floor. neither grouse piet nor durant could see what was happening. they forgot even their own bets in the horror of that fight. never had there been such a fight at fort o' god. the sound of it reached to the company's store. in the door, looking toward the big cage, stood the young white man. he heard the snarling, the clashing of teeth, and his jaws set heavily and a dull flame burned in his eyes. his breath came in a sudden gasp. "damn!" he cried, softly. his hands clenched, and he stepped slowly down from the door and went toward the cage. it was over when he made his way through the ring of spectators. the fight had ended as suddenly as it had begun, and grouse piet's wolf-dog lay in the centre of the cage with a severed jugular. miki looked as though he might be dying. durant had opened the door and had slipped a rope over his head, and outside the cage miki stood swaying on his feet, red with blood, and half blind. his flesh was red and bleeding in a dozen places, and a stream of blood trickled from his mouth. a cry of horror rose to the young white man's lips as he looked down at him. and then, almost in the same breath, there came a still stranger cry. "good god! miki--miki--miki--" beating upon his brain as if from a vast distance, coming to him through the blindness of his wounds, miki heard that voice. the voice! the voice that had lived with him in all his dreams, the voice he had waited for, and searched for, and knew that some day he would find. the voice of challoner, his master! he dropped on his belly, whining, trying to see through the film of blood in his eyes; and lying there, wounded almost unto death, his tail thumped the ground in recognition. and then, to the amazement of all who beheld, challoner was down upon his knees beside him, and his arms were about him, and miki's lacerated tongue was reaching for his hands, his face, his clothes. "miki--miki--miki!" durant's hand fell heavily upon challoner's shoulder. it was like the touch of a red-hot iron to challoner. in a flash he was on his feet, facing him. "he's mine," challoner cried, trying to hold back his passion. "he's mine you--you devil!" and then, powerless to hold back his desire for vengeance, his clenched fist swung like a rock to durant's heavy jaw, and the frenchman went to the ground. for a moment challoner stood over him, but he did not move. fiercely he turned upon grouse piet and the crowd. miki was cringing at his feet again. pointing to him, challoner cried loudly, so all could hear. "he's my dog. where this beast got him i don't know. but he's mine. look for yourselves! see--see him lick my hand. would he do that for him? and look at that ear. there's no other ear in all the north cut like that. i lost him almost a year ago, but i'd know him among ten thousand by that ear. by god!--if i had known--" he elbowed his way through the breeds and indians, leading miki by the rope durant had slipped over the dog's head. he went to macdonnell, and told him what had happened. he told of the preceding spring, and of the accident in which miki and the bear cub were lost from his canoe and swept over the waterfall. after registering his claim against whatever durant might have to say he went to the shack in which he was staying at fort 0' god. an hour later challoner sat with miki's big head between his two hands, and talked to him. he had bathed and dressed his wounds, and miki could see. his eyes were on his master's face, and his hard tail thumped the floor. both were oblivious of the sounds of the revellers outside; the cries of men, the shouting of boys, the laughter of women, and the incessant barking of dogs. in challoner's eyes there was a soft glow. "miki, old boy, you haven't forgotten a thing--not a dam' thing, have you? you were nothing but an onery-legged pup then, but you didn't forget! remember what i told you, that i was going to take you and the cub down to the girl? do you remember? the girl i said was an angel, and 'd love you to death, and all that? well, i'm glad something happened--and you didn't go. it wasn't the same when i got back, an' she wasn't the same, miki. lord, she'd got married, and had two kids! think of that, old scout--two! how the deuce could she have taken care of you and the cub, eh? and nothing else was the same, boy. three years in god's country--up here where you burst your lungs just for the fun of drinking in air--changed me a lot, i guess. inside a week i wanted to come back, miki. yessir, i was sick to come back. so i came. and we're going to stick now, miki. you're going with me up to that new post the company has given me. from now on we're pals. understand, old scout, we're pals!" chapter twenty-one it was late the night of the big feast at post fort o' god that macdonnell, the factor, sent for challoner. challoner was preparing for bed when an indian boy pounded on the door of his shack and a moment later gave him the message. he looked at his watch. it was eleven o'clock. what could the factor want of him at that hour, he wondered? flat on his belly near the warm box stove miki watched his new-found master speculatively as he pulled on his boots. his eyes were wide open now. challoner had washed from him the blood of the terrific fight of that afternoon. "something to do with that devil of a durant," growled challoner, looking at the battle-scarred dog. "well, if he hopes to get you again, miki, he's barking up the wrong tree. you're mine!" miki thumped his hard tail on the floor and wriggled toward his master in mute adoration. together they went out into the night. it was a night of white moonlight and a multitude of stars. the four great fires over which the caribou had roasted for the savage barbecue that day were still burning brightly. in the edge of the forest that ringed in the post were the smouldering embers of a score of smaller fires. back of these fires were faintly outlined the gray shadows of teepees and tents. in these shelters the three hundred halfbreeds and indians who had come in from the forest trails to the new year carnival at the post were sleeping. only here and there was there a movement of life. even the dogs were quiet after the earlier hours of excitement and gluttony. past the big fires, with their huge spits still standing, challoner passed toward the factor's quarters. miki sniffed at the freshly picked bones. beyond these bones there was no sign of the two thousand pounds of flesh that had roasted that day on the spits. men, women, children, and dogs had stuffed themselves until there was nothing left. it was the silence of mutai--the "belly god"--the god who eats himself to sleep each night--that hovered strangely over this post of fort o' god, three hundred miles from civilization. there was a light in the factor's room, and challoner entered with miki at his heels. macdonnell, the scotchman, was puffing moodily on his pipe. there was a worried look in his ruddy face as the younger man seated himself, and his eyes were on miki. "durant has been here," he said. "he's ugly. i'm afraid of trouble. if you hadn't struck him--" challoner shrugged his shoulders as he filled his own pipe from the factor's tobacco. "you see--you don't just understand the situation at fort 0' god," went on macdonnell. "there's been a big dog fight here at new year for the last fifty years. it's become a part of history, a part of fort o' god itself, and that's why in my own fifteen years here i haven't tried to stop it. i believe it would bring on a sort of--revolution. i'd wager a half of my people would go to another post with their furs. that's why all the sympathy seems to be with durant. even grouse piet, his rival, tells him he's a fool to let you get away with him that way. durant says that dog is his." macdonnell nodded at miki, lying at challoner's feet. "then he lies," said challoner quietly. "he says he bought him of jacques le beau." "then le beau sold a dog that didn't belong to him." for a moment macdonnell was silent. then he said: "but that wasn't what i had you come over for, challoner. durant told me something that froze my blood to-night. your outfit starts for your post up in the reindeer lake county to-morrow, doesn't it?" "in the morning." "then could you, with one of my indians and a team, arrange to swing around by way of the jackson's knee? you'd lose a week, but you could overtake your outfit before it reached the reindeer--and it would be a mighty big favour to me. there's a--a hell of a thing happened over there." again he looked at miki. "gawd!" he breathed. challoner waited. he thought he saw a shudder pass through the factor's shoulders. "i'd go myself--i ought to, but this frosted lung of mine has made me sit tight this winter, challoner. i ought to go. why--(a sudden glow shot into his eyes)--i knew this nanette le beau when she was so high, fifteen years ago. i watched her grow up, challoner. if i hadn't been married--then--i'd have fallen in love with her. do you know her, challoner? did you ever see nanette le beau?" challoner shook his head. "an angel--if god ever made one," declared macdonnell through his red beard. "she lived over beyond the jackson's knee with her father. and he died, froze to death crossing red eye lake one night. i've always thought jacques le beau made her marry him after that. or else she didn't know, or was crazed, or frightened at being alone. anyway, she married him. it was five years ago i saw her last. now and then i've heard things, but i didn't believe--not all of them. i didn't believe that le beau beat her, and knocked her down when he wanted to. i didn't believe he dragged her through the snow by her hair one day until she was nearly dead. they were just rumours, and he was seventy miles away. but i believe them now. durant came from their place, and i guess he told me a whole lot of the truth--to save that dog." again he looked at miki. "you see, durant tells me that le beau caught the dog in one of his traps, took him to his cabin, and tortured him into shape for the big fight. when durant came he was so taken with the dog that he bought him, and it was while le beau was driving the dog mad in his cage to show his temper that nanette interfered. le beau knocked her down, and then jumped on her and was pulling her hair and choking her when the dog went for him and killed him. that's the story. durant told me the truth through fear that i'd have the dog shot if he was an out-and-out murderer. and that's why i want you to go by way of the jackson's knee. i want you to investigate, and i want you to do what you can for nanette le beau. my indian will bring her back to port o' god." with scotch stoicism macdonnell had repressed whatever excitement he may have felt. he spoke quietly. but the curious shudder went through his shoulders again. challoner stared at him in blank amazement. "you mean to say that miki--this dog--has killed a man?" "yes. he killed him, durant says, just as he killed grouse piet's wolf-dog in the big fight to-day. ugh!" as challoner's eyes fell slowly upon miki, the factor added: "but grouse piet's dog was better than the man. if what i hear about le beau was true he's better dead than alive. challoner, if you didn't think it too much trouble, and could go that way--and see nanette--" "i'll go," said challoner, dropping a hand to miki's head. for half an hour after that macdonnell told him the things he knew about nanette le beau. when challoner rose to go the factor followed him to the door. "keep your eyes open for durant," he warned. "that dog is worth more to him than all his winnings to-day, and they say his stakes were big. he won heavily from grouse piet, but the halfbreed is thick with him now. i know it. so watch out." out in the open space, in the light of the moon and stars, challoner stood far a moment with miki's forepaws resting against his breast. the dog's head was almost on a level with his shoulders. "d'ye remember when you fell out of the canoe, boy?" he asked softly. "remember how you 'n' the cub were tied in the bow, an' you got to scrapping and fell overboard just above the rapids? remember? by jove! those rapids pretty near got me, too. i thought you were dead, sure--both of you. i wonder what happened to the cub?" miki whined in response, and his whole body trembled. "and since then you've killed a man," added challoner, as if he still could not quite believe. "and i'm to take you back to the woman. that's the funny thing about it. you're going back to her, and if she says kill you--" he dropped miki's forefeet and went on to the cabin. at the threshold a low growl rose in miki's throat. challoner laughed, and opened the door. they went in, and the dog's growl was a menacing snarl. challoner had left his lamp burning low, and in the light of it he saw henri durant and grouse piet waiting for him. he turned up the wick, and nodded. "good evening. pretty late for a call, isn't it?" grouse piet's stolid face did not change its expression. it struck challoner, as he glanced at him, that in head and shoulders he bore a grotesque resemblance to a walrus. durant's eyes were dully ablaze. his face was swollen where challoner had struck him. miki, stiffened to the hardness of a knot, and still snarling under his breath, had crawled under challoner's bunk. durant pointed to him. "we've come after that dog," he said. "you can't have him, durant," replied challoner, trying hard to make himself appear at ease in a situation that sent a chill up his back. as he spoke he was making up his mind why grouse piet had come with durant. they were giants, both of them: more than that--monsters. instinctively he had faced them with the small table between them. "i'm sorry i lost my temper out there," he continued. "i shouldn't have struck you, durant. it wasn't your fault--and i apologize. but the dog is mine. i lost him over in the jackson's knee country, and if jacques le beau caught him in a trap, and sold him to you, he sold a dog that didn't belong to him. i'm willing to pay you back what you gave for him, just to be fair. how much was it?" grouse piet had risen to his feet. durant came to the opposite edge of the table, and leaned over it. challoner wondered how a single blow had knocked him down. "non, he is not for sale." durant's voice was low; so low that it seemed to choke him to get it out. it was filled with a repressed hatred. challoner saw the great cords of his knotted hands bulging under the skin as he gripped the edge of the table. "m'sieu, we have come for that dog. will you let us take him?" "i will pay you back what you gave for him, durant. i will add to the price." "non. he is mine. will you give him back--now?" "no!" scarcely was the word out of his mouth when durant flung his whole weight and strength against the table. challoner had not expected the move--just yet. with a bellow of rage and hatred durant was upon him, and under the weight of the giant he crashed to the floor. with them went the table and lamp. there was a vivid splutter of flame and the cabin was in darkness, except where the moon-light flooded through the one window. challoner had looked for something different. he had expected durant to threaten before he acted, and, sizing up the two of them, he had decided to reach the edge of his bunk during the discussion. under the pillow was his revolver. it was too late now. durant was on him, fumbling in the darkness for his throat, and as he flung one arm upward to get a hook around the frenchman's neck he heard grouse piet throw the table back. the next instant they were rolling in the moonlight on the floor, and challoner caught a glimpse of grouse piet's huge bulk bending over them. durant's head was twisted under his arm, but one of the giant's hands had reached his throat. the halfbreed saw this, and he cried out something in a guttural voice. with a tremendous effort challoner rolled himself and his adversary out of the patch of light into darkness again. durant's thick neck cracked. again grouse piet called out in that guttural, questioning voice. challoner put every ounce of his energy into the crook of his arm, and durant did not answer. then the weight of grouse piet fell upon them, and his great hands groped for challoner's neck. his thick fingers found durant's beard first, then fumbled for challoner, and got their hold. ten seconds of their terrific grip would have broken his neck. but the fingers never closed. a savage cry of agony burst from grouse piet's lips, and with that cry, ending almost in a scream, came the snap of great jaws and the rending snarl of fangs in the darkness. durant heard, and with a great heave of his massive body he broke free from challoner's grip, and leapt to his feet. in a flash challoner was at his bunk, facing his enemies with the revolver in his hand. everything had happened quickly. scarcely more than a minute had passed since the overturning of the table, and now, in the moment when the situation had turned in his favour, a sudden swift and sickening horror seized upon challoner. bloody and terrible there rose before him the one scene he had witnessed that day in the big cage where miki and the wolf-dog had fought. and there--in that darkness of the cabin-he heard a moaning cry and the crash of a body to the floor. "miki, miki," he cried. "here! here!" he dropped his revolver and sprang to the door, flinging it wide open. "for god's sake get out!" he cried. "get out!" a bulk dashed past him into the night. he knew it was durant. then he leapt to the dark shadows on the floor and dug his two hands into the loose hide at the back of miki's neck, dragging him back, and shouting his name. he saw grouse piet crawling toward the door. he saw him rise to his feet, silhouetted for a moment against the starlight, and stagger out into the night. and then he felt miki's weight slinking down to the floor, and under his hands the dog's muscles grew limp and saggy. for two or three minutes he continued to kneel beside him before he closed the cabin door and lighted another lamp. he set up the overturned table and placed the lamp on it. miki had not moved. he lay flat on his belly, his head between his forepaws, looking up at challoner with a mute appeal in his eyes. challoner reached out his two arms. "miki!" in an instant miki was up against him, his forefeet against his breast, and with his arms about the dog's shoulders challoner's eyes took in the floor. on it were wet splashes and bits of torn clothing. his arms closed more tightly. "miki, old boy, i'm much obliged," he said. chapter twenty-two the next morning challoner's outfit of three teams and four men left north and west for the reindeer lake country on the journey to his new post at the mouth of the cochrane. an hour later challoner struck due west with a light sledge and a five-dog team for the jackson's knee. behind him followed one of macdonnell's indians with the team that was to bring nanette to fort o' god. he saw nothing more of durant and grouse piet, and accepted macdonnell's explanation that they had undoubtedly left the post shortly after their assault upon him in the cabin. no doubt their disappearance had been hastened by the fact that a patrol of the royal northwest mounted police on its way to york factory was expected at fort o' god that day. not until the final moment of departure was miki brought from the cabin and tied to the gee-bar of challoner's sledge. when he saw the five dogs squatted on their haunches he grew rigid and the old snarl rose in his throat. under challoner's quieting words he quickly came to understand that these beasts were not enemies, and from a rather suspicious toleration of them he very soon began to take a new sort of interest in them. it was a friendly team, bred in the south and without the wolf strain. events had come to pass so swiftly and so vividly in miki's life during the past twenty-four hours that for many miles after they left fort o' god his senses were in an unsettled state of anticipation. his brain was filled with a jumble of strange and thrilling pictures. very far away, and almost indistinct, were the pictures of things that had happened before he was made a prisoner by jacques le beau. even the memory of neewa was fading under the thrill of events at nanette's cabin and at fort o' god. the pictures that blazed their way across his brain now were of men, and dogs, and many other things that he had never seen before. his world had suddenly transformed itself into a host of henri durants and grouse piets and jacques le beaus, two-legged beasts who had clubbed him, and half killed him, and who had made him fight to keep the life in his body. he had tasted their blood in his vengeance. and he watched for them now. the pictures told him they were everywhere. he could imagine them as countless as the wolves, and as he had seen them crowded round the big cage in which he had slain the wolf-dog. in all of this excited and distorted world there was only one challoner, and one nanette, and one baby. all else was a chaos of uncertainty and of dark menace. twice when the indian came up close behind them miki whirled about with a savage snarl. challoner watched him, and understood. of the pictures in his brain one stood out above all others, definite and unclouded, and that was the picture of nanette. yes, even above challoner himself. there lived in him the consciousness of her gentle hands; her sweet, soft voice; the perfume of her hair and clothes and body--the woman of her; and a part of the woman--as the hand is a part of the body--was the baby. it was this part of miki that challoner could not understand, and which puzzled him when they made camp that night. he sat for a long time beside the fire trying to bring back the old comradeship of the days of miki's puppyhood. but he only partly succeeded. miki was restive. every nerve in his body seemed on edge. again and again he faced the west, and always when he sniffed the air in that direction there came a low whine in his throat. that night, with doubt in his heart, challoner fastened him near the tent with a tough rope of babiche. for a long time after challoner had gone to bed miki sat on his haunches close to the spruce to which he was fastened. it must have been ten o'clock, and the night was so still that the snap of a dying ember in the fire was like the crack of a whip to his ears. miki's eyes were wide open and alert. near the slowly burning logs, wrapped in his thick blankets, he could make out the motionless form of the indian, asleep. back of him the sledge-dogs had wallowed their beds in the snow and were silent. the moon was almost straight overhead, and a mile or two away a wolf pointed his muzzle to the radiant glow of it and howled. the sound, like a distant calling voice, added new fire to the growing thrill in miki's blood. he turned in the direction of the wailing voice. he wanted to call back. he wanted to throw up his head and cry out to the forests, and the moon, and the starlit sky. but only his jaws clicked, and he looked at the tent in which challoner was sleeping. he dropped down upon his belly in the snow. but his head was still alert and listening. the moon had already begun its westward decline. the fire burned out until the logs were only a dull and slumbering glow; the hand of challoner's watch passed midnight, and still miki was wide-eyed and restless in the thrill of the thing that was upon him. and then at last the call that was coming to him from out of the night became his master, and he gnawed the babiche in two. it was the call of the woman--of nanette and the baby. in his freedom miki sniffed at the edge of challoner's tent. his back sagged. his tail drooped. he knew that in this hour he was betraying the master for whom he had waited so long, and who had lived so vividly in his dreams. it was not reasoning, but an instinctive oppression of fact. he would come back. that conviction burned dully in his brain. but now--to-night--he must go. he slunk off into the darkness. with the stealth of a fox he made his way between the sleeping dogs. not until he was a quarter of a mile from the camp did he straighten out, and then a gray and fleeting shadow he sped westward under the light of the moon. there was no hesitation in the manner of his going. free of the pain of his wounds, strong-limbed, deep-lunged as the strongest wolf of the forests, he went on tirelessly. rabbits bobbing out of his path did not make him pause; even the strong scent of a fisher-cat almost under his nose did not swerve him a foot from his trail. through swamp and deep forest, over lake and stream, across open barren and charred burns his unerring sense of orientation led him on. once he stopped to drink where the swift current of a creek kept the water open. even then he gulped in haste--and shot on. the moon drifted lower and lower until it sank into oblivion. the stars began to fade away the little ones went out, and the big ones grew sleepy and dull. a great snow-ghostly gloom settled over the forest world. in the six hours between midnight and dawn he covered thirty-five miles. and then he stopped. dropping on his belly beside a rock at the crest of a ridge he watched the birth of day. with drooling jaws and panting breath he rested, until at last the dull gold of the winter sun began to paint the eastern sky. and then came the first bars of vivid sunlight, shooting over the eastern ramparts as guns flash from behind their battlements, and miki rose to his feet and surveyed the morning wonder of his world. behind him was fort o' god, fifty miles away; ahead of him the cabin--twenty. it was the cabin he faced as he went down from the ridge. as the miles between him and the cabin grew fewer and fewer he felt again something of the oppression that had borne upon him at challoner's tent. and yet it was different. he had run his race. he had answered the call. and now, at the end, he was seized by a fear of what his welcome would be. for at the cabin he had killed a man--and the man had belonged to the woman. his progress became more hesitating. mid-forenoon found him only half a mile from the home of nanette and the baby. his keen nostrils caught the faint tang of smoke in the air. he did not follow it up, but circled like a wolf, coming up stealthily and uncertainly until at last he looked out into the little clearing where a new world had come into existence for him. he saw the sapling cage in which jacques le beau had kept him a prisoner; the door of that cage was still open, as durant had left it after stealing him; he saw the ploughed-up snow where he had leapt upon the man-brute--and he whined. he was facing the cabin door--and the door was wide open. he could see no life, but he could smell it. and smoke was rising from the chimney. he slunk across the open. in the manner of his going there was an abject humiliation--a plea for mercy if he had done wrong, a prayer to the creatures he worshipped that he might not be driven away. he came to the door, and peered in. the room was empty. nanette was not there. then his ears shot forward and his body grew suddenly tense, and he listened, listened, listened to a soft, cooing sound that was coming from the crib. he swallowed hard; the faintest whine rose in his throat and his claws clicked, clicked, clicked, across the floor and he thrust his great head over the side of the little bed. the baby was there. with his warm tongue he kissed it--just once--and then, with another deep breath, lay down on the floor. he heard footsteps. nanette came in with her arms filled with blankets; she carried these into the smaller room, and returned, before she saw him. for a moment she stared. then, with a strange little cry, she ran to him; and once more he felt her arms about him; and he cried like a puppy with his muzzle against her breast, and nanette laughed and sobbed, and in the crib the baby kicked and squealed and thrust her tiny moccasined feet up into the air. "ao-oo tap-wa-mukun" ("when the devil goes heaven comes in,") say the crees. and with the death of le beau, her husband, the devil had gone out of life for nanette. she was more beautiful than ever. heaven was in the dark, pure glow of her eyes. she was no longer like a dog under the club and the whip of a brute, and in the re-birth of her soul she was glorious. youth had come back to her--freed from the yoke of oppression. she was happy. happy with her baby, with freedom, with the sun and the stars shining for her again; and with new hope, the greatest star of all. again on the night of that first day of his return miki crept up to her when she was brushing her glorious hair. he loved to put his muzzle in it; he loved the sweet scent of it; he loved to put his head on her knees and feel it smothering him. and nanette hugged him tight, even as she hugged the baby, for it was miki who had brought her freedom, and hope, and life. what had passed was no longer a tragedy. it was justice. god had sent miki to do for her what a father or a brother would have done. and the second night after that, when challoner came early in the darkness, it happened that nanette had her hair down in that same way; and challoner, seeing her thus, with the lampglow shining in her eyes, felt that the world had taken a sudden swift turn under his feet--that through all his years he had been working forward to this hour. chapter twenty-three with the coming of challoner to the cabin of nanette le beau there was no longer a shadow of gloom in the world for miki. he did not reason out the wonder of it, nor did he have a foreboding for the future. it was the present in which he lived--the precious hours in which all the creatures he had ever loved were together. and yet, away back in his memory of those things that had grown deep in his soul, was the picture of neewa, the bear; neewa, his chum, his brother, his fighting comrade of many battles, and he thought of the cold and snow-smothered cavern at the top of the ridge in which neewa had buried himself in that long and mysterious sleep that was so much like death. but it was in the present that he lived. the hours lengthened themselves out into days, and still challoner did not go, nor did nanette leave with the indian for fort o' god. the indian returned with a note for macdonnell in which challoner told the factor that something was the matter with the baby's lungs, and that she could not travel until the weather, which was intensely cold, grew warmer. he asked that the indian be sent back with certain supplies. in spite of the terrific cold which followed the birth of the new year challoner had put up his tent in the edge of the timber a hundred yards from the cabin, and miki divided his time between the cabin and the tent. for him they were glorious days. and for challoner-in a way miki saw, though it was impossible for him to comprehend. as the days lengthened into a week, and the week into two, there was something in the glow of nanette's eyes that had never been there before, and in the sweetness of her voice a new thrill, and in her prayers at night the thankfulness of a new and great joy. and then, one day, miki looked up from where he was lying beside the baby's crib and he saw nanette in his master's arms, her face turned up to him, her eyes filled with the glory of the stars, and challoner was saying something which transformed her face into the face of an angel. miki was puzzled. and he was more puzzled when challoner came from nanette to the crib, and snuggled the baby up in his arms; and the woman--looking at them both for a moment with that wonderful look in her eyes--suddenly covered her face with her hands and sobbed. half a snarl rose in miki's throat, but in that moment challoner had put his arm around nanette too, and nanette's arms were about him and the baby, and she was sobbing something which for the life of him miki could make neither head nor tail of. and yet he knew that he must not snarl or spring. he felt the wonder-thrill of the new thing that had come into the cabin; he gulped hard, and looked. a moment or two later nanette was on her knees beside him, and her arms were around him, just as they had been around the man. and challoner was dancing like a boy--cooing to the baby in his arms. then he, too, dropped down beside miki, and cried: "my gawd! miki--i've got a fam'ly!" and miki tried to understand. that night, after supper, he saw challoner unbraid nanette's glorious hair, and brush it. they laughed like two happy children. miki tried still harder to understand. when challoner went to go to his tent in the edge of the forest he took nanette in his arms, and kissed her, and stroked her shining hair; and nanette took his face between her hands and smiled and almost cried in her joy. after that miki did understand. he knew that happiness had come to all who were in that cabin. now that his world was settled, miki took once more to hunting. the thrill of the trail came back to him, and wider and wider grew his range from the cabin. again he followed le beau's old trapline. but the traps were sprung now. he had lost a great deal of his old caution. he had grown fatter. he no longer scented danger in every whiff of the wind. it was in the third week of challoner's stay at the cabin, the day which marked the end of the cold spell and the beginning of warm weather, that miki came upon an old dead-fall in a swamp a full ten miles from the clearing. le beau had set it for lynx, but nothing had touched the bait, which was a chunk of caribou flesh, frozen solid as a rock. curiously miki began smelling of it. he no longer feared danger. menace had gone out of his world. he nibbled. he pulled--and the log crashed down to break his back. only by a little did it fail. for twenty-four hours it held him helpless and crippled. then, fighting through all those hours, he dragged himself out from under it. with the rising temperature a soft snow had fallen, covering all tracks and trails. through this snow miki dragged himself, leaving a path like that of an otter in the mud, for his hind quarters were helpless. his back was not broken; it was temporarily paralyzed by the blow and the weight of the log. he made in the direction of the cabin, but every foot that he dragged himself was filled with agony, and his progress was so slow that at the end of an hour he had not gone more than a quarter of a mile. another night found him less than two miles from the deadfall. he pulled himself under a shelter of brush and lay there until dawn. all through that day he did not move. the next, which was the fourth since he had left the cabin to hunt, the pain in his back was not so great. but he could pull himself through the snow only a few yards at a time. again the good spirit of the forests favoured him for in the afternoon he came upon the partly eaten carcass of a buck killed by the wolves. the flesh was frozen but he gnawed at it ravenously. then he found himself a shelter under a mass of fallen tree-tops, and for ten days thereafter he lay between life and death. he would have died had it not been for the buck. to the carcass he managed to drag himself, sometimes each day and sometimes every other day, and kept himself from starving. it was the end of the second week before he could stand well on his feet. the fifteenth day he returned to the cabin. in the edge of the clearing there fell upon him slowly a foreboding of great change. the cabin was there. it was no different than it had been fifteen days ago. but out of the chimney there came no smoke, and the windows were white with frost. about it the snow lay clean and white, like an unspotted sheet. he made his way hesitatingly across the clearing to the door. there were no tracks. drifted snow was piled high over the sill. he whined, and scratched at the door. there was no answer. and he heard no sound. he went back into the edge of the timber, and waited. he waited all through that day, going occasionally to the cabin, and smelling about it, to convince himself that he had not made a mistake. when darkness came he hollowed himself out a bed in the fresh snow close to the door and lay there all through the night. day came again, gray and empty and still there was no smoke from the chimney or sound from within the log walls, and at last he knew that challoner and nanette and the baby were gone. but he was hopeful. he no longer listened for sound from within the cabin, but watched and listened for them to come from out of the forest. he made short quests, hunting now on this side and now on that of the cabin, sniffing futilely at the fresh and trackless snow and pointing the wind for minutes at a time. in the afternoon, with a forlorn slouch to his body, he went deeper into the forest to hunt for a rabbit. when he had killed and eaten his supper he returned again and slept a second night in the burrow beside the door. a third day and a third night he remained, and the third night he heard the wolves howling under a clear and star-filled sky, and from him there came his first cry--a yearning, grief-filled cry that rose wailingly out of the clearing; the entreaty for his master, for nanette, and the baby. it was not an answer to the wolves. in its note there was a trembling fear, the voicing of a thing that had grown into hopelessness. and now there settled upon him a loneliness greater than any loneliness he had ever known. something seemed to whisper to his canine brain that all he had seen and felt had been but a dream, and that he was face to face with his old world again, its dangers, its vast and soul-breaking emptiness, its friendlessness, its ceaseless strife for existence. his instincts, dulled by the worship of what the cabin had held, became keenly alive. he sensed again the sharp thrill of danger, which comes of aloneness, and his old caution fell upon him, so that the fourth day he slunk around the edge of the clearing like a wolf. the fifth night he did not sleep in the clearing but found himself a windfall a mile back in the forest. that night he had strange and troubled dreams. they were not of challoner, or of nanette and the baby, nor were they of the fight and the unforgettable things he had seen at the post. his dreams were of a high and barren ridge smothered in deep snow, and of a cavern that was dark and deep. again he was with his brother and comrade of days that were gone--neewa the bear. he was trying to waken him, and he could feel the warmth of his body and hear his sleepy, protesting grunts. and then, later, he was fighting again in the paradise of black currants, and with neewa was running for his life from the enraged she-bear who had invaded their coulee. when he awoke suddenly from out of these dreams he was trembling and his muscles were tense. he growled in the darkness. his eyes were round balls of searching fire. he whined softly and yearningly in that pit of gloom under the windfall, and for a moment or two he listened, for he thought that neewa might answer. for a month after that night he remained near the cabin. at least once each day, and sometimes at night, he would return to the clearing. and more and more frequently he was thinking of neewa. early in march came the tiki-swao--(the big thaw). for a week the sun shone without a cloud in the sky. the air was warm. the snow turned soft underfoot and on the sunny sides of slopes and ridges it melted away into trickling streams or rolled down in "slides" that were miniature avalanches. the world was vibrant with a new thrill. it pulsed with the growing heart-beat of spring, and in miki's soul there arose slowly a new hope, a new impression a new inspiration that was the thrilling urge of a wonderful instinct. neewa would be waking now! it came to him at last like a voice which he could understand. the trickling music of the growing streams sang it to him; he heard it in the warm winds that were no longer filled with the blast of winter; he caught it in the new odours that were rising out of the earth; he smelled it in the dank, sweet perfume of the black woods-soil. the thing thrilled him. it called him. and he knew! neewa would be waking now! he responded to the call. it was in the nature of things that no power less than physical force could hold him back. and yet he did not travel as he had travelled from challoner's camp to the cabin of nanette and the baby. there had been a definite object there, something to achieve, something to spur him on to an immediate fulfilment. now the thing that drew him, at first, was an overpowering impulse, not a reality. for two or three days his trail westward was wandering and indefinite. then it straightened out, and early in the morning of the fifth day he came from a deep forest into a plain, and across that plain he saw the ridge. for a long time he gazed over the level space before he went on. in his brain the pictures of neewa were becoming clearer and clearer. after all, it seemed only yesterday or the day before that he had gone away from that ridge. then it was smothered in snow, and a gray, terrible gloom had settled upon the earth. now there was but little snow, and the sun was shining, and the sky was blue again. he went on, and sniffed along the foot of the ridge; he had not forgotten the way. he was not excited, because time had ceased to have definite import for him. yesterday he had come down from that ridge, and to-day he was going back. he went straight to the mouth of neewa's den, which was uncovered now, and thrust in his head and shoulders, and sniffed. ah! but that lazy rascal of a bear was a sleepy-head! he was still sleeping. miki could smell him. listening hard, he could hear him. he climbed over the low drift of snow that had packed itself in the neck of the cavern and entered confidently into the darkness. he heard a soft, sleepy grunt and a great sigh. he almost stumbled over neewa, who had changed his bed. again neewa grunted, and miki whined. he ran his muzzle into neewa's fresh, new coat of spring fur and smelled his way to neewa's ear. after all, it was only yesterday! and he remembered everything now! so he gave neewa's ear a sudden sharp nip with his teeth, and then he barked in that low, throaty way that neewa had always understood. "wake up, neewa," it all said. "wake up! the snow is gone, and it's fine out to-day. wake up!" and neewa, stretching himself, gave a great yawn. chapter twenty-four meshaba, the old cree, sat on the sunny side of a rock on the sunny side of a slope that looked up and down the valley. meshaba--who many, many years ago had been called the giant--was very old. he was so old that even the factor's books over at fort o' god had no record of his birth; nor the "post logs" at albany house, or cumberland house, or norway house, or fort churchill. perhaps farther north, at lac la biche, at old fort resolution, or at fort mcpherson some trace of him might have been found. his skin was crinkled and weather-worn, like dry buckskin, and over his brown, thin face his hair fell to his shoulders, snow-white. his hands were thin, even his nose was thin with the thinness of age. but his eyes were still like dark garnets, and down through the greater part of a century their vision had come undimmed. they roved over the valley now. at meshaba's back, a mile on the other side of the ridge, was the old trapper's cabin, where he lived alone. the winter had been long and cold, and in his gladness at the coming of spring meshaba had come up the ridge to bask in the sun and look out over the changing world. for an hour his eyes had travelled up and down the valley like the eyes of an old and wary hawk. the dark spruce and cedar forest edged in the far side of the valley; between that and the ridge rolled the meadowy plain--still covered with melting snow in places, and in others bare and glowing, a dull green in the sunlight. from where he sat meshaba could also see a rocky scarp of the ridge that projected out into the plain a hundred yards away. but this did not interest him, except that if it had not been in his line of vision he could have seen a mile farther down the valley. in that hour of sphinx-like watching, while the smoke curled slowly up from his black pipe, meshaba had seen life. half a mile from where he was sitting a band of caribou had come out of the timber and wandered into a less distant patch of low bush. they had not thrilled his old blood with the desire to kill, for there was already a fresh carcass hung up at the back of his cabin. still farther away he had seen a hornless moose, so grotesque in its spring ugliness that the parchment-like skin of his face had cracked for half an instant in a smile, and out of him had come a low and appreciative grunt; for meshaba, in spite of his age, still had a sense of humour left. once he had seen a wolf, and twice a fox, and now his eyes were on an eagle high over his head. meshaba would not have shot that eagle, for year after year it had come down through time with him, and it was always there soaring in the sun when spring came. so meshaba grunted as he watched it, and was glad that upisk had not died during the winter. "kata y ati sisew," he whispered to himself, a glow of superstition in his fiery eyes. "we have lived long together, and it is fated that we die together, oh upisk. the spring has come for us many times, and soon the black winter will swallow us up for ever." his eyes shifted slowly, and then they rested on the scarp of the ridge that shut out his vision. his heart gave a sudden thump in his body. his pipe fell from his mouth to his hand; and he stared without moving, stared like a thing of rock. on a flat sunlit shelf not more than eighty or ninety yards away stood a young black bear. in the warm glow of the sunlight the bear's spring coat shone like polished jet. but it was not the sudden appearance of the bear that amazed meshaba. it was the fact that another animal was standing shoulder to shoulder with wakayoo, and that it was not a brother bear, but a huge wolf. slowly one of his thin hands rose to his eyes and he wiped away what he thought must surely be a strange something that was fooling his vision. in all his eighty years and odd he had never known a wolf to be thus friendly with a bear. nature had made them enemies. nature had fore-doomed their hatred to be the deepest hatred of the forests. therefore, for a space, meshaba doubted his eyes. but in another moment he saw that the miracle had truly come to pass. for the wolf turned broadside to him and it was a wolf! a huge, big-boned beast that stood as high at the shoulders as wakayoo, the bear; a great beast, with a great head, and-it was then that meshaba's heart gave another thump, for the tail of a wolf is big and bushy in the springtime, and the tail of this beast was as bare of hair as a beaver's tail! "ohne moosh!" gasped meshaba, under his breath--"a dog!" he seemed to draw slowly into himself, slinking backward. his rifle stood just out of reach on the other side of the rock. at the other end of that eighty or ninety yards neewa and miki stood blinking in the bright sunlight, with the mouth of the cavern in which neewa had slept so many months just behind them. miki was puzzled. again it seemed to him that it was only yesterday, and not months ago, that he had left neewa in that den, sleeping his lazy head off. and now that he had returned to him after his own hard winter in the forests he was astonished to find neewa so big. for neewa had grown steadily through his four months' nap and he was half again as big as when he went to sleep. could miki have spoken cree, and had meshaba given him the opportunity, he might have explained the situation. "you see, mr. indian"--he might have said--"this dub of a bear and i have been pals from just about the time we were born. a man named challoner tied us together first when neewa, there, was just about as big as your head, and we did a lot of scrapping before we got properly acquainted. then we got lost, and after that we hitched up like brothers; and we had a lot of fun and excitement all through last summer, until at last, when the cold weather came, neewa hunted up this hole in the ground and the lazy cuss went to sleep for all winter. i won't mention what happened to me during the winter. it was a-plenty. so this spring i had a hunch it was about time for neewa to get the cobwebs out of his fool head, and came back. and--here we are! but tell me this: what makes neewa so big?" it was at least that thought--the bigness of neewa--that was filling miki's head at the present moment. and meshaba, in place of listening to an explanation, was reaching for his rifle--while neewa, with his brown muzzle sniffing the wind, was gathering in a strange smell. of the three, neewa saw nothing to be wondered at in the situation itself. when he had gone to sleep four and a half months ago miki was at his side; and to-day, when he awoke, miki was still at his side. the four and a half months meant nothing to him. many times he and miki had gone to sleep, and had awakened together. for all the knowledge he had of time it might have been only last night that he had fallen asleep. the one thing that made neewa uneasy now was that strange odour he had caught in the air. instinctively he seized upon it as a menace--at least as something that he would rather not smell than smell. so he turned away with a warning woof to miki. when meshaba peered around the edge of the rock, expecting an easy shot, he caught only a flash of the two as they were disappearing. he fired quickly. to miki and neewa the report of the rifle and the moaning whirr of the bullet over their backs recalled memories of a host of things, and neewa settled down to that hump-backed, flat-eared flight of his that kept miki pegging along at a brisk pace for at least a mile. then neewa stopped, puffing audibly. inasmuch as he had had nothing to eat for a third of a year, and was weak from long inactivity, the run came within an ace of putting him out of business. it was several minutes before he could gather his wind sufficiently to grunt. miki, meanwhile, was carefully smelling of him from his rump to his muzzle. there was apparently nothing missing, for he gave a delighted little yap at the end, and, in spite of his size and the dignity of increased age, he began frisking about neewa in a manner emphatically expressive of his joy at his comrade's awakening. "it's been a deuce of a lonely winter, neewa, and i'm tickled to death to see you on your feet again," his antics said. "what'll we do? go for a hunt?" this seemed to be the thought in neewa's mind, for he headed straight up the valley until they came to an open fen where he proceeded to quest about for a dinner of roots and grass; and as he searched he grunted--grunted in his old, companionable, cubbish way. and miki, hunting with him, found that once more the loneliness had gone out of his world. chapter twenty-five to miki and neewa, especially neewa, there seemed nothing extraordinary in the fact that they were together again, and that their comradeship was resumed. although during his months of hibernation neewa's body had grown, his mind had not changed its memories or its pictures. it had not passed through a mess of stirring events such as had made the winter a thrilling one for miki, and so it was neewa who accepted the new situation most casually. he went on feeding as if nothing at all unusual had happened during the past four months, and after the edge had gone from his first hunger he fell into his old habit of looking to miki for leadership. and miki fell into the old ways as though only a day or a week and not four months had lapsed in their brotherhood. it is possible that he tried mightily to tell neewa what had happened. at least he must have had that desire--to let him know in what a strange way he had found his old master, challoner, and how he had lost him again. and also how he found the woman, nanette, and the little baby nanette, and how for a long time he had lived with them and loved them as he had never loved anything else on earth. it was the old cabin, far to the north and east, that drew him now--the cabin in which nanette and the baby had lived; and it was toward this cabin that he lured neewa during the first two weeks of their hunting. they did not travel quickly, largely because of neewa's voracious spring appetite and the fact that it consumed nine tenths of his waking hours to keep full on such provender as roots and swelling buds and grass. during the first week miki grew either hopeless or disgusted in his hunting. one day he killed five rabbits and neewa ate four of them and grunted piggishly for more. if miki had stood amazed and appalled at neewa's appetite in the days of their cubhood and puppyhood a year ago, he was more than astounded now, for in the matter of food neewa was a bottomless pit. on the other hand he was jollier than ever, and in their wrestling matches he was almost more than a match for miki, being nearly again as heavy. he very soon acquired the habit of taking advantage of this superiority of weight, and at unexpected moments he would hop on miki and pin him to the ground, his fat body smothering him like a huge soft cushion, and his arms holding him until at times miki could scarcely squirm. now and then, hugging him in this embrace, he would roll over and over, both of them snarling and growling as though in deadly combat. this play, though he was literally the under dog, delighted miki until one day they rolled over the edge of a deep ravine and crashed in a dog-and-bear avalanche to the bottom. after that, for a long time, neewa did not roll with his victim. whenever miki wanted to end a bout, however, all he had to do was to give neewa a sharp nip with his long fangs and the bear would uncoil himself and hop to his feet like a spring. he had a most serious respect for miki's teeth. but miki's greatest moments of joy were where neewa stood up man-fashion. then was a real tussle. and his greatest hours of disgust were when neewa stretched himself out in a tree for a nap. it was the beginning of the third week before they came one day to the cabin. there was no change in it, and miki's body sagged disconsolately as he and neewa looked at it from the edge of the clearing. no smoke, no sign of life, and the window was broken now--probably by an inquisitive bear or a wolverine. miki went to the window and stood up to it, sniffing inside. the smell was still there--so faint that he could only just detect it. but that was all. the big room was empty except for the stove, a table and a few bits of rude furniture. all else was gone. three or four times during the next half hour miki stood up at the window, and at last neewa--urged by his curiosity--did likewise. he also detected the faint odour that was left in the cabin. he sniffed at it for a long time. it was like the smell he had caught the day he came out of his den--and yet different. it was fainter, more elusive, and not so unpleasant. for a month thereafter miki insisted on hunting in the vicinity of the cabin, held there by the "pull" of the thing which he could neither analyze nor quite understand. neewa accepted the situation good-naturedly for a time. then he lost patience and surrendered himself to a grouch for three whole days during which he wandered at his own sweet will. to preserve the alliance miki was compelled to follow him. berry time--early july--found them sixty miles north and west of the cabin, in the edge of the country where neewa was born. but there were few berries that summer of bebe nak um geda (the summer of drought and fire). as early as the middle of july a thin, gray film began to hover in palpitating waves over the forests. for three weeks there had been no rain. even the nights were hot and dry. each day the factors at their posts looked out with anxious eyes over their domains, and by the first of august every post had a score of halfbreeds and indians patrolling the trails on the watch for fire. in their cabins and teepees the forest dwellers who had not gone to pass the summer at the posts waited and watched; each morning and noon and night they climbed tall trees and peered through that palpitating gray film for a sign of smoke. for weeks the wind came steadily from the south and west, parched as though swept over the burning sands of a desert. berries dried up on the bushes; the fruit of the mountain ash shriveled on its stems; creeks ran dry; swamps turned into baked peat, and the poplar leaves hung wilted and lifeless, too limp to rustle in the breeze. only once or twice in a lifetime does the forest dweller see poplar leaves curl up and die like that, baked to death in the summer sun. it is kiskewahoon (the danger signal). not only the warning of possible death in a holocaust of fire, but the omen of poor hunting and trapping in the winter to come. miki and neewa were in a swamp country when the fifth of august came. in the lowland it was sweltering. neewa's tongue hung from his mouth, and miki was panting as they made their way along a black and sluggish stream that was like a great ditch and as dead as the day itself. there was no visible sun, but a red and lurid glow filled the sky--the sun struggling to fight its way through the smothering film that had grown thicker over the earth. because they were in a "pocket"--a sweep of tangled country lower than the surrounding country--neewa and miki were not caught in this blackening cloud. five miles away they might have heard the thunder of cloven hoofs and the crash of heavy bodies in their flight before the deadly menace of fire. as it was they made their way slowly through the parched swamp, so that it was midday when they came out of the edge of it and up through a green fringe of timber to the top of a ridge. before this hour neither had passed through the horror of a forest fire. but it seized upon them now. it needed no past experience. the cumulative instinct of a thousand generations leapt through their brains and bodies. their world was in the grip of iskootao (the fire devil). to the south and the east and the west it was buried in a pall like the darkness of night, and out of the far edge of the swamp through which they had come they caught the first livid spurts of flame. from that direction, now that they were out of the "pocket," they felt a hot wind, and with that wind came a dull and rumbling roar that was like the distant moaning of a cataract. they waited, and watched, struggling to get their bearings, their minds fighting for a few moments in the gigantic process of changing instinct into reasoning and understanding. neewa, being a bear, was afflicted with the near-sightedness of his breed, and he could see neither the black tornado of smoke bearing down upon them nor the flames leaping out of the swamp. but he could smell, and his nose was twisted into a hundred wrinkles, and even ahead of miki he was ready for flight. but miki, whose vision was like a hawk's, stood as if fascinated. the roaring grew more distinct. it seemed on all sides of them. but it was from the south that there came the first storm of ash rushing noiselessly ahead of the fire, and after that the smoke. it was then that miki turned with a strange whine but it was neewa now who took the lead--neewa, whose forebears had ten thousand times run this same wild race with death in the centuries since their world was born. he did not need the keenness of far vision now. he knew. he knew what was behind, and what was on either side, and where the one trail to safety lay; and in the air he felt and smelled the thing that was death. twice miki made efforts to swing their course into the east, but neewa would have none of it. with flattened ears he went on north. three times miki stopped to turn and face the galloping menace behind them, but never for an instant did neewa pause. straight on--north, north, north--north to the higher lands, the big waters, the open plains. they were not alone. a caribou sped past them with the swiftness of the wind itself. "fast, fast, fast!"--neewa's instinct cried; "but--endure! for the caribou, speeding even faster than the fire, will fall of exhaustion shortly and be eaten up by the flames. fast--but endure!" and steadily, stoically, at his loping gait neewa led on. a bull moose swung half across their trail from the west, wind-gone and panting as though his throat were cut. he was badly burned, and running blindly into the eastern wall of fire. behind and on either side, where the flames were rushing on with the pitiless ferocity of hunnish regiments, the harvest of death was a vast and shuddering reality. in hollow logs, under windfalls, in the thick tree-tops, and in the earth itself, the smaller things of the wilderness sought their refuge--and died. rabbits became leaping balls of flame, then lay shrivelled and black; the marten were baked in their trees; fishers and mink and ermine crawled into the deepest corners of the windfalls and died there by inches; owls fluttered out of their tree-tops, staggered for a few moments in the fiery air, and fell down into the heart of the flame. no creature made a sound--except the porcupines; and as they died they cried like little children. in the green spruce and cedar timber, heavy with the pitch that made their thick tops spurt into flame like a sea of explosive, the fire rushed on with a tremendous roar. from it--in a straight race--there was no escape for man or beast. out of that world of conflagration there might have risen one great, yearning cry to heaven: water--water--water! wherever there was water there was also hope--and life. breed and blood and wilderness feuds were forgotten in the great hour of peril. every lake became a haven of refuge. to such a lake came neewa, guided by an unerring instinct and sense of smell sharpened by the rumble and roar of the storm of fire behind him. miki had "lost" himself; his senses were dulled; his nostrils caught no scent but that of a world in flames--so, blindly, he followed his comrade. the fire was enveloping the lake along its western shore, and its water was already thickly tenanted. it was not a large lake, and almost round. its diameter was not more than two hundred yards. farther out--a few of them swimming, but most of them standing on bottom with only their heads out of water--were a score of caribou and moose. many other shorter-legged creatures were swimming aimlessly, turning this way and that, paddling their feet only enough to keep afloat. on the shore where neewa and miki paused was a huge porcupine, chattering and chuckling foolishly, as if scolding all things in general for having disturbed him at dinner. then he took to the water. a little farther up the shore a fisher-cat and a fox hugged close to the water line, hesitating to wet their precious fur until death itself snapped at their heels; and as if to bring fresh news of this death a second fox dragged himself wearily out on the shore, as limp as a wet rag after his swim from the opposite shore, where the fire was already leaping in a wall of flame. and as this fox swam in, hoping to find safety, an old bear twice as big as neewa, crashed panting from the undergrowth, plunged into the water, and swam out. smaller things were creeping and crawling and slinking along the shore; little red-eyed ermine, marten, and mink, rabbits, squirrels, and squeaking gophers, and a horde of mice. and at last, with these things which he would have devoured so greedily running about him, neewa waded slowly out into the water. miki followed until he was submerged to his shoulders. then he stopped. the fire was close now, advancing like a race-horse. over the protecting barrier of thick timber drove the clouds of smoke and ash. swiftly the lake became obliterated, and now out of that awful chaos of blackness and smoke and heat there rose strange and thrilling cries; the bleating of a moose calf that was doomed to die and the bellowing, terror-filled response of its mother; the agonized howling of a wolf; the terrified barking of a fox, and over all else the horrible screaming of a pair of loons whose home had been transformed into a sea of flame. through the thickening smoke and increasing heat neewa gave his call to miki as he began to swim, and with an answering whine miki plunged after him, swimming so close to his big black brother that his muzzle touched the other's flank. in mid-lake neewa did as the other swimming creatures were doing--paddled only enough to keep himself afloat; but for miki, big of bone and unassisted by a life-preserver of fat, the struggle was not so easy. he was forced to swim to keep afloat. a dozen times he circled around neewa, and then, with something of the situation driven upon him, he came up close to the bear and rested his forepaws on his shoulders. the lake was now encircled by a solid wall of fire. blasts of flame shot up the pitch-laden trees and leapt for fifty feet into the blistering air. the roar of the conflagration was deafening. it drowned all sound that brute agony and death may have made. and its heat was terrific. for a few terrible minutes the air which miki drew into his lungs was like fire itself. neewa plunged his head under water every few seconds, but it was not miki's instinct to do this. like the wolf and the fox and the fisher-cat and the lynx it was his nature to die before completely submerging himself. swift as it had come the fire passed; and the walls of timber that had been green a few moments before were black and shrivelled and dead; and sound swept on with the flame until it became once more only a low and rumbling murmur. to the black and smouldering shores the live things slowly made their way. of all the creatures that had taken refuge in the lake many had died. chief of those were the porcupines. all had drowned. close to the shore the heat was still intense, and for hours the earth was hot with smouldering fire. all the rest of that day and the night that followed no living thing moved out of the shallow water. and yet no living thing thought to prey upon its neighbour. the great peril had made of all beasts kin. a little before dawn of the day following the fire relief came. a deluge of rain fell, and when day broke and the sun shone through a murky heaven there was left no sign of what the lake had been, except for the dead bodies that floated on its surface or lined its shores. the living things had returned into their desolated wilderness--and among them neewa and miki. chapter twenty-six for many days after the great fire it was neewa who took the lead. all their world was a black and lifeless desolation and miki would not have known which way to turn. had it been a local fire of small extent he would have "wandered" out of its charred path. but the conflagration had been immense. it had swept over a vast reach of country, and for a half of the creatures who had saved themselves in the lakes and streams there was only a death by starvation left. but not for neewa and his breed. just as there had been no indecision in the manner and direction of his flight before the fire so there was now no hesitation in the direction he chose to seek a live world again. it was due north and west--as straight as a die. if they came to a lake, and went around it, neewa would always follow the shore until he came directly opposite his trail on the other side of the lake--and then strike north and west again. he travelled steadily, not only by day but also by night, with only short intervals of rest, and the dawning of the second morning found miki more exhausted than the bear. there were many evidences now that they had reached a point where the fire had begun to burn itself out. patches of green timber were left standing, there were swamps unscathed by the flames, and here and there they came upon green patches of meadow. in the swamps and timber they feasted, for these oases in what had been a sea of flame were filled with food ready to be preyed upon and devoured. for the first time neewa refused to stop because there was plenty to eat. the sixth day they were a hundred miles from the lake in which they had sought refuge from the fire. it was a wonderful country of green timber, of wide plains and of many lakes and streams--cut up by a thousand usayow (low ridges), which made the best of hunting. because it was a country of many waters, with live streams running between the ridges and from lake to lake, it had not suffered from the drought like the country farther south. for a month neewa and miki hunted in their new paradise, and became fat and happy again. it was in september that they came upon a strange thing in the edge of a swamp. at first miki thought that it was a cabin; but it was a great deal smaller than any cabin he had known. it was not much larger than the cage of saplings in which le beau had kept him. but it was made of heavy logs, and the logs were notched so that nothing could knock them down. and these logs, instead of lying closely one on the other, had open spaces six or eight inches wide between them. and there was a wide-open door. from this strange contraption there came a strong odour of over-ripened fish. the smell repelled miki. but it was a powerful attraction to neewa, who persisted in remaining near it in spite of all miki could do to drag him away. finally, disgusted at his comrade's bad taste, miki sulked off alone to hunt. it was some time after that before neewa dared to thrust his head and shoulders through the opening. the smell of the fish made his little eyes gleam. cautiously he stepped inside the queer looking thing of logs. nothing happened. he saw the fish, all he could eat, just on the other side of a sapling against which he must lean to reach them. he went deliberately to the sapling, leaned over, and then!-"crash!" he whirled about as if shot. there was no longer an opening where he had entered. the sapling "trigger" had released an over-head door, and neewa was a prisoner. he was not excited, but accepted the situation quite coolly, probably having no doubt in his mind that somewhere there was an aperture between the logs large enough for him to squeeze through. after a few inquisitive sniffs he proceeded to devour the fish. he was absorbed in his odoriferous feast when out of a clump of dwarf balsams a few yards away appeared an indian. he quickly took in the situation, turned, and disappeared. half an hour later this indian ran into a clearing in which were the recently constructed buildings of a new post. he made for the company store. in the fur-carpeted "office" of this store a man was bending fondly over a woman. the indian saw them as he entered, and chuckled. "sakehewawin" ("the love couple"); that was what they had already come to call them at post lac bain--this man and woman who had given them a great feast when the missioner had married them not so very long ago. the man and the woman stood up when the indian entered, and the woman smiled at him. she was beautiful. her eyes were glowing, and there was the flush of a flower in her cheeks. the indian felt the worship of her warm in his heart. "oo-ee, we have caught the bear," he said. "but it is napao (a he-bear). there is no cub, iskwao nanette!" the white man chuckled. "aren't we having the darndest luck getting you a cub for a house-pet, nanette?" he asked. "i'd have sworn this mother and her cub would have been easily caught. a he-bear! we'll have to let him loose, mootag. his pelt is good for nothing. do you want to go with us and see the fun, nanette?" she nodded, her little laugh filled with the joy of love and life. "oui. it will be such fun--to see him go!" challoner led the way, with an axe in his hand; and with him came nanette, her hand in his. mootag followed with his rifle, prepared for an emergency. from the thick screen of balsams challoner peered forth, then made a hole through which nanette might look at the cage and its prisoner. for a moment or two she held her breath as she watched neewa pacing back and forth, very much excited now. then she gave a little cry, and challoner felt her fingers pinch his own sharply. before he knew what she was about to do she had thrust herself through the screen of balsams. close to the log prison, faithful to his comrade in the hour of peril, lay miki. he was exhausted from digging at the earth under the lower log, and he had not smelled or heard anything of the presence of others until he saw nanette standing not twenty paces away. his heart leapt up into his panting throat. he swallowed, as though to get rid of a great lump; he stared. and then, with a sudden, yearning whine, he sprang toward her. with a yell challoner leapt out of the balsams with uplifted axe. but before the axe could fall, miki was in nanette's arms, and challoner dropped his weapon with a gasp of amazement--and one word: "miki!" mootag, looking on in stupid astonishment, saw both the man and the woman making a great fuss over a strange and wild-looking beast that looked as if it ought to be killed. they had forgotten the bear. and miki, wildly joyous at finding his beloved master and mistress, had forgotten him also. it was a prodigious whoof from neewa himself that brought their attention to him. like a flash miki was back at the pen smelling of neewa's snout between two of the logs, and with a great wagging of tail trying to make him understand what had happened. slowly, with a thought born in his head that made him oblivious of all else but the big black brute in the pen, challoner approached the trap. was it possible that miki could have made friends with any other bear than the cub of long ago? he drew in a deep breath as he looked at them. neewa's brown-tipped nose was thrust between two of the logs and miki was licking it with his tongue! he held out a hand to nanette, and when she came to him he pointed for a space, without speaking. then he said: "it is the cub, nanette. you know--the cub i have told you about. they've stuck together all this time--ever since i killed the cub's mother a year and a half ago, and tied them together on a piece of rope. i understand now why miki ran away from us when we were at the cabin. he went back--to the bear." to-day if you strike northward from le pas and put your canoe in the rat river or grassberry waterways, and thence paddle and run with the current down the reindeer river and along the east shore of reindeer lake you will ultimately come to the cochrane--and post lac bain. it is one of the most wonderful countries in all the northland. three hundred indians, breeds and french, come with their furs to lac bain. not a soul among them--man, woman, or child--but knows the story of the "tame bear of lac bain"--the pet of l'ange, the white angel, the factor's wife. the bear wears a shining collar and roams at will in the company of a great dog, but, having grown huge and fat now, never wanders far from the post. and it is an unwritten law in all that country that the animal must not be harmed, and that no bear traps shall be set within five miles of the company buildings. beyond that limit the bear never roams; and when it comes cold, and he goes into his long sleep, he crawls into a deep warm cavern that has been dug for him under the company storehouse. and with him, when the nights come, sleeps miki the dog. the end the romance _of the_ woods _by_ f. j. whishaw. author of "_out of doors in tsarland_." _london, longmans green & co. and new york._ 1895 _all rights reserved_ contents page i. on a russian moor 1 ii. in ambush at the lake-side 33 iii. a day after crawfish 55 iv. a finland paradise 75 v. after ducks on ladoga 105 vi. about bears: by one of them 115 vii. the folk-lore of the moujik 185 viii. the bear that died of curses 212 ix. among the wood-goblins 232 x. an unbaptized spirit 253 xi. a witch! a witch! 273 the romance of the woods chapter i on a russian moor i once had a strange dream. i dreamed that i was dead, and that dying i suddenly discovered all my preconceived ideas as to the future state to have been entirely erroneous, at any rate in so far as concerned such persons as myself--the respectable middle class, so to call it, of mundane sinners. had i belonged to the aristocracy of piety and goodness, which, alas! i did not, or had i occupied a position at the lower end of the list, other things might have befallen me, better or worse, as the case deserved; but being, as i say, one of the decently respectable middle-class sinners, i was shown, in this foolish dream of mine, into a committee-room marked no. 2, and there informed that since i was neither very good nor very bad, my present destiny was to continue to inhabit this planet for a number of years--i forget how many--not, indeed, in my present corporeal form, but as a spiritual essence; and that i might select any place this side of the dark river, the styx, as my temporary abode, there to live in nature's bosom and to assimilate and be assimilated until the simplicity and beauty of nature, uncontaminated by man, should have purified me of all the harmful taints which i had acquired during my terrestrial existence among fellow-mortals. and i remember that, in my dream-foolishness, i clasped my hands and fell on my knees, and with streaming eyes assured the committee of mahatmas (for such, in the dream, they appeared to be) that i wished for no more beautiful heaven than this that they had offered me; and that i implored them to allow me to stay on for ever in the paradise they had prepared for me, and never to pass me onward and upward to attain further joys, however blessed! and then, in my dream, those mahatmas flashed their shining eyes at me (there was very little _but_ eye and flowing cloak about them, i remember), and said "silence!" and frightened me thereby out of my dream-dead wits. that, they added, was not my affair nor theirs. all i had to do at present was to make my choice of a place from among those i had best loved during life, and to do so as quickly as i conveniently could, because their hands were somewhat full of business this morning, and they could not spare me more than, at most, five minutes. i remember that i looked over my shoulder at this and perceived an innumerable host of persons, all, presumably, in a similar position to my own, and all ready to take their turns, in strict rotation, before the committee of mahatmas in room no. 2; and i could not help reflecting that the middle-class sinner must indeed be a very large class, and that i should do wisely to select some rather unfrequented spot for my future home, lest my domain should be trespassed upon by other spiritual essences, and my peace marred by--to use a mundane expression--unseemly rows. and then i became conscious of a great difficulty in the matter of this choosing of a place to live in. picture after picture came up before my mind's eye, each more fascinatingly beautiful than the other. there was a lovely little bit of devonshire coast, and another shore in pembrokeshire; there were delicious spots in half the counties of england--woods, and hedgerows, and rivers, and waving fields wherein my spiritual being might disport itself in the contemplation of the teeming secret life of nature; there were kensington gardens, a certain central glade of which i had loved well enough, and which my spiritual essence might find a handy spot in case the longing for human fellowship were to assail me--when i could so easily perch myself unseen amid the branches of a tree overlooking bayswater road, and drink in, to my heart's content, the familiar sights and sounds of london, or even take a ride on the top of an acton 'bus; but at this point of my reflections one of the mahatmas wagged his head at me and said: "oh no! you can't do that, you know. no 'bus-driving. twenty miles from any town, if _you_ please!" it did not strike me as curious that this mahatma should have read my thoughts, neither did it occur to me to wonder how he knew that i was animadverting upon the delights of the twopenny 'bus. however, his remark narrowed my field of selection, and i thought on as intensely as i could. i crossed the seas and flew, in spirit, to finland, to a lovely island in the midst of a beautiful river--the voksa--teeming with trout, great and small, and with silver grayling; and then i thought of ostramanch, the home of the capercailzie, of the blackcock; the scene of a hundred and one superb days with the gun, and of as many nights spent in the perfect happiness of solitude and observation beneath the tall pines and the bright stars of the northern sky, in the hush and the solemn majesty of the darkness and silence. and i had almost cried, "give me ostramanch!" when i remembered that this dearly loved spot would not, after all, do. it had passed from english into russian hands, and my spiritual self could never be really happy there under such circumstances. what if my essence were suddenly to happen upon a russian sportsman taking a family shot at a young covey of blackgame or willow-grouse, huddled together upon a sand-dune, or hiding behind a tuft of purple-fruited bilberry? could my spiritual voice cry out upon such a deed, or my spiritual fingers close upon the throat of the delinquent, or my phantasmal toe perform a corporeal function? could i even spread bony arms before his eyes and play the common vulgar ghost upon him, to punish him withal? alas! i thought, no. ostramanch will not do. and then, at last, the picture of erinofka rose before my eyes, and i knew that i had found my fate. i pictured myself strolling year-long over the purple moors, through the dark belts of forest, by bog and morass and snipe-haunted waste. i remembered many trudges--days of delight--in those same woods, gun-laden, full of ardour, unwearied by day-long tramping, oblivious of hunger, impatient of oncoming darkness; and i imagined myself repeating such delightful experiences _ad infinitum_, and laughed aloud in the joy of my foolish dream-heart. the mahatmas immediately interfered; they flashed their great eyes and fluttered their long black mantles at me, and cried: "no guns, no guns!" "and no fishing-rods!" added one of them. "what! no guns and no rod?" i said, growing grave very suddenly. to be at erinofka and never to hear the popping of another cartridge seemed a dreadful prospect. "oh, you can carry a gun if you please," said the presiding mahatma, who was growing strangely like a london police magistrate, "but you must use smokeless and noiseless powder, and no shot." "and a rod without a reel," said another mahatma. "and a line without a hook," added a third. "and see that you have a license," put in a fourth. "but, sirs," i began, "what am i to do with myself, if i may not----" "take life?" interrupted the chairman. "silence, prisoner at the bar, and learn to be happy without killing! to erinofka with him, gaoler!" "how long, your worship?" said that functionary. four thousand five hundred years was, i think, the figure, but it may have been four hundred thousand. i was still puzzling over the matter when i awoke. afterwards, when i thought upon this dream of mine, it struck me that my sentence was, after all, a most enviable one. thousands of years at erinofka, with no terrestrial cares to weigh me down; face to face and heart to heart with nature, learning her secrets day long; a life-atom among myriads of others; a little part of an infinite whole; harmless, free, careless, contented, in fellowship with bird and beast and insect, and with every form of life that has a vested interest in wood and moor and wet morass. for such an existence i had chosen, i thought, the right place. at any rate my spiritual essence, if weary of wandering about armed with a gun that would not work, could amuse itself by recalling those dear, unregenerate days when guns, unprohibited by stern mahatmas, popped freely, and reels craked, and when the glad voice of the sportsman was heard upon these moors, and among them my own, together with the popping of many terrestrial cartridges. one day, especially, and that the day of my first acquaintance with the place, lingers more fondly than others in the memory, and would afford material for much spiritual contemplation, perhaps even unto forty-five thousand years, if there were nothing better to do! and it is of that particular day that i propose to tell, now that this somewhat extended preface has been got through. it was jemmie, of course, who introduced me to erinofka. any one in st. petersburg will tell you who jemmie is, for he is a popular character there, and is known and loved by all. well, it was jemmie who proposed a day at erinofka, a day among the juveniles; the younglings of the blackcock and of the willow-grouse, and perhaps a peep at the princelings of his majesty king capercailzie. it was early in the summer, perhaps too early; but shooting in the tsar's domains begins considerably earlier in the year than we, in this country, are accustomed to take gun in hand, and the sportsman may there sally forth on july 27, if it please him, and shoot young game without breaking any laws. it was not quite so early as this when jemmie carried me--a willing captive--to erinofka, but august was still very young, and so were some of the coveys; though, thanks to a fine warm season, many or most of these were marvellously well-grown; but of this anon. erinofka is blessed, or cursed, with a most marvellous little railway of its very own, a kind of toy track from town, laid down for the convenience of a peat-cutting establishment not very far from the shooting-box which was our objective point. the railway is very narrow, and the omnibus-like carriages, which the public are allowed to occupy for a consideration and at their own risk, are very top-heavy; and the driver of the little engine is generally very drunk, all of which circumstances combine to make this erinofka heaven quite as difficult of attainment as the very highest of mahomet's, and the journey a matter not to be undertaken without deep thought, much repentance, and a visit from the family lawyer. the line looks something like the toy track at chatham--that upon which youthful officers of the royal engineers are or were wont to disport themselves; a pastime devised, i believe, by the war office, for the twin purposes of teaching the british officer how to drive a locomotive, and how best to fall off it with dignity when the engine runs off the rails. jemmie tells me that before the peat-people built this line it had been necessary to bump along to erinofka as best one could, over the most awful roads that human bones ever creaked upon, a distance of forty or fifty miles; but that now, if only you can secure the sober, the _comparatively_ sober driver, the journey is a sweet boon. it appears that there are three drivers on this line--matvey, who is always very drunk indeed; ivan, who is always rather drunk and sometimes highly intoxicated; and yegor, who has been known to be sober. i have not seen the man who saw yegor sober; but it is confidently asserted that he has been observed in this unusual condition, and that he is rarely more than half drunk. well, i seldom have much luck, and when i went with jemmie to erinofka upon that little narrow railway, in a wide long carriage that might have served as a portion of the g.w.r. rolling stock in its unregenerate broad-gauge days, we had matvey to drive our engine. matvey had, to put it mildly, been drinking, and he desired to drink again. now, matvey knew very well that he could get no more vodka until he reached erinofka, and this is why we travelled at a pace which was bound to end, and did shortly end, in disaster. in a word, we ran off the line three miles or so from the start, and that we did not also run down a steep embankment into a river was certainly not matvey's fault; we could not have gone much nearer the edge than we did. however, erinofka was reached in safety at last, and--since our accident had delayed us at least two hours--right ravenously did we fall upon the good cheer set out for us by the head-keeper, hermann, and his wife. one item of this repast, at least, i remember vividly: an enormous dish piled to the height of nearly a foot with luscious wild strawberries. it would be unfair to give my friend away in the matter of those strawberries; but i will say that jemmie partook with freedom of the fruit, and that i myself tasted, well, a few berries. the armchairs in the erinofka sitting-room were remarkably comfortable, i remember, after that repast, and the conversation languished. but we were to be up and away at half-past three a.m.; for we must drive a matter of seven miles to the moor we intended to work on the morrow, and the courteous hermann--who had cleared away the large empty dish which had contained so many strawberries with but one convulsive movement of the facial muscles and a quick glance of polite consternation in the direction of the reposing james--this courteous hermann very gently reminded us that it was now eleven, and that between that hour and three was embraced the entire period devotable by us to sleeping off the effects of railway accidents and arctic strawberries, all of which was so very true that we sighed, and rose from those blest armchairs and went to bed. the baying and barking of four excited dogs (who knew as well as we did that the first shoot of the season was to come off on this day) rendered unnecessary hermann's polite knockings at the bedroom doors, and his gentlemanly intimation that the day was all that could be expected of it, and the hour--three. when shammie, and carlow, and kaplya, and bruce are performing a quartette at 3 a.m., even jemmie cannot sleep, and we were both wide-awake and discussing matters when hermann came to hound us to breakfast. breakfast was somewhat of a failure, i remember. did i mention that we had taken a few strawberries at 10.30 p.m.? well, we had; and it was found that the circumstance militated against a hearty british appetite at 3 a.m. however, this being so, the less time was wasted before starting for the moor. there is something, to me, peculiarly fascinating and exhilarating about this starting out on the first day of shooting; but oh! that seven mile drive to the moor. the roads were so absolutely and utterly vile, and the cart so unspeakably uncomfortable, that no reader would believe me were i to attempt to describe the misery of driving under such conditions. but jemmie, bless him! smiled on and smiled ever; and i--not to be outdone in exuberance of spirits this superb morning--pretended that i enjoyed being bumped about like a hailstone on a hard lawn. all four dogs were with us. they lay, at the start, quiescent enough at the bottom of the vehicle; but alas! not for long. in the first fifty yards shammie was on my lap, and bruce with his arms round jemmie's neck; in the second i found, to my surprise, that a cartridge-box had usurped shammie's place on my knee, and that shammie's head and my shin were exchanging civilities at the bottom of the cart. occasionally the driver was sprawling on the back of the shaft horse, and now and again he was shot violently upon the top of jemmie or me, or suddenly appeared, wrong way up, between us. occasionally also we found that the dogs and we had changed places, and that we lay struggling on the floor of the cart while they stood on their heads, or sat with surprised and pained expressions upon the seat. nothing mattered. jemmie smiled, and i tried to. what though our shins were black and blue with the misplaced attentions of cartridge cases and gun stocks? what though the dogs whined and grew absurdly angry with one another, showing signs of an imminent general engagement? what though jemmie bounded into air--bird-like--and nested upon the top of my head, or i on his? nothing matters on the first day of shooting; disasters are a joke, and battered heads and limbs are contributions to the hilarity of the proceedings. ah, well! the dogs limped ostentatiously when we arrived, and jemmie and i were very, very stiff, but oh! so happy, and i, at all events, grateful and amazed to find myself all in one piece, and we paced slowly through the first belt of thick, gameless pine-wood, thinking unutterable things, and with a decided tendency to quote poetry when the tongue would wag. half a mile of barren trudging and then the forest begins to lighten; the young day sends golden smiles to greet us through the trees; wherever there is room for a ray or two of his glory to pass, he stretches a hand to us. "come," he seems to say, "come out upon the moor and bathe yourselves in my full favour; my good, gigantic smile is over all this morning!" and here is the moor itself, a sight to set the heart a-beating on this first day of the season; stretching wide and rich before us; miles across; limitless, apparently, from end to end; and, as we believe and hope, teeming with game if only we can hit upon the coveys. what a lot of trouble it would save, i suggest foolishly, if one had a divining-rod that showed the whereabouts of the birds! "_proh pudor!_" says james, and rightly, "the dogs are our divining-rods." as to these dogs, shammie and carlow are setters--shammie a red irish, carlow a blue belton, and wild at that. the other two are russian-bred pointers of english parentage--good animals both, and well trained, according to his lights, by hermann. the setters both hail from a scottish moor, and are to-day on their trial in this unfamiliar country. their journey has lost them none of their keenness--look at them now! shammie, cool and collected, businesslike, making no false move, but ardent and determined; carlow, half a mile off, but back again in no time and hundreds of yards away on the opposite tack, the quickest and wildest dog, surely, that ever ranged. kaplya and bruce hunt close to their trainer--we are giving all four of them a breather just to settle their nerves; but presently two will be taken in while two do the work. suddenly shammie stops dead; so do, for an instant, my heart and pulses. kaplya and bruce back instantly, stiff as marble. carlow is coming in at racing speed, but sees the others when fifty yards away, and lies down automatically. shammie's tail wags slightly, and we feel that there may be a disappointment before us; but he turns and looks at us; and observing that we are taking him seriously, stiffens into a dead point. it must be business. "you take first shot," says generous jemmie; "if it's a covey, your birds are on the right and mine on the left." the first shot of the season! how absurdly my heart is beating. i wonder the birds do not hear it and get up wild. suddenly, twenty yards from us, there is a rustle and a flutter of strong wings, and a grey hen rises without clucking, and lifting herself gracefully over the young birch saplings, floats away over the moor. "_matka!_" (hen!) shouts hermann, and to the surprise and disgust of the dogs, no cartridge explodes. shammie smiles and pants, and looks round at us in a pained though kindly manner; he hopes it is all right, but reflects that they generally get their guns off in scotland when he shows them the game. jemmie declares that, if it were lawful, he would spare none of these old barren hens; he is convinced, he says, that they do great damage by bullying the younger hens and chasing them from the moor, in order themselves to monopolise the attentions of the gentlemen of the family. oh! the jealousy of the female sex. jemmie may be perfectly right; and i fancy that he is; but what do the old blackcock, or (for the matter of that) the young blackcock, think of such proceedings? what would the marrying men of our branch of life think or do, if the old maids should succeed in banishing all that was young and beautiful in order to promote their own chances of mating? but it is very hot, and jemmie suggests that the birds will be lying at the edge of the moor beneath the shade of the pines, and thither we trudge through the heavy moss and heather. the going is always terribly heavy until the first bird is grassed: after which event, i have observed, the tramping loses much of its weariness and the shooting-boots their weight, and when a dozen brace or so have been secured, the feet that bear the delighted trudger are winged feet. nevertheless, we walk for a full hour and are still--as to our game-bags--as empty as when we started. we see no beauty in the lovely moor, at this period. the dogs, we feel, are failures, all four of them. hermann, too, is a fraud, for did he not declare that there were eight fine coveys within a radius of a mile upon this very moor. where are those coveys, hermann? did we submit to be shuttlecocked over your ghastly parody of a road in order to be humbugged by you at the end of it? where are these coveys? i say. such, or to this effect, were the remarks of jemmie. i think during those first two hours of unremunerative trudging, he vowed to shoot all four of his dogs, sell his guns and his cartridges, give up shooting, and devote his entire energies to gardening and lawn tennis, with a little fishing and a trifle of archery; i rather think hermann and the other keepers were to share the fate of the dogs; i forget whether i was to die, i think i was; but at the end of two hours the luck changed and jemmie smiled, and dogs and keepers and i all breathed again. it was kaplya that stumbled upon the first covey. carlow was being led just then and so was bruce, and good shammie had by this time formed unflattering opinions as to the russian moors in comparison with those of scotland; consequently he was cantering about scientifically enough, but half-heartedly, ranging in an unconvinced and unconvincing manner, ready to oblige by doing his share of this foolish work, but feeling that in his case it was time and talent wasted. probably he was wondering when the next train started for scotland, and deciding to take it and go hence to places where the moors were not dummy moors, but the bon㢠fide habitations of grouse and blackgame, when he suddenly caught sight of old kaplya at a dead point in front of his very nose, while perhaps that organ was at the same instant assailed by the unexpected evidence of the proximity of something better than heather and bilberry plants. at any rate, down went shammie as if shot, in as correct a pose as a "backing" setter can assume. instantly, also, carlow and bruce sat down, the former so suddenly that ivan, the under-keeper, who held him, tripped over him and measured his length, letting carlow go, chain and all, to join the party of stiffened doghood at our knees. this time there was no disappointment. after a moment or two of that intense waiting which every sportsman knows and loves--while the birds, hidden somewhere in the heather or greenery, are eyeing their human and canine disturbers, and wondering what is best to be done, whether to run or fly, or remain crouching--there came the usual pulse-fluttering rustle, and up and away went three superb young blackcock, nearly full grown, two to jemmie's side, one to my own. for all i know to the contrary, my blackcock may still be alive and entertaining his friends with the narrative of how a foolish and excitable englishman once drew a bead upon him in his youth, and drew it awry. in a word, my too agitated pulses blinded my eye and unnerved my hand, and i missed that lordly youngling handsomely and entirely. not so james and his brace of beauties. jemmie is a deadly shot, and i would as soon sit on a fizzing bomb as play the blackcock to his unerring barrel; he grassed both his birds; and i knew that the dogs and keepers were now safe, and that the guns of my friend would not, yet awhile, be put up for sale. but trusty kaplya and shammie still stood on; there were more of this interesting family to come. recaptured carlow pulled and strained at his leash; bruce softly whined and trembled spasmodically, sitting on stepan's foot. up started a fourth blackcock, accompanied by his mother; with bewildering suddenness they rose and hurtled away, the old lady dropping a last word of advice to the youngsters still remaining vacillating behind. i imagined her clucks to mean, "oh, you foolish little creatures! why do you not fly when your mamma gives the lead? fly always after a shot, when the guns are empty." this time black death darted from my right barrel, calling to his last account a very beautiful young blackcock, nearly as large as his mother, who of course escaped scot free, triumphing--as she supposed--by reason of her wisdom. but the dogs still stood on. this is the best, as it is the pitiful foolishness of the blackcock younglings. their fathers are birds of great wisdom and cunning; their mothers are sagacious and experienced; but the little ones are headstrong and foolish, and love to act independently of their elders. instead of flying altogether as grouse and partridges do, and thus enjoying each a chance of escape as well as participating in the common danger, they rise by ones and twos, and each bird becomes the sole objective for the charge of the sportsman, thereby immensely lessening his chance of flying between the pellets. the first covey of the season was a grand one indeed, thirteen birds, including the mother, and of these we slew, without leaving the original spot, no less than nine. jemmie beamed. he said sweet things to hermann, the lately abused and condemned; he patted the dogs and "praised them to their face;" he declared that i had slain a full half of the dead birds, whereas i knew well that three only had fallen to my fire and six to his; he discovered that the walking was easy enough when one grew used to it; he liked the sunshine; in a word, my friend james had donned those spectacles whose glasses are of the colour of the rose. it was now seven o'clock; the heather and bilberry plants were still "dew-pearled," and there were diamonds on every gossamer thread that ran from leaf to leaf and from plant to plant; but the sun was hot enough, by this, to dry up an ocean, and i knew these morn-gems would not last much longer. i was glad when jemmie proposed a short rest (nominally for the dogs' sake), for there was all the beauty of the morning to take in, and that is best done in a sitting or lying posture. the panting of the dogs is almost the only sound--that and the indescribable evidence of teeming life which you may hear in the dead of the silence. who makes that sound? what is it? where is it? i think it is nature in travail; it is growth and development, the never-resting activity of the spirit of life that moves upon the face of the land. our nine little victims lie upon the heather before us, and jemmie weighs each in his hand and tries, very unnecessarily, their beaks in order to be assured of their youth, and admires their growth, and beams upon men and dogs in high good humour. i, too, criticise the birds and am conscious of a stifling feeling of regret. here are nine beautiful little lives taken in as many minutes, taken so easily--alas! but who could ever give back to these feathered ruins the thing we have bereft them of? i know it is foolish to sentimentalise thus over the dead creatures i came to destroy, and will destroy again the very next time that i have an opportunity; but the triumph of the sportsman is always a little marred, i think, by this feeling of guilt--the guilt of having robbed mother nature of some of her beautiful children. she does very well without them, i dare say, and if we had not secured them doubtless the kites and hawks and foxes would have taken their share--probably as large a share as this of ours; nevertheless, here they were an hour ago upon this moor, alive and busy and beautiful; and now they are not, and _we_ did it. nevertheless, again, we are up and about and ready to "do it" once more after a quarter of an hour's repose; and the next thing we chance upon is a covey of chirping and twittering little willow-grouse, scarcely free of the egg-shells, a tiny, confiding flock that flit chattering and scolding after their brown and white mother, annoyed to be disturbed and made to use their lovely little mottled wings in flight, and anxious to settle again before twenty yards have been covered. we send a laugh after the little family, instead of a hailstorm of no. 7, and leave them to grow and fatten; they shall enjoy the delights of life on this moor for three good weeks, if not four, ere the leaden death shall make erinofka the poorer by their perfectly marked little persons. then an old blackcock, unaware that jemmie and his choked left barrel are about, foolishly lets us approach within fifty yards of his sanctuary, and rising with a crow of defiance, subsides instantly at the bidding of the unerring james, with a groan and a gasp--dead. presently a superb covey of willow-grouse (who are the parents of our own red variety of the family) rise with a whirr and a loud laugh from the old cock, leave their tribute of four upon the heather--and vanish. we see them flit like a white cloud over the open moorland, rise like one being to top the bushes, flash their wings in the sun as they wheel round in the traditional manner of their tribe before settling, and then we suddenly lose sight of them and see them no more. "they are down among the aspens," said jemmie. hermann dissented. "they wheeled right round the spinney," he says, "and settled well beyond it." ivan takes the side of jemmie, and stepan sides with his chief. i am neutral. i saw them up to a point but not beyond it; i saw the sun tip their white feathers with fire as they wheeled and then lost them; but i know how many there were--there were nineteen, no less, that journeyed over the heather and into the spinney--a gigantic covey indeed! "two coveys," says jemmie; "the willow-grouse have a passion for massing even in the chicken stage," which is perfectly true, while in the autumn you may find a community of a hundred of them living together. now were these birds little white ghosts, or real flesh and blood and feathers? if not spectres, then where are they? this was the question we asked of one another as, for a full hour, we paced and repaced, as we believed, every inch of a square half mile of ground within which the little wizards must inevitably be somewhere hidden. hermann explained the matter by declaring that they had settled altogether in a huddled mass, and had not moved a muscle since; knowing, perhaps instinctively, that by preserving absolute immobility they would give no scent. we may, and so may the dogs, have passed within a yard of the hole or tuft in which the beady-eyed little creatures lay crouched, watching us, scarcely breathing for terror, their poor hearts and pulses going very fast as we come near and pass by and see no sign of them. but carlow has the luck to stumble upon them. i am watching the dog, and i see him stop suddenly in his mad career (carlow's career is always mad!), and bend over in an extraordinary position. there is the covey, under his very nose. alarmed, indeed, they are now, and their necks are held straight and high; they attempt no further concealment; their only anxiety is how to take wing without falling into the jaws of this ogre--fox or whatever he may be. carlow would sooner perish than touch one of them; but they do not know this, poor things, and peer helplessly and timidly this way and that in the extremity of terror and uncertainty. i can examine them now at leisure for a moment or two, and oh! what beautiful creatures they are. where was ever so soft a brown as this of theirs, or so pure a white? what bird ever matched the graceful poise of their heads? what--there! they are off, and i have missed them with both barrels; this comes of moralising. jemmie did not moralise, and he has dropped two of the beauties; but there is a chance for me yet, for the covey has settled in the open, no doubt about the exact spot this time, and not more than one hundred and fifty yards away. so we take in all the dogs excepting old kaplya, who is as safe and steady as the rock of gibraltar, and head straight for the place in which we believe the birds to be lying. old kaplya raises her nose, half turns towards us, smiles and winks (she positively does both), as though she would say, "all right, keep your eye upon kaplya; i'm _on_ these birds already--follow me!" and away she goes straight as a line, first cantering easily, then trotting a few yards, then cautiously walking as many more, then slowly stopping, stiffening, turning her nose now slightly to this side, now to that, then finally fixing herself into the very perfect picture of a sure point. up they go, and off go my two barrels, rather too rapidly and excitedly; off go jemmie's also, but with more deliberation. to my first shot a bird falls in tatters; to my second two succumb. i have shot three of them, and jemmie his usual brace. but, alas! my first bird is but a mangled mass of feathers and broken bones, and there must be a burial. hide him deep beneath the moss and heather, hermann, and for pity's sake say no more about the circumstance; for in truth my heart is like wax within me by reason of this wasted life. it is pardonable and right, though perhaps regrettable, to take these lives when we intend to use the shot-riddled carcases for our food, but to blow a beautiful creature to pieces and to be obliged to bury its remains is unpardonable. we decide to leave the rest of this covey; we have levied sufficient tribute upon it. and now the day is growing into middle age, and jemmie says that we will find one more family of willow-grouse or blackgame and then take our mid-day meal and our siesta. we will diverge into the thick belt of forest on the right, he says, and see if we can find a covey of capercailzies. i long to see another capercailzie before i die. for many a year i have been absent from those moors whereon the great king of game-birds holds his high court. oh! if i could but come face to face--but once--with the royal family, i could return to far-off england content. but, alas! the king was not to be found. deep in the sanctuary of mid-forest, somewhere beyond those tall, dark pines--perhaps miles away--he had listened in proud disdain to the popping of our cartridges upon the moor, and had laughed at our impotent endeavours to outwit himself and his family of princelings. to-morrow, likely enough, he would stalk about the moor from end to end, he and the long-legged princes and princesses, his sons and daughters, and the haughty lady his queen; but to-day, no, thank you! not while james and his deadly holland were about! we stumbled, however, upon a covey of blackgame, and levied full tribute upon them in default of their big cousins; but now the splendid august sun had "clomb up to heaven and kissed the golden feet of noon," and jemmie declared that if we did not instantly settle down to our legitimate lunch, he would not answer for it if he suddenly fell upon me, or hermann, or shammie, or even perspiring stepan and devoured him. accordingly, therefore, we selected our camp in a shady spot by a moss-pool--for this bog-water was all that we should get to-day, and we must use it or none for tea-making--and hermann was instructed to unpack the luncheon basket. out came the good things, a profuse and welcome procession of luxury--spring chickens, tongue, well-iced butter, two bottles of claret, _alexander kuchen_ (oh! blessed alexander, whoever you may have been, to have invented so delicious a dainty; may the sweet maidens of valhalla feed you for ever with your own kuchen, oh alexander! and may you eat heartily of it without suffering or surfeiting), and arctic strawberries. for half an hour we toyed, did james and i, with the viands, after which for two hours we slept or rested; for during this time of high noon the birds mysteriously disappear, and nor man nor dog may find them; and i lay and dreamed dreams, a few sleeping and many waking ones; and the peace and silence and restfulness of that mid-day in the forest entered into my soul and abode there in a sense of infinite and lasting content, which may be recalled--as through a phonograph--and reproduced at will to this hour. and then again, after a cup of tea concocted of bog-water, but delicious notwithstanding, and after counting and recounting our twelve or thirteen brace of victims, we pulled ourselves together and trudged for four more hours, during which time we doubled our tale of slaughter, or nearly so, and when the moment came that we must head for the carts and return home to dine and catch the night train for town, it was with sadness that we wended our way homewards. we had spent twelve hours upon this pleasant moor indeed; but who would be content with twelve? twelve thousand were all too little of such delight. on mature reflection i am quite determined that if my friends the mahatmas give me another dream-chance i shall jump at the offer of erinofka as a place of abode, however long the sentence be. what if the spirit-gun will not go off? so long as i may tramp the heather and see the game and carry over my shoulder the semblance of a gun to point at it, even a dummy gun; so long as i may see the dew-pearled gossamer, and feel the broad smile of the august sun, and hear the hum and buzz and crackle and cluck of teeming life around me, i really do not think i care so very much about the killing. and this is why i declare that if the mahatmas again offer me the erinofka heaven i shall accept it, ay, even unto forty-five thousand years! nevertheless, if they allow me a breechloader and cartridges instead of that foolish spirit-gun of theirs, i shall certainly shoot. chapter ii in ambush at the lake-side it is spring--such spring as is vouchsafed to the high latitudes, and i am in my night ambush, prepared to welcome any living thing that is good enough to come forth from its sanctuary within reeds or forest, and to parade itself in the open for my inspection. my ambush is a pine-branch tent, or _shalashka_, the little edifice which has been my refuge and centre of observation for many a cold northern night--spring-time nights, indeed, but nights of more degrees of frost than the sportsman or naturalist of temperate britain has dreamed of in his coldest excursions into the realms of imagination. my tent on this occasion is not pitched upon one of those open spaces in mid-forest, whereon the blackcock love to hold their nocturnal or early-matutinal tournaments, where the laughing willow-grouse--that faithful lover--sports with his pretty white mate, and the dark forest trees form a romantic background to the proceedings of both. to-night i am placed in the midst of the marshy approach to a wide sheet of water--an annex, in fact, to the great lake ladoga. fifty yards or more in front of me the waters, but lately released from their entire subjection to the yoke of winter, may be heard softly lapping the shore in a series of gentle kisses, stolen in the darkness; for it is but three in the morning--if that, and i can see nothing but the broad wing of night still stretched over land and lake. on either side of the _shalashka_ there extends, i believe, a spur of moorland; behind is the forest: never far away in a russian landscape. i am still in the dreamy, semi-conscious condition superinduced by the long ride through gloom and silence which has intervened between supper last evening, twenty miles away, and my arrival here. the little ponies to whom we are indebted for our conveyance in perfect safety, through darkness which even the marvellous eyes of a finn pony could hardly have penetrated, are some little way off behind us, hidden among the pine trees, waiting with the philosophic content of their tribe until it shall have pleased us to accomplish the object of our nightly pilgrimage and return to them. the finn pony, good, faithful soul, accepts everything at his master's hands with unquestioning docility and good temper; he is never surprised or annoyed; never taken aback by an obstacle in his way, but rather sets himself to seek out the best means to circumvent such obstacle. if his master happens to be drunk or asleep, this is a matter of supreme indifference to the little animal between the shafts of the inebriate's cart or beneath his saddle, for he is perfectly able and ready to manage the whole business of getting himself and his master safely home, without the slightest interference from the latter. one of the canniest and best of animals, one of the handiest of the servants of mankind and the most faithful and reliable of his friends, is the finn pony; and i am glad indeed to be able to put this fact forward, and thus do a good turn for a little-known hero among those who are not personally acquainted with his claims to that title. asleep at my side is ivan, and ivan is--i am delighted to say--too tired or too considerate to snore; i do not care which it is so long as he does not play his usual nocturnal tunes and spoil this dreamy unreality in which i am steeped. i am here to take notes; but what notes can a man take when, not only is there nothing to be seen, and nothing to be heard--save the gentle plash of the lake, but when he is not even convinced of the fact that he is himself, or at all events that he is awake and not dreaming? such is my condition at present. everything seems far, far away. my old self, my own history, even the point of time, three hours ago by the things we used to call watches, when i left the lodge and started upon my long, dark, silent ride--seems to be separated from me by an eternity of space and tranquil, incidentless existence. what shall i do to pass away the next hour or two? sleep? heaven forbid--the stillness is too good for that! review my past? heaven forbid again--nothing half so unpleasant! whatever i do must be done in consciousness and must be connected with the immediate present or the future; no ghostly past shall be admitted into the sanctity of these hours. i shall recline and watch the dark plumage of night, and listen to her soft sounds of peace, and satisfaction, and maternity, as she broods over her nest and her little ones, until the hunter day shall come and chase her from it, and drive her far away over the sea to her sanctuary beyond the eastern gates of the world. and, first, what a marvellous thing is this darkness! far away at home, in bed in one's own room, the darkness is nothing; because the bearings of each object in the chamber are known to you whether in light or darkness. you can, if you please, sit up in bed and point with the hand and say: "there is the window, and there the door, and there the wardrobe," and so on. but here, where i lie and stare out into the blackness, i can determine nothing of the million animate or inanimate objects around me; i may people the darkness with what beings i please until the light arrives; it is an area in which imagination may disport itself freely and there is none can contradict its tales, for who knows what bantlings may not be concealed here beneath the shelter of mother night's extended wings? how do i know that a company of elves are not disporting themselves within a yard or two of my tent--as ignorant of my proximity as i am of theirs? how can i tell that some dreadful wild beast is not, at this instant, feeling his way down to the waters of the lake, in order to allay his thirst after having feasted upon our poor ponies, behind there in the wood? i can imagine an interview between a ferocious bear or two gaunt wolves and our faithful little quadrupeds, whose one idea in life is to do their duty and eat the breakfast, each day, that the gods provide. i can see the wolves arrive and find the ponies, and say: "good evening, my friends; we regret to say you are required for our supper." "that's impossible," the ponies reply; "we are needed to carry our masters home to dubrofka." "oh, _that's_ all right," say those wolves, to whom a lie is an unconsidered trifle; "your masters sent us on to tell you it was all arranged!" whereupon the ponies believe the tale and are ready to be eaten, because it is part of the day's work as ordained by their master, which is another way of spelling god in their language. i think i know pretty well, however, what i should see, or some of the things i should see, if an electric light were suddenly switched on and illuminated the ground around my tent. close at hand, here, on the shingly sand at the edge of the lake, there are seven or eight or more little grey and white sandpipers, fast asleep--perhaps standing on one leg apiece--among the stones, which are so like them in tint that it is difficult to distinguish the one from the other, even by daylight. then, somewhere within eye-shot, though maybe half a mile off, there is a flock of cranes standing, like a body of sentinels met to compare notes, or relieve guard, also probably employing but one leg each to balance themselves upon during the hours of repose. i wonder whether they use a different leg on alternate nights, or whether the same one is told off for night duty each time? if so, it is very hard indeed for the one limb thus employed to receive no share of the repose enjoyed by the rest of the body, but to be obliged to toil on night after night, and day after day, while its lazy fellow-limb gets all the rest and only half the work. but such is life. i am sure there are cranes near, for i heard their outposts give the alarm when we splashed through the marshy approach to this spot on our arrival here. luckily ivan knew the password, which was the grunt of an elk, as which animals--in search of a drink--we were permitted to come within the precincts of craneland without alarming the big grey birds to the departure point. in a very short time we shall hear them going through the business of waking up, and complaining of the hardship involved in keeping early hours. then again, there are ducks, numbers of them, i feel sure of it, though not one of them has yet uttered a sound, because this place is a paradise for ducks, and mother night covers many a fond couple of them--paired by this time, and tasting the sweets of love and the lovely anticipations of nest-time and prospective flappers. perhaps there is a pretty pair of tiny painted teal within a biscuit toss, little lovers nestling in a ridge of the coarse moorland, or amid the yellow grass which waves all around me, though i cannot see a blade. perhaps they woke up when we came tramping by, and peered with long glossy neck outstretched, and beady eyes straining to pierce the gloom, on the very point of rising and disappearing together into the sanctuary of the darkness, but quieted down when we entered our _shalashka_, and ceased to approach their nestling place. or a pair of snipe, or a ruff and a reeve, the former, at this season, a thing of exquisite beauty by reason of the elizabethan ruff which gives him his name. each male member of his family is furnished with one of these, and not one is like another in hue, though all are beautiful. they are of every conceivable tint and variety, and certainly metamorphose the bird completely, giving him the handsomest possible appearance so long as they last; but alas! when the courting days are over, and the fair one has capitulated to the beautiful besieging party,--presto!--his principal beauty exists no more, and he becomes without his noble collar, the dullest and least interesting of birds. hard on the hen bird, i call it, and savouring of unfairness. how would angelina like it were edwin--the luxuriance or rakishness of whose moustaches or beard had been instrumental in captivating her affections--were edwin, i say, to shave off those appendages so soon as her fond heart was fairly his own? if angelina threw him over, under the circumstances, i am sure no one could blame her. but if the darkness is mysterious and wonderful, and full of subtle, hidden potentialities, what shall we say of the marvellous silence? the repose of it is almost _too_ great. i feel at every instant as though something or somebody _must_ suddenly break out into sound. either the heavens themselves must--this moment or the next--burst forth into a great, grand chorus of divine music, or a bird must sing, or a beast roar. there is something in the air which _must_ out; any sound would do, but a loud hymn would be the most satisfying at this instant. what a silence it is! the tension is oppressive when you come to listen to it, yet, if you were in the humour, how you could lean your very soul against it, and rest--and rest! but to-night i must have sound soon--my nerves demand it--i cannot bear this hush much longer; if no wolf howls within the next few minutes or no crane gives tongue, if no sandpiper whistles or duck quacks, i must wake ivan and bid him talk. i am outside the beat of the willow-grouse, else he would have broken the oppressive spell an hour ago. oh, for a chord of music! oh, to hear on organ swell out, but for a moment, and then die away again; or to listen, close at hand, to the soul-deep song of the nightingale! something is going to sound forth in a moment; i feel it--now--now! there!... i knew it must come just then, i had a presentiment of it. it is a snipe high up in the air, tracing his embroidery upon the sky-line overhead, and swooping at intervals with a sound as of a sheep's "baa;" this is the male snipe's curious way of wooing his mate; the "baa" comes dropping upon the ear at intervals of a few seconds. if that snipe had not come to save my reason i believe i should have shouted like a lunatic the next minute, which would assuredly have given ivan a fit. there goes a night-hawk, flitting by in the darkness like a ghost. oh, what a voice! when he gives tongue i wish the silence back again. go hence, noisy spirit of night, and hunt your moths elsewhere. no wonder you can scream loudly with a mouth like that, for when you open it your head seems to split in two pieces. there will be no more silence now; the night-jar has murdered sleep. listen to the sentinel crane--or is it the boots or the chambermaid of the community awakening the family? he screams loudly to them, but they answer drowsily. "have you not made a mistake in the time?" they are saying. "it cannot, surely, be time to get up yet?" it is though, madame crane, and you must quickly let down that other leg and see about the breakfast. in a minute or two there will be such a clamour of conversation among the crane community that any person within a radius of five miles will be aware of their presence. i should say that the cry of the crane is a better traveller than any other sound i have heard. these birds require a good voice for communicating with one another during flight, for a large flock will often separate into many little bands of two or three while on the "march," and the straggling units must be picked up by nightfall. they must have strayed far away indeed if they cannot hear when their friends hail them at the full pitch of the crane-voice! now comes another sound. far away at first, but nearing at each repetition. a sad, melancholy note, falling at intervals of a second or two. i have heard it often before, and wondered what it could be. i have heard it as they who produced it--whoever they might be--passed at night far above the sleeping city, and have felt a great pity for the sad wandering spirits flying and wailing through the darkness--whither? perhaps they were the souls of the unbaptized, i have thought, which must wander, according to a slavonic tradition, over land and sea for seven years, seeking and entreating to be baptized. but ivan does not allow my thoughts to wander into folk-lore this night. the cranes have awakened him, and he has heard this last mysterious sound also. it has excited him. his finger is at his lip, and he is listening. "what is it, ivan? speak!" "hush!" says ivan. "this is what we came for!" (there _was_ a _raison d'ãªtre_ for our presence here; i forgot to mention this circumstance before.) "it is the geese!" so this is the wild geese arriving! then beat, heart, and strain, eyes, through the darkness, for this is an exciting moment. not that there is the remotest chance of a shot at them at present; but it is enough if they alight close at hand and tarry, breakfasting, until daylight doth appear. how close the sound seems in the still air, and yet the birds may be a mile away! i can hear the slow, measured beat of their great wings as they approach, a solid phalanx, conversing quietly at short intervals. surely they are very close indeed? they are all talking at once now. perhaps they have seen the water and are excited, knowing that their journey is at an end. the beating of their wings seems almost to brush now the topmost boughs of the _shalashka_. i fancy i can feel a movement in the air, fanned by their big pinions. thud! there goes the leader; he has alighted. thud again--and yet again! it is true--they are here; they have come! to judge from the noises which they are making, there must be a considerable number arrived--thirty or forty. they are chattering to one another happily and sociably, and uttering very different tones from those weird, melancholy cries of theirs while on the wing. they are no longer the lost spirits, the poor wandering unbaptized souls, but a party of merry travellers just arrived, so to speak, at the tavern where a comfortable breakfast is spread all ready for them. they are sure to do justice to it, for this is their favourite feeding-ground--all over this marsh, so ivan says. it is growing lighter. the conglomeration of sounds of life seems to have startled the night, and reminded her that she must hurry away and attend to her duties in another hemisphere. she is gradually withdrawing her soft wings--those dark and motherly wings which have guarded so well her little ones for many a long silent hour. go in peace, mother night, for the broad sun will take good care of your bantlings during your absence. he will open upon them his "good gigantic smile," and they shall laugh and sing and be merry. already i can catch a pale, sickly gleam of light, where the waters look up to the grey sky and cry, "how long, sun, how long the gloom and the cold?" be silent, lake, for soon the bridegroom will arrive, and you shall bedeck your waters with gems, and sparkle and glitter in leagues of dancing delight. the sandpipers are merry and active, and dart from place to place in pairs and companies, whistling and rejoicing; they pass, now and again, so close to me that i can see them, and their whistling seems to come from the very air within the _shalashka_. and the snipe overhead, he never tires of his lightning-flight and his wheeling; and his "baa" is one of the sounds which continues without ceasing. there is yet another voice--a croak and then a whistle, and the same repeated farther away, and yet again in the distance: a woodcock, i believe, but i cannot see him. he is taking his spring-flight, followed or preceded by his spouse. they will flit across a given space, then alight and dally awhile in pretty courtship, then return the way they came; and so again, _da capo_. what are those tall posts yonder, outlining themselves against the paling sky? they are motionless, apparently--no, they move, as i stare through the uncertain light; they shorten, and lengthen, and bend, and dip, and glide slowly forward and bend again: it is the cranes, i am sure of it, for the clamour seems to come from that very spot. but where are the geese? i can hear them but they are still invisible, for they are feeding head down, and show no outline against the sky. listen! another band of melancholy air-wanderers is approaching--how weird, how pathetic is the sound of their coming! do they then so hate the trouble of travelling? or is it merely that they have discovered which tone and note of the gamut carries furthest through the ether, and that this happens to be the most doleful of all notes? they are very close now--stay! what is this? are they not going to alight and join the happy breakfast-party below there? apparently not: they are overhead, they have passed, they have gone on--i can see them; they are travelling in wedge-like formation, a big triangle of beating wings that flog the air with measured sound and slow. how deliberate and yet how swift and powerful is their flight! why did they not stop here? their cry was answered from below, and yet they did not pause but continued on their course. why was the invitation to breakfast not accepted? who can say what is the etiquette of the wild goose? perhaps it was not an invitation, but rather an intimation that this place--this tavern--was already occupied by a rival community. one or two of my former friends take wing and join the other party; no doubt they have some reason for this step, but what that reason is no man may conjecture. perhaps they are scouts sent forward to find out who these new arrivals are; perhaps they have been badly treated here and have gone over to the enemy in order to "better themselves." luckily the bulk of the party remain behind, however; and now, in the strengthening light, i can plainly see a body of stout grey fellows waddling about among the yellow grasses and the soaked moss, and feeding in the well-known manner of geese in any field in far-off england. forty yards, i reckon, separates my _shalashka_ from the nearest goose: one of them may wander nearer--it is worth while to be patient and to allow the light to intensify before hazarding a shot which will disperse every living creature within hearing, and end the delight with which this spring morning is stored. slowly the sky, due east, yellows and then reddens; it seems to be shooting up pink cloudlets, and letting them fly over heaven in order to herald the uprising of the king of morning; for the sun is coming--there can be no doubt of it! redder and redder are the clouds that precede him; now the mists that veil his bed are growing golden and radiant, and fly right and left as he pushes his head through them and looks out upon the earth, and smiles in a broad pathway across the lake. as though by magic a thousand song birds instantly fill the air with hymns of praise; even the tall cranes cease their gabbling and gobbling, and look for a moment at the apparition ere they resume the business of the hour. they are splashing about in shallow water, and each step they make throws a shower of bright gems around them. the geese--hungry no doubt after a long journey, and being naturally rather of a practical than of a romantic turn of mind, take but little notice of the sun-god; he's all right, they think, and is sure to turn up at daybreak every morning, surely one need not interrupt one's breakfast to look up at him? the pace is too good! look at the ducks--here a pair and there a pair--swimming out into the shining water, dipping their heads as they go and sending diamond-baths over the sheen of their necks and shoulders. they pursue one another, and quack and court, and bathe, and are perfectly and entirely happy and content, as who would not be in their place? a curlew sails by, calling to its mate, who is circling over the lake further to the left. and all the while the busy little company of sandpipers flit and whistle, and alight and run, and are off again on the wing--life is all movement and 'go' for them; they cannot be still. there is an osprey! he is floating motionless in air, high over the lake. he, too, is thinking of breakfast. soon he will drop like a bolt from heaven, disappear entirely or partially in the wave, and in a moment reappear with his meal safely held in those business-like talons of his. there he goes--splash! he has missed his mark. a cry of rage, and a circle or two over the water, and he is aloft again--hanging like an impending doom over the bright lake. he will not miss again! but ivan is touching my arm: i know what he means: he means that i must blot out this picture of peace and life by sending a message of grim death and noisy ruin into the very midst of it. let me wait awhile, ivan, and watch. it is so little for you who live amid all this and can see it at any time; but it is so much to me--a dweller in towns, where there is no free, happy nature-life to watch and feast upon, and no daybreak save that of the london cat and the strident, brazen cock. give me another hour of it, ivan? no? well, half an hour? but ivan says "no;" the geese may depart at any moment, he whispers; shoot while you can! i have no doubt ivan made a mental addition, "and don't be a sentimental english idiot;" but the former words were all i was permitted to hear. so there is nothing for it: i must shoot; i must, with my own hand, blot out all this beauty, and smudge the picture which morning has painted for my delight--and all to see a grey goose flutter and die who is now so busy and happy! the game is not worth the candle; but it must be done! one shot as they stand, says pitiless ivan, and another as they rise--unless i prefer to hazard a cartridge after one of yonder cranes. crane me no cranes: it is goose or nothing; give me the gun, ivan! there! the deed is done, for good or for evil. the goose who stood to receive my shot lived on, and i trust still lives; his feathers are thick and tough, and i hope in mercy that if he is hit at all his plumage has turned aside or suffocated the shot, and that he is not much hurt. he is gone, anyhow, flying strongly. the goose which rose to receive fire will rise no more. he is dead; he will utter never more his sad pilgrim-notes; he will feed no more in these pleasant pastures. go and pick him up, ivan, and he shall be cooked and tentatively eaten, and perhaps pronounced very nice, and perhaps condemned as very nasty. now turn and see what we have done. the last crane has taken wing--running a few yards and jumping clumsily into the air, rather like a cyclist mounting his machine. he will fly a hundred yards before those long legs of his are comfortably stowed away! what a slow flight it seems, yet it carries him wonderfully far away from us in a short time! and the ducks? gone also; circling high in air, taking stock of us. when they have made up their minds that we are bad characters and not to be trusted, they will head for a distant point and disappear. the curlew is far away, so is the osprey; the sandpipers are still in the neighbourhood, they are too inquisitive to go far from us; they must needs watch us and find out all about us first. and away there in the bright distance floats, receding, the triangle of geese--one less than it came, and one, perhaps, in pain and suffering, though heaven forbid that this should be so. all this we have done, friend ivan, with our banging and bloodshed! see what a transformation scene the act of man works, in an instant, upon a lovely landscape? of life he makes death; of busy, happy places, full of colours and of sounds, and of song and of joy, he makes a barren waste, with himself the sole living creature remaining to look upon the face of it! let us go home, ivan, we shall see no more of bird-life this morning; take up your poor grey victim and come along--the place will be the better and the happier for our departure, and perhaps, after a while, all its evicted tenants, save one, may return again to their own. but ivan only remarks that i ought to have shot that first goose in the head, and then we should have had two instead of one. then he scratches his own head, gazes long and intently over the sparkling waters of the lake in the direction where the departed geese are now but a dark smudge in the distant sky, spits on the ground in contempt of muff-shots and lost opportunities, and strides away towards the ponies. as we disappear in the forest i look back and see some ducks returning, and hear the sandpipers whistle us a taunting farewell! amen! no one wants us here: they are all happier without us. chapter iii a day after crawfish there are certain days of one's boyhood which have made so deep an impression that they seem to stand out like mountain peaks in the misty plains of the memory, clear and distinct against the sky-line, when all else is dim and hazy and distorted by distance. one of these landmarks in the early life of the writer is a certain day, long years ago--though the recollection of every detail of it is as green as though it all happened but yesterday--when, in company with two or three kindred spirits, he made his first grand expedition after crawfish. it was summer--the summer holidays: holidays long looked forward to as to be among the most delightful that ever boy spent; for they were to be passed in mourino, the paradise of our youthful imaginations, where the long russian days were not half long enough for the multitude of delights to be crammed into each, there being "more to do" at mourino, as we always thought, than anywhere in england, seaside or otherwise. as a matter of fact, the northern haven of our schoolboy desires was the very place for boys home from an english public school, and fond of healthy outdoor pursuits and recreations. there was a river at the bottom of the garden in which fish of many kinds might be lured to their doom; there was shooting, in a mild way; there was riding _ad lib._, if galloping about the country on the spiky backs of the little finn ponies of the place can be dignified by that name; there was boating, of course, and canoeing, at our very doors, as well as the usual english games which the true briton takes with him however far afield he may roam. no wonder then that mourino was the place in which we preferred, _par excellence_, to pass our summer holidays; for, as i say, the days were not long enough to contain all the joys to be crammed into them. there were crawfish to be had at the bottom of the garden, but these were neither sufficiently large nor sufficiently numerous to tempt us to engage very frequently in their capture. when we wanted crawfish of a size to do their captors credit, we knew well enough where to go for them, just as well as the giant crawfish themselves knew which part of the river suited them best as their headquarters. it was, however, some little distance to the favourite haunt of the monsters, a matter of ten miles or so; a journey not to be undertaken lightly over the unspeakable roads of the neighbourhood, so that we did not very often disturb the scaly warriors in the cool depths of their chosen pleasure-grounds; when we did organise an excursion, therefore, in their honour we fully intended to "do the thing in style," and to create some considerable gaps among the ranks of their best and mightiest. when a day was to be devoted to the capture of big crawfish at sairki, preparations were made over-night in order that no time should be wasted on the morrow; the usual miscalculation was made as to the number of sandwiches required--food sufficient for an entire regiment was invariably provided for us, yet i cannot recall that we ever brought any back. the stock-in-trade of the complete crawfisher, a strong hand-net and a pound or two of slightly high meat, was in readiness for each of us; our pike rods and tackle were seen to; the most particular instructions were issued as to our awakening as soon as daylight should appear; the vehicles, or rather their peasant owners, were hunted up for the hundredth and last time and warned, with all solemnity, as to the awful consequences that unpunctuality would bring down upon their heads, and then we all four went to bed and wished for day. when morning came--the particular morning i am now recalling--things were propitious. two _telyegi_ stood awaiting our pleasure at the door, each with its pair of small finn ponies ready harnessed and impatiently whisking away the horseflies with their long tails. the _telyegi_, i may explain, are springless carts upon four wheels. they are provided with so-called "cushions," which consist of a square bag of sacking with a certain amount of hay inside it. the sensations of the traveller who has once been bumped about in a _telyega_ over russian roads are memorable--indeed, i have spent the rest of my days since my boyhood in wondering how in the world i managed to remain "all in one piece" throughout the awful joltings to which my body was submitted during those _telyega_ days. has the reader ever seen a russian country road? it is not a road at all, as we are accustomed to understand the term, but a mere succession of deep and wide holes worn in the natural sandy soil. the finn ponies think nothing of such trifling drawbacks, however, and pursue their headlong course without regard to the feelings of the evil-entreated passengers behind them. perhaps the good-natured creatures experience a mischievous delight in thus "taking it out" of those who weary their flesh by causing them to drag a heavy load at breakneck speed through all the heat and dust and breathlessness of a russian summer day. the pair are harnessed in an original manner; one, the better trotter of the two, is between shafts, while his companion canters alongside, attached, in a happy-go-lucky way, to the vehicle by means of a couple of loose ropes, but otherwise free to do pretty much as he pleases, consequently he is sometimes close enough to his comrade to make that animal, if irritably inclined, put back his ears and snap at him as a gentle reminder that he is taking liberties, and sometimes a yard or two away, frisking over puddles or shying all over the road on his own account. when a pit of more than the average depth is encountered, both horses will jump it in preference to running down to the bottom and up again, and at such a moment the fate of the passenger in the cart behind is melancholy. he is tossed up into the air for all the world like a spun coin, sharing also the uncertain destiny of that coin as to the manner of his descent--whether "heads or tails." it must not be for one moment supposed that we, in the exuberance of our happiness, and in the all-accepting, unquestioning, all-enjoying spirit of the british schoolboy, cared a farthing for the depth or width of the very vilest hole that time and horseshoes ever wore in a russian road; on the contrary, we loved the sensation of being sent flying up into the air every other minute, and if we came down upon the top of one another or of the luckless driver on his hard box-seat, or even into the six-inch dust of the road in the rear of the _telyega_, why, i believe we liked it all the better. as every one knows, a special providence watches over drunken men and school-boys, and i have often reflected that we must have caused our particular bodyguard a terrible amount of anxiety, and kept it very hard at work during these wild _telyega_ drives of ours at mourino, for we were racing, most of the time, with the wheels of the two carts interlaced, the horses--all four of them--galloping _ventre ã  terre_, and the demented russian drivers--quite as far gone in lunacy as our british selves--shouting at the top of their voices and bumping about half in air and half in cart, like a couple of demon jehus let loose for the occasion, and for our especial and particularly complete destruction; and yet i cannot remember that any one was ever hurt! truly that special providence of ours was well up to its arduous duties, and performed them admirably. sairki was reached at last, and the horses put up at the village. as for us, we unpacked the carts before a group of admiring finnish children; for sairki, like many a score of other villages within twenty miles of the tsar's capital, is inhabited exclusively by finns, who cannot speak a word of russian. hand-nets and rods were got out; the crawfish meat was produced (extremely unsavoury by this time, owing to the intense heat of the day, but all the better for that from the point of view of the crawfish, who likes his dinner to be attractive to his olfactory senses); huge fishing-baskets were strapped upon our shoulders, containing our food at present, but to be used for another purpose soon, and away we headed for the riverside. the ochta is a tributary of the neva, into which it flows close to st. petersburg--a pretty little river as one would wish to see, if he cares for the sort of scenery that ruysdael loved to depict. down by the river there grew countless clusters of leafy young birches and aspens, and to these our attention was first directed, for from them we must draw one of the essential items of our stock-in-trade. provided with large knives as we were, we soon possessed ourselves of the necessary number of long sticks, about a dozen each, and stripped the leaves off to the end. in order to explain the exact object of these sticks, i will now, with the reader's permission, make him acquainted with the _modus operandi_ of the scientific crawfisher. i have said already that a lump of meat is required. this is cut into small sections of about an inch and a half square, one of which is firmly tied to the end of each stick with a piece of string or "machalka," the birch-bark ribbon known to gardeners. this is the nastiest part of the proceedings, and it is better to get a friend to do it for you if you can. the preliminaries being thus completed, the next thing is to take the twelve baited sticks one by one and place them in the water, the meat downwards and resting on the bottom, while the top end of the stick is allowed to project a foot or so above the surface and to rest against the bank. the sticks must not be placed too close to one another. the proper distance is about ten yards between each. it will be remarked by the intelligent reader that the crawfisher thus requires a considerable portion of the stream to himself, for no two sportsmen can find scope for their energies within a hundred and fifty yards or so; while a party of four or five will occupy the best part of half-a-mile of bank. when the sticks are all placed scientifically, according to the fisher's knowledge of the spots likely to be favoured of crawfish, the sportsman must possess his soul in patience for a quarter of an hour at least, in order to give time to the gentlemen of the claws to realise the good fortune that has come their way in the shape of a lump of meat dropped apparently from the skies. after the interval indicated, the hand-net is taken and the sticks are visited one by one. now comes the moment when the skill and science of the performer is put to the test. the water is not very clear. it is not muddy, but the colour is dark--a brownish tint--caused, as we always believed, by the quantities of iron in it, so that we cannot see to the bottom or near it. hence, the first part of the proceedings must be done in faith and hope, and with an extremity of caution and lightness of hand not attainable without considerable practice in the art of crawfishing. the stick is taken firmly in the left hand, while the right grasps the handle of the net. then the stick is raised from the bottom, but so gradually and imperceptibly that the movement is, presumably, unnoticeable down below. the baited stick is thus slowly and carefully lifted inch by inch, until the lump of meat at the end of it is visible. if a crawfish is clinging on to the meat the stick is raised no higher, for the hand-net now comes into play. this latter instrument is brought cautiously up against the current, placed deftly underneath the clinging feaster, the stick and the net are raised together, and as the crawfish reaches the surface of the water, and at length realises that he had better quit this perambulating breakfast, he lets go, only to discover that he is too late and has been outwitted, and that his place henceforth is in the fishing-basket, or a watering-pot half full of water, until such time as he is taken out and boiled for the use of man. it is very simple, and were the crawfish not the most criminally greedy and careless creature in the world, he would never allow himself to be captured in so ridiculously elementary a way. but it is his nature to, and no amount of experience will teach him the foolishness of his conduct, for you may, if you please, catch and return to his element the self-same crawfish a dozen times in an afternoon. in a good place, the fisher may find two or three, or even more, of these hungry fellows clinging to the same piece of meat, and, if clever enough, may easily capture the lot at one swoop. such, in brief, is the _modus operandi_ of the crawfisher. we all knew the way to do it, we of the sairki party; and the tying on of the bait and the placing of the sticks were finished as quickly as these operations could be performed with a due regard to efficiency, lots having decided the portion of bank to be worked by each of us. then came the quarter of an hour during which it is the etiquette of the crawfisher to allow his prey to discover and to enjoy undisturbed the refreshments provided for him. i do not know whether schoolboys possess souls--presumably they are provided with a special schoolboy quality--but in any case we, at least, were entirely unable to possess those souls in patience, and that little quarter of an hour was spent by each of us upon his own portion of bank under a carking sense of grievance. we felt that we were conceding too much to the crawfish. personally i passed my fifteen minutes at full length in the long grass, within a yard or two of the water, and any one but a schoolboy would have been glad enough of the opportunity to lie thus beneath the brilliant northern august sky upon a bed of wild flowers, which, if one chose to sit still and pick one specimen of each, would have filled his hands with a hundred delicate stems without the necessity to stretch beyond an easy arm-reach. i have never seen any place that equalled the country about mourino for the wealth and variety of its wild flowers, or the luxuriance of the ground-berries in the woods--arctic strawberry, bilberry, cranberry, raspberry, and a berry which i remember as making the most delicious bitter-sweet jam, called brousnika. as for the flowers, the anemone is the only representative of our familiar spring visitors, but the summer months are gorgeous with every blossom that our own english fields can boast, with few exceptions, besides lilies of the valley, linnã¦a borealis, a lovely creeping plant with a tiny starry flower; "star of bethlehem," and other varieties not often seen in this country. but the longest and most vexatious wait must come to an end in its season, and at last the crawling minutes had sped by and we were at liberty to commence the business of the day. oh, the delightful excitement of the first visit to each stick! how my heart beat, i remember, as i grasped the first of them, and with somewhat trembling fingers raised it cautiously a few inches towards the surface, peering the while into the dark brown depths to catch the earliest possible glimpse of the desired visitor. the water seemed extra dark in colour to-day, to spite one, and the stick had to be slowly lifted to within a foot or so of the keen eyes watching above it before the meat could be distinguished at the end of it. there it is at last--now then! is that the claw of a crawfish sticking on to it, or not? it may be, but if so it is a tiny one. carefully the hand-net is drawn towards the bait, up the stream, for otherwise the current bulges the network inside out, and deftly the string-prison is placed underneath the end of the stick--there! if it is a crawfish i have got him safe. up comes stick, and up comes net with it to the surface--alas, no! it was but the split end of a piece of "machalka," and not the claw of a crawfish. down goes the stick again to its place at the bottom of the stream, and away go i to the next one. here a strong waggling at the end of it when it is raised from the bottom tells me that undoubtedly a guest is availing himself of my hospitality; caution must be observed--yea, caution must be doubly cautious. it is a big fellow by the feel, and he is still tugging away as i raise the stick with breathless care towards the surface. now i can see the bait, or rather i can see the place where the meat may be supposed to be; for there is nothing visible but a dark mass which hides the bait from view. now comes the tug of war. the current is rather strong, and the exertion of bringing the broom-handled net against it is considerable; but this is not a moment to think of difficulties. down comes fate upon the thoughtless reveller; a turn of the wrist with the right, and a swift upward motion of the left arm, and anything there may chance to be busying itself at the baited end of the stick is my own. what do i see? a big crawfish? it is indeed a big crawfish, and with it a second and yet a third, true sairki monsters, all three of them, seething and glistening in their dark brown armour at the bottom of the net, and laying hold angrily of each other wherever they can fasten a claw, as though each were chastising his companions for having brought him into this mess. they must be taken up carefully, one by one, and held by the back, else those cruel-looking claws will lay hold of one's fingers and inflict a pinch which will be a memorable circumstance for some little while. these three fellows, exactly like lobsters made in a smaller mould, so far as the unscientific eye can judge, are about six to seven inches in length from head to end of tail; one of them has one large claw and the other quite a miniature member, as though it had never emerged from its baby stage; the truth being that the warrior has lost one of his natural weapons, probably in a fight with a rival, and that a beneficent nature is providing him with a substitute as quickly as can be managed. if i place one of these creatures upon the ground, instead of in the watering-pot prepared for his reception, he will instantly set off backwards in the direction of the river. i have tried this at all distances from the water, placing a crawfish as far as several hundred yards from his native element, and pointing him in the wrong direction; yet in defiance of all obstacles, the poor fellow invariably and without hesitation made straight for that point of the compass in which instinct told him lay the stream which was his home. and so was made the round of the sticks; one producing nothing, another a single tiny victim, a third four at once, and so on to the twelfth and last; the net results of the first round being seventeen crawfish of a fair average size. then the proceedings began again, _da capo_. the sport generally improved up to about the fifth round, while the inhabitants of the stream were gradually becoming aware of the feast spread for them at easy distances all down the river. after the sixth round the numbers fell off again, until, eventually, a second portion of the bank had to be worked, the original lie having been exhausted. the largest haul that i ever made from one stick at one swoop was six crawfish, all good ones, and one of them a giant. we had agreed to put back the babies, the very tiniest, that is; though we invariably took a great number home with us which we did not intend to eat, in order to let them go at the bottom of the garden as stock for our own portion of the river, and to afford us sport when they should have grown to more respectable dimensions. they always accommodated themselves to circumstances, and remained contentedly where they had been put in. when we grew tired of capturing our crawfish in the orthodox manner we adopted another plan; this involved, first, the finding of a shallow place in which, when found, we waded about with a short stick in one hand and a net in the other. when we caught sight of a crawfish wandering along or trying to hide the too expansive volume of his tail beneath a stone designed to conceal a junior member of the family only, all we had to do was to suddenly place the stick in front of his nose, at the same instant holding the net immediately behind him, when the simple creature would promptly commit suicide by running backwards into prison. then there was trolling for pike in the quiet pools when we were weary of the crawfish. there were good pike to be had at sairki, and their favourite food was spoons--so, at least, one would suppose from the voracity with which they endeavoured to devour those we offered for their destruction. many an exciting half-hour was afforded us by the good-natured sairki pike; they generally got away in the end, but always thoroughly entered into the fun of the thing and obliged us, while the game lasted, by pretending to be doing their best to escape our unscientific attempts to bring them to book. probably they could have rid themselves of the bait and us at any moment if they had been so disposed, but they were too good-natured. now and then we caught one, but very rarely. and so the summer day would pass with its sport and its bathing and its incalculable sandwiches, until the brilliant sunshine began to wane and the time came to shoulder our nets and hoist our heavily loaded watering-pots and mount the hill to the village. as for our sticks, we hospitably left these in the water in order that the crawfish remaining in the neighbourhood might enjoy themselves to the full and learn to laugh at those of their fellows who were disposed to look with suspicion at bits of meat attached to the ends of sticks. they might now finish the food with absolute impunity, and would come to the feast at our next visit without a thought of danger. a memorable ceremony was the counting of the victims up at the village. this was performed in the midst of a gaping and ejaculating crowd of finnish children, a score or so of scantily dressed, fair-haired little maidens and their brothers, who expressed their delight with the outcome of our prowess in a ceaseless chatter of their own language, monosyllabic, but full of extremely expressive inflections. we put ourselves upon the best of terms with these little foreigners by letting loose a number of our scaly captives among their naked toes, a move which caused them to jump about and scream in the wildest delight. the distribution of a few copecks among them completed our popularity thus easily acquired. the finns are a good-natured, inoffensive race, when properly treated; but proud and stolid and somewhat lazy, and withal dignified and extremely jealous of their personal independence. the commonest finn peasant considers himself the equal of any other man. destiny may have put the tsar in a warmer corner than himself, perhaps, but that does not make the tsar the better man of the two. "the tsar has a pair of legs exactly like my own," a finn peasant once remarked to the writer, and the saying sums up very concisely the attitude of this quiet but dignified member of the human family towards his fellow-men. six hundred and thirty-seven was the sum total of our day's netting, besides many others caught and put back: not a bad tally! it was sufficient to supply the whole of the british colony in mourino, which is a good large one, with crawfish enough to last them for some time. these are most delicious eating, as highly flavoured as the lobster, but much more tender and less stringy. a certain soup made of crawfish is declared by gourmets to be simply unequalled by any other decoction known under the name of _potage_. and so, sped upon our way by the shouts of our admiring friends the little finnish maids and urchins, we set forth once more to brave the perils and discomforts of the return journey. i know not what the unfortunate creatures in the watering-pots and the fishing-baskets may have thought of the bumpings and jars that marked our progress along that terrible road, but i do know that the day's wading and netting had not damped our own spirits in any appreciable degree. the ponies, knowing that they were directed homewards, flew along like mad things; breakneck races were once again the order of the day, and once again did our special providence preserve us from the destruction we courted. swiftly, too swiftly for us, the miles were left behind, and the last rays of the setting sun had scarcely lighted up the green cupola of mourino church when, with whips cracking, drivers shouting, dust flying in clouds, and six human beings (counting schoolboys as coming under that category) and 637 crawfish bumping about like peas on a drum-head, we raced up to the lodge gates--and the day was over. chapter iv a finland paradise finland, or fen-land: the land of fens, "the country of a thousand lakes"; in finnish suomen-maa: "the swampy region." the root _suom_, if not related to our own _swamp_--which is a matter upon which the present writer can give no opinion worth having--at all events appears to have the same meaning, and is quite similar enough in sound to please the ear of plain people with a neat, amateur appreciation for roots. it is indeed the country of a thousand lakes--ten thousand. glance at the map; it almost makes a man's eyes water to look at it! as represented there, the entire country appears to be more water than dry land; the inhabitants must surely be obliged to get about the place in boats--or goloshes, you will think--and, oh! what a place for the fishermen! not the people in smacks and trawlers, i mean; but for men with rods, and lines, and reels, and flies, and phantoms, and landing nets, and so on: think of it--all these fresh-water lakes--a network of ideal corners for the _salmonidã¦_, communicating one with another and with ladoga and the gulfs of finland and bothnia by means of glorious fishing rivers! a place for fishermen indeed. look at the map, my dear reader, and consider the province from the point of view of the fish and their habits; it is the fishes' heaven, and being so it is certainly the paradise of anglers. a glance at the map will show that between uleaborg in the north and wiborg in the south there must be many spots which, to the keen fishing man, would in all probability present such piscatorial attractions as would entitle them to be called, as i have called one particular spot about to be described, "a finland paradise." i believe that the salmon fishing on the ulea at uleaborg, for instance, is so excellent that those who have deserted norway or scotland in favour of this remote finnish spot are inclined to go no more a-roving, but to cry "eureka," and spend the rest of their days by bothnia's placid waters. but of this i can only speak from hearsay and from the printed reports of others, and will only add that i have been informed that fishing rights are easily obtainable at uleaborg; that such rights are absurdly inexpensive; and that there is some one in that distant city who can speak english, and who can put the traveller in the way of getting an introduction into the best salmon society. but my finland paradise is not in far uleaborg, nor yet in any of the thousand or ten thousand other places which on the testimony of the map of finland must be equally worthy of the title. i must warn my readers that there is no admission to my paradise, excepting by favour of those happy ones who possess the right to inhabit it. in other words it is not, like uleaborg and hundreds of other places, accessible to the ordinary travelling man and the itinerant sportsman. its doors are closed to the public; the fishing is preserved, rightly and jealously preserved. there is a railway, the finnish railway, as it is called, which runs from st. petersburg to hango, at the mouth of the gulf of finland. on this railway, at a distance of four hours from st. petersburg, is wiborg, the very ancient capital and castle of the karelian finns, who were conquered by torkel c'nutson in 1293. from wiborg there is a branch line to imatra, built for the accommodation of tourists anxious to visit the wonderful rapids or falls at the last-named place. imatra is on a river known variously as the vuoksen, or the voksa, which connects the great saima lake with the still greater ladoga; which, again, is connected with the open sea, as all the world knows, by the neva. the voksa is, i should think, one of the most beautiful rivers in the world. wide, and clear as crystal, we have nothing like it in england; it has no tide to yellow it, no navigation to stir and distress its calm depths; the fish--grayling and trout--love it, and so does every human creature who has ever set eyes upon it, and who knows how to appreciate a big, free, clean, noble river when he sees it. lake saima is a long sheet of water measuring from end to end one hundred and fifty miles or more, being quite as long as ladoga itself, though much narrower and studded all over with islands. saima is full of fish--great lake trout and others of the _salmonidã¦_, together with numberless other finny creatures of less exalted birth and parentage. now all these fish occasionally pine, if not for actual sea travel, at least for such change of air and diet as a little wandering in running water can afford them. this they can only obtain by visiting the sole existing outlet (excepting the saima canal, leading to the gulf of finland, which cannot count as a river) to the entire hundred and fifty miles of lake, the voksa. now, just where the voksa takes its departure from the saima upon its journey of fifty-or-so miles to the ladoga, the saima lake narrows into a round basin of about one-third of a mile in diameter, which basin forms a kind of ante-room to the river, which starts out bravely from the western end thereof in a glorious rapid, the descent being considerable, and the consequent draw of current throughout the basin very strong, though not very perceptible at the surface. through this basin, or ante-room, known as harraka, every single fish which desires to visit the river from the lake, or _vice versã¢_, must pass as through a turnpike gate; and many are the fish that have had to pay blood-toll for the privilege. the basin is at all times crammed with fish; it is their recognised rendezvous; it is harraka, the paradise _par excellence_ of the voksa; the place to which all good fishermen should go when they die, unless they know of a better. i don't. this paradise was, until a few years ago, in the hands of a few englishmen, residents in st. petersburg, who discovered it and acquired the rights of enjoying it as a fishing club. they built unto themselves a comfortable and most convenient lodge, just at the very spot where voksa, in froth and delicious chatter of bounding rapids, bids farewell of saima and starts exuberantly on his race to ladoga, little dreaming of the fearful gauntlet to be run, a few miles away, at imatra. these thrice happy britishers, i repeat, acquired paradise: they planted their feet in the garden of eden; they tasted of the delights of harraka for several seasons, and then by misfortune they lost it. by some most deplorable accident or misunderstanding the letting of the place went past them, and harraka, the paradise of anglers, became a beautiful memory and nothing more. the flaming sword of jealous proprietorship stood for ever between them and the lost eden of their happiness. then those men did the next best thing open to them. they secured a small island a few miles lower down the river, together with the fishing rights around it for a space of a mile or so, and upon that island, known as varpa-saari, they pitched their tent, building a charming house, engaging fishermen well acquainted with every inch of the newly acquired water, and, in a word, making the best of what was distinctly a "bad job." varpa-saari is not harraka. but since, according to some learned commentators, there are seven heavens, and since harraka is certainly the seventh or highest of these, varpa may surely lay claim to be called one of the remaining six. it is, in truth, a very delightful place. the river is here some three hundred yards in width, and is divided by the island into two channels, both of which show their teeth as they angrily pass the obstruction in a tumult of noisily chattering and scolding rapids on either side. around the island platforms have been built jutting out into the turbulent water for the convenience of those who wish to try for the favours of grayling or trout with fly, in preference to spinning for them with a minnow from a boat. it was the delightful privilege of the writer to spend a portion of the summer of 1894 in the land of the tsar; and to me, ready and anxious for every kind of exploit, whether with rod or gun, came my friend c. g., whilom a member of the paradise lost of harraka, now one of the proprietors of varpa-saari, with hospitable proposals, which ended in the speedy getting together of our respective gladstones, and the collection, on my part, of a great number of borrowed rods and reels and flies and minnows and other piscatorial paraphernalia, and our prompt departure upon a three days' sojourn in the delicious retreats of varpa island. it cannot, i should think, be much more than sixty miles from st. petersburg to wiborg, but the trains of the finnish line are imbued with all the dignity and deliberation which are inherent in the finnish character, and they do not hurry themselves. a good english express would do the journey in an hour; the wiborg express occupies the best part of four. but the carriages are certainly comfortable and run very smoothly. there is a custom-house somewhere between the two great cities named--i think it is at tereyoki--but we are not asked to disclose the secrets of our gladstones or to reveal the riches of our superbly appointed commissariat, for c. g. is the most hospitable of hosts as well as the most talented of caterers, and his arrangements for our three days' exile in the wilds of finland are such as to strangle in the birth any vague ideas of prospective "roughing it." so we glide slowly and smoothly through the south-eastern portion of the land of fens, which, so far, greatly resembles the russia we have just left; and if we look out for one of the thousand lakes we do not see it, and shall not until wiborg itself is reached; though, as it happens, i know of several further inland--old familiar places where in former days i have angled for many large perch and pike, killed many a duck, missed many a snipe, enjoyed many a happy hour. it is hot with all the closeness of the russian july; but, fortunately, this is the finnish and not a russian railway, and though we manufacture a delightful draught by opening the windows on both sides of the carriage, we are not threatened for this reason with the terrors and tortures to which those are subjected who infringe the bye-laws of the company. it was but a few days before that, travelling upon a russian line, and feeling asphyxiated by the heat of the carriage, i had, in my innocence, let down the windows on both sides. instantly a guard rushed up and closed one, that on the side from which the infinitesimal air that existed happened to be blowing. i protested. the guard expressed horror: there would be a draught, he explained. i hastened to assure him that that was exactly what i most wished to bring about, and made as though to reopen the window which he had closed. but this the guard would not permit. i should catch cold, he said, and the company could not dream of allowing their passengers to catch cold. i argued, i entreated, but in vain, and eventually i went to stand upon the balcony outside. but, alas! this also, it appeared, was not permissible just at present, and that for a peculiar reason: a train conveying some member of the imperial family was to meet us presently, and no man might stand outside until it had safely passed. in the end i was compelled to return to the stifling carriage, wherein i was cooked to a turn by the time i reached my destination. but if the train from st. petersburg to wiborg is slow, what shall be said of that from the latter place to imatra? yet why, after all, should anything be said? there was no hardship in travelling now, for it was evening and cooler, and the country had grown more characteristically finnish. here and there were small lakes, the outposts of the thousand, the ten thousand, that lay calm and majestic somewhere beyond. we were in finland now beyond a doubt. but c. g. has a surprise for me--for me who have never been in this part of the world before--have never even seen imatra. we shall be at a station called st. andrea soon, he tells me, and then i shall see something which will interest me. what? i am to wait; it shall burst upon my sight. it does. it bursts upon my sight in all the calm beauty of its wide, white, gleaming, rippling majesty--the voksa. at this distant spot, dedicated to the first englishman probably who ever set foot in finland, st. henry,[1] my delighted english eyes catch their first glimpse of the ideal river--a river any englishman would love at first sight. and what a spot for the fisherman! as i live, there is one at it down there. i can see him from the train whipping merrily at the rapids beneath the railway bridge! instantly all the apathy of the long, slow journey is swallowed up in the enthusiasm of the angler; i feel inclined to wave my cap from the window and cry, like xenophon's men, "thalatta, thalatta!" happy bishop henry, friend of eric ix. of sweden, who, about 1120, an englishman, though bishop of upsala, brought bible and sword and conquered and converted this pleasant land for his master, and became patron saint thereof. st. andrea is delightfully situated indeed. i wonder whether our canonised countryman who gave his name to it was ever here? st. andrea sounds and reads more like st. andrew than st. henry, but i may explain that henrys are always andrews in russia, just as william is changed to basil, edward to dmitry, bernard to boris, and so on, because where names do not exist in the saints' calendar, substitutes have had to be found. in the case of henry, the finns appear to have followed the example of their neighbours, and to have changed henry into andrea. st. andrew himself is connected with russia, but in no way, i believe, with finland. this saint is said to have travelled, preaching the gospel, from the holy land to byzantium, and thence along the black sea to the danube, crossing that river and reaching eventually the dnieper. here he went up country as far as the spot where kief was afterwards built, and in this place, before turning to retrace his steps to byzantium, he uttered a long prophecy as to the size and importance of the city which should one day stand in that site, and which should be dedicated to the faith which he had then come to preach. so much for the saints andrew and henry, either of whom may claim, as far as names go, the honour of affording one to the remote finnish village close to which the beautiful voksa is first seen by the tourist. [1] finland has been a christian country since the early part of the twelfth century, when eric ix. of sweden, accompanied by henry, bishop of upsala, an englishman, planted christianity together with the swedish flag in the hitherto heathen province. in the thirteenth century another english divine, bishop thomas, did his best to teach the finns to shake off the swedish yoke and become subject to the pope alone, but in this he failed. the finns have been protestants since about 1530. thence to imatra is not far, and from imatra to varpa-saari is a short drive of three miles or so, past the renowned "falls," about which i shall have more to say later. my friend and i accomplish this distance luxuriously in a spring cart, the commissariat following in a second vehicle. the roads in finland are not like the roads in russia. the finnish roads are civilised, and may be driven upon without fatal results. it was past eleven now, of a glorious july night, and in the white northern twilight, which is nearly daylight, we cantered up to the riverside and drew up at the spot where a landing stage has been made, communicating by means of an overhead wire over the voksa with the island in mid-stream. the house is upon the island, and from the wire, at the island end, depends a bell. a tug at our end sets this bell clanging and a dog barking, destroying the calm majesty of the night in an instant, and causing dogs in all directions, far and near, to respond to the canine voice from mid-river in sleepy, querulous accents, as though barking were a terrible bore, but must be done out of conscientious motives. while we wait for the boat which is to take us across we hear ourselves hailed in english from some point hidden in the midnight mystery of the river, and when our eyes have located the sound we discover two boats swimming silently side by side, looking all one piece with the water, mystic, wonderful! it is j. h. and e. h., who have driven over from their lovely summer home a few miles below imatra for a night's fishing in the varpa waters. slowly the two boats approach--it seems a sin to murder the marvel of the stillness by speaking--like two swans they swim towards us in the white twilight. are we awake, and is all this really happening, or are these the creatures of a sleep-picture, and the witchery of the midnight voksa a mere dream of unreal delight? the winding of two reels and c. g.'s hearty enquiry as to "what sport" has been enjoyed by these two midnight fishers put to flight all ideas of the unreality of things, and in a very few minutes we are each seated in a boat and crossing the gleaming, rippling, hurrying voksa towards the little island which is to be our home for the next three days. as we reach the landing-stage at the island we find a sleepy finn fisherman just preparing a boat, in response to our bell-summons, to take us across; but our friends have saved him this trouble. they land us, and away they float again, the two light craft moving noiselessly over the broad river propelled by the fisherman-finn in the bows, and in the dim and mysterious distance we can hear the soft _crake_, _crake_ of their reels as the lines are let out once more after having been wound in in compliment to ourselves. before we are out of hearing there is a _whirr_, and we know that the phantom of one of them has found a billet. then up through leafy paths to the house, with only the murmur of water audible, but that from every side; with here a gleam and there a gleam between the trees, and everything else silence and shady darkness and mystery, and one's very soul feeling half numbed with the wonder of being in such a place and at such a time. as for the house, it is the ideal of what a fishing lodge should be, with its racks for rods outside and in; its glorious roomy balcony dining-room, its large central sitting-room and its half-dozen or more of most excellent bedrooms, each commanding a more fascinating view over trees and river than its next neighbour, and each with the perpetual sing-song of the gentle mother voksa to sing the tired angler to sleep with her eternal lullaby. and now, as c. g. most appropriately observes, a little supper. the night and the place and the circumstances are about as full of poetry as such things can be; my very soul seems steeped in mysticism, and the witchery of the surroundings has made a poet of me to my very backbone; but--well, they did not give us time to eat at wiborg, nor at st. andrea, nor anywhere else, and the very word "supper" is sufficient to send poetry to the winds and to convert the poet into the ravening wolf until the leeway of the appetite has been made up. luckily there is plenty to eat and it is ready to hand. julia, the finn cook, a neat, clean-looking person who cannot speak or understand a single word of russian or anything else but finnish--julia has baked some quite delicious bread; and there is finnish butter--none of your "dosset" this!--and c. g.'s baskets contain town-bought dainties of the very best: it is pleasant to sit and enjoy such a supper with the white gleam of the midnight voksa visible to us wherever we choose to peep for it between the ghostly trees that would screen it from us; and with the soft babble of her waters for ever in our ears, as though they were constantly telling of the wonders in trout and silver grayling that lurk and hide from us in the secret depths beneath; as though each wavelet had such a secret to tell us and were murmuring to us as it passed, "down below--just here--oh, such a trout! oh, such a trout! quick, or he will be off and away!" there can be no question of sleeping this night. we must fix up our rods and choose our phantom minnows, and go out in boats that are phantoms also, like those ghostly fellows, j. and e. h., there, who can be seen occasionally passing slowly across the white water in the distance, silent, mysterious, intent upon their spinning, two phantoms, in phantom boats and with phantom boatmen, fishing with phantom minnows, rightly so-called--all phantoms together! what matter if we catch anything or nothing? we must go, if it be only to steep our souls in the wonderful silence and beauty of this july night on the water, and to drink in the intoxicating delight and novelty of the whole thing. and in an hour we are there, floating on voksa's white bosom, propelled softly hither and thither as our boatmen think best; for these men know where the huge silver voksa and saima trout most do congregate, and the charm and wonder of the river and of the night are nothing to them so long as some big ten or fifteen pounder can be induced to accept the invitation our cruel blue minnows hold out to them. these superb fish are, so far as i can make out, of three kinds. first, great silvery fellows with bright red spots, for all the world like overgrown brothers of the little river trout. then there are darker coloured fish, of a golden brown hue, with spots less brightly accentuated, and, i think, larger heads. of these two kinds the former is the handsomer fish, but both are splendid specimens, and are caught up to twenty-four pounds in weight, c. g. having taken the record in this respect. the third specimen i saw was a fish which i should have called a salmon, but, i believe, erroneously. the finns have a simple rule. to them all fish over five pounds in weight are "lochi," salmon (german, lachs; russian, lososino). now there are plenty of salmon in the neva, and therefore in lake ladoga also; and the reader might suppose that, since the voksa flows into the ladoga, there may be salmon in the voksa just as well as in ladoga itself. so there may, in the lower parts of the river, but between ladoga and saima lakes there is a barrier, known as the imatra falls, which must surely be an insurmountable obstacle to the most enterprising of salmon. the voksa is a broad, generous, full-flowing river, of three hundred yards in width, which is suddenly compelled at imatra to compress itself into a narrow gorge of scarcely twenty yards across, and to pass through this as best it can for a distance of a couple of hundred yards or so, after which it is free once more to open itself out to its former wealth of elbow-room. the reader may imagine with how much protest and clamour the surprised and tortured waters of the proud river perform this sudden act of self-compression. roaring and hissing with rage, they pile themselves mountain high in an instant, and sweep down the moderate incline in a furious phalanx of angry wave-warriors, dashing from one rocky side of the gorge to the other, diving, rearing, whirling, plunging, hurling angry hisses of spray to this side and that, and at the foot of the narrow torture-chamber standing up in mighty water-columns and twisting round to face the rock-walls that have confined them, as though they half thought of turning again and rending them ere they depart once more upon their course in unimpeded freedom and gradually regained calm and majesty. the very idea of any salmon mounting in safety such a whirling, battling, irresistible fury of waters as imatra is surely outrageous. there cannot be salmon above imatra. the salmon-like lochi must be a salmon trout, or a lake trout, or some one of the non-seagoing families of _salmonidã¦_. full as the voksa is of fish, and hard as my friend c. g. and i worked, both from the platforms with fly and from boat with phantoms of every shape and size likely to attract the monsters down in the depths beneath us, it was all in vain--or nearly in vain. we did, indeed, catch a few fish, but nothing very large, and hardly more than enough to keep us well supplied with toothsome, dainty fare for our own table. we offered those fish the choicest delicacies that london makers could produce; we tempted them with phantoms so fascinating that one would suppose any fish of decently discriminative powers would rise from its moist bed and come out, at night, to feed upon them as they lay on the table within the very house. we dangled these tempting morsels over the very spots where they were known to lie; but for two days did these voksa monsters sulk and turn their faces steadfastly from us. there was thunder in the air; that, we concluded, was the mischief; perhaps during sunday the storm would break. we would try them again on monday, and meanwhile we would accept j. h.'s hospitable invitation and drive over to spend sunday with him at his lovely home at lappin-haru (the ridge, or the district, of the lapps). those lapps who chose this spot for their habitation showed a wise discrimination and a taste for natural beauty of scene and site which one would scarcely look for in that unromantic tribe. lappin-haru overlooks the voksa at one of its loveliest bends; a truly noble river, flowing through dense forests and by the side of tidy, cultivated fields; deep and majestic and silent at this corner, and bursting into rippling laughter at that; a river that bears up the swimmer as buoyantly and as securely as the sea, so strong and so full and ample is the beautiful, bright, clear flood of it. my friend j. h.--the representative in st. petersburg of a family as well known and as widely respected in russia as it is in england--has built him a house in this corner of the voksa paradise, and a splendid house it is. and though in the very wilds of finland, yet he is in communication with all centres of civilisation by means of the telephone; indeed, you can even speak to him from the island club at varpa-saari, a dozen miles away; while the imatra trains stop for passengers within a mile of his front door. so quickly do the enlightened finns avail themselves of the discoveries of science that the southern portion of their province is covered with a network of telephones, and no one in town or country dreams of being without this useful adjunct to civilised comfort. delightful indeed was it to come into a bit of england that sunday morning at lappin-haru; delightful to hear english voices and to see english ladies and english children so far away from the madding crowd. and so sunday passed very delightfully; and now monday, our last day, has come round. i think it is at lunch this monday afternoon that c. g. has an inspiration. "i am going," he says, "to drive to imatra and telephone over to harraka for leave to fish there to-night." at this i laugh the laugh of the scornful, for it is well known that harraka is the paradise lost of the english fishers, and that the present proprietors stand, figuratively, at the gate armed with the flaming sword of jealousy in order to keep out, with the utmost strictness, every would-be angler in their unique and incomparable waters. nevertheless, c. g. insists that he will try. "who knows?" he says. "a kind and indulgent spirit may be animating for this day only the heart of count arnoff!" (which is not the proprietor's real name); "and, after all, he can but refuse." this last proposition is so evidently true that i scoff no more, but allow my sanguine c. g. to proceed upon his way, though secretly remaining of the opinion that count arnoff would sooner perish than allow us upon his sacred waters. now, c. g. is undoubtedly personally fascinating, but how he contrived to exercise his fascination through the telephone i really cannot imagine; yet it is certain that he returned home in a very short time, and that, as i could see by the sunshine of his countenance long before the boat bore him to the landing stage on the island, where i awaited him, he had been successful. the count himself was away, but his steward had taken upon himself to grant c. g.'s request for an evening's fishing, and this very night was to see us afloat in the magic basin of harraka. paradise was to be regained, for one night only! oh! the care with which we dried and attended to our lines and reels; the loving discrimination with which we looked over phantom and totnes and whisky-bobbie, and selected the most fascinating that our tin reservoirs could supply. oh! the anxiety with which we watched the weather during the afternoon, and the deep satisfaction with which we noted that all things tended towards the development of a fine fishing evening. then we took boat, at about eight o'clock, and rowed across to a spot where a trap awaited us--and such a trap!--and drove away through the drooping day towards the count's wonderful water. the trap was a square iron cage on wheels, and the road--when it left the main track and branched off into the pine forest which jealously guards the upper reaches of the voksa--was not a road at all, but a series of terrible abysses with no bottom excepting the native rock, which is granite in those parts, and painful to jolt against. had the count so arranged matters in order to keep intruders from his sacred precincts? we, at all events, were not deterred from pressing forward, and oh! the sight that rewarded us--a sight i shall never forget, and such as i had never thought to see. try to picture it. when we reached harraka and the basin or ante-room between saima lake and voksa opened out before us, the entire surface of that basin of a third of a mile diameter was boiling and seething, and positively alive with leaping, gambolling monsters, so that it looked for all the world as though a shower of gigantic, long-shaped hailstones were falling over the entire surface of the water. there was not a square yard of the whole within which, if you watched it for a second or two, you would not see a mighty trout jump. had it been possible to suddenly intercept a huge net between air and water you would have caught a million. even c. g., who has fished this marvellous basin in olden days, before paradise was lost, has never seen anything like this. our fingers, as we put up our rods, tremble with the mere excitement of seeing such a sight; we can hardly frame words of wonder and admiration. the feeling is almost awe---but the two finnish fishermen appointed to row us about shake their heads discouragingly. when the fish are playing in this way, they give us to understand, they will not take the bait. they are, it appears, not feeding at all, but merely enjoying life, and endeavouring to rid themselves of certain parasites which cling to them at this season. probably in an hour or two they will feed. this is discouraging, but we intend to try all the same. and for an hour we slowly float up and down and across the little lagoon, and the monster fish leap and play all round us, so that we might, if we pleased, touch them with our hands; they almost jump into the very boat at our feet, but neither minnow, nor fly, nor whisky-bobbie will tempt them. we must leave the place at midnight, alas! for the count's huge establishment--he has built a palace in this once beautiful place, beautiful in the fullest loveliness of prodigal nature--the count's many servants and officers and stewards and clerks will not retire until we depart, and we cannot decently keep them all up later than twelve. nevertheless, we will rest for half-an-hour, no more, and then try again for an hour or three-quarters of an hour; perhaps we may yet tempt at least one of these million monsters from his element. at present it is too tantalising to bear; we must turn our backs upon the seething basin and walk inland for the half-hour of enforced idleness--and then---c. g. tells me that his fisherman has recognised him as an old friend, and declares that he, c. g., in the old club days, gave him, mikki, a pair of trousers. c. g. does not remember the circumstance, but feels that the trousers were garments well bestowed, for mikki will certainly take him to the best places by virtue of the gift. cast your bread, says c. g., upon the waters, or in other words, freely distribute old pairs of trousers, and you shall reap the benefit of your liberality after many days. then we returned and settled ourselves once more in our luxurious, red-velvet cushioned boats, selected our biggest and most fascinating phantoms, and started. it was now past eleven o'clock. the fish had nearly finished their tantalising antics at the surface and had disappeared into the secret depths; the swirling water was scarcely broken by a single leaping monster. night had fallen at last: it was as still, as silent, as mysterious, as bewitching as a dream-river. you could hear the roar and turmoil of the voksa breaking away in rapids at the far end of the basin, but here in the smooth water there was no sound--only a strong, silent draw of deep current towards the place where lake and river parted. where were the fish? what had become of the thousands of sportive giants of half-an-hour ago? i tried to imagine them at the bottom, each lying behind stone or snag--lying with moving gill and bright silver body waving in the current, on the look-out for prey. did they watch my blue phantom as it passed, and half rush out at it, but hold back at the last moment, noticing something which aroused suspicion in the cut of tail, or fin, or red marks on the white belly? there is something fearfully sacrilegious about all this. how dare i float with impunity out here, at night, above these millions of scaly beings, intent on their destruction and fearing nothing for myself? what about the water-spirits--the _vodyannui_ of sclavonic folklore? this is their own place: it is probably a sacred retreat of theirs. at any moment they might---away go thoughts of water-folk and of everything else, for there is a great jerk. my heart goes off at a hand gallop; my rod instinctively stands upright. fifty yards away there is a rush and the sudden flash of a silver streak of light--i lower the point for an instant, an act of courtesy always to be paid to a leaping fish--then there is a whirr and a few moments of delirious, delicious agitation. yohann, my man, is making for the land where the count has built him a wonderful granite embankment for the convenient landing of fish; we reach it and i step out; but my captive has not the smallest intention of giving in yet; he is closer in now, but repeatedly he bolts away and increases the distance again. suddenly i perceive that c. g. is beside me: he, too, is playing a fish--a big one he tells me. it is a race who will requisition the huge landing-net first. up and down the embankment we go, and the fish are leaping and struggling close in now; but c. g. gets his home first, a beauty of nearly twenty pounds; and mine, tired out, is ready to be landed as soon as the net is free. a truly lovely fish, too, but smaller than his by several pounds--no time to weigh either of them now. back we go, and in three minutes both are on land once more, and each is busy in the deliriously fascinating occupation of battling with another giant. oh! this is life indeed. better half-an-hour of harraka than a cycle of cathay! quick, c. g.; land your fish and give me the net, and let us both start again; this is too splendid to waste a minute! and again we put forth our fatal phantoms, and two more beauties are presently transferred from the secret places of this wonder-tank to the hot granite of the count's quay--and then, alas! it is midnight, and we must go. seventy-five pounds, in six fish, in little more than half-an-hour; it is good enough, c. g. furthermore, we are the richer by more than these mere seventy-five pounds of trout-flesh, for we have seen a great sight to-night; we have been in paradise; we have burst, this day, into the secret places of the trout people, the very sanctuary and central rendezvous of the tribe. what should we have caught had we been able to continue our fishing on that marvellous night? who can tell? if the fish are on the feed, really on the feed, in that wonderful basin, i believe you might catch any number while the appetite of the community lasted; there is no lack of them. no possible amount of angling could produce the smallest visible effect upon the numbers of the thousands we saw that night, when the basin boiled and splashed again with the play of them. a paradise indeed for anglers is this finland paradise of the voksa, and, alas! a paradise lost. chapter v after ducks on ladoga once upon a time when autumn was holding sway, and winter was within hail, a russian friend, knowing my weakness for making acquaintance with every kind of creature to be seen in the land of the tsars, very kindly proposed to me to journey with him up the neva to schlã¼sselburg, or near it, where he owned a large house and much land; and there to embark in his steam-launch for a duck-shooting cruise on lake ladoga. duck-shooting from a steam-launch! this would be quite a novel experience to me, and i jumped gladly at the proposal. but how were we going to get within range of ducks in a puffing and smoking steam-launch? i asked. were they tame ducks? "tame ducks!" repeated my outraged host; "no, indeed; on the contrary, the ducks on ladoga are the very wildest things in creation." "then how are we going to get at them in the open?" i persisted, with true british pertinacity. but my host only said, "wait and see." his manner was full of conviction; it was impossible to doubt his good faith; clearly he was the proprietor of a secret, which, in time, i too should learn! delightful! i am for it; i shall see that there is something new under heaven! my friend prohoroff is a capital fellow and a good sportsman. i have shot with him over moor and forest more than once, and found him possessed of a chivalrous generosity and sportsmanlike nature rare among the so-called sportsmen of his country. prohoroff has a soul above family pot-shots at young coveys huddled beneath their mother's wing; he would scorn to break the egg of a grey hen in order to add its unfledged contents to that of his game-bag; that is not prohoroff's style, which is robust, and broad, and british. he lets his birds fly, does prohoroff, and misses them like a man; moreover, he does not encourage his dog to catch the young game. prohoroff has rubbed shoulders with britishers, and has eaten of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil in matters appertaining to fair dealing between man and the brute creation. i shall be quite safe in prohoroff's hands. from st. petersburg to schlã¼sselburg, up the neva, is a trip of some six or seven hours by the deliberate steamer in which the journey is made; it is, after all, the whole length of the neva, from source to sea. and a beautiful river it is, as far as the stream itself is concerned. but the banks are the reverse of interesting. flat and dull, with here a belt of pine forest, and there a tumble-down village--all russian villages present a tumble-down appearance--and stubble and potatoes and waste land: there is not much to look at, and no towns of any size and importance are passed. but the water is beautiful--clear and white, and, at this season--early october--well stocked with salmon on the wander between lake and sea. these may be caught, rarely, with a minnow, _one_ has been taken with a fly, i have heard, but only one in the memory of man. for the rest, the fishermen who ply for them with big nets worked by a windlass from wooden jetties, appear to make good hauls, and the quality of the fish is excellent. i should dearly love to stop and have a cast or two for one of them; but this is impossible. prohoroff tells me that one of the favourite pastimes of st. petersburgers, with a taste for gentle gambling, is to be conveyed out to one of these fishing stations, and to speculate in "hauls" before the event. the cost of a "haul" about to be made and of course absolutely fortuitous as to its results, is from three to five roubles--six to ten shillings. the speculator may find himself possessor of salmon enough, as the result of but one cast, to feed a regiment for a week, or--if not one of the favoured of fortune--may purchase a dozen "hauls" of the net and go away empty-handed. if so, he is sure to see, as he floats dejectedly away, a vast quantity of fish landed at the very next haul after his departure; he will see their silver sides gleaming in the sun from a distance, and he will give his opinion as to the reliability of the goddess who holds the scales. but here we are at schlã¼sselburg, and here is prohoroff's house--a huge, rambling structure with bedrooms like barracks, but unprovided with the commonest of comforts, excepting beds, and having no apparatus for washing. russians are quite free from that insular faddiness as to cold water which is a characteristic of us britishers; they see no necessity for, and no virtue in, a washing-stand. as for a cold bath--_proh pudor_! what a dirty race they must be, think the muscovites, who require a bath every morning! there was once a _savant_ who gave the following definition of water: "a colourless liquid which turns black when the human hands are placed in it." was this learned man a joker? i cannot think a _savant_ would so demean himself; he must have been of russian extraction and perfectly serious. however, i have lived long enough to learn the virtue of the saying, "_ã� la guerre, comme ã  la guerre!_" therefore, in a foreign land, and in a strange house, when there are no facilities for washing, i philosophically go unwashed until an opportunity offers to repair the omission. so i went to bed and wished for day. in the morning a servant brought in a brown pudding dish and a tumbler of water. i sat down, in order to reflect calmly upon the possible uses of these articles. was i expected to seat myself in the dish and pour the contents of the tumbler over me? i rejected the idea. eventually i placed the pudding dish upon a chair, armed myself with the tumbler--and, by rigid economy, and the exercise of superhuman patience, succeeded in getting my face and neck wet and the palms of both hands damp. enough; i am washed--now for breakfast and the ducks of ladoga! when we sallied forth to embark upon the steam-launch and arrived at the water's edge, i did not see the vessel, and inquired of prohoroff where it was. this was my good host's moment of triumph. "why, there, just in front of your nose!" he said, laughing loudly and delightedly; "can't you see it?" he pointed to what i had imagined was a grove of young pine cover fringing a small island or promontory. then i understood the mystery, and was glad that good-natured prohoroff had succeeded so well in bringing off his great surprise. it was indeed the steam-launch; but so covered and hidden by pine boughs, and small pine trees fastened to the boat's side upright from the water's edge, that it really looked, as i have intimated, for all the world like a pine-grown island. undoubtedly it was well done, and the ducks might easily be deluded by it, even as i had been. the skipper and the engineer were both aboard, grinning with delight from behind the cover. my host's successful deception was regarded by them as a compliment to themselves, for they had built up the fir-grove; consequently their joy was unfeigned. these good fellows were armed with old muzzle-loading english guns, always capped and at full cock, and always held aimed, it seemed, at my head; prohoroff and i had our more modern weapons and lots of cartridges; the party meant business! steam was up, however, and we must lose no more time, but be off towards the lake. past the old swedish castle we glide and the english cotton mills, and now we are in ladoga, and hastening, a moving island, towards the middle of the great lake, to the waters wherein the big ducks most do congregate. very soon prohoroff sights the first duck community--a hundred of them--peacefully floating and diving a quarter of a mile away. "ease her!" is the word; then, "easy ahead;" and slowly and cautiously we glide forward towards our hitherto unsuspecting quarry. it is an exciting moment. i do not know the name of this duck now before us; but he is a huge black fellow, a diver, with white feathers in his wings. and now two hundred yards have been covered, and still we creep on unobserved. then a very old duck lifts her head and looks at us. "my dears," says she, "did you notice an island about here? i didn't." one or two younger members of the family glance casually at us, their mouths full of food. one says the island has been there all the time; the other rudely enquires who on earth cares whether the old lady noticed the island or not; the island is certainly there now! after this, the old lady settles down to her usual morning avocations, until the island is within a hundred yards, or less, of the party. then she gives us another and a longer look--her neck very straight and long, and her face at right angles to our advance--the one eye which is thus deputed to scan us looking concerned and agitated. "i'll tell you what it is, my dears," says she, "i don't like that island; the current is setting the other way, and yet we are nearer to it than we were. i'm off, for one!" and in the twinkling of an eye her black head has dipped beneath the surface; her white-flecked tail for an instant shows itself, then disappears, and grandmother duck is next seen fifty yards further away. fortunately for us, her example is followed by one or two very old stagers only--perhaps they have seen this game played before; but the youngsters are not going to listen to the fears and fancies of the old fogies. what youngster ever did? consequently, in another minute, judgment, swift and sure, has overtaken them. four barrelsful of flame and lead belch out upon them as they float, two more as they rise, and seven or eight young unbelievers are lying dead upon the water, or endeavouring madly, broken winged and in touch with grim death, to dive out of range. all are picked up, by degrees. meanwhile, the community is wheeling around over our heads high in air; they see us now, plainly enough, ensconced behind our pine-tree ambuscade, and are forming their own conclusions as to the morality of our proceedings. having settled this point, and, we trust, complimented the old lady, their grandmother, upon her sagacity, they fly away, and are no more seen. they will exercise a wise caution with regard to islands henceforth. and so the day passes; with each duck community it is the same tale. there are a few wise ducks and many unwise, and the deck of our launch is strewn with the bodies of these latter; great northern divers--who look as though no foolishness could possibly, under any circumstances, find napping that stern wisdom which sits for ever in the expression of their most serious countenances--and divers and ducks of every sort and kind, and to which my unlearned pen can give no certain names. some of these proved very delicious when they afterwards made their positively last appearance in public; some were very much the reverse, though that sporting skipper and the cannonading engineer (who once nearly blew my head off in the excitement of the chase!) liked them all equally well. and so ended what was, to me, a novel and delightful experience. it was one of many days to which my soul cries out "encore!" and cries in vain, for destiny says, "oh no! your cake is eaten! you must wait your chance at next baking day!" chapter vi about bears: by one of them i i come of what those conceited creatures, the humans, would probably call humble parentage. in other words, i belong to the great ursine family: i am a bear. i may as well say at once, in order that there may be no misunderstandings between the humans and myself, in case my life story should ever come into their hands, that i do not in the slightest degree share their opinion as to the relative position in the scale of existence occupied respectively by them and by me. indeed, if they will excuse my saying so, in my humble judgment i am at least as good as they are, and perhaps a little better. for instance, to compare us physically, i am taller than many, and broader, stronger, braver, fleeter, more majestic than the best of them. a human is a mere toy in my hands, as i have proved over and over again--why, there was old ivan the keeper, only last month, he--but i am digressing. ha ha! i can't help laughing, though, when i recall poor ivan's face as i hugged him--my! how his tongue did stick out! again, if we are compared intellectually, i very much doubt whether we bears are so inferior as my friends the humans suppose. we do not talk their language--true! but, do they talk ours? i think not. on the other hand, we _understand_ theirs--while they are ignorant altogether of ours! as for their sciences, their education, their 'ologies (which they think so much of), their arts, their wars, their politics, their freedom--freedom! ha ha! it is not _our_ notion of freedom!--do all these things render them the happier? what has all this "civilisation," so called, done for them? are they freer than i am? do they get more to eat and drink, and pay less for their victuals? well, well! i must not continue in this strain, airing my pet ideas instead of proceeding with what i intended to be a mere record of my own personal career; i could say much in support of the opinion expressed at the beginning of this chapter: namely, that we bears are just as good, if not a little better, than the human race; but then, after all, i shall never succeed in convincing the conceited--the _most_ conceited of all creatures--man, of his inferiority: as for my ursine readers;--well, we know what we know! my earliest recollections are among the most painful of all those scenes of my life which have impressed themselves upon my memory; for they are connected with the murder of my dear mother--the base and barbarous murder of as good and indulgent a mother as ever brought into the world and nourished a promising little bruin family, for such, i think, my small brothers and sisters and i may fairly be called. i will record the shocking circumstances of our great domestic tragedy exactly as they occurred. my earliest recollections are of life in a dark and confined space in which my two brothers and my two sisters and i had but little room for our juvenile recreations. i remember a dear old mother who divided her time in sleeping, and admonishing and educating us. we were born in this place, she told us; it was called a "_berloga_," and was the den she had prepared for herself as a shelter during the long months of a cold and cruel russian winter. it was not cold inside this den of ours, on the contrary it was very warm indeed. we had been born in december, and between that month and march we had had plenty of time to grow--we little ones--so that the _berloga_, which had been amply large enough for my mother alone, had become what i may describe as a tight fit for the six of us. it was lucky, mother used to say, that father was not with us at the time. he was away--she did not seem to know where, exactly, but she had arranged to meet him near a certain village, whose name she mentioned, some time in spring. i remember our mother used often to say, "_do_ let me go to sleep now, my dears; when you are older you will understand how difficult it is to keep awake in the winter time after the fatigues of a long season!" and, indeed, the good soul used frequently to fall fast asleep in the very midst of our lesson time--much to our joy, for we were always ready for a game of romps in that heyday time of childhood. mother would have slept the whole winter but for us brats, she used to tell us! well, one day about the end of march, when the other children and i were busily engaged in rolling over one another, and pretending to worry each other's ears, which was a favourite game of ours, we heard a terrible noise outside. up to this time we had never heard any sound at all excepting such as we made ourselves. there were shouts and barking of dogs, and a creature--whom i afterwards discovered to be a human--was knocking at the sides of our house with a long pole--we could see all this through a small peephole which we kept open. we also saw other human creatures standing near. these last held in their hands steel sticks clubbed at one end, and were looking straight into the mouth of the den. mother was fast asleep and we were obliged to awake her, for we felt alarmed at the aspect of these human creatures, puny beings though they seemed when compared with our beloved parent, who was so very much larger and stronger than they. mother started up and rubbed her eyes: "what is it, you tiresome children?" she asked. just at this moment she caught sight of the man who, with his pole, was pushing and striking at the snowed-up mouth of the _berloga_. immediately mother's face and form changed. i had never seen her look as she now did. her beautiful brown coat stood out and her ears went back. red blood came into her eyes, and her claws stretched out to their full length. she growled savagely, and for a moment or two glared at the human disturber of her peace as though she would every instant rush out and tear him limb from limb. at last she spoke to us: "children," she said, "we are in great danger, and i know not what best to do: you are so young to take care of yourselves!" "take care of ourselves, mother?" we said--"what do you mean! you are not going to leave us?" "not if i can help it, dears," said my mother, licking and caressing us each in turn, as she spoke: "but do you see the sticks which yonder men hold in their hands? those are called guns; they are terrible things, and spit fire and smoke at us bears. but for them, i should fall upon these human miscreants and we should sup upon their flesh--which is very good eating, and some bears prefer it to a vegetable diet. as it is, i shall spring first at this man with the pole--he cannot hurt me. then i shall attack the others; but, dear children, it is very dangerous, for the contest is unequal; those fire-sticks may kill me before i reach them. if they do, you must all stay as still as mice in here--perhaps they will not see you. should they see you, you must run for it; keep behind the trees, and don't run across the snow patches, of which there are still some about, for that will leaves traces of the direction you have taken, and you may be followed. if you escape, find some lair for yourselves and keep together for warmth. eat what you can find. and now, dear children, we must part: if i escape with my life i shall soon return and find you; if not, good-bye--don't forget your mother and all her advice!" with these words our dear mother suddenly sprang out of the _berloga_, and in an instant had knocked down the human who was the nearest to us--him with the pole. then without waiting a second she hurled herself upon the other two creatures, those which held the fire-sticks, or guns. instantly there was a terrific noise, like a clap of thunder, but shorter and louder; followed by a second and a third. but mother had reached the nearer of the two humans and had risen on her hind feet with such a roar that even we, her children, were startled and frightened. she seemed to reach and claw at him--oh! how majestic and grand she looked compared with her puny antagonist. then she and he fell over together, and i saw the second creature point his fire-stick at them as they rolled on the ground; it spat out its fire again, and mother rose and disappeared among the trees! dear, brave mother! what a glorious fight she made of it--and she had escaped after all, then! good, brave mother! very soon we saw the pole-man rise and rub his head, and he and the third man creature went together to look at the second, who was lying as mother had left him, upon the ground. they did not seem to be able to mend him, however, for he still lay on and took no notice of them. but all this time a horrid little white creature who was with them, a thing called a dog, had been poking around our den with its tail tucked tightly between its hind legs--an ugly and silly habit of these creatures when they feel alarmed. he was sniffing about the mouth of the lair, and suddenly--entering a foot or two further than he had ventured before--caught sight of one of my sisters. he instantly turned and ran out of the _berloga_ as fast as he could lay his wretched thin legs to the ground, barking and yelping, and my silly little sister, unable to resist the temptation, must needs run after him. immediately there was another explosion from the man with the fire-stick, and poor little katia, my sister, rolled over and over and then lay quite still--dead; murdered! "here! ivan!" cried the man, "go into the _berloga_ and see if there are more of the little brutes--try and catch one or two alive for the zoo!" it was all up! ivan came blundering into our house, groping about with his hands, for it was too dark to see anything. we all lay still, for we were too small to hurt him, and we hoped to escape. but his hand came in contact with little mishka's coat and ivan held on tight, in spite of poor mishka's struggles and snarls and bites. the rest of us, not wishing to lose our freedom, rushed out of the lair, leaving mishka in ivan's hands, a captive. as we darted out and made for the shelter of the trees, remembering mother's advice, the dreadful fire-stick spat out its fire and smoke at us, but none of us were hurt by it, and vainka, natasha, and i got safely away and huddled ourselves together inside the trunk of an old dead pine tree. here we stayed for hours, not daring to move for fear of being found by the cruel humans and their fire-sticks. when it began to grow dark we ventured out and crept back to the _berloga_. there was no sign of the humans; poor dead katia had been taken away and little prisoner mishka also; but where was mother? we wandered about calling for her in all directions; at last--just as we were giving up the search for the night--natasha heard a sound which she said she was sure was our dear mother crying. then we all listened and heard it, and proceeding in the direction from which it seemed to come, we found poor dear mother lying stretched upon the ground, bleeding and weak. she had three horrible wounds, all given by those detestable fire-spitting sticks called guns, and her life-blood was fast oozing from them. "i am dying, my children," she said--"are you all safe?" she looked around at us, with her poor glazing eyes, and noticed that some were missing. "where are katia and mishka?" she asked. we were obliged to tell the sad truth. again we saw that dreadful look of savage hatred come over mother's face. for a few moments she could say nothing; then at last she muttered: "promise me, children, that throughout your lives you will hate and fight mankind, wherever you meet his detested offspring! promise me this, and i shall die happy!" we all promised faithfully to do as she wished. these were dear mother's last words to us, and a few moments later she died and her soul flew away to those happy hunting-grounds where, as we bears are taught to believe, it is our part to handle the fire-sticks, and that of the human beings to be hunted! thus we lost our dear mother, together with a small sister and brother whom we could better spare. considering the circumstances of our deprivation, by means of the foulest murder, of a parent's care and authority, and of our last promise to a beloved and dying mother, is it to be wondered at that i can never cherish any other feeling towards that arch-enemy of my family--_man_, than hatred, and that of the deepest? my brother mishka, from whom i hear occasionally, in a manner utterly unsuspected by his "keepers" in the zoological gardens at st. petersburg, frequently does his best to persuade me to modify my opinion of and conduct towards mankind. he says the humans are not nearly so bad as one thinks, and that he has a very good time in his perpetual _berloga_ (from which the poor fellow cannot escape), and gets plenty of victuals of the best quality. he says he likes children the best--they are so very generous with their buns and cakes. ha ha! i agree with him about the youngsters! i like the children best, too! they are so deliciously tender and flaky. i have enjoyed several, and sincerely hope i have not tasted my last. but i must proceed with my narrative. this then was to be the pivot upon which my future career was to turn: hatred of and animosity towards the human race. if i could at any time injure their persons or damage their property it should be done; i had vowed it; that very night as we three children lay huddled and trembling, poor orphans of a murdered mother, within our desolate _berloga_, we all vowed it. man was henceforth our enemy. we were all reduced to great straits just at this time, for a living. poor little creatures that we were, it puzzles me now, when i think of it, how we managed to pull through that dreadful period. the fact of the matter is, we were obliged to eat all sorts of things which we should otherwise have left alone; it was now april, and we contrived to live upon the young leaves and grass blades and shoots of various trees and bushes, together with--i blush to record it--field-mice, squirrels, an occasional hare, and sometimes a partridge or grey hen, when one could be found obligingly sitting on a nestful of eggs and dreaming of the joys of maternity. we ate the eggs also. so we dragged along until july came. but each day life became easier and more enjoyable, for the rye and oats soon began to grow tall in the fields surrounding the villages; the bees were up and about, and furnished us with the perfectly delicious results of their labours; and the woods gradually filled themselves with berries and luxuries of all sorts. when the oats were ripe we fared magnificently. one day we met a splendid specimen of our family whom we soon discovered to be none other than our father--the consort of our dear mother, now deceased. he received us fairly well; but my veneration for the paternal relative suffered a rude shock when he informed my brother and sister and myself that, with every desire to be a good father to us, he could not permit us to trespass upon a certain oat-field which he declared did not contain any more than he absolutely required for his own subsistence. he made some sympathetic remarks as to mother's death, with his mouth full of delicious ripe oats, and then bade farewell of us (meaning _us_ to go--he evidently had no intention of leaving the field!), remarking, cordially enough, that he would always be glad to see us, and to hear of any favourable feeding-grounds we might come across, if large enough for all, "but never mind your old father if rations are scarce!" he added. i never saw my parent again. very shortly after the day upon which he warned us off that oat-field, which--by the way--_we_ had discovered, he actually permitted himself to be driven away from its precincts by a mere peasant-human armed with an axe. i fancy my father must be a very inferior person compared with my good brave mother. _she_ would have behaved very differently towards that peasant--we should undoubtedly have had him for supper: oats, peasant, and honey; a supper of three courses fit for the gods. but for a member of the family of ursid㦠to be ignominiously chased away from an oat-field by a peasant--oh! dear me--disgraceful! disgraceful! ii well, it was a grand time for us, that first summer. how we grew and fattened! by the early part of the autumn, we were really quite respectable-sized members of the community. about this time we lost our brother vainka. it was an exciting thing, rather, and i will note down the story in full. it was like this. we were all three busily engaged in breakfasting among the tall stems of a rye-field, near a village, when we observed several human children playing about in an adjoining belt of pasture-land. there were no grown men present, so far as we were aware, and we determined to amuse ourselves, and at the same time to piously observe the injunctions of our dear mother deceased, by doing our best to frighten the brats out of their wits, and, if possible, injure them besides; we were too small, as yet, to do them any very serious harm; in fact, they were rather bigger, i think, than we. so we crept towards them, hidden from view by the beautiful thick rye-stalks, until we were close to the edge of the pasture-field. then, at a signal from natasha, we all three pounced out upon them, growling and open-mouthed. oh dear, oh dear! it was a funny sight to see those children! the silly creatures were too startled to move until we were upon them. they stood staring and shrieking, with eyes and mouth open, and turned to run only when it was too late. how we laughed as we rolled them over and over in the grass and scratched their faces, and tore their dresses off their backs! and how they screamed! the whole population of the village rushed out to see what all the noise was about, big men and women with axes and long things called scythes, and then we thought it was time to retire among our rye-stalks. there we hid ourselves and laughed, and ate the delicious cool, juicy grasses, and the luscious rye-grains, until we could eat and laugh no more, and determined to make a move into the woods, in order to have a good drink in a moss pool we knew of and then lie down a bit and sleep off the excitement. but to our horror we found that those mean wretches, the humans belonging to the village, were waiting for us outside the cover. they had sneaked up and surrounded us, and were sitting silently all along the edge of the field, armed with their axes and scythes and nets; luckily they had no fire-sticks! well, vainka was, as it happened, the first to step out from among the rye-stalks, and he was immediately confronted by two women and a man who ran after him--one getting in front and one on each side. while they were busy with him, however, natasha and i escaped unnoticed and were able to watch the pursuit of poor vainka from a position of safety. one of the women had a crawfish net with a long wooden handle. this creature kept calling to the others, "don't kill him, don't kill him! we'll take him alive!" the others seemed to agree, for they closed in upon poor little vainka and placed the crawfish net tightly over his head and face, so that, though he fought fiercely and bravely for liberty, he was quite powerless to hurt them. then they led him away to the village and we saw him no more. i have seen him often since, however, for his "master" (!) still lives in this village and brings him down from town at certain seasons. vainka goes to town (st. petersburg) in order to amuse the people by dancing on his hind legs, pretending to wrestle with his master, and other foolery, and with--i blush to record it--with a ring through his nostrils, to which a chain is attached. poor dear old vainka--his spirit is completely broken; he has actually learned to tolerate human-kind, and declares that they only require to be known in order to be appreciated, and that he does not think he could exist now without the applause which his performances call forth from the vulgar brutes of humans who have degraded him. ugh! it is shameful! he has twice escaped from the village and joined me--but i will, i think, relate these episodes in full, in their proper place in this narrative; for my ursine friends may learn much by a careful consideration of the events, and i should not like to deprive them of the advantage of considering this matter in the light of a thorough and intimate knowledge of the circumstances. meanwhile, i must relate the sad story of how natasha and i separated--after, alas! a quarrel. it was after our first winter alone--without mother and the rest, i mean. natasha and i spent that winter together, in one _berloga_, for warmth. it was a very uneventful time, for we were not disturbed from november to april, and slept steadily on through all those months. it was then that we realised how dreadfully we must have worried poor dear mother in the preceding year by keeping her awake during that long period when we bears feel as though it were impossible, whatever happened, to rouse ourselves, and would almost sooner die than move. but to continue: when spring came and we sallied forth from our winter quarters, we were both so hungry that positively we could almost have eaten one another. just outside a village close by, as we were prowling around, hoping to find some sort of food, natasha taking one side of the village and i the other, i had made my half round without success and was awaiting my sister with some degree of impatience, when i saw a dog issue from one of the huts and trot away across a field. the next instant i heard a yelping and observed natasha in full pursuit, and scarcely a yard away from the dog's tail. then they both disappeared behind a hedge, and for a moment the yelping was redoubled, and then ceased altogether. i hurried along to join and congratulate natasha, as well as to take my share in a dinner which i felt that i required very badly, when suddenly i met natasha returning. "well, where's the dog?" i said--feeling, i know not why, a strange sinking at the heart. "what dog?" said natasha, drooping her head a little and averting her face. "why, the dog you were hunting a moment ago!" i said. "oh, it escaped," said natasha, who had some whitish fur, which was not her own, sticking to the corner of her mouth. "oh--you _nearly_ caught it, i see!" said i. "yes, i very nearly caught it," said my sister, her voice dying away to nothing at the end of the sentence. well--i believed her, for we had never, as yet, deceived one another to any great extent. half an hour afterwards, as we were roaming the woods looking for something solid to eat, i suddenly missed natasha. i called for her and searched the wood, but all in vain. i therefore left the forest and retraced my steps towards the open fields close, to the village. there, after considerable hunting and much waste of time and temper, i at last came upon my sister, who was just polishing off the last remnants of the carcase of a dog. i fell upon her without a word, for she had deceived me and was unworthy of courtesy at my hands. up to this time i had always been polite and kind and--in its best sense--brotherly towards natasha; therefore she was astonished and indignant when i attacked her. i must confess i punished her savagely, for i was very angry and very hungry as well; indeed, i did not leave her alone until i had pretty nearly worried the breath out of her body. when she picked herself up from the grass she made off immediately, without making any remark either of abuse or excuse, and, as i have never set eyes on her since that morning, i conclude that she emigrated to a distant part of the country. i cannot say i was sorry, for i should never have regained that confidence in her which her deceitful conduct on this occasion entirely destroyed, and the relations between us would have been so strained as to render life unpleasant. so there was an end of family life for me--as a bachelor, of course. my father--well, the less said about my poor old selfish pater, the better. my mother, bless her, dead; my sister katia dead also; mishka and vainka both prisoners, one at the zoo, in st. petersburg, the other in a village not far away from my own domain; and natasha, as i have explained, an exile--a discredited fugitive from her native woods! soon after natasha's disappearance, however, at least in the autumn of the same year, just before i had chosen the spot in which i should winter, something happened which filled me with true joy and thankfulness: for i have a tender heart in spite of what i have just recorded of my conduct towards natasha. i was wandering about the forest feeling very weary, and longing for the first fall of snow to herald in the approaching winter and allow of my retiring for the season. hearing a noise behind me--a puffing, grunting noise which seemed to indicate the presence of one of my own species,--i turned quickly round to see who this could possibly be; and, if a stranger, to warn him that he was trespassing upon land which already belonged to me by the sacred rights summed up in the ancient roman law which all bears excepting extremely large ones still recognise as binding: "_beati possidentes_." what was my delight to see my dear old brother vainka puffing and blowing after me as fast as his poor old legs and lungs--both sadly out of condition,--could bring him. he had a ring through his nose, and from this there dangled a piece of chain, and from the end of the chain a torn portion of a halter. we rushed towards one another: "why, vainka!" i exclaimed: "where in fortune's name do _you_ come from, and how did you escape?" "it's a long story!" said vainka--"never mind the details--here i am! i bit through the rope, as you see, and escaped from the barn at night by breaking down the door: now let's have some food! when we are in the _berloga_, which i suppose will be to-morrow--i hope so, for i'm dead tired" (here he yawned twice and i followed suit)--"i'll tell you all about it." i gave him a capital dinner considering the time of year, including some honey--of which i knew of a good store, and showed him the spot i had chosen for the _berloga_, which he quite approved of. during the course of conversation, vainka informed me that he had grown quite fond of his "master," and would not care to do him an injury; but at the same time he wished to mention that there were six young sheep grazing in the field behind the house he (vainka) inhabited, and that he should imagine these sheep would make a delightful meal for any one liking mutton. personally, he said, he would rather not touch them, and he hoped, for his master's sake, that no one else would; but that they were in such and such a field, and the humans never left the house before 6 a.m. a really good feed, he remarked, was considered by some people to be an advantage just before retiring for a sleep of several months. he was perfectly right. those young sheep were quite delicious; and while we gaily consumed them for dinner next day old vainka gave me many hints as to the exact disposal, by humans, of their time,--hints which have ever since been extremely useful to me in various ways. did i mention that vainka consumed his share of the two sheep which found their way to our larder? well, he did--anyhow; and enjoyed them very much, but was deeply put out (after he had dined) to remember that the mutton had belonged to his master. he would not, he said, for anything have touched it had he recalled that fact in time. that day the snow came, and, after performing those maze-like evolutions in which our family invariably indulge at this time of year, and which are designed to bewilder any human being who might wander our way and wish to track us, with sinister purpose, to our lair, we lay down, and overcome by fatigue and--well, mutton--fell asleep almost immediately. i had endeavoured, but in vain, to remove the badge of servitude and disgrace which poor vainka was condemned to wear in the shape of the ring and chain, but could do nothing with it--vainka had been obliged to settle down with the cruel, detestable thing still attached to his nose--bah! the next thing either of us was conscious of was a knocking at the sides of our snowy, or icy house. the noise immediately aroused us, for it recalled a similar sound which we had good cause to remember, and carried us back to that dreadful day when our poor mother had been done to death, together with little katia. on peeping through the hole we soon perceived that we were besieged by two men--both of whom were peasants. one of these held a fire-stick, and the sight of it put my heart all of a quake; for i confess, though i fear nothing else in the world, i am terribly frightened of that dreadful, death-spitting stick, called gun. but vainka touched my shoulder: "the one with the gun," he whispered, "is my master: what's to be done?" i didn't know. then vainka rose to the emergency and did that for which i shall always feel reverently and admiringly grateful to him. he undertook to see me safely out of the difficulty by giving himself up. "they'll never dream that _you_ are here as well as i," he said; "all you have to do is to stay snugly inside and let me go out: they won't shoot me; i am too valuable to them!" i protested that this sacrifice was too noble; that i could not permit such self-abnegation on my account! "self-abnegation?" said vainka; "nonsense! it's nothing of the sort. i declare to you that i would rather go back to the humans than earn my living in the woods; i came away because i pined for the winter sleep for which my nature yearns--i should have had to work, with them; _now_, i have had my rest and am as fresh as a daisy!" i really believe the good fellow meant it. at all events, since i should certainly be killed or wounded if i went out and he would as certainly only be captured, it was clearly better that he should go than i; for he might always escape again; while i, if once killed, should appear upon the scene no more. so i embraced my dear vainka, thanked him heartily for saving my life at the expense of his liberty (at which he smiled and said he didn't believe in liberty), and let him go--lying very close myself, and watching the development of circumstances through the peephole. i must say that, in spite of all my hatred for mankind, i was a little softened towards vainka's friends, on this occasion, by the events which now took place. vainka broke through the wall of our _berloga_ and deliberately stepped out. the man with the pole quickly got out of the way, while the other raised his gun. for an instant i was in dread lest he should not recognise my dear brother in time, and was on the point of rushing forth to strike him dead before he should have slaughtered poor confiding vainka, when, luckily for us all (for i should not have been in time), he dropped his arm, raised his hand to shade his eyes, stared, and broke into a roar of laughter: "why!" he cried, "strike me blind if it isn't dear old mishka himself!" (the humans, for reasons best known to themselves, call us all "mishka.") with these words, he rushed up to vainka, caught hold of the chain (the wrench to v.'s nose must have been exceedingly painful!) put both arms round my brother's neck, and commenced to kiss and to hug him in the most comical manner. he really appeared to be quite fond of vainka, and vainka himself seemed almost as glad to greet _him_. then the peasant took some lumps of the cooked rye, which my brother says is so delicious (and which, i may mention, i believe in my heart to be one of the chief causes of vainka's marvellous attachment to the debased life he leads!), and fed his new-found and long-lost friend. vainka dropped a large piece of it on the ground, and i imagine the good fellow meant it for me; but the frugal peasant picked it up and pocketed it, so that i was not able to taste the vaunted stuff--bah! i'm sure it isn't up to july oats or honey, or even baby--which is delicious when one happens to be of a carnivorous turn of mind, as one is sometimes. then they all went away and left me, never dreaming--as vainka rightly anticipated--that another bear lay concealed within the _berloga_, and that master mishka, as they called him, was but my guest. ha! ha! i should have liked to have dashed out and smashed them both--the men, i mean, when their backs were turned! i burned to do it--but discretion gained the day: there was that accursed fire-stick to be reckoned with: i have been told that guns can be made to spit their fire in an instant even when a man has been knocked down and is lying upon the ground. so i refrained and stayed where i was, and in a while fell asleep once more, sleeping safely and comfortably until april, when i left the den and went out once again upon my travels. i had one other visit from vainka, a few months later. i had been hunting near his village, when of a sudden i became aware of master v. approaching me through a thin birch spinney which lay between me and the fields around the hamlet. he looked very dejected--not at all as one would expect a bear to look who had just regained his liberty! he brightened up a little when he saw me. "is anything the matter, brother?" i inquired, as i went to meet him. "nothing whatever," he said, "excepting that, curiously enough, i do not feel inclined to escape, and yet here i am, in the act of escaping!" "but how can that be?" i said; "in the first place you _must_ be glad to escape--no bear of any self-respect could help feeling glad; and besides, how could you possibly escape against your will?" "well," he said, "perhaps i have no self-respect; anyhow i only came because they left the door of the stable wide open and my chain was off at the time. all i had to do was to walk out, and now i wish i hadn't! this is just the time when little masha brings me my lunch of delicious bread" (that's the cooked rye i mentioned), "and--and--upon my word i think i shall go back--what's the use of being free--i am no longer fitted for a wild life." and sure enough the poor-spirited creature, whose once keen, free spirit had been entirely deadened by contact with the humans and their debasing life, would have made off then and there! but i stopped him. "you shall do nothing of the kind, my friend!" i said firmly. "you shall come into the woods with me and have a good time, and when you've enjoyed a run and some fresh air and natural food, you shall do as you like! come on!" so i got him away, and for three days we had the grandest fun in the world. he cheered up and agreed to join me in a little hunting close to a neighbouring village--he would do nothing near his own. we killed two dogs, a young cow, and some sheep, old vainka thoroughly entering into the spirit of the fun, and even enjoying the wild fury of the humans, who could not find us--there being no snow. but after three days of freedom and real life vainka grew home-sick. he yawned frequently, and said how sad little masha would be without him, and wondered what she was doing now--and now, and whether his master--whom, in spite of his solemn vows to our mother, he had evidently learned to love--was quite well--and so on. he became so melancholy and maudlin, that i perceived it was no use fighting against destiny, and i recommended him to be off to his dancing and skipping and his masha and his confounded man-worship--and away he went--poor fellow! as clear a case of a good bear gone wrong as it has ever been my lot to come across. iii the foregoing episode is a narrative of my last visit from vainka. i have seen the poor old fellow now and again and communicated with him by signs, the nature of which my ursine readers will at once comprehend, but which--in case any artful human should happen to decipher these memoirs--i will not describe in detail. both vainka and mishka are--much as i deplore the fact--now quite gone over to the enemy; they are, both of them, more man than bear, and this in spite of the tragic and bloody reasons which they, in common with myself, should cherish in their deepest hearts for loathing the very creatures whom they have learned to love--bah! it is unnatural, it is unbear-like, it is sickening. i, for my part, have kept my vow as made to our murdered mother. i think i may fairly boast that this is so. perhaps if i relate one or two of my principal adventures with mankind, my readers will do me the justice to admit that i have done my best. i hope they will do _themselves_ the justice to follow my example. mankind should be suppressed, wherever found. the first human being i successfully attacked and killed was a grown man, a peasant; the second was a baby. the latter was delicious, and i can safely recommend such of my relatives as have adhered, hitherto, to vegetarian principles, to relax them in favour, at least, of this dish. babies are not always easily procured; but a little excitement adds, i consider, zest to the pursuit. i may say at once that babies, in spite of the terrible noise which they are undoubtedly capable of producing, are perfectly harmless. they may be found occasionally lying on the grass close to rye or oat fields in which human beings are busy cutting down the food which naturally belongs to us, not to them. this is an act of burglary, and is punishable with singular propriety; because while these thieving humans are intent upon depriving us of our property it is the easiest matter in the world to creep up and make oneself master of _theirs_, in the shape of the babies which they leave in the adjoining field, ostensibly to take care of the food and drink which is packed in baskets for their dinner--though i must say it is just like human stupidity to place a helpless thing like a baby in charge of valuable property. i have never yet seen one raise a hand to protect its mother's dinner. but, as usual, i am wandering from my immediate subject, which is--a description of my first man. it was towards evening one summer day, and i was wandering slowly through the wood. i was not in the best of humours, for a field of oats upon which i had been supporting myself for several days was this afternoon in the hands of the "reapers," as they call themselves: _thieves_, as i call them! i had come there for my dinner and found the gang of humans busy at the oats with scythe and reaping-hook. what could i do? there was nothing to be done, excepting to show my teeth and bristle up my coat at them--and since they did not see me that was not of much practical use! so i went away again, cross and revengeful, and as i roamed about the woods, fuming and hungry, whom should i meet of a sudden but a tall peasant, wearing an axe in his belt but otherwise unarmed. for an instant we both stopped, surprised and startled. then, full of the hatred for his kind which i always felt but which had received an additional stimulus in the oat-field this afternoon, i raised myself upon my hind feet and caught hold of him. he tried to reach his axe, but i had gripped his arm and he could not. his face was a study: he had become very pale and his eyes were protruding: froth came from his mouth together with spluttering words--bad language, of course; those disgusting peasant creatures never open their lips without using language such as a bear would be shocked to employ. i leant upon him, bending my whole weight forward, growling fiercely, and reaching for his throat with my teeth. i felt a strong lust for blood, and my rage increased with every second. i knew that i must kill this man, and that he could not escape me or injure me. my fury knew no bounds; i seemed to hate him all the more for being in my power, and i bore him pitilessly down to the earth--i was far heavier than he. then i seized his throat in my teeth and his head with my claws and enjoyed myself. how he kicked and struggled for a few seconds--only a few--i wish it had been more!--then he lay perfectly still, and i knew that i had slain my first man. i was not anxious to eat him: i had not as yet learned that human flesh is good, especially that of babies; therefore i mauled him savagely for several minutes in order to make sure there should be no mistake about his incapacity for future mischief and treachery, which is all that his kind live for--and then i left him to the crows. but as i raised myself from his body i muttered to myself, "there, mother! though thousands of executions could never avenge your assassination, here lies one, at least, of the hated family which murdered you!" i felt more or less appeased after the pious act of filial vengeance which i have just recorded, and ate my supper that night with a light heart--the supper consisting of some of the very oats which the peasants had thought to deprive me of! the silly creatures had cut the oats and tied them in bundles, which was extremely convenient for me, and saved me the trouble of picking the ears of grain for myself. as for my first baby meal, that was a very simple affair: the small creature was lying, rolling about, in the grass while her mother (i suppose they have mothers, such as they are) was reaping together with a host of other humans in the adjoining field. the forest was the common boundary of the two fields, and all i had to do was to creep a few yards from the wood, take the goods the gods provided, and retire to enjoy them. i did this with entire success, catching hold of the imp with one arm and hobbling along on three feet. but that baby made such a terrific caterwauling that positively i nearly dropped him out of pure anxiety for the drums of my ears. his mother rushed out from among the oat stalks and ran after me, though she did not see me, in the direction of the baby's cries, but she soon returned: i think one of her companions called to her that it was only the child, was gone and that her dinner was all right, wrapped up in a red pocket handkerchief. well, that baby was the most delightful thing i had ever tasted, and i then and there determined that this dainty should form an item of my diet whenever obtainable. it is in season all the year round; but difficult to obtain at any time except summer. i must just add to the above narrative, that as i lay enjoying my dinner within the pine forest, scarcely fifty yards from those peasants, i could distinctly overhear their remarks as to the disappearance of the young human at that moment forming the staple item of my dinner. it appeared that i was not suspected. the whole odium of the affair was laid upon certain people who, however disreputable and disagreeable they may be (and they certainly are _both_), were at all events innocent of this "crime." i mean those impostors and cads, the wolves. many of my most successful enterprises in and about villages have been laid to the charge of wolves: so be it! this cannot injure me. true, i should like to have the credit of certain of my exploits! those in which mankind have been destroyed, especially; but it is very amusing when you have successfully robbed an enemy, to hear some one else blamed and vengeance vowed upon persons who have had nothing whatever to do with the affair. so it was in the matter of my first baby. not a man, woman, or child present but endeavoured to console the weeping mother by vowing vengeance upon the thieving "wolf," for she really did weep, though, as i have already declared, i did not touch her dinner but only a useless, squealing baby. that she did not really regret the loss of the tiny creature was abundantly proved by her own assertions at the time; for she several times repeated that it was, after all, "better so;" that the baby would never be hungry again (that it certainly would not!), or feel pain or worry of any sort, with more to the same effect, and all, of course, perfectly true. for all that, she cried steadily on, as she worked, and many of the other women cried also, though they all agreed as to the fact that things were better as they were, and repeated this a hundred times. of course things were better as they were. what better or worthier thing could a human baby do than provide a dinner for one of the ursidã¦? all i desired was that they should so thoroughly feel the force of the truism, as to bring me another tender morsel without delay. this, however, they did not do. on the contrary, they brought dogs instead of babies, and i felt that, though dog is tasty enough when nothing better is obtainable, i would transfer my custom, for the present, to another parish. and now i propose to dismiss for a while the disagreeable subject of the human race, and to give my readers a glimpse into some of the dangers and difficulties which i have at different times of my life encountered while living the free and, on the whole, happy life of the woods. i have incidentally referred to certain persons for whom i have the supremest contempt, as for animals of an altogether inferior rank in the scale of life: that is, inferior to our own; i would not go so far as to say that they are not superior to humans, for the latter, when without their detestable fire-sticks, are contemptibly weak and defenceless: their teeth are ridiculously inefficient, and as for their claws--well, they have none, so far as i can ascertain. the creatures i refer to are _wolves_, as they call themselves. these are the very plebeians of the forest. they are hated by every resident, great or small; for they are mean and cowardly creatures, hunting in companies of three or four--they dare not show themselves singly--and sometimes in packs of a dozen or more. a wolf, if unaccompanied by his friends, would probably run away from a hare, and hide himself from a little red fox. they are thieves of the first water, besides, and have no respect whatever for the rights of property. many a time have i left a portion of some choice repast which i was not capable of consuming at one sitting, expecting to find and enjoy the remains on the following night. what i actually found was a few white bones and the vision of two grey tails stuffed tightly between four hind legs just in the act of disappearing into the cover--ugh! they are cads--_cads_, that is just the word, the only word for them. well, one fine evening, about september a year or two ago, as i was strolling through the wood thinking of--well, i'll tell you all about that presently--enough that i was thinking of _someone_ and feeling rather love-sick and depressed--when i suddenly heard a cantering noise behind me, and turning round i beheld seven very large wolves coming up on my scent. the instant that i turned round the whole party stopped, sat down on their haunches, and stared at me. they looked hungry and wicked, but would not meet my eye. i darted at the nearest, but in a moment he and his companions had disappeared--in the marvellous way which these cowards understand so well. oh ho! i thought, if you are afraid to stand up to me you will certainly not dare to pursue me! so i made off towards that portion of the forest in which i generally took my night's rest. but i was mistaken in my conclusions, for no sooner was i well on my way, than the cantering sound recommenced, and the wolves were after me again. it was useless to stop and attack them, for they are too active to be caught in this way; i therefore decided to push along and take no notice. but before many minutes had elapsed, the leading wolf began to set up that loathsome howling of theirs, and was immediately imitated by the rest. i hate noise, so i hurried on, hoping to shake them off--for i had not as yet realised that these plebeians were actually organising a pursuit with the ultimate object of tiring me out and pulling me down. after all it takes some little while for the very idea of such an unexampled insult as this to take root in the patrician mind: _me_ to be pursued and pulled down by wolves! the thing was outrageous, impossible! but i confess i was somewhat disconcerted when i realised that the wolves were howling with a purpose; for in a very few minutes i was aware of new arrivals among my pursuers: grey forms with bright, hungry eyes, appeared in the moonlight to right and left of me; one or two cantered on ahead--it was really growing a little exciting. i stopped once more and turned to survey the pack and count the new arrivals. as if by magic each wolf stopped dead and sat down, some concealing themselves behind trees, others looking away; none ventured to assume a threatening aspect as far as i could ascertain there were now nearly twenty wolves present: the situation was not altogether a pleasant one. then i played a successful little ruse upon them. i turned as though to fly, taking a few rapid strides forward; then i suddenly stopped, and, as i had expected, the leader shot up to my side before he could control the impetus which he had already gained. well--i had him in a moment, and i have reason to believe his own mother would not have recognised him a minute or two afterwards, for i made a very complete wreck of him, and left him literally torn to pieces. during the operation, which did not occupy me very long, his companions had totally disappeared: there was neither sound nor sight of them. but, shall i be believed? no sooner did i leave him and continue my journey than the unnatural creatures, instantly reappearing from every side, fell upon their mangled brother and consumed his body, quarrelling and snarling and fighting over him like so many devils, which i believe they are under an assumed name! i thought, for awhile, that i had shaken off the thieving brutes, but this was not the case. i soon found that they were after me once more, howling and snarling, every devil's son of them! i own that at this point i suddenly lost heart and, to use a familiar expression, took to my heels. i make this confession in all humility and with shame. why i lost heart i cannot explain. i have mentioned the depression of spirits from which i was suffering this night, and i can only suppose that it was the pandemonium of noise made by my pursuers which, acting upon a state of mind already somewhat enfeebled by the depression referred to, had relaxed my nerve-power and caused me to disgrace myself in the manner indicated. so i fled, i own it with shame; i fled at the top of my speed, pursued by the howling pack of miserable plebs, which dared not come very close, but followed me some ten yards behind and at each side, trusting to my bulk and weight, which they hoped would prove so cumbrous that i should be unable to run far without collapsing into a defenceless condition of breathlessness and weakness, when they would, they imagined, pull me down. well, so far as the breathlessness was concerned they proved perfectly right. not being accustomed to much running, i was naturally out of condition; and consequently before i had run many miles i felt that this sort of thing could not continue: i must devise some scheme by which to put to flight or to evade the enemy. then this idea suddenly struck me: why not climb a tree? wolves are notoriously incapable of climbing (after all, what _can_ a wolf do?). i should thus at least gain time enough to recover my breath and consider my position. no sooner thought of than done. i had not enjoyed much climbing of late, so that i anticipated some little trouble and exertion in reaching the required altitude; therefore i pushed along until i saw a tree which looked easy to climb; then i ran to its foot, stopped, and turned round. as before, the wolves instantly, paused and sat down; while some, as usual, disappeared. i immediately commenced the ascent of my tree refuge. but no sooner did the wolves realise that this was my intention than they seemed to gather courage from the prospect of losing me, and with redoubled howls and noise they surrounded the tree and actually dared to grab at my hind legs as i swarmed up the trunk. i sustained one or two nasty bites during that degrading moment, but those bites did for me what perhaps nothing else would have done. they restored me to myself, and in addition inspired me with so terrible and righteous a fury (and when we bears _do_ lose our tempers we certainly are _properly_ angry!) that in an instant i was down and among my pursuers--tearing, hugging, crushing!--oh, when i remember that triumphant moment of crushing bones and ripping flesh my heart fills with the emotion of pride and thankfulness to reflect that i was born a bear and no other meaner creature! true, i have never seen a lion, or tiger--both of which animals, tradition says, are capable of slaying a bear; but with all deference to tradition i prefer to think otherwise. i am told that lions and tigers are both _cats_--cats!! i have seen, and i may add _eaten_, many cats, and howsoever large and fierce these traditional members of the family may be, i beg leave to state that, speaking for the ursid㦠generally, we shall be delighted to see any number of lions, or tigers, or any other form of cats in these parts, and to try conclusions with them. my brother mishka has seen, in the distance, specimens of the creatures referred to in his home at the zoological gardens, and does not think much of them, though, he says, they are large. well, size is nothing; a cow is big enough, in all conscience, but i have never had the slightest difficulty in negotiating a cow, however large. but to continue: it was a real pleasure to me--though i have seldom been so angry--to rend and crush those too enterprising wolves who had presumed to attack my person. when i had done with them, three lay stiff and stark, while two others were limping and howling somewhere out of sight among the bushes. as for me, i had a scratch or two, but nothing to matter. i need hardly say that i was not molested again as i deliberately climbed that tree and settled myself for the rest of the night in a cosy corner among the branches. but no sooner was i out of their reach than a dozen wolves came howling around the trunk and leaping up in pretended anxiety to get at me. they were but playing a part in order to deceive one another, of course; but this is the way of wolves, who have no dignity and self-respect. had i shown so much as one tooth they would have instantly disappeared! iv so the night passed away, in perfect comfort for me and with quite as much actual repose as could be expected, having regard to the pandemonium going on below, where the wolves quarrelled and fought over the bodies of their relatives, entirely consuming them among themselves in a wonderfully short space of time. i was much amused to watch their dealings with the wounded heroes who turned up to claim a share in the feast. not being in a condition to fight for the disgusting food, they were themselves promptly set upon, slain by their unwounded brethren, and eaten with the greatest gusto. whether my besiegers were satiated with the feast i had thus provided for them, or whether--like all malefactors--they were afraid of the daylight, i know not; but it is certain that soon after the last bone had been picked, and just as the began to show signs in the east of his intentions with regard to another day, they all departed. had they remained i should have attacked them, presently; and they would have run like sheep! wolves, as i have already remarked, are dreadful cowards. i shall scarcely be believed, perhaps, but it is a positive fact, that i have seen three of them sitting in the snow around a dying man who was unarmed and perfectly helpless, waiting until he should have breathed his last breath before they dared pounce upon him. i came upon the party accidentally. the man had lost himself in the snow and was slowly dying of fatigue and cold and hunger. it was rather amusing, for it must have been a considerable trial to him to have those wolves sitting there, and to know that they did but await his death or stupor. now, i had no great desire to eat that man: i don't care much for tough, grown-up humans; but i gave him a touch sufficient to knock the breath out of his body, and ate him all the same. i always take the opportunity to pay off old scores; and here was a double one. however, taking one thing with another, i am really not quite sure that i do not dislike wolves even more than men: i certainly despise them more. a man will, as a rule, stand up to an enemy, even to a superior creature like myself; whereas a wolf will never fight until he is wounded so badly that he cannot run away. since my little adventure with the pack of wolves i have never felt the slightest vestige of respect for their class. i cannot forget the sickening spectacle of those cowardly humbugs jumping up around the tree in which i sat, as though they were anxious to get at me--bah! now i am going to tell of the most terrible adventure i ever met with, and one which very nearly proved the last experience for me this side of the grave. it was autumn--the autumn of the year before last. i had had a splendid season: the crops had been good all over my district, which is a pretty large one. oats, rye, wheat, and buckwheat were to be had in any quantity and no one to eat them excepting myself and of course, those thieves the humans who invariably dispute possession with me, and hasten to cut down any field of ripe grain which i have claimed as my own by virtue of having the first feed off it. well, i was as fat and strong as i had ever been, stronger; and i felt gloriously well--ready for anything. i had enjoyed my usual sumptuous breakfast, and was now indulging in a siesta within a dense portion of the forest which lay at a distance of about three miles from one of my villages. i was lying in a charming spot. pines rustled above my head, peopled with tree partridges and fieldfares. beautiful purple bilberries grew around me in profusion, and heather too; and close at hand was a small pool of water at the foot of a tree. there was always water in this spot in the driest season. if none appeared on the surface, all i had to do was to tread the moss for a minute or two and i soon had the cool liquid flowing about my feet. it was a hot day, one of the last we should see, for this was what, vainka says, the humans call "old woman's summer," which comes after the real summer and lasts but a few days. perhaps i was asleep: i may have been taking forty winks, for about this time we bears begin to do a trifle of yawning and napping at odd moments, in preparation for the winter function; but suddenly a truly awe-inspiring noise startled the delicious silence of the forest and brought me out of the land of dreams and upon my feet in a moment. the noise was produced by humans or devils, that much was certain. i could recognise human voices; but there were strange sounds besides, like rattles and gongs and bell-ringings, which seemed to come from all sides at once. i stood still, irresolute, for upon my word i did not know what to do. had the humans organised a chase after me? impossible, for they could not know my whereabouts without snow to show them my tracks. what could it all mean? i quickly concluded that whatever might be the object of these humans in making so barbarous a din, that object was at all events not my destruction, or capture; there was no thought of me in the matter. presently the dreaded sound of exploding fire-sticks reached my ears. i am not ashamed to confess that this particular noise always causes me to lose my head for awhile. before it rang out i had already determined to remain quietly hidden where i then was and allow the storm to go by; but at the banging of the guns my deliberate resolves--together with my good sense and my presence of mind--were, for the time, cast to the four winds. i jumped up and careered wildly from end to end of the wood. this gradually sobered me, and at the same time i discovered in which precise direction the real danger lay. there were shouts and din from three sides, while from the fourth side came no sound at all, excepting the occasional bang of a gun. it therefore became clear to me that this was a deliberate attempt to so frighten any animals which might be within the limits of the four sides which were lined by everybody's enemy, man, as to cause them to run towards the only side where safety appeared to lie, and which was in effect the only dangerous quarter. this plan must of a surety have been the invention of the devil, who is, of course, a man, for it is full of the most diabolical cunning. it was pitiful to see numbers of silly hares and even a red fox--who certainly ought to have known better!--rushing past me to their destruction. no sooner did a hare run by towards the corner whence no shoutings came, than, a moment later, i would hear the bang of a gun and i knew that the poor innocent creature had been done to death by a concealed human. birds flew over my head--i do not know their names, for we do not associate with birds excepting in so far as to pull one off its nest now and again, about luncheon time; but there were birds of all sizes; and each one, as it reached the concealed lane of armed humanity, was greeted with an explosion and fell dead: it was always the same story--blood, blood, blood; the arch-enemy man was there to kill anything he could lay hands upon. meanwhile, my position became uncomfortable; for i soon discovered that the shouting creatures were fast approaching me, closing in their circle; still, no one had any idea, as yet, that i was in the ring. i determined to convey the knowledge of my presence with some emphasis, but to keep out of reach of the accursed fire-sticks. so i crept through the thickest of the brushwood in the direction of the shouts. as i came nearer i perceived that the noise proceeded from a line of men--peasants, women, and even children, which last were furnished with rattles and drums and small trumpets. these were stationed about twenty paces apart one from another, and i saw at once that by rushing between two of these i should easily escape. i felt that such a proceeding was altogether beneath my dignity; but then i hate a scene and publicity of any sort, and i did not wish to become the centre of a shouting, swearing (for these humans occasionally demean themselves by using very disgraceful language), and perhaps hatchet-wielding mob, with the possibility of a fire ball into the bargain. so i waited until the peasants approached my ambush, and then selected the pair between which i should make my rush. i chose a quiet-looking old she-human and a small boy who was making the most terrible noise with a tin trumpet. now all these creatures had been making noise enough, in all conscience, before; but when i suddenly showed my somewhat bulky person in their midst the noise instantly became doubly, nay, ten times as loud as it was before, each creature shrieking out my name with imprecations and personalities of every kind, in execrable taste. well, the din and the abuse and all aggravated me to such an extent that i did a very foolish thing: i lost my temper, as we bears are rather too apt to do, and hurled myself at the boy nearest me. just as i caught and crunched him, the stupid old woman next to him, who turned out to be his mother, flung herself at me and, by beating me with a stick she carried, endeavoured to force me to drop the child, whom i suppose she required for some purpose of her own. her stupidity and the coarseness of her language enraged me still more, and--giving the cub a last scrunch (i heard his bones go!)--i rushed at his idiotic parent and mauled her nicely. but by this time half a hundred of the yelling creatures had surrounded me and were punching at me with every kind of stick, throwing tin cans and rattles at me, and doing everything they could to induce me to let go of the old woman--though what they could want with an old creature like that i cannot imagine! but my blood was up, and i preferred to have my will with her first; so i tore and crunched her until she ceased to scold and swear, and lay as still as the boy; then i looked around and paused, for i began to think i had better be making off into the thick cover: i had had enough of the din and publicity. but just at this moment something happened to me. i did not realise at first what it was, but i know now. in a word, i suddenly fell head over heels, my legs giving way under me for no apparent reason. but as i raised myself i became aware of a slight pain in the thick part of my hind leg, which increased and seemed to numb my limb. looking over my shoulder i saw the cause of this: a man stood near with a smoking fire-stick in his hand: i had been shot. oh! if i could have got at that human, how i should have crunched his bones and gripped his throat with my strong teeth till the life went out of him! i rose to my full height as i came near and threw myself upon him. at the same moment there was a crash from his fire-stick, i staggered forward towards him and fell again; my strength was failing--i must fly for the time, and hide myself while i had the power--quick!--was i wounded to death, like mother, i wondered, as i stepped blindly away. i knew not whither my steps were tending; i was but half conscious--still i rushed madly forwards--the pain was excruciating; there was another place that hurt me, one of my shoulders, besides my leg,--on and on i fled; the shouts were far away behind me now and the cover was thick--now the sounds had died away altogether; a little farther and i might lie down and rest--but oh! the pain--it was maddening. then, through my dimming eyes i perceived a pool of water in mid-forest, and staggering forward i fell prone into the midst of it, and for some little while remembered no more. when i became conscious i was still lying in the shallow pool, which was red with my blood. but my pain was less; in fact, beyond being exceedingly stiff i did not at this time feel my wounds to any great extent. what i did feel was the most bitter hatred towards human beings and their most accursed weapons, and a consuming desire for revenge upon the tribe. i had always hated man: i hated him tenfold now: i think it was this passion for vengeance which kept me alive through that dreadful time of suffering and privation. i could barely crawl for several weeks, and it was with the greatest difficulty that i managed to obtain sufficient food to support me. ah me! it was a trying time! but for the proximity of a village i know not how i should have lived. the wolves--who were not within a hundred miles--got all the credit, or abuse, for my depredations. i am glad to say that by the end of the autumn season that village was the poorer by two small children--who foolishly went mushroom hunting in the woods one sunday afternoon, and were prevented by "the wolves" from returning home to their tea (an exceedingly welcome contribution, these, to my impoverished larder)--besides sundry dogs and other comestibles which kindly wandered my way at meal times. i have already hinted that at one period of my life i--even i--have fallen, like weaker persons, beneath the spell of the tender passion. now that all this is long since over and done with i cannot help laughing to think how i can have been so foolish as to permit myself to indulge in such feeble frivolity as love. i declare, i hardly like to confess it, but it is nevertheless true that during the time of my bedazzlement, or whatever you like to call it, i was actually in the habit of hunting for the benefit of another and of watching while the object of my adoration consumed provisions which _i_ had found. how completely does one's nature change during the undignified process of befoolment which some member of the opposite and greatly inferior sex--goodness only knows how!--exercises over a creature infinitely her superior! how, at such a time, all that is excellent deteriorates into that which is weak and despicable and unworthy! here was i, perhaps the biggest and bravest of my grand race--ever independent and intolerant of interference--suddenly bewitched into the most slavish, inoffensive, insignificant person that ever disgraced the family of ursidã¦. i am glad to say--indeed, it is a great comfort to me to be able to reflect--that the spell which was cast over me did not enslave me for any great length of time; and i like to think that but for my wounds and the condition of collapse into which they brought me, i might never have fallen so low. ha ha! what a despicable, mean-spirited creature i was, to be sure, at that time. let me explain how it all happened. the day, or two days after my dreadful experience at the hands of the doubly accursed human brute who twice wounded me with his fire-weapon, i lay dozing restlessly beneath a tall pine in the forest. as i reclined, dreaming uncomfortable dreams and conscious all the while of severe pain and of the worse than pain of fevered veins and parched throat, i suddenly became aware of a delicious sensation of relief in the region of one of my wounds. a feeling of soothing rest began to take the place of the racking pain of a few moments before; at the same time i was conscious of a sound close to my ear--a sort of crooning, inarticulate murmur of sympathy which fell very delightfully upon my suffering senses. i scarcely had sufficient energy to open my eyes, but with an effort i did so, and then i beheld a sight which--at that moment of weakness and consequent softness--filled me with an emotion to which i had hitherto been a stranger. stretched upon the earth beside me, softly licking my wound and crooning as she did so, was the most beautiful creature (she certainly was beautiful, i admit that much even now, though i must also admit that i was an abject fool to allow myself to be captivated by mere good looks) that ever eye beheld. her fur was the darkest of browns, and had not a spot or taint of mange to disfigure it. her claws and teeth were perfect--as good as my own, and that is saying not a little! she was large and strong, beyond the size and strength of most persons of her sex. her eyes looked languishing and gentle, but their expression was belied by the formation of her snout, which was slightly upturned--an unfailing indication of ferocity of disposition amongst us ursidã¦. she was, as i have said, licking my wounds; i shall never forget the delicious sensation of peace and ease from pain that her action thus instilled into my being. i did not dare betray the fact that i was awake, lest she should cease to caress me. i felt that i could lie on thus for ever, contentedly, and let her soothe me, if she would, into a sleep that had no end. as a matter of fact she did lull me to sleep, a delicious, long restful sleep from which i awoke, after several hours, a different bear. she had disappeared, when i opened my eyes, and at the first instant i feared that i might have merely dreamed of the beautiful ministering creature; at which thought--so weak and ill was i--i declare i actually whined aloud! but she soon returned, and then, seeing that i was awake, rushed to my side once more, and licked and caressed me with a thousand blandishments.... ah me! well, well; perhaps i should never have recovered at all but for her! i must in justice confess that she helped me very much through the trying time of my illness, and i believe she was very fond of me. i allowed her to share in all the good things that she or i found or caught, and i am bound to say she made very free with the ripe oats in my fields, and enjoyed a good half of every dog and baby that fell to our lot. i am glad to say that i taught her to appreciate (internally) the human race: baby is now (if she is still alive) her favourite dish, and she will go miles to surprise and choke a human of any description; so that, if only for this reason, my period of fooling and softness was not altogether time wasted. we plighted our troth, of course, and were bear and wife for the time being--until nearly hibernating-time, in fact; but before november we had quarrelled and parted. as my health and strength returned i became increasingly conscious of the degradation of my present mode of life. that i should permit any one, even so beautiful a creature as she undoubtedly was, to feed in my pastures and treat me as an equal, was a standing disgrace to my bearhood, and i felt that this shocking condition of things must cease. i had hoped to bring about an understanding with my wife without the use of violence; but when she continued to assert her right to share with me that which was mine after i had pointed out to her that love had had his season and that there was now a distinction between the words _thine_ and _mine_ which during my infatuation i had been unable to discern, why--to my regret--i was obliged to despatch her about her business with, as the saying goes, a flea in her ear! she made a good fight of it--ha ha! i declare, i never loved her so well as that day! never shall i forget the ugly look in her eyes and the wicked curl of her turn-up snout as she limped away from the field of battle. she certainly looked about as deliciously ferocious as i ever saw a member of our somewhat quick-tempered family, and as for her language--oh! dear me--it was enough to cause a blight, and i was quite glad that it was not the season for such a disaster. thus ended my one and only experience of the inglorious delights of love: it was quite enough for me! well, my narrative is drawing to a close now. i have had many adventures, sufficient to keep my tongue employed for many a long day, if i were to tell them all; but i think i really must, before finishing my autobiography, relate one little incident which has kept me in merriment for months: indeed, however low my spirits may fall at any time, it is sufficient for me to recall this little episode and i feel at once that life is, after all, worth living in spite of its ups and downs, which would just about balance one another but for the occasional gleams of mirth which shine in upon our dreary existence and enable the balance, on the whole, to kick the beam on the up side. this is how it happened. i was wandering about the woods one night in april, shortly after my winter sleep. i was more than hungry, i was ravenous. consequently, when my nostrils were suddenly assailed by the delicious odour of what i quickly recognised as dead horse, i felt that i had wandered for once into luck's way. there is something very soothing about horse when one is famished, and i made such a meal that night as i have seldom eaten before or since. towards morning i left the banqueting-place resolved to revisit it on the following night. now comes the fun. sauntering merrily along next evening i had approached within a short distance of my feasting-ground, quite ready--in spite of yesterday's somewhat generous repast--to repeat the delightful experience, when my faithful nostrils apprised me of the presence of an enemy. besides the strong--very strong--smell of dead horse, there was another scent in the air, that of a human being. fifty yards or so from me lay the remains of the horse: i could just make out its outlines in the darkness; but peer about as i would i could not discern the presence of a man. however, i always prefer to trust to my nose rather than to my eyes, and therefore, convinced that a human being either had been, recently, on the spot or was even now present within a short distance of me, i decided to keep very quiet and listen and watch. i may explain that i was well concealed from the sight of any human, supposing that one of these creatures should be busy over my supper. i had not thought that raw horse was an article much valued by men as a delicacy--indeed, my dear brother once told me that his "master" never ate any flesh which had not been previously _burned_ (disgusting idea!)--but it was likely enough that the greedy and ill-natured creatures would be glad enough to eat anything whatever if by doing so they successfully deprived a fellow-creature of the food. how long i lay and waited thus i cannot say, but it was a weary time and i grew very tired of it, and, naturally enough, horribly hungry and proportionately wrathful. yet the longer i waited the more certain i became not only that a human had been about the place but that he was actually there now. my ursidine readers will perhaps wonder--knowing by this time something of my character and sentiments towards the human race--that i did not stake all upon an attack. to such i would reply that i am no fool even in my moments of blind but righteous ferocity, and this human might be armed with a fire-stick. besides, i could not detect the sound of eating: what then could he be about? men have no sense of smell, therefore he could not be aware that i was near at hand: he was, clearly, not on the look-out for me. if not on the look-out for me he might possibly be without his fire-stick--grand bruin! if so--well, to say "a man without his fire-stick" is another way of saying "a meal": i should have two courses for my supper to-night--man with horse to follow--glorious! the idea revived me and caused my hunger to grow so keen that i could no longer resist running the risk of approaching, cautiously, a little closer in order to have a good survey around. so i crept noiselessly towards the open space where lay my last night's repast and commenced to peer about; but strain my eyes as i would i could see nothing. suddenly a soft sound broke the silence. it was like a grunt, or a deep breath; i remembered that i had heard a young peasant whom i found asleep under a tree (and subsequently ate) make a similar sound. could the human be asleep? the noise appeared to proceed from among the pine boughs over my head, and i now peered about with redoubled diligence in the direction whence it came. after a while, i saw him--at least i saw a dark and motionless mass up in the branches of a tree some twenty paces away. now what in the name of all that is wonderful did the creature mean by choosing such a place to pass the night in? i had seen a man in a tree before this (i have chased many a one up--they always forget that i can follow!), but i never yet saw a human fast asleep among the branches. then, of a sudden, the true explanation of the mystery occurred to me. this creature had placed the dead horse where i had found it with the deliberate intention of using it as a bait to attract me. having thus, as it were, invited me to supper, he intended to lie in wait for me and basely slay me from his ambush up in the tree as i feasted below. oh! the vile, human, petty meanness of the device; the hideous perfidy to be enacted under the mask of hospitality--bah! it sickens me to think of it. however, it appeared that the tables were about to be turned upon my friend. i was not long making up my mind as to a plan of attack; he had his fire-stick with him, of course, so i must be careful. he was grunting away merrily, and as fast asleep as though it were mid-winter, and the tree his _berloga_! well, i crept cautiously along until i reached the foot of his pine tree: i could see him plainly now sitting up in the fork of the lowest branches; his head was sunk forward on his chest and he held his fire-weapon in one hand, one end of it resting against his foot--ha, ha! i can see him now, fool that he was--dreaming there in a fool's paradise: he little knew whom he had to deal with, or he would have remained wide enough awake, i warrant him! then i commenced to climb very carefully and silently. but, cautious as i was, i suppose i must have made some sound, for when i was within a foot or two of his perch, the human suddenly awoke with a start, and stared out into the open space where the dead horse lay. even then he did not see me. it was a critical moment. just then he lowered his foot--i suppose it was stiff and required stretching. luckily for me it came close to my paw and i clutched at it. in doing so i lost my hold of the tree trunk, without, however, letting go of the human creature's foot. never in all my life did i hear anything so piercing as the yell that human gave as he and i fell to the earth together. to make matters still more startling the fire-stick spat out its fire at the same moment, dropping out of his hand as it did so. the flame did not touch me, luckily, though for a moment i was deafened and scared, as well as blinded, by the discharge. i am proud to say, however, that i did not loose my grip, and as we touched the earth together, i was upon him, and squeezing his deceitful, perfidious life out of his body before he well knew what had happened. oh! it was glorious! to think that a crafty human being should have taken the trouble to cater for me, lie in wait for me--gun and all--actually beguile me within easy range of his fire-spitter, and then fall asleep as i lay absolutely at his mercy there--well, it was too rich for words! my supper that night was superlative--two courses--for even man tastes delicious when stolen, so to say, in this manner! upon my word i find it difficult to say which was the more delicious; the only drawback to it was that i could positively scarcely eat for laughing. well, well; i laid the rest of the sleepy individual beside the remains of the horse which he had provided for my entertainment, intending to finish him on the morrow; but, unfortunately, his friends found him, and carried him away--i cannot say what they wanted him for: i only hope he was not wasted; and so ended the very merriest adventure i ever experienced. it has proved an unfailing source of mirth to me from that day to this, and i am exceedingly grateful to the sportsman who so obligingly fell asleep and furnished me with an unexpected second course, instead of, as he had anticipated, procuring for himself a valuable bear-skin; for--shall i be believed?--these insolent creatures, if by perfidy or stratagem they manage to do one of us to death, actually presume to wear our fur over their own unworthy carcases, being entirely without any natural covering to protect them from the cold. but there! i must not allow my tongue to wag any longer; i am getting old, i suppose, and garrulous, but i do love to fight over again those countless battles with my enemies, which have made of me the far-renowned champion that i am. up to now my teeth are as sharp, my arms as powerful, and my heart as sound as in the days of my youth; but there will come a time, i suppose, when teeth and claws will become blunt, and sight dim; when a grouse rising suddenly from the thicket will startle me, and a hare crossing my path will make my heart to beat--ah, well! when that time arrives, may the end come soon, for i could never bear to support a feeble existence! when i feel that i am no longer a match for my enemies, i am determined what to do: i shall seek out a human who is armed. with his fire-stick he shall free my soul from my body; but with my last strength i shall grip his throat and tear his life from him, so that our two souls shall journey together to those happy hunting-grounds where _we_ are to handle the fire-weapon, and the men to do the running: i shall like to have a human soul handy to start upon as soon as i arrive in those blessed regions; and oh! if i happen to meet my dear mother, how she will enjoy taking a share in the hunt! however, i am all right here for the present, and life is pleasant enough while one's teeth are sharp! chapter vii the folk-lore of the moujik the russian peasant, or moujik, is an individual who has never received his fair share of respect and admiration from us in this country. we know all about his faults: his laziness, his drunkenness, his uncleanliness, his superstition, his persistent wanderings from the narrow ways of truth and honesty; but few of us are prepared to concede to him certain excellent qualities which he undoubtedly possesses: strong religious feeling, unquestioning obedience towards those in authority over him, filial love and reverence towards his father, the tsar, devotion to his country, reverence for age, the most pious veneration for the memory of his fathers; patience, docility, courage, strangely developed humour, hospitality, and a host of virtues and lovable qualities which only those who know him intimately are able to detect and appreciate. in the matter of their belief in and dealings with those beings with which they have peopled the spiritual world, the slavs are probably the most superstitious of all the european families, or at least they have clung with more pertinacity than any of their neighbours to the old-world traditions and beliefs which were the common property, centuries ago, of all. during these centuries the church, hand-in-hand with education and civilisation, has done its best to stamp out and destroy the innumerable relics of purely pagan and christianised pagan traditions which abound in the country; but neither priest nor schoolmaster, nor yet the common-sense of the community, have made much appreciable headway against the ineradicable superstition of the russian moujik:--and the air, the forests, the waters, the very houses are as full of their spiritual inhabitants to-day as they ever were in the days when men looked to the elements and the forces of nature for the gods whom they must worship, and before whose irresistible power they realised their own insignificance. when st. vladimir, in the zeal of his recent conversion to christianity, cast into the waters of the dnieper at kief the huge wooden, silver-headed, golden-bearded idol of perun the thunderer, and in baptizing his twelve sons set an example which was quickly followed by the rest of the population of his grand duchy, he was very far from convincing his people that thunderings in the future were to be regarded as merely impersonal manifestations of the forces of nature. it might not be perun who thundered, they argued--and since perun had gone to the bottom of the dnieper this was probably the case--but if it were not perun it clearly must be some one else, for the thunder could not roar by itself! elijah fitted into the gap very neatly. did not the church teach that elijah the prophet went up in a chariot to heaven? the thundering then was undoubtedly the rumbling of elijah's chariot-wheels, and that, to this day, is the explanation which any russian peasant will give if asked to account for the noise of the thunder. this is one of many examples of the manner in which pagan beliefs have survived in christianised forms. in certain parts of russia, however, even the name of perun or perkun is still preserved in connection with the roar of the thunder. when the familiar rumbling and crashing noise is heard overhead, the peasants in some of the baltic provinces still remark, "there is perun thundering again!" hand-in-hand with the worship, in russian pagan days, of the elements and the forces of nature, went the adoration of the dead; and while perun and his fellow deities of that age have practically become extinct, or have been christianised out of all recognition, the superstitious regard of the russian peasant for the spirits of his departed ancestors has withstood the attacks of time as well as the teachings of christianity, and is as marked now in some of the remoter districts of the empire as it ever was in the days of heathenism. sometimes it is actually the spirits of the _rodã­tyelui_, or forefathers, themselves, who are cherished and invoked by the peasants; sometimes the _rodã­tyelui_ have become merged in the personality of the _domovoy_, or house-spirit, of whom i shall presently have much to say. it is a comparatively common belief that the soul, after leaving the body, remains for a period of six weeks about the house, or at all events in the neighbourhood of its old home, watching the mourning of its relatives, and seeing that its memory is receiving at their hands fitting veneration. during the time that the body remains in the house the soul sits upon the upper portion of the coffin. as it has a long journey to perform before reaching its final home, money is frequently placed in the coffin in order that the departed spirit may be enabled to defray possible charges for being ferried across rivers and seas; food is also provided, to sustain the _rodã­tyel_ upon his way, together with small ladders made of dough, in seven rungs, for scaling the seven heavens. in case the steep should be slippery and difficult to climb, the parings from the nails of the dead man, if these should have been cut shortly before death, are placed close to the folded hands--the talons of some bird of prey being occasionally added, in order to render the business of climbing as easy as possible to the traveller. the coffin itself is sometimes made in the shape of a boat, in order that if charon or his representative should refuse to convey the traveller across the dark river, or should charge an exorbitant price for so doing, the latter may be independent of the services of the ferryman. all these ancient customs are observed in the letter in many of the remoter villages throughout the empire; but it is doubtful whether the significance of the observances is realised by the peasants who thus perpetuate the ancient traditional customs of their forefathers, as handed down to them, probably, without explanation. it is certain that the belief is very general that numbers of _rodã­tyelui_, _i.e._, the spirits of the fathers of the family, still reside in and watch over the establishments of their posterity not yet quit of the infirmities of the flesh. these spirits are supposed to have their abode in the wall behind the _ikon_, and food for their use is occasionally placed on certain days close to the holy picture. the spirits may, very rarely, be seen in the form of a fly, sipping sugar-water or honey from a plate; or in the guise of a sparrow or other small bird, gobbling up crumbs upon the window-sill. in the case of a witch, the soul may occasionally take an airing during the lifetime of the hag, choosing the time when the latter is asleep to assume the form of a moth, which issues from the mouth of the witch and flutters about the room. this offers an excellent opportunity to get rid of the _vyedma_ altogether. to this end all that has to be done is to conceal the mouth of the hag, so that the moth, when it returns to the body, cannot find its way home again. repulsed in this fashion, the moth-soul easily becomes discouraged, and giving up the idea of returning to its prison-house, flies out of the window and disappears, and the witch is no more. it should be mentioned with regard to the _rodã­tyelui_ who live behind the _ikon_, that when the time approaches for a member of the family to be gathered to his fathers the spirits gently tap-tap within the wall, as a signal to the living members of the household that it is necessary for one of them to come and join his friends behind the _ikon_. this is, of course, the "death-watch," as we know it: and the wonder is that the entire household does not succumb to the terror which must be caused to a family in which the little tapping creature responsible for these summonses to the next world may have taken up its abode. as for the _domovoy_, or house-spirit, it seems uncertain whether this strongly marked individuality is the embodiment, in one person, of the entire company of the _rodã­tyelui_, or a separate and distinct personality. he is named, together with the spirits of the air, water, and forests, as one of those who accompanied the evil one on the expulsion of the latter from heaven, and as such he would appear to be a distinct individual. but, on the other hand, there exist certain ceremonies in connection with the _domovoy_, and to which i shall refer again later on, which seem to associate him with the spirits of the departed. however this may be, it is quite certain that the _domovoy_ is a recognised and permanent inhabitant of every peasant household throughout russia, and it is doubtful whether there exists from end to end of the realm a single such household which would venture to express a doubt of his personal existence among them. nevertheless, he is rarely seen, though his appearance is accurately known according to the particular notions with regard to that appearance as held in the different portions of the empire. in these he is variously described as a tiny old man--he is always a man, not a woman, and always old--no larger than a five-year-old child; as very tall and large; as having long hair; as hairy all over, even to the palms of his hands and the soles of his feet; and as having the extremely disagreeable habit of passing his hands over the faces of sleepers. if his touch is soft and warm all will go well for some time with the establishment over which he presides; but if, on the contrary, his hand is cold, like ice, and rough to the touch, then woe will betide the sleeper or his household in the near future. the _domovoy_ lives within the _pechka_, or stove, and is, when properly treated, benignantly disposed towards the members of his own particular family, protecting these from all harm and from the evil machinations of the neighbours, with whose _domovoys_ he is always at enmity, quarrels between himself and these latter being of very frequent occurrence, and resulting in great damage to the crockery and other wreckable property of both establishments. the natural consequence of this rivalry between the guardian spirits of neighbouring families is that the reputation of the _domovoy_ outside his own family circle is always very bad; for only one's own _domovoy_ is admittedly a benevolent spirit, every one else's is a demon. thus the _domovoy_ presents the unusual spectacle of a being who is an angel at home and a devil out of doors, in direct contradistinction to members of the human race, who are, as i have been informed, frequently angelic in the presence of strangers, though quite "the other thing" at home. but in spite of this zeal on behalf of his own folks--zeal which so sadly often gets him into trouble with the neighbours--the _domovoy_ must be kept in good humour by the members of his own family, or he is liable to show in whose company he was obliged to hurriedly leave the realms of light, which are asserted to have been his original habitation--in other words, he may become mischievous and troublesome even at home. at such times he will take to throwing the furniture about during the night, breaking the crockery, ill-treating the domestic pets, and so on. under these circumstances it is best to be bold and upbraid the invisible offender loudly, when he will generally recognise the error of his ways, and desist, on the following night, from throwing the dog and the tea-cups about: he is generous enough to cherish no malice or ill-will against those who have thus been courageous enough to remonstrate with him, which proves that the _domovoy_, in spite of his antecedents, is more or less in a state of grace. the tastes and peculiarities of the _domovoy_ may with advantage be studied by those desirous of ingratiating themselves with him. especially in the matter of the colouring of his surroundings it is easy and well worth while to study his idiosyncrasies, and to carry out his ideas in this respect by adapting the hue of the feathered and furred animals about the establishment to his known tastes in that direction. the way to find out the favourite colour of the _domovoy_ is so very simple that it would be almost an insult to the guardian spirit to neglect to pay him this little compliment. all that need be done is to hang a small piece of meat by a string to a nail and to leave it (well out of range of the family nose, let us hope), for a month. at the expiration of that period it will be found to be covered with maggots, and the colour of these maggots is the favourite tint of the _domovoy_. if the cows and the horses, the cocks and the hens, are not of the particular colour indicated by the above test, they had better be sold at once, and others bought which correspond with the ideas of the _domovoy_ in this respect. the ceremony to be performed by a peasant family removing from one house to another is full of significance, and is, or was, universally recognised as a most important function. in this ceremony there seems to occur that confusion between the _domovoy_ and the spirits of the departed to which i have already made allusion in the course of this chapter. the whole function centres in the stove, or rather in the embers burning within it. when the family have packed up and are ready to go, the old grandmother, if there be one, or the oldest woman of the establishment, carefully rakes up the red-hot embers still glowing within the stove at the moment of departure, depositing these in a pan which is then quickly covered up. that these embers are supposed to be in some way connected with the spirits of the departed is evident, because the tradition specially enjoins that the greatest care must be observed lest any of them slip through the aperture and into the grate; for if this calamity should happen, it would signify that certain of the _rodã­tyelui_ had slipped through the barrier and fallen into the fires of hell. when the whole of the glowing coals have been raked out and collected, the old woman carries the pan across to the new house, chanting over and over again as she goes, the words, "welcome, little grandsire, to the new home." arrived at the house, the old woman knocks three times upon the wall, and is admitted. the whole family have assembled meanwhile and are ready to greet the old woman and her pan and embers. "welcome, little grandsire, to the new home" is the cry, repeated over and over again, while the embers are taken out one by one, and placed, still alight, within the new stove. thus the _rodã­tyelui_ perform their "flitting," after which they are as much at home in the new abode as they were in the old haunts. i should mention, before leaving the subject, that previously to the occupation of a new house, a cock and hen are let loose in the living room, which is not entered until after the cock has crowed. no evil spirit can bear to hear a cock crow, and the rite is doubtless performed with a view to ridding the house of any evil spirits which may have previously taken possession of the edifice. _domovoys_ do not object to the crowing of cocks--another proof that the _domovoy_ is in a state of grace. holy church has stepped in and substituted for the ceremonies which i have just described, special services for those about to occupy new premises, and these christian functions now largely take the place of the pagan rites; but the change of ceremony has not dethroned either the _domovoy_ or the _rodã­tyelui_, who still reign, and will doubtless reign for the next thousand years, over the imagination of ivan ivanovitch, as the personal and permanent and undoubted guests and guardians of his establishment. there is a special _domovoy_ in charge of the bath-house which forms a feature in every russian village. this _domovoy_ has a strong objection to the villagers bathing themselves late at night, specially if they do so without having first prayed aloud. it is not very clear what form his displeasure takes when his wishes in this connection are disregarded; but it is known that he dislikes the practice of late bathing. probably it keeps him up. however, if the moujik be impious enough to disregard his objections and to take a bath at an unseasonable hour of the night, when all good moujiks, and _banniks_ also, should be asleep, a can of warm water and a birch-rod-swisher should be left by the untimely "ablutioner" in propitiation of the _bannik_ (who is the _domovoy_ of the bath-house) thus kept from his rest by the thoughtless and unselfish conduct of the former. whether the _bannik_ ever utilises the opportunity thus offered him of enjoying a comfortable scrub, tradition does not say. if the bath _domovoy_ is a good russian, and has imbibed anything of the nature of the moujik during his long connection with that unsavoury member of society, probably he does _not_ use the warm water and the swish; for he will not wash himself unless he is forced to do so by circumstances over which he has no control, such as popular opinion, or the customs or the bye-laws of the village in which he has his habitation. i have already mentioned that when the prince of the spirits of evil descended from the abode of light and took up his dwelling in the realms of darkness, which are his habitation to this very hour, there accompanied him certain other spirits, inferiors and followers. among these, according to slavonic folk-lore, were the _vodyã¡nnuie_, or water-spirits; the _vozdãºshnuie_, or spirits of the air; and the _liã©shuie_, or wood-demons. there were many others in his train--such as the _karliki_, or gnomes--beings of little or no interest in the everyday life of the peasant because they rarely interfere in human affairs, if they can avoid it, and have no special connection with humanity; whereas the _domovuie_, as i have shown, and the water and wood spirits, as i intend now to describe, are constantly in contact with members of our race, either for good or for evil. many of the followers of the chief demon accompanied their leader into his new home and there remain with him to this day; but it will be better to leave these bad characters where they are, and to concern ourselves solely with those whom common interests have brought into connection with our race. the spirits which i have named did indeed accompany their former leader as far as the portals of his new realm, the nether regions; but they did not actually enter its confines, or if they did do so, did not stay longer than just so much time as was required to arrive at the conclusion that the atmosphere of the place was not such as to suit their private ideas of comfort--which did not take them long--after which they quickly turned their backs upon the front gates and made off as rapidly as possible; the _liã©shuie_ hiding themselves in the forests, the _karliki_ burying themselves in the earth, while the _vozdãºshnuie_ remained in the cool air--finding it refreshing after the heated atmosphere to which they had been lately introduced; and the _vodyã¡nnuie_, who had perhaps stayed a moment or two longer beside their chief, or who were possibly more sensitive to the discomfort of a warm temperature, plunged headlong into the water in order to cool their parched frames, and have remained in the pleasant depths ever since--taking over the management of all springs and rivers and pools upon the surface of the dry land. these same _vodyã¡nnuie_ are a tricky race of beings and require much propitiation at the hands of millers, fishermen, and others who have dealings with them or with the waters within their jurisdiction. millers, especially, require to be careful to keep in touch with the _vodyã¡nnuie_; for each mill-race possesses its own particular water-spirit, and the miller will have no luck, and deserve none, if he does not cast into the race at least one black pig per annum as a gift to the spirit which has its habitation in his waters. the ordinary annual offering to the water-spirits is, however, a horse, whose legs have been previously tied together with red ribbons, and who has been smeared for the sacrifice with honey. a heavy stone is attached to the unfortunate animal's neck and he is thrown into a deep pool. the _vodyã¡nnuie_, who have in all probability shown their displeasure for some time before the sacrifice by causing the river to overflow its banks, or the ice to carry away the bridge, having now received their rights as by custom established, at once settle down in peace and quietness for a whole year. but they are, as i have said, a tricky lot, and they must not be depended upon by bathers, or by peasants who would fain cool their horses' heated flanks in the deep pool after a hard day of work in the fields. the _vodyã¡nnui_ of the place may be of a malicious disposition, and though everything may have been done in order to secure his benevolent neutrality towards bathers, yet he is just as likely as not to pull down by the leg his very warmest admirer, or the horse of his most sincere follower. here, again, the church, anxious to substitute for the pagan observances which i have mentioned in connection with the _vodyã¡nnuie_ her own orthodox functions, has ordained for the use of the faithful solemn services for the "blessing of the waters." these services are now performed twice each year all over russia, and have largely ousted the ancient rites and sacrifices which were considered necessary in honour, or in propitiation of the water-spirits; but though the sacrificial observances are discontinued, the belief in the existence of the _vodyã¡nnuie_, as active and malevolent beings whose dwelling-place is in the pools and streams, still retains its hold upon the minds of the people with much of its ancient intensity. before quitting the subject of water-spirits, i should mention that the nymphs and mermaids of our own and universal folk-lore are represented in that of the slavs by beings known as _rusalki_, an entirely distinct species from the surly and malicious _vodyã¡nnuie_. the latter are of the male sex, while the _rusalki_ are all females, and frequently very beautiful. they employ their good looks unfortunately to the ruin of our race, too frequently luring young men to their doom, by enticing them into the deep waters and there either tickling them to death or else drowning them; for the _rusalki_ are of a mischievous and frivolous nature and have very little good feeling about them. many of the _rusalki_ are supposed to be the spirits of stillborn or of unbaptized children, or of women who have committed suicide or who have been for some other reason deprived of the privilege of christian burial. when a child dies unbaptized, its spirit is said to wander through the world for seven years, longing and entreating to be baptized. if any person sufficiently pure in spirit to discern the pleading soul-voice has the presence of mind, on hearing it, to pronounce the words, "i baptize thee in the name of the father, the son, and the holy ghost," then the forlorn soul is satisfied and flits away to paradise; but if the seven years go by and the soul remains unbaptized, it becomes a _rusalka_. annual prayers are offered in russian churches for the unbaptized, and if the wandering spirit is fortunate enough to be close at hand and to overhear the words of the priest during one of these services, its object is attained: it is considered to have come within actual range of the working of the baptismal rite, and paradise is won for that soul. there are some who believe that the spirits of the unbaptized, in their wanderings through the world, assume the form of a cuckoo; and these make a point for this reason of baptizing every cuckoo they hear, or even of performing the rite in effigy if no living cuckoo should be available. the fishermen of the caspian have a pretty legend with regard to the _rusalki_. they declare that these water-maidens are frequently greatly troubled as to the nature of the future state and their own probable destiny therein. the mermaids, to give them a familiar name, are represented as occasionally appearing at the surface of the water to inquire whether the fishermen can tell them whether the end of the world is still far off? the _rusalki_ vary in size, as do all the spirit forms of russian folk-lore. sometimes they are spoken of as tiny beings floating in the cup of the water-lily; sometimes as huge female forms which haunt the cornfields and steal the grain of the peasants. when caught thus misbehaving themselves the _rusalki_ are punished in effigy, straw figures, representing the robbers, being tossed about by companies of girls, who eventually cast them into the water. when this has been done the cornfield is safe from further plunderings at the hands of the beautiful but dishonest water-maidens. the _vozdãºshnuie_, or spirits of the air, have but little to do with man, their realm being outside his usual "beat." there are no doubt as many spirits dwelling in the air as inhabit the waters, woods, and houses, but until man shall have taken to journeying in balloons or shall have mastered the science of flying, it is probable that he will not be molested to any great extent by this branch of the spirit family. i will therefore pass on to consider the wood-goblins, whom i have left until the last, because, with the sole exception of the _domovoy_, the _liã©shui_ is by far the most important of the spirits who engage in dealings with mankind, as well as the most picturesque. in a country whose woods and forests cover thousands of miles of territory, it is only natural that the spirits whose home is in the fastnesses of those pine-grown regions should play a great part in the imagination of a poetic and superstitious people living beneath the shadow of the pine trees. the _liã©shuie_ are, without doubt, by nature evil spirits, or demons; but, like their brethren of the waters and of the air, they may be propitiated by the observance of certain rites and ceremonies, and by this means rendered friendly or at least neutral towards those who are desirous of living in their good graces--a most necessary condition of existence for those whose flocks and herds wander day-long in the wilds and moors and woodlands of the interior of russia. the _liã©shui_ is, in the estimation of his friend ivan ivanovitch, a shocking bad character. he is generally an old man, very hairy and wild in appearance, as might be expected. he is a terrible drunkard, and is frequently quite incapacitated and helpless after his bacchanalian excesses; on such occasions he is watched over and protected from the assaults of his enemies by his chief friend and henchman, the bear. but not only is he a drunkard, he is equally a slave to another vice, the indulgence of which seems to strike one as unexpectedly sophisticated in a denizen of the forest: he is a gambler and a card-player, speculating to a tremendous extent, and staking all his possessions frequently enough at a single _coup_. when the village _ochotnik_, or sportsman, finds to his annoyance that the hares, the blackcock, or the tree partridges within his district have become so scarce that it is no longer worth his while to tramp the woods after them, the apparently unaccountable circumstance is plain enough to his enlightened intelligence: the _liã©shui_ of the place has gambled them away to his next-door neighbour. the same explanation accounts for the migration of squirrels and birds from one part of the country to another--they are in the act of going over to swell the possessions of the fortunate _liã©shui_ who has won them from their former owner. i should mention, however, that clubs are never used in the packs of cards with which the _liã©shuie_ carry on their games of speculation, since these, to a certain extent, resemble the shape of a cross, an emblem which neither wood-goblins, nor any other evil spirit dares to look upon. but besides these gamblings with one another, and perhaps as the outcome of these very transactions and the ill-feeling and bad blood which operations of this kind so frequently engender, terrific encounters occasionally take place between the rival _liã©shuie_ of a district, when the forest is devastated for hundreds of yards around, the pines lying prone and uprooted in every conceivable position and in every direction, just as though a hurricane of wind had passed by and torn them up, hurling them right and left as it went. many a time have i encountered such a scene of desolation in mid-forest, and have found the greatest difficulty in forcing a way through the chaos formed by this _lom_, as it is called. ignorant as i was in those days of the true origin of these patches of devastation, i used fondly to imagine that the ruin i saw had indeed been wrought by the agency of the tempest, though it was always a puzzle to me to account for the limited sphere in which the whirlwind had conducted its destructive operations; the theory of a wood-goblin duel, of course, satisfactorily accounts for the circumstance. when a _liã©shui_ marries--for he does take to himself a wife in his own good time--his bridal feasts and processions create terrible disorder in the forest; birds and beasts rush frightened and screaming from the neighbourhood, trees are knocked down and strewn about the ground, and the place becomes a pandemonium. it is not very apparent whom this unprincipled goblin finds to marry him. perhaps the erl-king has an unlimited supply of those deceitful daughters of his! the peasants naturally have much to do with the spirits whose habitation is in the forests which surround their dwellings, for their flocks and herds must wander free over the outlying pasture-lands, and if the goblin of the district has not been propitiated, the position of such herds, entirely at the mercy of every marauding wolf or bear, is wretched indeed. when the favour of the _liã©shui_ has been gained over, then neither bear nor wolf will be permitted by that all-powerful sylvan authority to injure cow or horse, let it wander where it will, even within the actual confines of the forest. in these days there is a special church function, known as the "blessing of the herd," for use on the first occasion, in each spring, on which the village cattle are allowed to go forth to pasture, this service being designed to take the place of more ancient ceremonies for the propitiation of the wood-goblins. occasionally a peasant, after a walk in the woods, feels himself indisposed without any apparent reason for his indisposition. when this is the case it may be assumed with practical certainty that he has crossed the path of a _liã©shui_. the sick man must immediately return to the wood, bearing an offering of bread, salt, and a clean napkin. over these goods he must pronounce a prayer, afterwards leaving them behind him for the use of the goblin, and returning to his home, when the sickness will quickly pass from him. if any favour is to be asked of the _liã©shui_, he may be invoked for this purpose by the following process: cut down a number of young birches and place them in a circle, taking care that the tops all converge towards the centre. then stand in the middle, take the cross from your neck--every russian wears this--and pocket it, and call out "grandpapa!" the spirit will instantly appear. there is "another way," as the cookery books would say: go into the wood on st. john's eve and fell a tree, taking care that it falls towards the west. stand on the stump, facing east, and look down at your toes; then invoke the _liã©shui_ thus: "oh! grandfather, come, but not in the form of a grey wolf, nor of a black raven; but come in the shape i myself wear!" whereupon the spirit appears immediately in the form of a human being, and, like a man, prepared to make a bargain, if favours are asked. the _liã©shui_ has quite a strong sense of the great modern principle of _quid pro quo_, and generally gets the best of it in his dealings with mankind. yet another peculiarity of the wood-goblin is his love for startling and frightening those whose business compels them to journey through his domain. he will take up a position among the boughs of a tree under which the traveller must pass, suddenly giving vent, on the approach of the latter, to all manner of terrifying sounds--loud frenzied laughter, barking, neighing, bellowing, howling as of a wolf, anything that will startle or alarm the intruder. undoubtedly the wood-goblin is the cause of a vast amount of trouble to poor ivan ivanovitch; and he is, therefore, far from occupying the snug place which his cousin, the _domovoy_, enjoys in the national imagination. on the other hand, he might be very much worse than he is, and he is undoubtedly, with all his faults and shocking vices, infinitely preferable to that mean and skulking and treacherous relative of his, the _vodyã¡nnui_. chapter viii the bear that died of curses the village folk of spask were a good-natured lot, as most russian villagers are, and old tatiana danilovna was a popular character in the community for many sufficient reasons. in the first place she was a widow with several children, whom she did her best to support without begging, which is in itself a great distinction for any widow in a russian village; and tatiana, her special talents and qualifications apart, had but her late husband's little allotment of land, the portion of one soul (and oh, what a drunken soul was yashka shagin, while still under bondage to the flesh!), wherewith to feed the whole five of her brats. but then, as i have just hinted, tatiana had talents of her own, which enabled her to supplement the meagre income producible from her bit of the communal land, which, but for this fortunate provision of nature in her favour, would have been just about enough to starve upon handsomely. the fact of the matter is, old tatiana was a _znaharka_. if the reader were to look out this word in the dictionary he would probably find the english equivalent given as "a sorceress"; but this is not exactly the meaning of the name, which is derived from the root _zna_, and signifies rather "a woman who knows her way about." this much old tatiana certainly did know, as well as most people, although i am sorry to say that her education in the usual fields of even elementary learning had been entirely overlooked. as _znaharka_ she did a considerable business, however, in all of the following useful departments of that avocation. she gave her blessing to couples about to be married; and bold indeed would that couple have been who presumed to approach the hymeneal altar without having previously insured themselves against the onslaughts of the evil eye by undergoing the ceremony indicated. besides this she did a fairish bit of exorcising, for there were always plenty of evil spirits knocking about near spask, and the priest of the nearest church could not always be got at very conveniently; besides her fee was, naturally, lower than that of his reverence, who could not be expected to come all that distance and bring a large _ikon_ with him into the bargain, for nothing; also, the priest had to be refreshed, while tatiana was frugal to a fault in her habits, and was far too wise a woman to go near the village beer-shop at any time for drinking purposes. she would use the resort as a convenient place for haranguing the assembled souls, indeed, and visited it also occasionally in a benevolent way, to haul some boosing moujik out of the den before he should have drunk his soul out of his body. then, again, tatiana was the _sage femme_ of the district, and ushered into the world every little squalling moujik that was unfortunate enough to be born into this vale of tears and poverty. lastly, for even the tale of tatiana's accomplishments must end somewhere, she was the medico of the place. tatiana did not attempt surgery, but she knew a number of incantations and charms, which, of course, are the same thing without the vivisection. faith and tatiana together effected many a cure in spask; and it is marvellous, when one thinks of it, how very simple a matter will set right our suffering bodies if we only know how to "do the trick." tatiana knew how to do the trick, and had herbs and potent decoctions which were able to remove every disease, unless, indeed, it was god's will that the patient should die, in which case, of course, neither tatiana, nor professor virchow, nor any one else, would have kept the poor creature alive. when providence was willing that the sick person should enjoy a further lease of life, then tatiana and her herbs and her occasional blood-letting were safe things to resort to, as all spask well knew, and were as sure as anything could be to pull the patient through with flying colours. she also dealt in charms for the use of lovers, mothers (or would-be mothers), hunters, farmers, &c.; and could doctor horses and cows and dogs and poultry with wonderful success, always, of course, under the saving clause as to _force majeure_, in the way of interferences from providence. i will merely add that tatiana was dear to all children, whom she regaled with _prianniki_ (biscuits) after a good stroke of business, and that the whole village feared as well as respected the old woman. such being tatiana's position in the community, it is not surprising that the entire population of spask were ready and willing to lend a hand whenever the word went round that the _znaharka_ was about to mow her field of grass, or to dig up her potatoes, or whatever may have been the particular nature of the work to be done upon her bit of land. on the occasion which we have to consider to-day there was hay to be made, and as tatiana's allotment adjoined others upon which a similar work had to be performed, nearly all the "souls," or ratepayers, of the village were present and busy with their scythes, while there was assuredly no single child in the place absent; all were there, tossing tatiana's hay about ("tedding" is the word, i believe), and making themselves more or less useful and entirely happy over the job. the field was a large one, for it comprised the whole of the hay allotments of the souls of the community, about twenty-five in all; hence tatiana's strip, which was but one twenty-fifth of the whole, was soon mown by so large a body of workers, who then passed on to the next strip, and thence to a third and a fourth, until all was mown. the field lay close up to the very edge of the pine forest, tatiana's strip being actually the nearest to the wood, so that, as the work went on, the whole body of workers gradually drew further and further from the cover, until towards evening the busy, noisy crowd were at quite a considerable distance from the spot at the edge of the forest where work had commenced in early morning. on such occasions as mowing day at spask there is no question of returning to the village during working hours; for once in a way ivan ivanich sticks to business, and meals, as well as any little refreshers of a liquid nature, are partaken of upon the spot; hunks of black bread tied up in red handkerchiefs, salted herrings in grimy bits of newspaper, and _kvass_, in dirty-looking bottles, forming the principal items of the food and drink brought by the moujiks to be consumed upon the ground. _kvass_ is a drink to which i should recommend every reader to give a very wide berth, for it is without exception the nastiest decoction that ever the perverted ingenuity of mankind invented, and is calculated to nauseate the toughest british palate to such an extent that the said britisher will flee the country rather than taste the noxious stuff a second time. on this occasion there was quite an array of red handkerchiefs left at the edge of the field, together with sundry loose hunks of black bread and other comestibles, and half-a-dozen tiny children of a non-perambulating age, which latter had been brought to the field by their mothers for the excellent reason that there was no one left in the village to look after them, and were now peacefully sleeping, like so many little bundles of rags, each under the tree selected by its parent for the office of shade-giver. assuredly not one of the red-shirted souls so busily wielding their scythes, or of the gaily-kerchiefed women tossing and drying the grass, ever bethought herself of the possibility of danger to the little ones thus left a hundred or so of yards away: for who would hurt them? there were no gipsies to carry them away, or brigands--they had never heard of such gentry; it was perfectly safe, and nobody bothered his head about the babies. therefore it came as a terrible shock to every person present when of a sudden some one raised the cry: "medvyed, medvyed!" (a bear, a bear!) there was no mistake about it, it was indeed a bear, and a big one, too--"the tsar of the bears," as a moujik expressed it afterwards. the brute was apparently busy searching among the red handkerchiefs for something to eat, when first seen; but at the general shout or howl of fear and surprise which immediately arose from the whole body of peasants in the field, he raised his nose and deliberately scanned the assembled villagers, showing his teeth and growling unpleasantly. the villagers were too frightened, at first, to either move or utter a sound. the spectacle of a bear in their midst was too unusual in that portion of russia in which spask lay to be other than intensely horrifying. spask did not even boast of an _ochotnik_, or hunter, among its inhabitants; the population, one and all, were as ignorant of the best course to pursue under the circumstances as though the foul fiend himself had suddenly appeared among them, and their tongues, as well as their arms, were absolutely paralysed with amazement and terror. meanwhile the bear, seeing that none seemed anxious to dispute his presence, turned his attention to the red bundles which contained the food whose good smell had probably attracted him, visiting several of these in turn and rolling them about in his attempts to get at their contents. then he visited a bundle which contained a baby. the child was, fortunately, fast asleep; neither did it awake when bruin rolled it over to sniff at it; if it had moved the consequences might perhaps have been fatal. but, as matters turned out, the child slept on, and the bear, satisfied that it was dead, left it. then at length the spirit of the assembled population returned to them, and, as though with one accord, the entire crowd gave vent to a shriek of relief and rage; men began to finger their scythes and women their rakes, and the whole assembly moved a step or two towards the intruder. then bruin began to think that discretion was, perhaps, after all, the better part of valour, and, with a few savage snarls and grunts, he retired into the forest, stepping upon a sleeping baby as he withdrew, and causing the child to wake and scream with pain or fright. then he disappeared among the dark pines, moaning and grunting so as to be heard for a considerable distance. the villagers lost no time in rushing to the assistance of the screaming child, now that danger was over; when it was seen that the baby was quite uninjured, and, further, that the child was a relative and goddaughter of old tatiana, whose bundle of black bread the bear had also honoured with particular attention. these facts amounted, in the minds of the good people of spask, to a coincidence. why had the brute thus chosen out the _znaharka_ for special and deliberate insult? undoubtedly he was an evil spirit, and these acts of hostility on his part directed against the chief local enemy of evil spirits must be regarded as something in the nature of a challenge. tatiana's bread was all eaten or spoiled, and tatiana's godchild still lay screaming, though unhurt, in her mother's arms. there was more in this than appeared on the surface. all eyes were now upon the _znaharka_, for it was evident that something must be said or done under the circumstances; the reputation of the wise woman of the village was, in a way, at stake. tatiana did not disappoint her admirers. she first crossed herself, and then spat; then she fixed her eyes upon the spot where the bear's retreating form had last been seen, and commenced a speech, half a formula of exorcisation and half pure (or rather very impure) abuse, which certainly did the greatest credit both to her inventive faculties and to her knowledge of the intricacies of the russian language as arranged specially for the use of vituperative peasants. if one fractional portion of the old woman's curse had taken effect upon its object, the rest of the days of that bear upon this earth would indeed have been days of blighting and misery both for himself and for those who called him son or cousin or husband; his female relatives especially came under condemnation, and most of all she who had brought him into the world; her fate was to be shocking indeed, so much so that i shrink from entering into the matter in detail for fear of wounding the feelings of my readers, who are not perhaps accustomed to the beauties of the russian peasant's vocabulary, which is exceedingly rich in certain forms of speech. tatiana's curse, however, produced a great effect upon her fellow villagers, who felt that it was all that the occasion demanded, and that they had for the present obtained satisfaction for the insults heaped upon them by the uninvited stranger; the baby was also, presumably, of this opinion, for it now stopped crying, and began to look about it with eyes full of the last few unshed tears, as though it expected to find the corpse of the bear lying somewhere about as the immediate result of tatiana's heroics. after this, the souls, accompanied by their female relatives and the children, returned to the village, where the rest of the evening was spent by the majority of the gentlemen in the refinements of _vodka_-drinking and wrangling at the beer-shop. but, alas! shocking though the curse of tatiana had sounded, and dire as the results ought to have been in the way of utter confusion and annihilation in this world and the next for that bear and all his relations, it soon appeared that somehow or other the malediction had missed its mark. the very next day the creature was seen by a villager who chanced to penetrate somewhat deep into the forest in search of mushrooms; and so far from being any the worse for the liberal cursing it had had, the bear had appeared--so the moujik declared--to be all the better, or rather fiercer for it; it had actually chased him for some little distance, and would have caught him if he had not, most providentially, reached a wide expanse of open ground which the bear had hesitated to cross in daylight. this was serious news, and tatiana was observed that morning, after hearing it, to grow very thoughtful; she made her hay diligently, but silently, exchanging neither word nor salutation with man, woman, or child during the whole of the day. the peasant women eyed the old _znaharka_ with unquiet minds; was this evil spirit destined to prove more mighty than she, and to defy with impunity the very clearly expressed maledictions of their all-powerful _znaharka_? surely not. it would be a bad day for spask if the confidence which the village had so long reposed in the mystic powers of the sagacious tatiana were now to be shaken! this was the very reflection which was disturbing the mind of the _znaharka_ herself, with the corollary that it would be an uncommonly bad thing for her business also. things however, went from bad to worse. far from feeling any ill effects from the curses of tatiana, these seemed to have inspired the offending animal with greater courage and ferocity than had ever hitherto been the portion of mortal bruin. he chased the villagers at every opportunity: he entered the village at night and stole--alas! poor _znaharka_!--tatiana's own dog; he grew bolder day by day, and at last his daring culminated in the pursuit and capture of a poor little child. the unfortunate baby, for she was scarcely more, had strayed beyond the edge of the wood while her people were busy in the hayfield, had been caught, carried away, and eaten. this was the climax. tatiana's reputation was tottering. already several sick persons had presumed to get well without her assistance; another had done an even worse thing, he had ridden over to the neighbouring _selo_, which means the chief of a group of villages, in order to consult the local _feldscher_, an insult to the medical genius of tatiana which had never before been offered to that lady--who, to do her justice, little as she knew about medicine or human bodies and their ailments, nevertheless knew a great deal more than her professional rival upon these subjects, for he was as absolutely ignorant of one as he was of the other. and now tatiana began to feel her influence in the village, and therefore her very livelihood, slipping away, not gradually, but, if i may use the expression, with a run. if something did not happen to re-establish her reputation, and that very soon, both position and emoluments as wise-woman of the district would inevitably go by the board! folks began to eye her askance when they met her; some even openly mocked at her as she passed, delighting to tell her each new tale of the appearance of the demon bear, that thrived on curses; in a word, the position became insupportable. the discredited wise-woman now took to roaming the woods, armed with her sickle, in hopes of meeting and, by some fortunate combination of circumstances in which cursing and cunning and violence were all to play a part, compassing the death of her arch-enemy, the ruiner of her position and prospects, the hated, the accursed, the demoniac bear. strangely enough, tatiana still believed in herself though the rest of the village had learned to doubt her powers, and she was not without hope that a second curse, if personally applied, might yet prove efficacious. all tatiana's wanderings in the forest seemed, however, to be doomed to end in disappointment; the enemy would not show himself, and matters were growing extremely critical when at last one afternoon the unexpected happened. as the old woman was busily employed washing her children's clothes in the river, on chancing to raise her head she espied for the first time since the memorable evening of her first abortive cursing, the very identical object of that curse and of very many others since lavished upon him in the secret recesses of her being--bruin himself. the bear, unaware of her proximity, was standing at the edge of the steepish bank which at that spot overhung the water, endeavouring to reach the stream for a drink. unsuccessful in his efforts to effect this, the brute was softly whining and grunting, growing excited and passionate the while, as baulked bears will, over his failure to get at the water. seeing that his whole attention was absorbed in the interest of the moment, tatiana, who, brave as she was, had at first forgotten everything in the terror of this sudden _rencontre_ with the savage brute, determined to seize the opportunity to escape. but when she had crept a very few paces away, a thought struck her. she was discredited and disgraced at the village; her reputation, which meant her livelihood, had gone from her; what was life worth to her under the circumstances? why not make one bold stroke for reputation and fortune, and succeed or perish in the attempt? here was this bear busily engaged in balancing himself over the surface of the swift stream, endeavouring to get at the water which he could not possibly reach, but, bear-like, persisting in the attempt; now, why not creep quietly up, and--yes, she would do it! tatiana stole softly behind her enemy--it was a matter of life and death, she quite understood that, so she was careful enough to make no sound--approached within a yard or two of the monster's broad stern, then, as he bent himself further than ever over the water, gave one loud shout and one big rush, and in an instant had thrown the whole weight of her body against that of the already almost overbalanced animal at the brink. the next moment _znaharka_ and bear were both rising to the surface of the river neva, beneath whose cool waters they had plunged in company. old tatiana could swim like a duck and soon struck out for the best landing place; the bear, like a sensible creature, following her lead. but the old woman, trained to swim in these waters from childhood, quickly outstripped her companion, and was ready, with her sickle in her hand, when that half-drowned individual arrived. the river was deep to the very bank, so that tatiana had no great difficulty in beating off her enemy, who, placing two huge paws upon the edge of the bank, received a cut from the sickle upon each, which soon compelled him to snatch away those members with a roar of pain and rage. then commenced an unequal battle. the bear splashed about endeavouring to gain a footing; but whenever he came to the bank, there was tatiana awaiting him with her deadly sickle, and in addition to many cuts over paw and forearm the unfortunate brute had soon to bewail sundry gashes over face and head, which first enraged and then stupefied him, the old woman accompanying her blows with volleys of abuse and imprecations which, i am convinced, must have made that bear feel exceedingly ashamed of himself had he not had other matters to engage his attention at the moment! the result of all this was a foregone conclusion. the poor brute could not land; his efforts to gain a foothold waxed feeble; his roars of pain and rage grew weaker, thinned themselves into pitiful whines and bubbling moans, and then died away altogether. his head went under water, reappeared once and a second time, and sank again. he was drowned. then the old _znaharka_ crossed herself, spat towards her defunct enemy, and fainted. an hour afterwards, as the souls of spask were engaged, _more suo_, in wrangling over their midday _vodka_, at the beer-house, to them entered the pale and dishevelled figure of the discredited wise-woman. "well, little mother," said one, "what are you asking for curses this afternoon? i'm told they are a drug in the market!" rude laughter followed this sally. "curses have gone up since the morning," said the old woman. "i have seen a vision----" "if your visions are as nourishing as your maledictions," interrupted a second moujik, "you'd better feed the demon bear with them. he may thrive on them, and it will save our oats!" "the bear is dead," said tatiana "i have seen him in a vision. you will find his body at the shallow rapids near gouriefka. my curse has fallen upon him. he will eat no more oats!" with which solemn words tatiana made an effective exit before her hearers had decided what to make of them. when the dripping body of that ill-used bear was brought in triumph to the village and laid in the street in front of tatiana's cottage, it would be difficult to say which of two parties, all the members of which talked at once, were the loudest--those who applauded and extolled the marvellous triumph of the _znaharka_ over the powers of darkness, or those who raised their voices in denunciation upon the prostrate enemy of mankind. the two parties changed places continually, those who cursed the bear taking a turn at extolling the woman of the hour, and _vice versã¢_. suffice it to say that never was bear better cursed, and never was praise more lavished upon human being. for several years after this, if there was a wise woman in all russia whose blessings and cursings were esteemed absolutely effective in all emergencies, and carried their own steady market value for miles around spask, that woman was tatiana. her cures were marvellous after this, for so great was the faith reposed in her powers that she might have saved her herbs and still the patients would have recovered. as for the death of the bear, st. sergius, on whose name-day the brute perished, got the credit of that, after deduction had been made for the glory fairly earned by tatiana, but for whose maledictions the good saint might never have been moved to interfere for the relief of the spask peasantry. tatiana knew exactly how much st. sergius had to do with the killing of the bear; but, in her opinion, it paid her far better to pose as the successful curser than as the intrepid hunter, and no doubt she knew best about that, as about most things, being a _znaharka_. moreover, the bear, whether he died of curses or of cold water, provided an excellent fur to clothe tatiana withal when winter frosts came on, for the widow's ancient mantle had worn out with her reputation. chapter ix among the wood-goblins summer was "a comin' in," and a certain serious matter began to weigh upon the mind of the peasants of kushlefka, which is a prosperous village in a grain-growing district of archangel; for its settlement could not much longer be delayed. the fact is, that early in the winter kushlefka had been so unfortunate as to lose the services of its _pastuch_, or cowherd, death having carried off the old man during the slack time--when the cows were all at home, that is, and needed no one to look after them. but now that summer was at hand, and the cows would soon be wanting to be up and about, wandering over communal pasture and moorland in search of the fresh young blades of grass, it was very awkward to feel that there was no pastuch to personally conduct them in their wanderings, and that no single candidate had been near the place to apply for the post. none of the villagers would so much as think of accepting the office, for it was but a poorly-paid billet, and was generally held by some one unconnected with the place--some outsider who had wandered into the village in search of a job and was appointed pastuch for as long as he would keep the situation. hence when, one sunday afternoon, as the assembly of the heads of families or souls composing the mir or commune of kushlefka were met to consider matters of local interest, and to settle certain business questions appertaining to their jurisdiction, it was considered rather a stroke of good luck for the community when a ragged moujik of middle age suddenly appeared at the door of the council-hall, doffed his cap and crossed himself towards the _ikon_ in the corner of the room, made a bow to those present, grinned, scratched his head, and said: "good day, brothers; don't leave me!" the reader must not suppose that the new-comer in thus addressing the souls of kushlefka was seized with a sudden misgiving that those gentlemen might all arise and depart just as he had arrived; the russian expression "don't leave me!" merely indicates a desire to be heard, and if possible assisted, and is a common mode for an inferior to commence a conversation with a superior. "what do you want?" asked the starost, or president. "why--work," said the man; "some job--bread to eat--any kind of work will do for me." this seemed most providential, and the starost looked meaningly around at his lieutenants. "what do you know--what can you do?" he asked. "better ask me what i _can't_ do!" replied the new man; "i can do a bit of anything and everything!" "you can drink _vodka_, _i_ warrant!" said one of the souls, "or you'd have pockets in your clothes and something inside them!" this was in rude allusion to the attire of the new-comer. "well, if you come to that, brother," said that ragged individual, "the moujik who doesn't take kindly to _vodka_ is like a fish who can't swim; i can drink _vodka_ as well as most--try me, if you don't believe it." "do you understand the duties of a pastuch?" the starost inquired. the man laughed scornfully. "you give me a pastuch's pipe, starost, and i'll show you what i can do! i can blow the pipe so that not only the cows of my own village follow me home, but the cattle from the next village as well! why, all the _liã©shuie_ (wood-spirits) come flying up from miles around when i play, and settle on the trees like _riabchiks_ (tree partridges) to listen! wolves come and fawn at my feet! you won't find a pastuch like me in all russia!" the fact is, the stranger was exceedingly anxious to obtain the situation of pastuch; it was just the sort of loafing work to suit him; hence his eloquence. now, when the patron of a situation is no less anxious to give away the office at his disposal than the candidate is to obtain it, there is not much need to waste words over the appointment; accordingly, radion vasilitch was speedily engaged as the village pastuch, at a salary of four roubles per month, and entered at once upon his duties. the appointment was made none too soon; for the very next day was that on which the cattle were annually allowed to make their first excursion beyond their own yard gates. radion appeared in full pastuch costume at earliest morn, and blew his long horn or pipe in a manner which proved that he was no novice in the accomplishment. out came the cows into the street, a noisy, happy herd, lowing and gambolling in exuberant but ungainly joy, for they were very naturally delighted to learn that their long captivity was over. each house contributed its one or two or four cows to the herd as radion passed trumpeting down the street, and at last the starost's house was reached. "starost!" shouted radion, "aren't you going to do what is necessary for the safety of the herd before i take them into the woods?" "what do you mean?" asked the chief soul, who was standing in _dã©shabille_ at his own yard gate, watching the pastuch and his charge. "why, about the wood-goblins. it is better to propitiate them--we always did so on the first day of the season at kirilova!" "this is not kirilova, my brother," said the starost, "but kushlefka. we have no wood-spirits here. a good pastuch is better than charms and ceremonies." "very well; but don't blame me if anything happens!" said radion; and blowing a mighty blast upon his strident instrument, he accompanied his cows down the road. presently the whole party branched off to the left across the ditch--the cows jumping it, most of them, in the inimitable manner of their tribe--struck across a patch of sandy common, reached a stretch of green pasture-land beyond, distributed themselves over this natural banqueting-hall in picturesque blotches of whites and reds and blacks, and so gradually passed out of sight and went their happy way until the evening. the villagers meanwhile would see no more of them, but left them in perfect confidence to the care of the pastuch, who received, or was to receive, the sum of four roubles per month for thus taking the cows "off their minds." radion performed his work with perfect success, and brought his herd home safely, in spite of the danger to be apprehended from _liã©shuie_ and their chosen agents for destruction, the wolves and bears. days passed, and still all went well. radion's playing of the blatant cowhorn was all that he had described it, and his success as pastuch was complete. he occasionally brought back with him a hare which he had managed, somehow, to capture; or a greyhen, whom he had discovered upon her nest with nine little cheeping blackcock beneath her. radion had none of the chivalry of the sportsman, and thought nothing of taking the "matka," or mother-bird, from her helpless fledglings, leaving them to starvation, or to the foxes and the grey-hooded crows. the game thus acquired he would distribute as gifts to those of the wives of the moujiks who had the most cows, for radion's aim in life, as is the aim and object of every true russian peasant, was "_na chaiok_," or tea money, so called because tea would be the very last thing upon which any moujik would think of laying out a gratuity. radion hoped, then, for substantial _na chaioks_ at the end of the season from those whose large property in cattle he had safeguarded successfully. but one fine evening, while the summer was yet young and radion still more or less of a novelty in the village, a terrible thing happened, of a sort to make those in the community who had laughed at the superstitious pastuch and his fears of the wood-goblins to look grave, and ask themselves whether there was not, after all, more in this question of old-time superstitions than appeared at first sight. true, the villagers had never hitherto had any reason to fear the _liã©shuie_, or indeed to regard them as anything more than mere story-book beings, having no existence save in the pages of nursery literature and in the brains of loafers like radion; but now.... the facts of the matter were as follows. radion brought home the herd of cows on a certain evening _one short_. the pastuch arrived from the pasture looking pale and haggard, escorted the herd as far as the village street, and himself turned aside into the house of the starost, whom he found lying asleep upon the top of his stove. radion spent a considerable time bowing and crossing himself before the _ikon_, prostrating himself several times and touching with his forehead the bare boards of the floor. then he turned his wild eyes towards the chief peasant of the village. "starost," he said, "a fearful thing has happened. the _liã©shuie_ are against us. we have offended the spirits of the forest, in whose service are the bears and the wolves. let us propitiate them before it is too late, or a worse thing may happen!" "worse than what?" asked the starost. "it appears to me, my brother, that you are drunk." "i may be a little drunk, brother ivan ivanich," replied radion, "but who would not take a little drop if he had been chased by two enormous wolves and laughed at by the king of the _liã©shuie_ himself?" "are you sure it was not a _bielaya kooropatka_ (willow grouse)?" said the unbelieving starost. "even sober men have ere now mistaken the cry of the _kooropatka_ for the laugh of a wood-goblin." "and what of the wolves, your charitableness, and the cow that is eaten up together with her bones and skin?" retorted the offended pastuch. "what!" cried ivan ivanich, starting to his feet; "not one of _my_ cows, radion vasilitch?" the starost was serious enough now! "yes, ivan ivanich; and the best cow in the village, and the fattest. do you think the wolf-hunters of the _liã©shuie_ do not know which is the pick of the herd? as for me, though i blew my horn--yes, and cracked my long whip at them and shouted--all i could do was to attract their attention to myself instead of to the cow. starost, i would not again go through that fearful chase for ten times four roubles a month. they pursued me to the foot of a tree, ivan ivanich--it is a true word" (here radion turned towards the _ikon_ and crossed himself); "and had i not remembered to call upon the holy saint and equal to the apostles, my patron, they would have eaten me as well as the cow masha! as it was, from the top of a tree i saw the furious beasts fall upon poor masha, tear her to pieces, and eat her entirely up, so that not a trace remained, while an invisible _liã©shui_ spirit laughed aloud until every particle was consumed. then the wolves came licking their lips, to the foot of my tree, and, looking up at me, howled three times and vanished. it was with difficulty that i succeeded in reaching the village, for my knees have no strength, and my heart is as the heart of a lamb or of a sucking-pig after this terrible day." the starost looked grave and troubled. that these wolves should have appeared after radion's warning as to _liã©shuie_ was curious. that they should have selected his cow would surely indicate a deliberate intention on the part of the spirits--if, indeed, the spirits were at the bottom of the trouble--to accentuate the significance of their action; for they had eaten masha, and that cow represented the starost; therefore the _liã©shuie_ had struck their blow at the starost, who, again, was the representative man of the community. this surely would mean that the spirits desired to demonstrate their displeasure with the community through their representative, the starost. a meeting of the mir was held that very evening in order to discuss the situation, and a soul was sent on horseback to the priest of the district, five miles away, to ask for guidance in the emergency which had arisen. late at night the deputy returned to the village bearing a message from the priest. the message was extremely to the point, though very short, and ran thus: "tell the starost and his moujiks and the pastuch that they are a set of drivelling fools. the only spirits they have to keep clear of are _vodka_ and cognac." this was encouraging, if somewhat lacking in courtesy. but a difficulty arose. the pastuch professed to be so terrified with his experiences of the preceding day that he really could not bring himself to enter the woods again unless the usual ceremonies were first performed to protect the herd from the perils of the forest. however, a _na chaiok_ of a rouble from the public funds proved a strong argument, and radion was persuaded to convoy his cows as usual into their pastures. all went well on this occasion and the day after, but on the evening of the third day another catastrophe happened. radion returned _minus_ two more of the cattle placed under his care--a second cow and the only bull of the herd. radion himself was in a terrible state. he raved and laughed and cried and cursed like one demented. to the ordinary observer he would have appeared to be merely rather far gone in alcoholic poisoning; but this, of course, could not be the case: the _znaharka_, the wise woman of the village, said so. it was the simple and natural result of great terror, she explained. in all probability he had seen the _liã©shuie_ or, at least, their wolf-slaves, and the terror of it had maddened him. this proved to be the case; for after a night's rest radion was so far recovered that he gave a history of the events of the preceding day. these were, it appeared, almost a repetition of those of last week, excepting that, in addition to the horrors before experienced, a huge bear had come out of the forest, as well as the two wolves, and had eaten an entire cow to itself. after the meal it had climbed the tree upon which the affrighted radion had taken refuge, seated itself beside him, growled and roared three times in his face, and climbed down again, tearing his trousers as it did so. radion showed a long slit in the leg of his nether garments, which, of course, proved the truth of his story. after this there could be no further shilly-shallying. the _znaharka_ called upon the starost, and spoke to that official very seriously upon the subject. she knew, she explained, the details of the proper function to be performed before a herd can be considered safe from interference by the _liã©shuie_, and would be pleased to take the management of the affair into her hands. her fee was three roubles. the cattle could not possibly be sent to pasture again before this most necessary function had been performed. no one would send their cows out under the circumstances--how could they? it was tempting providence; or, at all events, insulting the wood-spirits, which came to the same thing. besides, the pastuch had declared he would not go out again, and who was to take his place? a meeting of the mir was convened without further delay, and it was determined to allow the wise woman to proceed with her preparations. on the morrow, early in the morning, the ceremony should be performed. on this particular day the cows remained at home. radion could not think of risking his life a third time, and as for the owners of the cows, there was hardly one who would have been foolhardy enough to allow his cattle to wander through the woods under present circumstances. when the morrow came the _znaharka_ was at hand as the herd moved down the street in order to watch which of the cows took the lead, for her first ceremony was dependent upon that circumstance. having fixed upon the leader she tied a bit of red wool round its neck. this was a symbol that thus henceforth were the throats of the wild beasts bound, lest they should swallow the cows. next the _znaharka_ walked solemnly three times round the entire herd, locking and unlocking a padlock the while, in token that thus were the jaws of the grey wolves locked, lest they should rend the cattle. after the third time the padlock was finally locked and buried. then came a sort of liturgy which the wise woman pronounced standing in front of the herd, the meek animals being much surprised at the proceedings, and at the unusual delay in allowing them to get away to their pasture. "deaf man, canst thou hear us? no. then pray god the grey wolf may not hear our cattle in the forest. "lame man, canst thou overtake us? nay, i cannot. then pray god that the grey wolves overtake not these cows. "blind man, canst thou see us? no. then pray god the grey wolf may not perceive our cattle in the woods." this was the end of the function, and the poor cows, who had been somewhat impatiently whisking away the mosquitoes and horseflies for the last half hour, were at length allowed to proceed. radion expressed himself satisfied and went after them; he was no longer afraid of the wood-spirits, he declared; they were now powerless to harm him. after this, matters went quietly enough at kushlefka. nothing happened to the herd or to the pastuch himself, for both were protected by the solemnities conducted as above by the _znaharka_. but the bull which had formed a meal for the two demon wolves on the occasion of their second attack upon the herd was still unreplaced, and it was necessary to buy one somewhere. the starost, therefore, allowed it to be known far and wide that kushlefka was in need of a bull and open to offers. in a few days bulls began to come in, bulls of every kind; but for some little while the right bull could not be found: one was too savage, another too big, a third too small. a week went by and still kushlefka remained without the head and ornament to its herd of cows. then a most curious and astonishing circumstance happened. one morning, not long after the pastuch had set out with his cattle for the day's wandering over moor and grass-land, a man arrived from a village distant some seven or eight miles through the forest, accompanied by a bull whose appearance filled the minds of those who witnessed its arrival with astonishment and some awe. if they had not already known that old vasilice, the late lord of the herd, was in his grave, or rather in the stomachs of two grey demon-wolves of the forest, they would have said that this new bull was vasilice _redivivus_. he was strangely like. from the brown stocking on his off hind-leg to the one black ear and browny-black patch on his nose--big white body and all--he was the very image of vasilice. what made it the more astonishing was that no sooner did the animal arrive in the village street than he walked straight to the lodgings of the late lamented vasilice, and would take no denial, but must needs be let into the yard, and thence to the cowshed, where he immediately sniffed about as one who knows the lie of the land, helping himself, presently, to hay and other delicacies which he found to hand, as though it were his own of right. in vain his owner tried to turn him out of shed and yard; he would not budge; indeed, he surveyed the man with a look of mild surprise, as who should say, "what on earth is the matter with _you_? go back to drevnik if you like, but as for me, i stay here!" deep was the astonishment of kushlefka. this thing was a mystery. could the bull be the spirit of the departed vasilice? some of the spectators spat on the ground, some crossed themselves; it depended upon how the thing suggested took them. but stay; the starost has an idea. vasilice used to have a faint mark of an old brand, a mere scar on the off hindquarter. ivan ivanich entered the shed and made a close inspection of the animal. when he came out his face was grave; but his glance was serene and high, as of one who has triumphed over mysteries, and has discerned light through the darkness. "it is vasilice," he said. "where did you buy him, brother?" "at drevnik, your mercifulness," replied the seller. "and from whom?" "from a stranger, a pastuch, who drove him, with a fine cow, into drevnik--oh--a fortnight ago nearly; he said he had been commissioned to sell the pair by a moujik in koltusha, which your mercifulness knows is twenty miles away, and that----" "should you know the man again?" interrupted the starost. "certainly, for we drank together for half an hour at the _kabak_, after the bargain for the bull and cow. a ragged pastuch--lantern-jawed, and red-hair--and with a scrag beard----" "good," said the starost. "you shall have back the money you paid for vasilice, and a three-rouble note for your trouble! now leave him here and come back to-morrow with the cow. brothers," he continued, "not a word to radion about the bull vasilice when he returns! i will settle with radion to-morrow." then the starost paid a long visit to yegor, the _ochotnik_ (sportsman) of the village, and made certain arrangements. yegor was a great hunter and had slain many bears and wolves, making a good living by the sale of their skins. * * * * * on the following day, while radion was loafing the morning away amid his cows, counting his ill-gotten gains and meditating as to how he should spend them as soon as he got safely out of kushlefka and back home again, he suddenly perceived something which sent his lazy blood, for once, coursing through his veins at a speed which made the beating of his heart a painful function. issuing from the dark fringe of the forest, which lay but a short fifty yards away, came a procession alarming enough to frighten, out of his very wits, a man with five times the courage of radion; first a bear--a big one--and at his heels two wolves. behind the wolves came a wild shape--half human, but with the head of a bear. the procession moved slowly in radion's direction, who, his limbs being fixed and rigid with terror, was entirely unable to move. not so the herd. snorting and bellowing, with tails up and heads down, every cow was instantly in motion, and galloping for dear life across the moor. radion would have shrieked in the anguish of his fright, but his tongue clave to his palate, and he could utter no sound but a hoarse rattle. he tried to pray and to cross himself, but could not raise his arm. by this time the awful procession had reached him and stood motionless around him. if radion had not been half dead with fear he must have noticed something strange about the style of locomotion of the terrible beasts, as well as a certain fixedness of expression about the eyes of all four. but he was too far gone to observe anything. at last the figure, half man and half beast, spoke: "radion--radion," it said sepulchrally, "liar! where are the bull vasilice and the cows masha and katia?" radion's dry lips moved, but he could utter never a word. "radion--liar!" the voice continued, "you have lied in the village to the dishonour of the liã©shuie, of whom i am king. where is the money you received for vasilice and the two cows?" radion's hand made a movement towards his wallet, but had not strength to carry itself so far. "radion--liar and thief," continued the king of the _liã©shuie_ "you are doomed--you must die! advance wolves, tear and destroy; rend, bear!" but before the terrific animals could obey the injunctions of their leader, radion's tongue had freed itself, and with a fearful yell the unfortunate pastuch fell senseless upon the heather. then that mercenary _liã©shui_ king relieved radion of his wallet, after which he retired quickly into the forest followed by his three slaves, carrying their heads under their arms, the weather being hot. when radion returned to the village at night, his face was as the countenance of those who have been through great tribulation; and when the herd awaited the sound of his horn next morning, and wandered aimlessly about the village street, headed by vasilice _redivivus_ (whom they were very glad to see back again among them), they were doomed to a sad disappointment; for it was discovered that their faithful pastuch had departed, leaving no address. chapter x an unbaptized spirit i have already referred to a pretty tradition still existing among the peasantry of the slavonic families that the soul of a child who dies unbaptized must wander for seven years, beseeching, at the hands of each christian person it sees, that precious privilege of which it has been deprived. if the little soul should fail, during its term of seven years, to find a christian man or woman who will hear its cry and give it the baptism it craves, that soul must forfeit its soulship, and the being becomes a member of a lower race, assuming thenceforth the form and character of a river-spirit, and taking up its abode among the members of that frivolous and somewhat mischievous family. * * * * * there was grief in the house of pavel shirkof, a peasant of the village of chudyesin, near perm, beneath the shadow of the dark urals. pavel was unlike most of his kind, for his ideas of happiness were not as theirs, bounded by the narrow limits of the interior of the _kabak_ or drinking-shop. pavel was gifted with an earnestness of disposition rare enough among men of his standing; he took life seriously, and had been a good husband to his wife. he had married but a short year ago, and now, alas! the buxom girl of twelve months since lay, a young mother, sighing out the last moments of her stricken life. unattended by doctor or nurse, far from all skilled assistance, and watched only by her terrified and ignorant though loving husband, the poor wife tossed upon her so-called bed, while her tiny child lay helpless and neglected upon a nest of old potato-sacks and coats and rags in the corner by the stove--a thing of feeble, struggling existence as near to its end had pavel known it, as it was to its beginning, and this was but a matter of half-an-hour or so. the baby lay and wailed unnoticed, for her poor father had his dying wife to attend to, and the sick woman, but half conscious, had not as yet caught that sound so dear to every mother's ear--her own child's voice. but suddenly she paused in the restless side-to-side movements of her head upon the pillow, and appeared to listen. "pavel," she said, and her pale cheek flushed, "it is the child. let me see it before i die. hold it near me. let me take it in my arms!" pavel brought the little wailing thing and laid it in the mother's arms, which scarcely had strength to clasp themselves round their precious burden. a beautiful smile went, like a sunset, over poor dying doonya's face--the last gleam before nightfall; then she looked anxiously at the tiny bundle at her breast. "pavel, my poor man," she said, "the child has death in its face; it will accompany me into the unknown; we shall both leave you together, my soul. god comfort you at this time of tribulation! but now you shall do her the only service you can ever render her. fetch the good priest from volkova; take shoora, the best horse, and the lightest cart, and fetch him quickly, my pavel, for the child must be baptized." but pavel refused to leave his wife in her present condition. the child must wait, he said; and in case of emergency any one could pronounce the baptismal formula. he would do it himself. meanwhile, what was the child to him, body or soul, in comparison with his beloved doonya? a very few minutes after this the soul of doonya passed peacefully away, and poor pavel was a widower. in his anguish of mind during that saddest hour, he had no thought for the tiny bundle of sickly humanity lying neglected upon its bed of rags and sacking. no neighbours were at hand. all were at work in the fields. for none had known of poor doonya's sudden and immediate need of their services. when at length pavel remembered to look at the child, therefore, it was cold and dead, and might have been so for an hour for all he knew. pavel was not so ignorant as to be unaware that the fate of a child dying unbaptized is most melancholy. he knew, as every slavonic peasant knows, that the unbaptized soul, whether of child or grown person, is doomed to wander over earth and sea and air for seven long years, seeking for some one sufficiently pure of spirit to hear its spirit-voice appealing to be baptized. if such an one should hear it and pronounce the orthodox formula, all would be well with the soul, and it might depart in peace into those blessed realms where waiting souls, as christians believe, rest until the great day of their resurrection. if, however, none should hear the wanderer (and, alas! how few are those qualified to catch the tone of a spirit-voice!), and the seven years should expire, then that poor unbaptized soul must lose its soulship, and descend among the mortal _rusalki_, or water nymphs, to be a _rusalka_ for the remainder of her life, cut off for ever from the blessed privileges of christianity. then pavel was overcome with sudden remorse, and, in the hope that the soul of little liuba (for so the parents had agreed to call her) was still within hearing, he pronounced aloud the words, "liuba, i baptize thee in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy ghost." but, alas! it was too late. the little neglected soul had fled away in its distress and despair, and was already far from the place of its birth, wandering over sea and land, and crying aloud to every human being whom it saw: "have pity, christian brother (or sister). hear my cry and baptize me, or my soulship is lost, lost!" * * * * * when the spirit of little liuba first left the tiny body in which it had commenced its career, and fled away, it knew not whither to direct its flight. one central idea was all the consciousness it possessed as yet, and this was the knowledge--half hope and half despair--which is given to each infant unbaptized soul for its heritage, namely, that it has been deprived by misfortune of something which should have been its dearest possession, the sweet privilege of christian baptism, and that it must wander and weep and entreat until such time as it shall find a baptized christian into whose own pure soul the cry of the wandering spirit may enter; from him it may then receive the precious gift which is its own by right, but of which it had been unfortunately deprived. so liuba's infant soul fled wailing over valley and hill and sea, and was far away when her widowed father pronounced the baptismal formula over the poor little wasted body which had once been her earthly tenement. liuba knew nothing of the fate predestinated for those whose seven years expire and find them still without the pale of blessedness; all this she should learn in good time; at present she only knew that she must wander and chant her monotonous sorrowful prayer that she might be heard and baptized. red-shirted peasants were busy at work in the fields, together with gaily-clad women and a few children. it was the time of the cutting of the corn, and there was much laughter and merriness, while each peasant did as much work as he felt was good for him, which was not much; the women worked harder than the men and sang in a light-hearted manner as they laboured. the men were glad to allow the women to work as hard as they were willing to; it saved them much trouble. "brothers and sisters--christian people," wailed the child-spirit, "baptize me and save my soul alive!" but not one of all the chattering, toiling throng could hear the spirit-voice, for the sounds of the world were loud in their ears and no other voice could reach them by reason of the noises which deafened them. so liuba left them and fled away over hill and dale, wailing and weeping, for she had experienced her first taste of failure and disappointment; and by-and-by she came to the banks of a large river, and here she rested herself upon the shore, strange and lost and lonely. it was a beautiful sunny morning in august, and little liuba could not resist the charm of the sunshine and the sparkle of the clear water about her; she saw it with delight, and the rustle of the leaves and the songs and twittering of the happy birds amid the leaflets overhead filled her with wondrous joy and content. "how beautiful it all is," she cried; "if only it were to be always like this i should not so much mind my misfortune." to liuba's surprise, at the sound of her voice a very beautiful form suddenly appeared rising out of the water. the shape was that of a human girl, but indistinct, and with wavy outlines that quivered and shifted, instead of the fixed lines of a human body. masses of golden flowing hair fell over bosom and shoulders and lay floating upon the ripples of the water, of which it seemed to form a part; and though it had proceeded from the stream and still lay upon the surface of the river, yet the hair was not wet and draggled but wavy and dry and lovely to look upon. liuba looked at the new-comer with admiration and joy. "how beautiful you are!" she cried, "and you have heard my voice and will baptize me!" the beautiful creature laughed aloud, and the sound of her voice was like the flowing of shallow waters over the rapids. "oh, no!" she cried, "i cannot baptize you, and i would not if i could! you must be very young or you would know that i am a river-spirit, a _rusalka_, such as you yourself will be one day, unless you find some one to baptize you, which is very unlikely. i can hear your voice for i am a spirit, but mortal men cannot distinguish your speech, and if they hear anything they say, 'listen to the whispering of the wind in the tree-top!' or, 'do you hear how the breeze sighs this evening among the reeds in the stream?' do you not know that you have but seven years in which to perform your hopeless task, and that after that you are at liberty to come down among us here in the cool waters? it were far better to save yourself these years of disappointment and toiling and to become one of us at once." but the soul of liuba thirsted for baptism as the new-born plant longs for the touch of the sun-god, and she was not satisfied with the words of the _rusalka_. "but who _are_ you? and are you baptized? and what do you do down there in the cool waters?" she asked. the _rusalka_ looked grave for an instant, and then quickly laughed once more. "no," she said, "we are not baptized; we are spirits now, but when the world comes to an end and the rivers are poured out and dried up, we shall exist no longer. we are the water folk, and our ancestors fell with lucifer from heaven; at which time we took up our abode here, instead of following our captain to his home. as for what we do, we dance and sport amid the shining stones and caves, and chase the brilliant fishes, and scare the greedy otters; we fascinate silly humans, and when they follow us into the waves we strangle them or torture them to death because we hate them." "why do you hate them?" asked liuba. "because they have souls and we have none; you will know why in seven years. and now, good-bye till then, for my sisters await me yonder; they are ready for the dance, while i tarry chattering here." with these words the beautiful nymph seemed to fade from the sight, growing every instant more and more indistinct. liuba saw her wave her arms and heard her silvery laugh, and then she quite disappeared. from the spot where she had stood upon the bank a tiny stream of crystal water trickled through the grass and flowers and found its way back to the parent river. "how terrible!" said liuba. "oh, _how_ i hope i shall never be a _rusalka_!" and a great rush of longing came over the little bankrupt soul for that baptism of which it knew nothing save its own great need and desire for the gift, and away she floated once more over woods, meadows, and rivers, wailing and crying, "oh, who will baptize me, baptize me! christian men, have pity upon a soul that wanders and weeps, and baptize me!" but the merchant was too busy over his money-making, or too preoccupied with his money-losing to have a thought to spare for a lost soul. and the ships riding upon the bosom of the sea, many of which liuba passed in her flight, were filled with sailors who thought of their dear wives and children at home on shore, and of the loved cliffs of their native country, but not of the poor bereft spirit passing in distress and beseeching over the deck of their vessel. now and again one would say to his comrade, "what sound was that amid the rigging like the sighing of wind and the whirring of the wings of a bird that flies from land to land?" and the other would reply: "i heard no sound, and it is too dark to follow the flight of a bird to-night." even the worshippers in the churches were unable to hear the spirit-voice; they were busy praying for themselves or for their dear ones; some thought of worldly matters in spite of themselves, some were sad for their sins, some were full of petty jealousies because of the grand clothes of their fellow-worshippers, or of pride for their own; none heard the wailing spirit-voice, and liuba, the saddest soul in all that churchful of souls, went weeping upon her journey, ever weeping and ever beseeching, but never obtaining that sweet gift for which she longed with a longing that increased with each day and with every disappointment. once, when she had wandered thus for months enough to make two whole years, liuba met with an adventure. passing over the streets of a large city she was surprised to hear a voice, which at first she took for an echo of hers, for it spoke the same words, and the tone was that of distress and entreaty, as sorrowful as her own. then she saw that the sound proceeded from a little form like hers, which slowly and sadly winged its way through the dusky air, close above the roofs of the human habitations below, and ever as it went it chanted its melancholy refrain: "christian men and women, hear my voice, and baptize me ere it is too late, and my soulship is lost, lost!" liuba accosted the little wandering soul, which was, she found, sadder even than herself because it had less of hope. this soul was that of a little human boy who had died unbaptized nearly seven years ago. for six long years and as many months it had wandered, entreating for baptism and finding none that could hear its voice; now there remained but a few months wherein to gain the blessed privilege, and hope had grown faint and weak. liuba's companion had been over the world, he said, and over it a second time; but all in vain--none would hear him. he had met many lost souls like himself, and all were sad and disappointed; and for some, he knew, the term had expired and they had fallen to the status of water-spirits. some had taken the form of cuckoos, and in the shape of that bird had wandered over the world crying "cuckoo" instead of the usual entreaty for baptism, because there are many, he said, upon the earth, who believe that each unbaptized soul assumes the form and voice of this bird in order to be seen and heard by christian men. those who believe thus are in the habit of pronouncing the formula of baptism over each cuckoo whose voice they hear, in the hope of thus saving some lost human soul.[2] [2] this belief is far from uncommon. "and are some saved in this way," asked liuba. "i have heard so from others," said the newcomer, "but i know not whether it is true. for myself, i have been content to preserve my own likeness and voice, for surely, surely some day, though the time is now short, i shall yet be heard and saved!" so liuba and her companion journeyed together henceforth, and together they chanted their monotonous song, which none of all the christian men and women they saw might hear: "brothers, christians, hear us and baptize us, or our soulship is lost!" then there came a sad day when the elder wanderer knew that his time for hoping was past, and that his soulship was indeed lost for ever. by the bank of a lovely river he and liuba parted, and liuba wept bitterly, and said: "farewell, poor lost brother, in pity and love i greet you a last time, and even as your lot is so shall mine be; for, alas, there remain but a few more years!" but the other said, "nay, hope on, liuba, for, perhaps, by the mercy of the highest, you may yet be saved." then he drooped his wings and plunged beneath the waters, and when the cool element touched him he forgot for ever that he had belonged to a higher race of beings, and went among the river-spirits, and was with them and of them, and knew of nothing better. but liuba wandered on and on, and wearied not of wrestling with christian men and women for that which they alone could give her if they would. once--a year from the end of her term--she passed through a church in which prayers were continually offered for those who die unbaptized, and in which the form of baptism is gone through annually once for the benefit of these, in case one should be within hearing; but the service was just finished as liuba passed over the church, and she was too late to hear those longed-for words which should give her the priceless boon she desired. in another place she came where a certain good man pronounced every morning and every evening the baptismal formula, in case some poor wandering soul should be passing within hearing and should hear and live. but though she saw him, she knew not of his benevolent daily action, and passed on unaware; neither did he hear her spirit-voice, for his soul was full of many worldly matters, and when at evening he performed the pious rite which was his daily custom, liuba was far away. and it happened that a few months before the expiration of her time, liuba passed once again by that stream where, on her first day of wandering, she had seen the river-spirit; and now again, as she rested upon the bank of the stream, that beautiful nymph-form rose, glistening and undulating, from the waters, and waved her arms and laughed and beckoned to liuba, and said, "aha! little lost soul, a few more days or weeks and you are ours. we shall be kind to you, never fear, and you shall dance and sport your time away instead of wandering and whining over land and sea, and all for the sake of something which may not be worth the finding! and you shall learn to captivate the hated human beings who would not listen to your voice, and you shall entice them down and strangle them--strangle them!" but liuba fled away in horror and dread, and would not listen to what the _rusalka_ had to say. but her last few months were at hand, and the poor wanderer toiled on, beseeching and entreating wherever she went, and weeping and wailing more pitifully as hope receded further and further. * * * * * far away in the east of europe there is a great city which is full of large shops, and immense houses, and busy streets, and of rich and poor, and of good and evil, as is every other large city everywhere. it was christmas eve, and the last hour of work had come for bank and shop and factory. after this there should be holiday-time for all. the factory hands poured in a great stream from the open doors of a cotton-mill--pale men and women, happy enough in the prospect of a day or two to be spent far away from the stuffiness and the heat and the toil of the mill. all chatted and laughed and made plans, and told one another of what they would do at christmas and on boxing day. and many went away to dance and to sing and enjoy themselves; and some went to the inns and public-houses, and were rowdily happy in their own way; and many went to the brilliant shops and bought materials for their christmas dinner or presents for their friends. and one man of all the crowd did not join those who were bent on merrymaking. yet he, too, was full of plans of happiness for the season. he was not rich, this man, but he spent little, and the wages of the factory were good; and each year he contrived to save a sum of money in preparation for that which he had in his mind for christmas time. he had brought his savings with him this evening--a fair sum for a man in his position--and with the money he proceeded from shop to shop, buying here a pot of sweet flowers, there a book, here a doll, and there a toy, until his large basket was full and as heavy as he could carry. then he went to the children's hospital, where for seven years his kind face had been well known; and here he was received with acclamation by the little suffering inmates, for they knew well the meaning of his appearance in company with the basket; and there were some who had been in that building, alas! for years, and had learned to consider the visit of this man and his basket as an established thing, as certain and as regular as christmas itself. many little hearts beat higher with joy when paul shirkof's round was finished and the basket was empty, and paul's own heart was joyful and happy indeed as he returned to his home that night and knelt to say his christmas prayer. his was no conventional prayer, nor did he pray in the words of any formula; but he thought of the christ-child born as on this night in its helplessness and innocence, and he prayed for simplicity and for innocence, that his heart might be as the heart of a child, and his spirit pure, so that he might discern god in all his works. and even as he prayed there was borne in upon him--though he could see nothing--as the sound of the voice of a tiny child, and it said--entreating and wailing--"oh, christian man, pity me; hear my voice--and baptize me, or my soulship is lost!" and a great fear fell upon the man, so that he could scarcely frame words to ask: "who are you that address me?" then the answer came: "an unbaptized soul--liuba; baptize me before it is too late, and save me!" and the man delayed no longer, but made the sign of the cross and said, "i baptize thee in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy ghost, amen." then at the words the soul of liuba rejoiced with a great joy, and departed, whither i know not; but this is certain, that it wandered no longer wailing over land and sea, for it was henceforth at rest for ever, and, by divine mercy, in possession of that sweet privilege which for a while had been lost to it. and the father knew not that he had baptized his own child's soul; but he shall know it one day, perhaps, when those who are pure in spirit shall see god. chapter xi a witch! a witch! in this year of grace, close to the end of the nineteenth century, many of the villages in the tsar's dominions are almost up to date in the science of cholera-fighting, thanks to the energy of the zemstvo, which is a species of county council. they set apart, some of them, a hut or house as a hospital for suspicious cases; the villagers occasionally boil their drinking water; they drink their _vodka_--well, perhaps the merest trifle more discreetly, in times of scare, than in the piping days of health and security. i would not go so far as to say that they waste much water in personal ablutions, because i wish my readers to take me seriously; and as for the drainage and sanitation of the villages, there is none from end to end of the realm. nevertheless, matters are very much more satisfactory now than was the case forty or fifty years ago; when, at the appearance of the terrible scourge of cholera, most of the inhabitants at once gave themselves up for lost, and, resolving to make the most of the short time remaining to them for indulgence in the pleasures of terrestrial existence, drank themselves into alcoholic coma every day, until the disease fastened itself upon their _vodka_-sodden bodies, and carried them away where no _vodka_ is to be had for love or money. tirnova, in the government of vologda, was one of the villages most sorely attacked by the cholera-fiend during the outbreak of 1861. the peasants of this village had many and many a time received good advice from the priest of the nearest parish village, shishkina, who, being a man of sense, had recommended them, before the outbreak (having driven over on purpose to warn them), to do their best to stave off the threatened attack of "the plague," as they called it, by prayer and personal cleanliness. but since the cholera had not as yet made its appearance in the place it was clearly unnecessary, the peasants decided, to put themselves out, and no notice was taken of the priest's warning. now, however, that the plague had come, a deputation headed by the starost, or head-peasant, waited upon the priest in order to receive further counsel, for, as a matter of fact, they had forgotten all he told them. "fools that you are and sons of dogs," said the good man, who well knew how the moujik must be addressed if it is desired that he should listen, "did i not tell you long ago to pray to the almighty, first; and secondly, to clean your filthy houses and your own bodies with soap and hot water? go home, and pray and wash!" at this, all present removed their caps and scratched their heads, implying thereby that there was a difficulty still unexplained. "if," said the starost, stepping out to speak, "if it be the will of the almighty that cholera should visit our village, then surely it would be impious to do anything, such as the cleansing of our houses, to keep it off? we can pray, of course, that it may please the almighty to modify his will in this matter, and, no doubt, your reverence would come over with the large and holy _ikon_ of st. luke the physician, with whom for intercessor we might hold a solemn procession; but----" "did not i tell you you were a set of brainless idiots?" said the priest; "the saints only help those who help themselves. pray, by all means; but when you have done praying, go out and wash yourselves, and your clothes, and your houses; and don't afterwards drink yourselves into the likeness of swine at the beer-house--oh, it's no use wagging your head at me, matvã©i stepanitch; i know you well enough! there, that's my advice; now go!" "and the _ikon_?" said the moujiks, giving their matted locks a final scratching before departure. "you shall have the _ikon_, and a special litany, as soon as you have cleaned up the village, and washed yourselves, but not before," said the firm ecclesiastic, and with this ultimatum he slammed the door in their faces. the deputation felt that this was business-like and savoured of authority, which is a thing the russian peasant invariably respects, especially if the authority is abusive and has a loud voice, and does not mince matters. they greatly approved of the strong language of their spiritual adviser, and of his vigorous way of presenting his views; but the advice as to cleanliness was extremely unpopular, while, as for his allusion to the beer-shop--well, the "little father" might have known better; he must be well aware that life without _vodka_ is an impossibility, cholera or no cholera. therefore the deputation proceeded straight to the village drinking-shop and there drank the priest's health times enough to secure _his_ immunity from cholera anyhow, unless the fates persistently disregarded the vows of the pious intoxicated. afterwards some of them took a bath in the streamlet which ran like a silver ribbon through the village; being but eighteen inches deep or so, this rivulet could scarcely afford scope for the malice of a _vodyannui_, or water-demon, so they were safe enough; but they did not like the feel of the water, it was unfamiliar and uncanny, and gave them the shivers. others patronised the bath-house and employed hot steam to take off as much of the outer coating of griminess as each considered safe or desirable; for there is nothing so certain to give one cold as the sudden leaving off of clothes or other coverings to which the body has become accustomed. as for prayers in church, the "little father's" remark was surely uncalled for; did not the women attend to this department, and was not the priest aware of the fact? they had, indeed, been specially devout during the cholera scare, and the stands before the _ikons_ in church were simply overburdened with candles devoted to the favourite saints. was all this not enough to satisfy him? he could hardly expect the moujiks themselves to attend on ordinary sundays! after the toil of the week (toil of which the women took _more_ than their full share, though no mention of the circumstance was made by their lords in council), surely the men were entitled to a day of undisturbed rest! it was a long walk to the church, five miles at least, while the beer-shop was so very handy. so far as cleansing the houses was concerned, since the priest seemed to desire it, the _babui_ (women) should be told to use their brooms a bit, for it was just as well that the "little father" should come over and bring his _ikon_ with him, the big one; and the moujiks knew him well enough to be quite sure that he would keep his word and come so soon as they had made a fair show of performing their part of the agreement. the starost's house, where the priest would put up for the afternoon, accordingly received such a cleaning as it had not enjoyed for years; but portions of the village which he would not visit, or would see only when the procession was half-way round its course, remained untouched by broom or scrubbing-brush. thus did the moujiks of tirnova observe the counsels of their priest; their obedience went as far as their convenience, and no further. they succeeded, however, in making so good a show as to justify the pastor in coming over with the big _ikon_ and holding the religious function proper to the occasion, namely, that designed to stay the ravages of the demon of cholera. but, alas! the plague seemed to ignore all attempts to quash or turn it aside. in spite of processions and _ikons_ and the chanting of priest and deacons, in spite of everything, the cholera raged on just as furiously as ever, if not more furiously. it was at this critical stage of affairs that marfa kapãºstina came to the fore. marfa was the _znaharka_, or "wise woman," of the place. learned to a degree was marfa in all manner of spells and incantations, and in the virtues of herbs and of charms; moreover, she was a firm believer in her own wisdom, and in the potency of the spells and mummeries of which she held the secret, though no whit the less an excellent churchwoman according to the orthodox faith of the country, in spite of her dealings with matters upon which holy church would certainly look with suspicion and dislike. the fact is, marfa, like the great majority of her countrymen and women throughout rural russia, was a little mixed as to what constituted religion and what was meant by "superstition," and where one ended and the other began. if she had been informed that some of those rites and ceremonies, the minutest details of which she carried in her memory for use in all emergencies, were nothing more nor less than mere survivals of the paganism which had flourished in russia but a few centuries ago, she would have been immensely surprised, but not in the least convinced. up to the present time, however, marfa had enjoyed but little opportunity of demonstrating her talents and knowledge in all kinds of exorcisms and spells; indeed, she was far better known as one eminently skilful in the more mundane art of escorting little christians into this world of trouble, and of looking after their mothers in the time of tribulation and sickness. but now at last marfa felt that the great opportunity of her life had arrived. shortly after the painful fact became apparent to all in the village that the orthodox ceremonies for the "laying" of the cholera ghost had entirely failed in their object, the starost received a visit from the _znaharka_, who looked preoccupied and feverish. "matvã©i ivanich," she began abruptly, "the cholera is very bad--worse than ever. only last night avdotia timofeyevna and her child were carried away, and this morning feodor zaitzoff has followed them. old vainka, the _ooriadnik_ (sub-policeman) is very bad too!" "it is god's will!" said the starost. "that is certain," the _znaharka_ assented; "but what, matvã©i ivanich, if it is also god's will that we should at least do our best to rid ourselves of the scourge he has permitted to fall upon our backs, or rather of the devils which have come among us? our _rodityelui_ (forefathers) were accustomed to fight the plague-demon by means of certain ceremonies--simple ceremonies and very effectual. it is at least possible that the almighty is angry that we neglect to employ those simple weapons which a little knowledge places in our hands." the wise woman paused. "well," said the starost, "go on. what are you referring to? were they christian ceremonies that the _rodityelui_ employed?" "assuredly!" said the _znaharka_; "there were prayers, and an _ikon_ was carried about." "but the priest has already been amongst us with his _ikon_, and you see how much we have gained by it," observed the starost impatiently. "the function was incomplete, matvã©i ivanich," the wise woman hastened to explain. "the prayers were good and the _ikon_ was good, but there were other things, good also, omitted. there is but one individual within a thirty-mile ride who knows of the true ceremony, and that is myself. pay me ten roubles from the funds and the ceremony shall be performed, and the plague, perhaps, shall be stayed--who knows?" the _znaharka_ glanced at the sacred picture in the corner and crossed herself. the starost, feeling unable to decide the question single-handed, resolved to convoke a special meeting of the souls of the village in order to give full consideration to the proposal of the wise woman. the gaps among the ranks of the souls were already distressingly numerous; and the souls being the heads of houses, this fact told a sad tale of families deprived of the bread-winner, stricken down and lost to the community by the terrible ravages of the cholera-demon. it was in itself a silent but sufficient _prim㢠facie_ argument in favour of adopting the proposal of the _znaharka_. of the moujiks still remaining alive, however, some few were found presumptuous enough to laugh to scorn the very idea of holding a pagan function in order to complete that which the christian ceremony had omitted or failed to perform! better to keep the ten roubles, they said, for the relief of the widows and children of those who had already fallen victims to the plague. but the great majority were strongly in favour of adopting the _znaharka's_ suggestion; it was at least a straw to grasp at, and certainly nothing could be more desperate than the situation of affairs in the village at the present moment. as for the ten roubles, it was pointed out by some that if "this sort of thing" were to continue much longer, there would be no one left alive to enjoy "the funds;" far wiser were it to spend the money in an endeavour to strike a blow at the insidious enemy, who threatened to depopulate the village within a measurable period of time! accordingly the _znaharka_ was informed that her proposal was to be adopted, and marfa was instructed to make her arrangements as quickly as possible, and to proceed with the function exactly as the _rodityelui_ had been accustomed in former ages to perform it. marfa showed herself to be not only perfectly at home in the minutest details of the ceremony about to be gone through, but also determined to lose not a single moment in pushing forward the necessary preparations. the very next morning an order went out from the starost, at marfa's request, that all the mankind of the village, young and old, should remain within doors until after the conclusion of the proceedings. they might lie on their stoves and sleep out the morning hours, if they chose; but--for certain good reasons--they must not look out of the windows or watch the ceremony about to be performed. the girls and women of the community, on the other hand, as the actors and participants in the function, were instructed to assemble at an appointed place at an early hour. each was to be clad in the scanty costume enjoined by tradition for the occasion--that is, in a short, thin shirt or chemise, and that only. attired in this airy costume, all the females of the village, from the oldest to the youngest, assembled at the rendezvous at the appointed hour, when a procession was formed in the following order:--in front went the oldest woman in tirnova carrying an _ikon_. next to her walked the _znaharka_ herself, astride of a broom-handle, and bearing under her arm a cock of a black or dark colour. behind the _znaharka_ followed the rest of the girls and women, ranged in pairs. a huge bonfire had previously been built up and lighted at one end of the village street, while a similar one blazed at the opposite extremity of the village. the procession having marched towards the first of these bonfires, all solemnly walked three times round it, chanting and praying, taking the words from the _znaharka_, who knew the correct liturgy by heart. after the completion of the third circle, marfa suddenly--as though struck with an idea--clasped the cock in her two hands and with it rushed down the street shrieking loudly, followed and imitated by the rest of the women. as soon as the second bonfire was reached the unfortunate cock was thrown into the flames, while the procession marched three times round, singing and praying as before. lastly, the procession was reformed and an entire circuit of the village was made, the line of march passing outside of each and every house; for no cholera-devil could afterwards cross the line thus determined. as the army of wailing and chanting females passed close to an outlying cottage a black cat was unfortunate enough to select that moment for rushing out of the yard and crossing the path of the procession. instantly the _znaharka_ caught it, and seizing it by the hind legs dashed its head against a stone, killing it on the spot. this incident delighted beyond measure the _znaharka_, and through her the rest of the women, for, as she quickly explained, within the mangy person of the black cat, now deceased, had undoubtedly been located the demon of cholera, which was now, consequently, "done for" in so far as concerned the village of tirnova, and no fresh case of the plague would occur in the place from this hour forward. then the entire company returned to their homes and dressed themselves, and proudly informed their male relatives of the wonderful success which had attended the mysteries in which they had been engaged. it was certainly a remarkable circumstance that, from that day on, the cholera actually ceased its ravages among the inhabitants of the village. whether the black cat deceased had really been the desperate character which it was accused of being, or whether faith in the methods of the _znaharka_ had cast out fear, and with it the principal element of danger in a cholera epidemic, when, as every one knows, it is scare that carries off half the victims who succumb to the disease, or whether, again, the epidemic had already worn itself out and had taken all the victims it meant to claim, i know not; but, as a matter of fact, there perished no more moujiks on this occasion with the exception of one man, who, as it happened, had scoffed and derided the _znaharka_ and her procession, and had even made rude remarks about the ladies in their airy costumes as they had passed his house full of their solemn undertaking. probably this man was afterwards seized with doubt as to the wisdom of his conduct, then with panic, and lastly--as so frequently happens--took the plague out of sheer nervousness. however this may have been, all these things immensely added to the prestige of the _znaharka_, who now found herself famous, and in possession of a reputation which placed her upon a pinnacle far higher than that of any wise woman or wise man for miles around. it must not be supposed that by the marvellous success of the pagan ceremony just described any sort of a blow was dealt to the orthodox beliefs of the villagers--nothing of the kind. the prestige of the priest may have suffered, but not the cause of religion. it was merely concluded by these simple-minded people that their _znaharka_ knew the priest's business better than the _bã¡tuishka_ did himself, that was all! for many a long day after these events belief in the _znaharka_ was the supreme motive-power of the peasants of the district. if any cursing had to be done, marfa was invited to do it. had the evil eye fallen upon a moujik or woman of the place? marfa defeated the sinister effects of that deplorable circumstance. her benedictions were equally effective and in request; so were her spells, her charms, her incantations and mummeries of every kind. as the faith of the people in her powers was absolute, so her success was naturally marvellous in proportion, and for many a long year marfa's reputation was unquestioned and her position assured. nevertheless, a great reputation carries great responsibilities and great risks, and once a hole is found or picked in that flimsy material prestige, a rent is inevitable, and the fabric will easily and quickly go to rags and ruin! even marfa's glory was destined to end at last, and the beginning of the end came in the miscarriage of a certain benediction. young vainka shahgin, a peasant of the village, had wooed and won the attractive masha sotsky; or, perhaps, the friends of vainka had wooed the friends of masha and won _them_. anyhow, the pair were married and had been duly blessed by the _znaharka_, now an old woman; for without her benediction no married couple in the district would have dreamed of going forth to battle with the world and its tribulations. but ever since the _znaharka's_ blessing had been accorded to this particular union the pair had led a cat-and-dog life. vainka had taken to drinking immediately, while masha had proved herself a slovenly slattern at home and the worst of housekeepers. no children came to cement the union; the marriage was a failure all round. it was rather hard on marfa that all this should be laid to her account; but such is life! it was; and this was the first of her serious misfires. shortly after this there came troubles with wolves. during the coldest period of a certain very severe winter, those famished animals became so tamed by starvation as to lose some of their natural aversion to the near presence of mankind. they took to making daring raids upon the village of tirnova during the gloom of night, carrying away dogs and other domestic creatures. soon they waxed bolder still, and, arriving in force, succeeded in killing and getting safe away with a cow and two horses. the _znaharka_, after this climax, was requested to solemnly curse the offenders, which she promptly did, using the _ikon_ and the prayers of the church as well as certain traditional incantations of a pagan character. but the wolves were none the worse for this mixed dose--on the contrary, they seemed to be all the better for it; the treatment did them good and improved their appetite. where, up to this time, they had been content to steal a cat, they now carried off a grown pig; the horses and cows were invaded in their very stables and outhouses; things went from bad to worse. all the world recognised that the curses of the _znaharka_ agreed with the wolves, they grew fat upon her maledictions and the tirnova cattle: marfa had made another lamentable failure! thus, gradually, the immense prestige of the old woman waned and drooped and disappeared. one thing after another failed with her. now that faith had gone, success went also. those who, but yesterday, had believed in and honoured her, scoffed to-day as she passed them; nor was this all. as failures multiplied, ill-feeling towards her increased. where she had been feared and loved, she was now ridiculed and hated. men no longer accorded to her her former honourable appellation of "the wise woman"; they took to calling her _vyedma_ and _bã¡ba yagã¡_, both of which terms mean witch, or sorceress, and carry a weight of abusive meaning, for a witch is always malignant, while a _znaharka_ is invariably a useful and benevolent member of society. the idea once started that poor marfa was a _vyedma_, the unfortunate woman was--like the proverbial dog to whom a bad name has been given--practically already hanged. she rapidly grew in the ill-favour of the inconstant villagers, by whom she was accused of all manner of monstrosities of which she was entirely innocent. there was no misfortune or calamity that happened at this time within the district but it was quickly laid to the charge of marfa. in a short while she was cursed and hated by the entire population. at last matters culminated in an accusation brought against the poor woman by the pastuch, or cowherd, of the community. the _znaharka_, this man declared, had taken to milking the cows of the villagers by means of witchcraft, while the animals were away at the pasture. there were two circumstances which lent colour to this statement. in the first place, the milking of cows by magical means was known to be a favourite accomplishment of _vyedmui_, who, from all times, have been addicted to this dishonest and wicked practice--a practice exercised by them not out of mere mischief, but for profit--for witches must live as well as any one else. in the second place, many of the cows had, of late, been unaccountably short of milk; good milkers, too, who had never hitherto disappointed their owners. day after day these animals were found, at milking time, to be absolutely without their frothy produce. at a hastily convened meeting of the heads of houses the pastuch was instructed to watch the herd while at pasture, to watch carefully from a convenient spot, he himself remaining, if possible, unseen; and then to return and report. this the cowherd did, and with so much success that on the third day after he had received his instructions he returned from the pasture lands with full particulars as to how the _vyedma_ marfa had proceeded in order to effect the robbery of which she was accused. her method proved to be an old and favourite device among witches. the herd described his experience thus: he had taken up a position, he said, in the topmost branches of a birch tree, whence he could see for miles around, while the herd browsed peacefully about the foot. at about midday he observed the _vyedma_ (at whose name--for it had come to this--the pastuch and all his audience spat upon the ground in token of their disgust!), he observed, he said, the _vyedma_ approaching from the direction of the village, bearing a basket which was full of empty bottles, each bottle having a separate compartment in the basket. she stopped in the middle of the communal grass-field, at a spot where lay the old plough which ivan tussoff had left there since last autumn to save himself the trouble of throwing it away. then she raised her arms and waved her hands, and pronounced some incantations, the nature of which, being so far away, he could not hear, but which, he said, must have been very potent, for the entire herd, as with one accord, began to show signs of great restlessness and to low softly and mournfully. he himself also felt the effects, which were such as to give him a sensation of nervousness and great depression, and a creepy feeling all down his back, while he distinctly recognised a strong smell of sulphur filling the air. then the _vyedma_, after more incantations, stuck what appeared to be a penknife into the woodwork of the old plough, when immediately drops of milk began to, first, drip from the knife, then to slowly trickle, and lastly to flow. marfa placed her bottles one after the other beneath this singular milk-tap until all these were filled, then she departed, carrying the basket, as though it were a thing of no weight at all. when she had disappeared, the pastuch descended from his perch and tested some of the best of the cows. they proved to be as dry as bones; not a single drop of milk did their udders afford! the herdsman concluded his tale amid exclamations of horror and dismay. the peasants crossed themselves and spat. what need of further evidence? undoubtedly there was a _vyedma_ among them; suspicion must give place to certainty. undoubtedly also it was the duty of those in authority in the village to rid themselves of the shame and horror of harbouring such a creature in their midst. russian peasants, when they have made up their minds in times of excitement to any outrageous proceeding, rarely delay long before putting their ideas into execution. within an hour of the conclusion of the meeting the unfortunate marfa had been arrested, accused, found guilty, sentenced, and executed. the manner of her execution was in accordance with the traditional end of convicted witches: she was placed in a large wheat sack, together with a dog, a cat, and a cock--all as innocent of conscious offence as she was herself--and thrown into the village pond, where the whole company went down to the bottom together, as a warning to other witches and evildoers, of which poor marfa was neither the one nor the other. two days after this tragedy a strange moujik sauntered into the village of tirnova and called to see the starost, who, as it happened, was at home and received him. "starost, brother," said the stranger, going straight to business, "why do you send your pastuch with milk to sell in our district? have you no market of your own that you must needs spoil ours by overstocking it, and sending prices down for us?" "ah, my brother, forgive us this time," said the starost; "it can never occur again. it was our misfortune to harbour among us a _vyedma_, who stole the milk from us and no doubt sold it in your district. she is now at the bottom of the village pond, and will steal no more milk. may her purchasers escape poisoning if they have drunk the milk of the witch." "was your _vyedma_, then, in the likeness of a pastuch?" inquired the stranger. "she must have assumed his likeness," said the starost, who felt, nevertheless, a spasm of uncomfortable surmise dart through his brain. "what was this pastuch like?" the stranger described the tirnova herdsman to the life. the starost, in spite of himself, now grew very grave with unpleasant reflections. when the strange moujik had departed he confided the story to a friend, who was, like the starost, immediately assailed by similar uncomfortable thoughts, which played havoc with the repose of his inmost soul. the pair decided to speak with the pastuch on this matter so soon as that functionary should have returned from the pasture. but that wily herdsman never did return to tirnova. when the herd trooped into the village street at night, its meekly lowing members were without the guidance of their authorised protector. moreover, the herd was short of a good horse which had belonged to the starost himself. furthermore, when the proprietors of each cow came forward to make the usual demand upon the udders of the patient creatures, it was found that not one of them had a single pint of milk to present to its lawful and indignant owner. then those villagers realised that poor marfa had been a victim to the guile of the herdsman, and they fished her up from the bottom of the pond. but, alas! she was quite dead--both she and her companions; and this it was agreed was conclusive evidence that poor marfa had been all the while an innocent _znaharka_ and not a witch. had she been a _vyedma_ she might still have been alive, for--the starost declared--she had only been under water eight-and-forty hours, and a _vyedma_ must soak for fully ten days or a fortnight before she can be got to drown. as for the herdsman, the direct cause of the flagrant miscarriage of justice which ended in the drowning of poor old marfa, he escaped scot free. the souls of tirnova did, indeed, hold a specially convened meeting in order to decide what steps could or should be taken to find and bring the rascal to justice, but it was unanimously decided that it would save trouble to take no steps at all. this decision was arrived at partly as the result of the starost's eloquence, and partly because it was in perfect agreement with the disposition of the councillors, who, being russian peasants, were naturally unwilling to take any unnecessary trouble or to do anything that could with equal ease be left undone. as for the starost's speech, it was short but very much to the point. here it is: "brothers," he said, "god is in heaven and the tsar is far away; also russia is very large and the pastuch is very small. how should we set about to find one little herdsman?" clearly the thing was ridiculous. the end _printed by_ ballantyne, hanson & co. _edinburgh and london_ transcriber's note: minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as printed. words printed in italics are marked with underlines: _italics_. boris the bear-hunter [illustration: "_the huge brute was in full pursuit of his young wife._" page 248. ] boris the bear-hunter [illustration] _t. nelson & sons_ boris the bear-hunter by fred whishaw london, edinburgh, and new york thomas nelson and sons _contents_ _i. the hunter hunted_ 9 _ii. boris finds a new friend_ 17 _iii. boris changes masters_ 25 _iv. boris goes a-sailing_ 34 _v. how peter the great was knocked over_ 46 _vi. a taste of the knout_ 56 _vii. a race for life_ 70 _viii. boris and his fellow-officers_ 84 _ix. one sword against five_ 96 _x. a night ambush_ 108 _xi. a battle against odds_ 120 _xii. a perilous slide_ 132 _xiii. boris goes on the war-path_ 144 _xiv. taken prisoner_ 155 _xv. an exciting escape_ 167 _xvi. home again_ 181 _xvii. off to england_ 193 _xviii. how boris threw a big dutchman overboard_ 204 _xix. bad news from moscow_ 215 _xx. boris in disgrace_ 228 _xxi. nancy and the big bear_ 243 _xxii. a wolf maiden_ 253 _xxiii. a notable day among the wolves_ 266 _xxiv. with the tsar again_ 278 _xxv. boris has a narrow escape_ 290 _xxvi. how boris outwitted the swedish admiral_ 303 _xxvii. small beginnings of a great city_ 315 _xxviii. how the swedes erected a gibbet for boris_ 326 _xxix. mazeppa_ 340 _xxx. russia's great day_ 353 _xxxi. peace at last_ 366 _list of illustrations_ "_the huge brute was in full pursuit of his young wife_" _frontispiece._ "_that moment saved the tsar's life_" 54 "_slashing at the wolves which swarmed about him_" 81 "_in an instant the two were upon him_" 124 "_out sprang boris, and alighted with terrific force upon menshikoff's back_" 186 "_boris lifted his kicking legs and slid them over the bulwark_" 210 "_bringing up his clenched fists together against the fellow's chin_" 337 boris the bear-hunter. chapter i. the hunter hunted. the moment at which i propose to introduce my readers to boris the bear-hunter came very near, as it happened, to being the last which my hero was destined to spend upon this earth. great hunter as boris was, there is no doubt about it that on this particular occasion he met his match, and came within measurable distance of defeat at the hands--or rather paws--of one of the very creatures whose overthrow was at once his profession and his glory. it happened many a year ago--about two hundred, in fact; and the scene of boris's adventure was an exceedingly remote one, far away in the north of europe, close to archangel. boris ivanitch was a peasant whose home was an outlying village near the large town just mentioned. he was a serf, of course, as were all his fellows at that time; but in consequence of his wonderful strength and courage, and of his aptitude for pursuing and killing every kind of wild beast and game, he was exempt, by favour of his lord, both from taxation and from the manual labour which the owner of the soil could have exacted from him. in a word, boris was employed to keep the country clear, or as clear as possible, of bears and wolves, which, when left to themselves, were at that time the cause of much danger and loss to the inhabitants of that portion of the russian empire. boris performed his duties well. there was no man, young or old, for hundreds of miles around who could compare with this young giant in any of those sports or competitions in which the palm went to the strongest. tall and muscular beyond his years--for he was but nineteen at this time--lithe as a willow, straight as a poplar, boris excelled in anything which called into play the qualities of activity and strength. had he lived in our day and attended an english public school, he would undoubtedly have come to the front, whether on the cricket or the football field, on the running path or on the river. but being debarred from the privileges of english schoolboys, boris was obliged to expend his energies in those exercises which were open to him, and which alone were familiar to the people of his country--snow-shoeing, hunting, swimming, and similar sports natural to the livers of a wild, outdoor life in a scarcely civilized land. it was early summer-time, and the woods, or rather forests, about archangel were in their fullest heyday of life and beauty. hundreds of square miles of pine trees were the principal feature of the landscape, dotted here and there by a patch of cultivated land, or watched over by a tumble-down village nestling beneath the shadow of the forest. oats and wheat, now fast ripening, waved in the soft air of june, and told of peace and plenty for those who took the trouble to till the generous soil for a living. the prospects of the crops around dubinka, boris's village, appeared at first sight to be promising enough--the rye was tall and nearly ripe, and the oats were doing capitally; but had you asked the peasants, the owners of the crops, they would have told you, with the lamentations common to the russian peasant, that god had certainly been very good to them and sent them a fine harvest, but that the devil had spoiled all the good work by sending two large bears to eat up and trample down the fruits of the field, and to ruin the poor peasants. ivan's field was half eaten up already, they would have said, and andrey's would go next. and boris couldn't find the bears, or he would soon give them "something in their stomachs better for them than the peasants' oats;" but there was no snow, and boris could not track them without it, though he had been after the brutes for a fortnight and more. this was all true enough--indeed, boris was "after them" at the present moment, though to look at him you would scarcely have thought it; for the hunter was busily engaged strolling lazily through the forest, picking and enjoying the beautiful wild strawberries which covered the ground in profusion. he had propped his bear-spear against a tree, and was at the moment some distance from the weapon--tempted away from it against his usual habit by the peculiar lusciousness of the fruit, which was warm from the sun, and very delicious. even strawberry eating palls at length upon the satiated palate, and boris began to think that he had had enough. he would now resume, he thought, his search for those marauding bears who had broken into the village corn-fields and destroyed the peace of the poor peasants. so he picked one more handful of the strawberries, crammed them into his mouth, sighed, glanced regretfully at the delicious fruit at his feet, and finally raised his head to look for his bear-spear. as he did so, he became aware of a huge form standing close at hand, some ten yards away, showing its teeth, and quietly watching his movements. it was a bear! boris's first feeling was one of great joy at meeting his enemy at last; his second was one of dismay as he realized the want of his trusty spear. it must not for a moment be supposed that boris was alarmed by the situation. if any one had told him that he was in a situation of peril, he would have laughed aloud at the very idea of such a thing. his regret was caused solely by the fear that, being unarmed, he might lose the opportunity of doing business with that bear upon this particular occasion, and would probably have to find him again before settling accounts. hoping to catch sight of his spear, and to reach it before the bear could make off, boris backed slowly towards the place where he thought he had left the weapon. bruin did not, as he had expected, give a loud roar to show his enemy that he was an awful fellow if he liked, and then straightway turn and run. on the contrary, the brute advanced towards the hunter, growling and showing certain very large and business-like teeth. then boris felt that it would be well to find that spear of his as quickly as possible, for he had no other weapon about him, and the bear appeared to be very much in earnest. so the hunter turned and ran, with the bear at his heels. at first boris rather enjoyed the chase. it would be an amusing story to tell at the village when he arrived there with the bear's skin. how the peasants would all laugh, and how they would sing and make merry in the evening over the downfall of their enemy! boris could afford to tell a good story about himself and a bear, even though the laugh had been on the bear's side to begin with, if he produced the skin of the bear at the same time. yes, _if_. but the growling of the brute sounded rather close at his ear, and boris was forced to dodge in and out between the tree trunks in order to avoid capture. as the moments passed, and he grew more and more out of breath, boris longed eagerly for the welcome sight of his bear-spear. once or twice the bear had so nearly collared him that he bethought him that he must devise some plan by which to gain a little breath. a roar and a rush from behind at this moment, together with the loss of a considerable portion of the tail of his shirt, which, being worn outside the trousers, russian fashion, had fluttered in the breeze, made it plain that there was no time to be lost. he must take to a tree and gain time. so boris pulled himself together, put on a mighty spurt, and was five feet up the stem of a pine tree just as bruin reached the foot of it, and rose on his hind legs to follow him aloft. up went boris and up went bruin, both fine climbers, and both scrambling and puffing as though their very lives depended upon their agility, as indeed was the case so far as concerned one at least of them. quick as he was, boris was nearly caught. he had barely time to climb along a branch and let himself fall to the earth, when the bear was already upon the same bough and looking down after him, meditating as to whether he too should drop to the ground or adopt the slower and safer course of climbing down again by the trunk, as he had come up. luckily for boris the discretion of that bear prevailed over his desire to save time, and he decided upon the slower method of descent. this decision gave boris a moment or two of breathing time, which he sadly required. he sat down to rest, and looked around frantically in every direction in hopes of catching sight of his spear. that action nearly cost him his life. the bear, impatient as bears are when irritated, could not tolerate the slow process of descending which it had chosen, and when half-way down the stem of the pine had dropped the rest of the way in order to gain time. boris was barely able to rise and slip away when the heavy brute dropped upon the very spot where he had been sitting. away went boris, slightly refreshed, and with his "second wind" coming on, and after him flew bruin, furious and determined. again boris dodged and ran, and ran and dodged, and again he felt the hot breath and heard the loud pants and growls at his ear; again his breath began to fail him, and his heart as well, when, just as he was nearly spent, his eye fell upon that which was to him at that moment the fairest sight that ever his eye beheld--his beloved spear leaning against a tree-trunk one hundred yards away. chapter ii. boris finds a new friend. boris was so exhausted with the long chase that he had hardly sufficient strength to reach the weapon and turn it against his furious pursuer. to do this he must gain ground upon the bear, which was at the instant so close behind that he could have kicked it with his heel. summoning therefore all the energy of which he was still master, the hunted hunter filled his lungs to the full, and started to run the fastest hundred yards that he had ever covered. so swiftly did he fly over the ground that he was some twenty-five good paces in front of the bear when his hands closed upon his faithful spear, and he knew that, for the moment at least, he was saved, and that if only his strength did not fail him he should now hold his own and perhaps a little more when bruin came to close quarters. twisting round with the rapidity of a spindle, boris felt for a steady foothold for both of his feet, found it, poised his long steel-tipped wooden spear, took a long, deep breath, set his teeth, and in a moment the struggle had commenced. the bear, slightly rising on his hind legs to seize and hug his foe, threw himself with a loud roar of rage upon boris, impaling himself as he did so upon the cruel point of the spear. this was a critical moment. strong as he was, and firmly as he had taken his stand, the shock of the huge brute's rush all but knocked poor weary boris off his legs and nearly tore his muscular arms from their sockets. the bear, mad with pain and rage, pressed in its fury upon the stout spear, and bit and tore at the good oak until the splinters flew and the whole spear shook and trembled in the hunter's grasp. breathless and weary as he was, boris nevertheless held his own, and for some time budged not an inch. there is a limit, however, to the powers of the hardest muscles and of the stoutest hearts, and the present tension was more than the bravest and the strongest could support for any length of time. boris was evidently tiring. had he been fresh when this great wrestling match began, he would long since have made an irresistible rush, pushed the monster over backwards, and despatched him with repeated digs of the spear, as he had many a time treated bears before. but boris was weary with his long struggle. he could not hold on much longer, but in desperation he still clung to his quivering spear, and pushed with all his might and determination against his giant enemy. and now his head began to swim, and his eyes grew hot and dimmed, and there was a sound in his ears as of waters that rushed in and overwhelmed him. still his senses did not desert him, nor his nerve. as he became conscious that his strength was failing him he became the more determined to hold out, and with a hoarse shout of defiance he pulled himself together for one supreme effort. his failing grasp clutched tighter at the shaft; his stiff and aching feet planted themselves yet more firmly in their grip of the foothold from which they had not budged by a hair's-breadth; his tightened muscles tightened themselves yet more as he bore upon the shaft, and forced it by sheer strength of will a couple of inches further towards victory. the bear tottered, his eyes rolled and his tongue showed between his teeth, and for a moment it seemed that boris had won the battle. now it is anybody's game! for an instant and another neither bear nor man has the advantage. then the bear rallies. growling, sputtering, roaring, the monster slowly recovers his lost ground, then gains an inch, and another. boris feels faint and dizzy; his strength is failing, his grasp relaxing. still he fights on; but it is useless now. his brave feet, that have held their own so long, give way; his muscles too, they have made a good fight, but they cannot hold out longer--they are relaxing; his fingers are loosening their hold upon the shaft; his eyes are so dim now that they cannot see the monster who is falling upon him to slay him; he is vanquished, he is giving ground rapidly; in another instant he will fall, and die. the bear will die too, of course; that thought will be his dying consolation. a shout of encouragement behind him, and the sound of rushing feet! "hold tight there just one minute more!" somebody cries; and automatically the stiffened fingers tighten themselves, and the feet grip the ground. then a fresh hand grasps the shaft; two powerful feet plant themselves in the place where the failing ones have stood; and as the wearied and vanquished boris falls fainting to the earth, the new arrival bears upon that stout staff with a force which even the mighty bear cannot withstand. back goes the bear by inches--now he is tottering--another shout and an irresistible rush forwards, and he is down, fighting and tearing to the last as a bold king of the forest should. one more dig into the dying monster, a kick upon the prostrate carcass with the long, heavy russian boot, and then the stranger turns to look after poor boris. but first he wipes his hands upon a tuft of purple-fruited bilberry leaves, and from an inner pocket of his somewhat rich-looking _kaftan_, or tunic, he produces a silver-tipped flagon of russian spirits. this he puts to the lips of boris, who soon revives under the treatment, and sits up, dazed, to stare around with his hand to his eyes. first he fixes a long look upon the prostrate bear and the spear lying beside it; then he catches sight of the stranger, and stares long and fixedly at him. at last he says, "are you st. boris come to save me in answer to my call?" the stranger burst into a loud, jovial guffaw. "bless your heart," he shouted, "i'm not a saint! very far from it, i'm afraid. i'm only a man, like yourself." "a man indeed!" said boris; "and such a man as i have not seen the likeness of--well, since i last looked in the looking-glass!" boris made this remark in perfectly good faith, and without the slightest intention of paying himself a compliment. he knew well enough that he was by many degrees the strongest and finest-looking man in the country side, and by comparing the stranger with himself he merely offered honest testimony to the magnificent appearance of the latter. nor was his admiration misplaced, for a finer-looking young fellow than he who now bent over boris was rarely seen. scarcely more than a boy--he was about the same age as boris himself--the stranger was tall and robust, and straight as a young pine; taller than boris, and broader too, though not more athletic-looking. his face was handsome and powerful, and his black hair curled in masses over a wide forehead and bold, rather cruel eyes. boris gazed in admiration at this magnificent specimen of humanity--it was a new sensation to him to see any one physically superior to himself. "you made a good fight," said the stranger, guffawing once more over the last speech of boris; "but though you seem to have a fairly good opinion of yourself, that bear would have been lying on the top of you by this time if i had not come up in the nick of time. i watched the fight for some minutes. you have pluck, i am pleased to observe. what is your name?" "boris the bear-hunter," replied that worthy. "ha, ha! boris the bear-_hunted_, you mean," laughed the stranger. "well, i should like to know more of you, if you will. come and see me to-morrow morning at archangel, and we'll have a chat." "very well, _barin_" (gentleman), said boris, feeling, in spite of his own usually defiant independence of spirit, that here was one who must of necessity command and be obeyed; "for i see you are a barin by your kaftan. what are you called, and where shall i seek you?" "petka, and sometimes petrushka, is my name," said the big youth; "and you may ask for me at the burgomaster's house in the town. you will hear of me there till eleven to-morrow; after that i take ship for a sail abroad. and now i will leave you and _mishka_[1] yonder to take care of one another. beware, while you skin him, that he doesn't jump up and skin _you_. he may be shamming while i am here, you see; but he has no cause to be afraid of you." with which gentle sarcasm and another jovial laugh the tall youth departed, leaving boris to reflect upon the extreme good fortune which had sent him the right man at the right moment to extract him from the tightest fix he had ever succeeded in getting himself into during the whole course of his nineteen summers. footnote: [1] _mishka_ is the familiar russian name for a bear. chapter iii. boris changes masters. boris, when he returned to the village that same afternoon, enjoyed a veritable triumph at the hands of his delighted fellows. he was honest enough to confess his indebtedness to the stranger, but this did not make the slightest difference in the gratitude of the peasants; and indeed the service which boris had rendered them, in thus ridding them of an infliction worse than the most terrible blight, was no slight one. a large bear, when so disposed, and when allowed to work his wicked will upon the corn-fields of a village, will very speedily either consume or trample into hay the entire grain wealth of the community; so that the gratitude of the peasants was proportionate to their clear gain in the death of one of the two monster pests which had come, like a scourge upon the village, to devour the fatness thereof. boris was carried shoulder-high through the one street of the place; while the carcass of the dead robber, slung by his four legs to a pole, was borne behind, escorted by a booing, yelling crowd of women and children. a bonfire was lighted at night in honour of the hunter and his achievement, when portions of the bear were cooked and eaten, more as an expression of contempt for the late owner of the flesh than for love of the food. most of the carcass was given to the dogs, however, and they, at least, were delighted with the feast. boris was well feasted with _vodka_ and with other delicacies equally bad for him; but being a sensible youth and steady withal, he did not retire at night in the degraded condition of most of his fellow-villagers. he was elated, no doubt, not by the fumes of the spirits, however, but by the sense of triumph; yet the more he pondered over his fight and victory, the more clearly did he realize his indebtedness to the timely aid of the strong young giant who had come to his assistance. as he lay and dozed, half conscious, through the hot hours of the summer night, boris weaved the adventure of the day into a thousand fantastic shapes, in all of which, however, the stranger played an important part: sometimes he was his own patron saint; then he was a benevolent _lieshui_, or wood-spirit, a class of beings fully believed in by the peasants, but, according to popular tradition, more likely to take the part of the bear than of boris in a fight between the two. in a word, the stranger assumed so many various shapes in the hunter's overwrought brain at night, that when day came boris was by no means certain whether the stranger had in reality existed at all, and was inclined to fancy that the whole thing had been a dream as he lay and slept after the death of the bear, which he had slain single-handed. half hoping that this might prove to be the case--for the idea that he had almost been worsted by a bear, however huge, was an unwelcome thought to so renowned a hunter--boris determined, nevertheless, that he would at least journey as far as the town, which was but a mile or two distant, in order to learn for himself whether there indeed existed a young giant of the name of petka. boris set out at the appointed hour for archangel and the house of the burgomaster. the house was easily found, for it was the principal building of the place, and was so grand, indeed, to look upon that boris scarcely liked his mission. what if the whole thing should have been a dream? why, what a fool he would appear, coming to this grand place and inquiring for some one who did not exist; all these serfs and dressed-up people about the front door would laugh at him, and tell him to go home and drink less vodka the next time he killed a bear. however, boris reflected, if any one should laugh at him, laughers were easily knocked down. he was as good a man, and perhaps a trifle better, than any of these embroidered chaps. let them laugh if they liked; their mirth might cost them a little of their embroidery! so boris pulled himself together, and marched up to the porch of the big wooden structure which had been pointed out to him as the house of the burgomaster. a stately doorkeeper, dressed, in spite of the warmth of the season, in a gold-laced kaftan and a high fur cap, listened to the young peasant's inquiry with some bewilderment. was there any one living there of the name of petka? boris had asked,--a young fellow about his own age? boris believed he was a barin, but could not be sure; he gave this address. "petka?" repeated the astonished porter. "what do you mean? petka who? what's his family name?" "i only know he called himself petka; he said sometimes he was known as petrushka," said boris, beginning to feel assured that he was the victim of a dream. "he was a tall, well-set-up sort of a fellow," he continued, "as big as i am, or bigger. come now; is he here, or is he not? i warn you i am not a man to annoy; i am boris the bear-hunter." it was not meant as an idle boast. had the doorkeeper been a native of the town he would have known well enough who the bearer of this name was; but it so happened that this man was a new arrival from moscow, whence he had come with the retinue of his master the tsar, and therefore the title meant nothing to him, but savoured only of boasting and the conceit of local celebrity. "well," he said, "you can go home again and hunt your bears at leisure; there's no petka, nor yet petrushka, here. as for annoying you, i know nothing about that, but you are going the right way to get yourself a taste of the knout, my friend; and if you don't clear out of this street in double quick time, i shall summon those who are very well able to make you cry, though you may be the best bear-sticker that ever walked. now then, off you go!" the fellow laid his hand upon the hunter's arm, as though to put his threat of violence into execution; but in doing so he made a great mistake. boris was fearless and independent; he was unaccustomed to threats and interference. as a rule people were afraid of him, and showed him deference: what right had this man to browbeat and threaten him? boris's hot blood resented the insult, and in a moment the man lay sprawling at his feet, bellowing loudly for help, crying and swearing in a breath, in a manner which is natural to the russian peasant. his cries instantly brought around the pair a host of serfs and servants, who quickly hustled boris within the passage, and made as though they would lay hold of him. but this the high-spirited hunter of bears would not submit to, and, with his back to the wall, he hit out right and left with so good effect that the number of his assailants was considerably reduced in very quick time indeed. this was a row quite after boris's own heart, and he was thoroughly enjoying himself among the noisy crowd of shouting and whining serving-men, when a loud voice broke in above the noise--a voice that boris seemed to recognize, and at the sound of which every other voice in that noisy hall died away into instant silence. the fallen assailants of boris uprose from the earth and ranged themselves in line, prepared to denounce the foe or to excuse themselves according as occasion arose. but the new arrival exacted no explanations. "why," he cried, "it's my friend the bear-eater! come along this way, bear-eater, and tell me all about this disturbance. have you killed so few bears of late that you must needs work off your spare energies at the expense of my poor servants? well, well, if you were to rid me of a score or two of the thieving rogues, i should do well enough without them, i daresay. but what is it all about?" "the man with the embroidery wanted to give me the knout because i asked for you by the name of petka," said boris, feeling that there was more in all this than he had quite understood. this must be something like a barin, who could talk in so airy a way of a "score or two" of his servants. "you said your name was petka, didn't you?" "assuredly," said the other, leading the way into a private chamber; "petka or petrushka, sometimes peter--i answer to all these names. but come now, to business. i like the look of you, boris. i want russians with strong bodies and brave hearts; i shall have work for them. do you feel inclined to enter my service? i will pay you well if you serve me well. now, then, no wasting words, for i am due down at the harbour--is it yes or no?" "but i am not my own master," said the astonished boris. "i am the property of my barin, who employs me to hunt the bears and wolves. i cannot say i will leave him and serve you, though i like the look of you well enough. besides, what do you want me for--to kill bears?" "you shall hunt the bears to your heart's content," said the barin; "and as for your master, i will see that he does not object to your transfer to my service. is it agreed? come, yes or no." "yes, then," said boris, who both spoke and acted as in a dream. the mastery of this young giant over him seemed so complete that he could not have answered otherwise than in the affirmative even if he had wished to do so. he was drawn by a power stronger than himself. "very well," said the other, writing rapidly, "excellently well; shake hands upon it. take this to your master, and come to this place to enter upon your service to-morrow morning. you may ask for piotr [peter] alexeyevitch, and i shall be ready to receive you. now i must go sailing with meinheer de kuyper. stay; your hand-grip now. good! that's more like a grip than any i have felt for some time. i shall like you, i think; only serve me faithfully." peter alexeyevitch, as he had called himself, left the room with these words. but boris preserved somewhat painful reminiscences of his new friend and master for several hours, for the return hand-grip had been such that the bones of his hand had ground together in the mighty clasp. chapter iv. boris goes a-sailing. it was all very well for boris to tell his new friend that he would enter his service; but when, away from the glamour of his presence, he considered the matter in cold blood, it appeared to him to be a somewhat audacious proceeding on his part to coolly bring to his master a note from some one else, whom he could only describe as a tall and masterful young barin of the name of peter alexeyevitch, stating that somebody proposed to deprive his lawful lord of the services of his paid serf and servant, the bear-hunter! why, after all, should his lord consent to so audacious a proposal from a total stranger? there was no reason that boris knew why he should do so; in all probability he would refuse, and perhaps punish boris besides for his impertinence and disloyalty in proposing such a thing, or at least being a consenting party to such a proposal. hence boris entered the barin's house at dubinka in some trepidation, and gave his letter into the master's own hands, quite expecting an angry reception. "well, boris, so you killed one of the two bears, i'm told," began the barin. "you've come for your 'tea-money,' i suppose? well, you have deserved it this time, and i shall pay it with pleasure. what's this?--a letter? from whom?" "that's what i can't tell your mercifulness," said boris. "petka, he calls himself, but i don't know who he is, excepting that he is a gentleman like yourself, and very big and strong--like me." the barin took the letter and glanced at it; then he flushed, and uttered an exclamation of surprise. then he laughed, and patted boris kindly on the back. "bravo, boris!" he said, "you have made a useful friend. do you know whom this letter is from?" "from petka, of course!" said blunt boris. "your friend is the tsar of all the russias, my son; and, moreover, he has requested me to transfer you to his service. you are a lucky boy, boris, and i hope you may do your new master credit. serve him well. he is peter, the hope of the nation; all russia looks to him, for he promises much. you are a lucky fellow, boris, and you may be a great man yet." astonishment and wonder had caused the bear-hunter to collapse into a chair, a liberty he would never have thought of taking except under extraordinary circumstances. the tsar! it was actually the tsar himself who had stepped forward to save his humble life. boris pinched his leg to see whether he was awake or asleep: it was all right, he was not dreaming. and he had called him "petka," and the tsar had not promptly cut off his head for the impertinence! perhaps he would to-morrow when he went to the burgomaster's house in the morning. and those were the tsar's servants with whose whining forms he had carpeted the floor of the entrance hall! assuredly he would pay for all this with his head. in a dazed condition boris left the barin's presence, and walked home to his father's cottage, wondering whether it would not be wiser, on the whole, to disappear into the depths of the forest until such time as the tsar should have left archangel and returned to moscow? but worthier thoughts quickly succeeded these promptings of cowardice. boris recalled the tsar's kind words--he had taken a fancy to the bear-hunter, he said; and again, "russia had need of strong arms and brave hearts!" if this was so, and he could please the magnificent young tsar by doing it, he should unreservedly place his life and his service at peter's disposal. the next morning found boris once again at the house of the burgomaster. this time the embroidered functionary in charge of the front entrance, mindful of his experience of the preceding day, was careful to keep his conversation void of offence, and to preserve a respectful demeanour to the owner of two such powerful fists. acting perhaps on orders received, he ushered the young bear-hunter directly into the presence of his new master. peter sat at a table, busily employed in manipulating a model sailing-vessel, explaining the uses of the various sails and other portions of the ship's furniture to a stolidly attentive companion, who sat and listened and smoked, and occasionally bowed his head in assent to the propositions laid down by his handsome young companion. there could not well be a greater contrast between any two men than existed between these two--the one, a short, thick-set, squat-figured, dutch-built caricature of a man; the other, tall, far beyond the ordinary height of man, straight as any one of all the millions of pines that stood sentinel over his vast dominions, noble and majestic, the very incarnate spirit of majesty. peter paused in his lesson to greet the new-comer. "de kuyper," he said, "look here! this is a fellow who calls himself a bear-hunter, and i saw him the other day running away from a bear for dear life, like a hare from a hound--it was grand! if i had not interfered, the bear would have deprived me of the services of an excellent soldier, or sailor, or keeper, or whatever i may decide to make of him--eh, boris?" "i will serve your majesty with my life blood in whatever manner you may be pleased to use me," said boris, kneeling before the young tsar and touching the ground with his forehead; "and i entreat you to forgive my ignorance yesterday, and my impertinence in treating you as little better than my equal----" "nonsense," said peter; "get up. i hate cringing and all foolery. you shall show me what you are good for; i shall see that you have ample opportunity. meanwhile let's have no talk about equality or inferiority. you will find that they who serve me well are my equals in all but the name. for the present you are my special body-servant, to attend me wherever i go. and first you shall attend me on board de kuyper's ship, and we shall see what prospect there is of making a sailor of you.--come on, de kuyper, the wind is getting up. we shall have a glorious sail.--come on you too, boris." de kuyper was the fortunate skipper of the first foreign vessel which had entered the port of archangel during the present season, after the disappearance of the ice had left the harbour open to arrivals from abroad. peter had instantly boarded the _drei gebrã¼der_ on its appearance, and having himself purchased the cargo, and handsomely rewarded the skipper and crew for their enterprise, carried away de kuyper to be his guest and favourite companion until his departure from archangel. under the dutch skipper's guidance, peter was laying the foundations of that nautical experience which was so often to stand him in good stead in after life. boris was no sailor--indeed, he had never been fifty yards from the shore upon shipboard, though he had ventured very much further in swimming. his sensations, therefore, as the lumbering old vessel plunged through the waves, were the reverse of enviable. peter himself handled the rudder, and gave all the necessary orders for managing the sails, insisting upon boris doing his share of the work in spite of the misery of sea-sickness which sat heavily upon the poor landsman. it was a splendid day--hot on shore, but delightfully cool and pleasant out at sea. the wind blew freshly from the north and east, and peter crowded on all the sail he could. the clumsy old vessel, squat-built and broad in the beam like her master, strained and groaned beneath the weight of canvas, but sped along at a rate which filled the young tsar's soul with the wildest delight. as usual, when particularly happy, he was boisterous and very noisy, poking fun at de kuyper, boris, and the sailors, and from time to time singing snatches of his favourite songs. it so happened that a small boat which was attached by a short length of tow-rope to the stern of the _drei gebrã¼der_ presently broke adrift, in consequence of the strain, and floated away astern. the young tsar was annoyed. he loved a good boat, and disliked to see one needlessly lost before his eyes. "de kuyper," he shouted, "have you a swimmer on board? send one of your dutchmen after it! come, look sharp about it! they're not afraid surely? why, i'll go myself; see here!" before the horrified skipper could prevent him, the rash young tsar had thrown away his kaftan and boots, and was in the act of mounting the bulwark, when a strong hand seized his shoulder and pulled him back. the tsar flushed with anger, and raised his big right hand to strike the man who had presumed to take so great a liberty; but boris pushed back the lifted arm with a sweep of his own, leaped upon a hen-coop near at hand, so to the bulwark of the vessel, and in an instant was overboard, battling with the waves, and making good progress towards the fast-disappearing boat, now far astern. the tsar's face was all beaming with delight in a moment. "de kuyper!" he cried, "look at the lad--a russian lad, mind you, skipper; none of your dutchmen! would your dutchmen swim those waves? i think not. i tell you, skipper, that bear-hunter is a man after my own heart. did you observe him push me aside--glorious!--as though i had been the cabin-boy? oh, for ten thousand such russians!" de kuyper grunted and took the rudder, which peter in his excitement had neglected. "your bear-hunter had better look sharp and get into that boat," he muttered, "for the sky looks squally, and we shall have a knock-about before we reach archangel. the sooner we get him and the boat aboard the better i shall be pleased!" boris meanwhile was fast gaining upon the lost boat. soon he had reached it and was hauling himself over the side. the oars were safe, so that he had little difficulty in propelling the small craft towards the larger vessel, which had put about, and was now coming round as quickly as possible, in order to take up the recovered boat and its occupant. with some considerable difficulty, owing to the roughness of the sea, this was at last effected; and boris felt that he was amply repaid for the risk he had run by the few words of the tsar, and his mighty grip of the hand. "bear-eater," he had said, "you are my brother; let that be understood between us." after this episode neither sea-sickness nor the discomfort of sitting in wet clothes could divert the mind of boris from the thought of his exceeding great joy. he had been called "brother" by the young tsar--the god-like peter, who had been hailed almost from his cradle as the hope of russia; of whom even the unlettered boris in far-off archangel had heard distant and indistinct rumours, as of some prince of fairyland, come from no one knew where, to work wonders for his empire, and astonish the world by his power and magnificence! now he had seen this wonder of the age with his own eyes--he had spoken with him--was his servant--had received his approbation, nay, had been called "brother" by him. boris, musing thus on his great good fortune, suddenly became aware of a commotion on board. a squall had violently struck the vessel, and she was heeling over till her rail lay deep in the surging sea, and her deck sloped like the side of one of his beloved snow-hills. peter, at the helm, was shouting orders to the seamen, with his eyes fixed upon the sails, while the vessel plunged and lay over till the seas washed her fore and aft. de kuyper rushed to the rudder. "steady her--steady, tsar!" he shouted, "or we shall founder in a minute!" peter, wanting experience and unused to squalls and emergencies, was thinking only of the splendid excitement of rushing through the big waves as fast as the ship could be made to go; the danger of the moment was nothing to him. perhaps he did not realize it; he certainly did not heed it. "steady her, i tell you!" shrieked the skipper once more. "here; let me come! i won't go to the bottom for a hundred russian kings. let go, i say!" peter's face flushed angrily. "keep away, de kuyper, keep away," he cried; "don't anger me. this is glorious!" but de kuyper knew that this was no time for the politeness of courts and the deference due to princes. he seized peter by the shoulders and forced him from the tiller. "i'm skipper of this vessel," he shouted, "and i intend to be obeyed while aboard of her. you shall command when we get ashore, if we ever do!" peter let go his hold of the clumsy tiller-shaft, looking for a moment like a thunder-cloud. during that moment he revolved in his mind whether or not he should take up that squat little dutch skipper in his great arms and throw him overboard; but better impulses prevailed. the vessel quickly righted under de kuyper's experienced guidance, and flew through the water actually quicker than before, and upon a more even keel. in a moment peter had recovered his equanimity. he burst into a roar of laughter, and brought his big hand with a whack upon the little dutchman's shoulder. "skipper," he cried, in his hearty loud tones of approval, "forgive me! you are a better sailor than i am, and a plucky fellow to boot. i love a man who stands up to me. you dutchmen are a fine race, and good sailors." de kuyper, the excitement over and the danger past, was much upset by the recollection of his rudeness to one who, though his inferior in the art of sailing, was so immeasurably his superior in position and importance. he apologized profusely and humbly, and on his knees begged to be forgiven. "get up," said peter, "and don't be a fool, skipper. i liked you far better when you forced me away from the tiller. i was a fool, and you told me so; that is what i like in a man." chapter v. how peter the great was knocked over. before boris had been very long in the service of the tsar he had become quite an expert sailor; indeed, he and his young master were scarcely ever absent from shipboard of one kind or another. archangel was at this time russia's one outlet to the sea. st. petersburg was not yet built, nor cronstadt thought of; the baltic ports had still to be wrested from their proprietors; only the little northern port at the mouth of the dwina was open to receive the ships and commerce of the world. consequently, as the season proceeded, vessels of all nationalities, including english, appeared with their merchandise at this distant market; and peter passed many weeks in the most congenial occupation of studying each vessel that entered the port, sailing about in them, making friends with their captains, and learning everything he could gather of the history and circumstances of the people to which each belonged. boris, too, learned many marvels concerning this planet of ours and its inhabitants, undreamed of hitherto. the young hunter was constantly in attendance on peter--waited upon him at dinner, slept at his door at night, sailed with him, walked abroad with him, and was, in a word, his inseparable companion. the villagers at dubinka greatly deplored the departure of boris from among them; for what were they going to do without him when the winter-time came round, and the wolves began to be both numerous and assertive? who was to keep them in check now that the great boris was gone? even now they had the best of reasons for acutely deploring the hunter's absence. it will be remembered that whereas there had been two bears engaged in the plundering of the peasants' corn-fields, only one of these had been accounted for by boris before his departure. the second bear had disappeared for some little time after the death of its liege lord; but the days of her mourning being now accomplished, she had reappeared, and with appetite largely improved by her period of abstinence. her depredations became so serious at last that it was resolved by the council of the peasants to send into the town a request to boris to devote his earliest leisure to a personal interview with the widow of his late antagonist. boris received the message of the good folks of dubinka with delight. the very mention of a bear aroused all his old sporting instincts, and he went straight to the tsar to obtain his permission to absent himself for a day. "ho, ho!" laughed peter. "so you want to be eaten up again, do you? i doubt whether i can spare you; you have made yourself too useful to me. had you not better stay? it is safer here." boris blushed. "the bear isn't born yet, sire," he said, "that will make me run again. the bear you killed had caught me napping. i shall never leave my spear again, to eat strawberries." "well, well," said peter, "you shall go on one condition--that i go with you to see you safely through with the adventure." and so it came about that boris and his master walked out very early one summer morning to relieve the peasants of dubinka of their unwelcome visitor. the two young giants called first at the house of the _starost_, or principal peasant of the place, whom they aroused from his slumbers and carried off with them into the fields at the edge of the forest, to show them the exact spot at which the robber had concluded her supper on the previous evening; for it was probable that she would recommence her plundering at or about the same spot. the starost brought the hunters to the place they sought, approaching it in abject terror, and scudding home again like a hare, lest the bear should pursue him back over the fields. boris was the tsar's master in their present occupation, and thoroughly understood what he was about. the pair concealed themselves in a dense clump of cover at the edge of the wood. just in front of their ambush lay the oat-field last honoured by the attentions of the bear. a large portion of it looked as though a battle had been fought on it, so downtrodden and crushed were the tall, delicate stalks. it was arranged that peter should hold the spear, while boris was to be content with the hunting-knife, one which the tsar had brought with him, a long and business-like blade, both tough and sharp, as a blade needs to be to be driven through the thick hide of a bear. the young monarch was anxious to try his "'prentice hand" with the spear, for he had never handled one excepting on that memorable occasion when he gave the final push to the huge brute which had first winded and then overpowered poor boris. the hunter very carefully explained the exact way in which peter must poise his body, how he must grip the spear-shaft, and how he must plant his feet so as to balance his body conveniently and at the same time obtain a purchase with his heel which should enable him to support any, even the greatest, strain. then the two men waited in silence for the arrival of the widow of the late lamented mr. bruin. it was still very early, about four o'clock. there was no sound to break the repose of the young day, save the boisterous song which now and again some little bird set up for a moment, and as suddenly broke off, finding itself to be the only singer. the pines swayed solemnly in the faint morning breeze, sending down showers of bright dewdrops far and wide. a hare was playing quietly in the oat-field, quite unconscious of the presence of its natural enemy, man; and presently a proudly-clucking grouse walked out with her brood into the oat-strown space beyond the wood, and there demonstrated to her young hopefuls how easily a breakfast could be picked up by people who knew where to look for it. in the far distance a family of cranes could be heard at intervals, exchanging confidences upon the adventures of the past night and the delights of a hearty breakfast of frog. suddenly, and without apparent reason, the hare raised its head, sniffed the air, and in a moment was scuttling full speed across the field, heading for the village, as though it had remembered a message for the starost which it had omitted to deliver while he was on the spot. the careful grouse at the same moment rose from the earth with a loud cluck, and darted away, followed by her little brood. over the tops of the pines they went, far away into the heart of the forest. in another moment the reason for this abrupt departure of bird and beast became apparent. shuffling awkwardly along, and mumbling in a querulous way as she went, as though complaining that she had been called up to breakfast earlier than was necessary, came the wicked old widow-bear, marching straight for the standing oats, as though everything in the district belonged to her. she was a huge creature, a fitting helpmate for the gigantic old warrior whom peter had slain. slowly she picked her way along, swinging her heavy body and half-turning her great head at each step, looking alternately to right and to left in a perfunctory manner, as though making a concession to the principle of precaution, while declining to believe in the possibility of misadventure. boris's finger was at his lip, enjoining patience and prudence, for the impulsive young tsar was excited, and quite capable of ruining the chances of a successful hunt by doing something rash and ill-timed. boris touched the tsar's arm and whispered. peter was to creep cautiously along and place himself in the very spot at which the bear had issued from the forest. when there, he was to hold his spear ready for action and await events. boris himself would walk out into the oat-field, in full view of the bear, who would probably not charge him. most likely she would hurry back to the cover, entering the wood where she had left it; and if boris could influence her course, he would encourage her to choose that particular direction. then the tsar must suddenly step out from his ambush and receive the bear upon his spear; and if matters went smoothly, the impetus of her flight would bring her down upon him, whether she liked it or not. the plan of attack thus settled, peter withdrew under cover of the bushes and pine trunks to take up the position assigned him, while boris boldly stepped forth from his ambush, and made for a point beyond the place where the bear was now busy gobbling the grain greedily, and emitting grunts of satisfaction and high content. so well occupied was she, indeed, that she took no notice of the hunter's approach until boris was nearly level with her. then she raised her head with a grunt, and expressed her surprise and displeasure in a loud roar. for a moment it appeared likely that she would charge boris, who, having nothing but a hunting-knife wherewith to defend himself, might in that event have fared badly; for he would have died rather than turn his back upon her and run, since peter was at hand to see. but timid counsels prevailed, and mrs. bruin quickly determined to take the safer course. she twisted her bulky body round, and made off, as boris had foretold, straight for the spot at which she had left the forest. boris ran after her, shouting, in hopes of accelerating her speed; and in this he was entirely successful. straight down for the tsar's ambush she raced, and close at her heels went boris, shouting instructions to peter as he sped. the result of all this speed and excitement was that by the time the great creature had reached the spot where peter awaited her, the impetus of her flight was so great that she was upon him, as he stepped out to meet her, ere she had time to swerve sufficiently to avoid him. the tsar had stepped forth at precisely the right moment, and was ready with poised spear to receive the rush. his feet had gripped the earth as tightly as in the somewhat slippery condition of the ground was practicable. with a roar the monster hurled herself upon the spear-point, uttering a second and very bitter cry as she felt the steel enter into her vitals. the shock of her rush was terrific. peter, strong as he was and firmly as he had planted himself, was knocked off his feet in an instant, and ere boris could realize the full horror of the situation, the most valuable life in all russia lay at the mercy of an enraged and maddened she-bear. peter fell backwards; but as the huge brute precipitated herself upon the top of him, the good spear-shaft of seasoned wood caught in the ground, and for a moment held her suspended, so that she could reach her enemy with neither teeth nor claws. that moment saved the tsar's life. boris was but a few yards behind, and it was the work of an instant for him to cast himself headlong upon the carcass of the roaring, blood-stained brute, and with an accurately placed thrust of the knife in her throat put an end in the nick of time to her cravings for vengeance. with his additional weight thrown suddenly into the scale the good spear-shaft snapped in two, and bear and hunter together toppled over upon the prostrate figure of russia's tsar. [illustration: "that moment saved the tsar's life." _page 54._ ] "thank you, brother boris," said the tsar quietly, rising from the ground and wiping the bear's blood from his clothes. "it was well done; we are quits. when you see me over-proud, my son, you shall remind me of this morning, and how an old she-bear sent me head over heels. now let's get home to breakfast." chapter vi. a taste of the knout. thus were laid and cemented the foundations of a friendship destined to last for many a long, history-making year. boris was a man after peter's own heart, and from those early archangel days until the end of their lives the two were rarely parted for long, excepting when the exigencies of public affairs necessitated the departure of one of them for distant portions of the realm. the summer in archangel is a short one, and by the end of august autumn is in full progress, with icy warnings of winter at night-time. peter the tsar had, besides, many important duties which called for his presence at the capital, moscow; and towards the end of july it became necessary to bring his delightful seaside holiday to an end, and return to sterner duties at home. peter decided to travel in a three-horse _tarantass_, a springless carriage slung upon a pole instead of springs--comfortable enough on soft country roads, but desperately jolting on stony ones. boris had begged to be allowed to accompany his beloved patron and friend, in order that he might instruct the tsar in the art of "calling" wolves and perhaps lynxes, and thus while away a few of the tedious hours of the long journey. peter was delighted to acquiesce in this arrangement; for if there was one thing in the world that this most energetic of sovereigns could not tolerate, it was to sit idle with no possibility of finding food for observation for his eyes or new facts and new ideas for assimilation in his ever active and receptive brain. so the two posted on in front of the long procession of servants and luggage, comfortably housed in a covered tarantass, drawn by three horses abreast, and driven by a notable driver renowned for his skill in persuading that erratic animal, the russian pony, to move along faster than had been its intention when it started. ivan arrived at this happy result by a judicious mixture of coaxing and abuse, calling the ponies every pet name in the russian vocabulary at one moment, and sounding the very depths and shoals of the language of the slums at the next. ivan was never silent for a moment, but spoke to his ponies incessantly; and these latter generously decided as a rule that they must do their best for such an orator. through the tumble-down villages of northern russia the tarantass flew, while the inhabitants stared round-eyed as it passed, not dreaming for a moment that it was their tsar who glided by, but taking him for one of the many traders who posted between the seaport and the capital in tarantasses crammed with merchandise of every description. peter was well armed with matchlock and pistols, for there was the possibility of a _rencontre_ with wolves or robbers, and it was well to be prepared for every contingency. the two young men frequently stopped at some village _traktir_, or inn, as they passed, to refresh themselves with a meal of peasant fare and a chat with the village people, whose opinions about his august self peter loved to learn. since they had not the slightest idea of the identity of their questioner, the tsar gathered much information of great value to himself in indicating which way, to use a familiar expression, "the cat jumped" with regard to popular opinion upon some of the important questions of the day. most peasants, peter found, were convinced that the tsar was more than human. exaggerated versions of his intelligence and vigour as child and boy had reached them, and it was a common belief that the young prince had been specially sent by providence to right the wrongs of the russian people, and to make life for the peasantry a sweet dream of marrow and fatness and exemption from work. the priests, on the other hand, had widely different ideas upon the subject. the young tsar, they said, mournfully shaking their heads, was a fine young fellow, no doubt, but his character was full of danger for holy russia. he was too liberal and progressive. progress was the enemy of russia and of the holy church. russia required no western civilization imported within her peaceful borders. she was not a secular country, but the specially favoured of the church, and foreigners and foreign manners and so-called civilization would be the curse of the country, and peter threatened to introduce both. he was all for progress, and the priests did not believe in progress. occasionally discussion waxed warm at the traktirs visited by the two young men, and once or twice blows were exchanged. once a party of drunken peasants uproariously declared that the tsar peter was a mere usurper, and that if he had had his deserts he would have been "put away" long since in some monastery or castle, never more to be heard of. peter flushed when he heard this, for the question of his right to the throne of russia was always to him a sore point; whereupon boris, seeing that his master was annoyed, sprang up and knocked the speaker down. the landlord then rushed in, and finding that two strangers had set a company of his regular customers by the ears, bade them depart from his house that instant. peter laughed good-naturedly, but on the landlord becoming abusive he seized the man by the neck and trousers and pitched him upon the top of the stove. then boris and the tsar took the rest of the company, who fought with drunken desperation, and pitched them up, one after the other, to join the landlord, until there were nine men in all huddled together on the wide top of the stove, whining and afraid to come down again. peter was perfectly good-humoured throughout, and enjoyed the fun; but the landlord was naturally furious, and when his two tall guests, having paid their reckoning, left the house, he took the opportunity of scrambling down from his prison and going for the village policeman, whom he despatched at full speed after the travellers. the policeman, being well mounted, overtook the tarantass, and explained his mission, when peter immediately gave orders to the driver to turn the horses' heads and return to the village. there the pair, to their great amusement and delight, were placed in the village lock-up, pending inquiries by the village council of peasants; and there they still were when, with bells jingling, and horses galloping, and dust flying, and with much shouting and pomp, the tsar's retinue drove into the place, and pulled up at the traktir. it so happened that the whole of peter's late antagonists, including, of course, the landlord, were still present, having all by this time climbed down from the stove. they were discussing, in the highest good-humour and with much self-satisfaction, the promptitude with which the landlord had avenged the insult to his customers, and discussing also what punishment would be suitable for the delinquents now confined in the village lock-up. the arrival of the tsar's retinue broke up the deliberations, however, and the peasants retired to the far end of the room in order to make way for the crowd of kaftaned and uniformed servants of the tsar, who quickly monopolized all the tables and chairs, and settled themselves for a quarter of an hour's rest and refreshment. the visitors were noisy, and took to ill-using the peasants and chaffing the irate landlord. one of them threw a glass of vodka in his face, and asked him if that was the only sort of stuff he had to offer to gentlemen of quality? the landlord sputtered and raged, and, in the pride of his late successful capture of two travellers, threatened. his threats largely increased the merriment of his guests, who thumped him on the back and roared with laughter. one seized him by the nose in order to cause his mouth to open wide, when he dashed down his throat the contents of a huge tumblerful of _kvass_, a kind of beer very nauseous to any palate save that of a russian peasant. the poor landlord choked and sputtered and abused, but succeeded in escaping out of the room, returning, however, in a few minutes armed with authority in the shape of the _ooriadnik_, or village policeman, whom he requested instantly to "arrest these men." the little policeman glanced at the uproarious company in a bewildered way. he was not a coward, and he relied much upon the power of the law--of which he was the embodiment--to overawe the minds of all good russians. besides, had he not, a few minutes since, successfully arrested and locked up two giants, in comparison with whom these noisy people were mere puppets? he therefore pulled himself together, and tentatively laid his hand upon the arm of one who seemed to be quieter than the rest of the party; he was smaller, anyhow, and would therefore do very well to practise upon first. but the man shook him off and warned him. "don't be a fool," he said; "get out of this and let us alone. don't you see we could strangle you and the whole villageful of peasants if we pleased? go home while you can walk on two legs, and let us alone!" but the plucky little ooriadnik was not so easily discouraged. "you may threaten as much as you please," he said, "but you will find i am not afraid of a party of tipsy cowards like you. why, it isn't half-an-hour since i arrested, all by myself, a couple of fellows three times your size. didn't they fight, too!" the tsar's servants interchanged glances. "where are the two men you speak of?" some one asked.--"what were they driving in, and where were they coming from?" said another. "they're in the village lock-up at this moment," said the ooriadnik; "and that's where you'll be in another minute or two." some of the party looked serious, some burst into roars of laughter, others started up excitedly. "you must show us this lock-up first," said the small person whose arrest was half accomplished; "we can't submit to be huddled into a little hole of a place incapable of holding more than the two you have there already!" "oh, there's plenty of room for you, never fear!" said the brave ooriadnik. "come along, by all means, and see for yourself!" the policeman foresaw an easy way to effect the arrest of at least one or two of those present, and they would serve as hostages for the rest. he would push them in as they stood at the door of the lock-up, and fasten the bolt upon them! so the whole party adjourned to the lock-up. the door was opened, and there, to the horror of his frightened servants, sat the tsar of all the russias, unconcernedly playing cards with boris the bear-hunter. one official instantly seized the ooriadnik by the throat and pinned him to the wall; another performed the same service on the landlord. others threw themselves upon the floor at peter's feet and whined out incoherent reproaches that their beloved sovereign should have trusted himself to travel so far in advance of his faithful servants and guards, and thus lay himself open to outrage of this description. "what is the matter?" asked peter; "what's all the disturbance about? let those men go. get up, all you fools there, and stop whining; there's no harm done.--listen, mr. landlord. you have had me arrested; very well, here i am. i am the tsar; but what of that? if i have done wrong, i desire to be treated just as any other delinquent would be treated. call your village council together, and let's have the inquiry over as quickly as possible. we must push on!" the landlord, followed by the ooriadnik, both in tears and with loud lamentations, threw themselves at peter's feet, asking his pardon and pleading ignorance of his identity with their beloved tsar. but peter insisted upon being treated exactly as any other offender, and the _moujiks_ of the community were convened as quickly as possible to the village court. all these, including the persons whose upheaval upon the stove had been the original cause of all the disturbance, came in terror for their lives--most of them loudly weeping--for there was not one but made sure that the lives of every moujik in the village must of necessity be forfeit, since so terrible an outrage and insult had been inflicted upon the tsar. peter bade the landlord state his case, and instructed the starost, or elder of the community, to question both accuser and accused according to the usual procedure of the village court. but it appeared that both landlord and starost were far too frightened to find their tongues. then the tsar took upon himself to state the case. he and his body-servant, he explained, had violently assaulted the landlord of the inn, together with certain of his customers. there had been provocation, but nevertheless the assault was undoubtedly committed. what was the penalty for assault? the starost, to whom the tsar addressed this remark, burst into tears and knelt with his forehead tapping the floor at peter's feet. all the moujiks followed suit, and for some minutes there was naught to be heard save groanings and whinings and bits of the litany in use in the russo-greek church. but neither the starost nor any of his peers of the community offered a reply. "speak up, man!" said the tsar angrily, and then immediately bursting into one of his loud guffaws. "what's the penalty for assault? speak! i am determined to be told, and by yourself." once more the entire company of peasants made as though they would throw themselves upon the ground and whine and pray as they had done before; but when peter angrily stamped upon the floor, they all, with one accord, renounced the intention and stood quaking in their places. "come, come," said peter impatiently; "don't be a fool, man. you are here to state the law, and you shall state it! what is the penalty for assault?" the wretched starost strove to speak, but his lips would not open. he essayed once again, and this time succeeded in whispering,-"your high mercifulness--pardon--it is ten cuts of the knout." then his legs failed him once more, and he fell, together with his moujiks, upon the floor, weeping and wailing, and calling upon the tsar and upon heaven for mercy. when the hubbub had in part subsided, peter spoke again. "very well," he said. "ooriadnik, do your duty. don't be afraid; i prefer to see duty fearlessly done. take your knout and lay on!" the unfortunate ooriadnik was sufficiently master of himself to comprehend that it was useless to resist when the tsar's will had once been expressed. he took his knout in his nerveless hand, and with white face and haggard expression tapped the tsar's back the necessary number of times, inflicting strokes which would hardly have caused a fly, had one of these insects happened to settle upon peter's broad back, to raise its head and inquire what the matter was. then he threw down his knout and grovelled at the tsar's feet, begging forgiveness. "nonsense, man," said peter, but kindly; "finish your work first, and then we can talk of other matters.--now, boris, your turn.--lay on, ooriadnik, and put a little more muscle into it; this fellow's skin is as hard as leather!" the ooriadnik, intensely relieved by the tsar's evident good-humour, laid on with some vigour, and flogged poor boris in a manner not entirely agreeable to the hunter's feelings, who, nevertheless, did not flinch, though he felt that the young tsar's manner of amusing himself was somewhat expensive to his friends. boris lived to learn that this was so indeed. nothing ever pleased peter more than to enjoy a hearty laugh at the expense of his familiar companions. but the ooriadnik's duties were not yet concluded. the tsar patted him kindly on the back. "bravo, ooriadnik!" he cried; "you are improving.--now, then, you gentlemen who threw vodka and kvass at the landlord of the traktir, step out.--lay on again, ooriadnik, and teach these persons not to waste good vodka!" then those servants found that they had committed an error in having assaulted the landlord; for the ooriadnik, having warmed to his work, and remembering the laughter and contempt with which his authority had been treated by these men at the inn, laid on his blows with such good will that the unfortunate culprits howled for mercy, to the huge delight of the tsar. after which object-lesson upon the impartiality of true justice, and the duty of respect towards the powers that be, peter and his retinue resumed their journey. chapter vii. a race for life. it has been already mentioned that boris had promised to instruct his master in the art of calling various animals. in this art boris was marvellously expert, and could imitate the cry of the wolf, lynx, and other creatures so exactly that if any member of the particular family whose language he was imitating chanced to be within hearing, it would invariably respond to his call--sometimes to its destruction, if it did not find out in time that it had been made the victim of a gross deception. the practice of this art was a source of unfailing delight and amusement to the tsar during that weary drive of hundreds of miles through the plains and forests of northern and central russia; for most of the journey was performed by land, though the dwina offered a good water-way for a considerable distance. the aptitude of boris for imitation extended to the calling of birds as well as beasts, and many were the tree-partridges that were lured by him to their doom, and subsequently eaten by the monarch with much enjoyment as a welcome change from the sour cabbage-soup and black bread and salt, which were for the most part all that the party could get to subsist upon. it was rarely, indeed, that wolf or lynx ventured to approach close enough to the carriage of the tsar to permit of a successful shot with his old matchlock; but these animals, wolves especially, were frequently seen at a distance, appearing for an instant amid the gloom of the dense pines, but rapidly disappearing as soon as they had ascertained that they had been deceived. but once, when within two or three days' journey of moscow, this now favourite pastime of the tsar came near to involving himself and boris in a fate which would have saved the present writer the trouble of following any further the fortunes of boris, and would have caused the history of russia, and indeed that of europe, to be written in an altogether different manner, for the stirring pages of the life and work of peter the great would never have been penned at all. boris, as usual, was reclining easily in the front seat of the travelling carriage, idly smoking and chatting, and now and again, at the bidding of peter, who occupied the back seat, sending out loud invitations in wolf language, in the hope that some wandering member of the family might happen to be within call and respond to his advances. of a sudden boris's cries were answered; a melancholy howl was distinctly heard by both men to proceed from within the heart of the dense forest through which the road lay. the howl appeared to proceed from a distance of half-a-mile, and was instantly followed by a second a little further away. the tsar quickly sat up, gun in hand, while boris excitedly reiterated his cries, producing tones so pathetically melancholy that the wolf would be hard-hearted indeed that could resist so touching an appeal for companionship. to his surprise, however, there came not one reply but several; half-a-dozen wolves, seemingly, had heard the invitation, and were hastening to respond to it. this was splendid. the young tsar was now extremely excited. "howl away, boris," he whispered; "there are several of them. we are sure of a shot this time!" nothing loath, boris continued his howlings, and at each repetition the number of wolves that took part in the responding calls appeared to increase, until some twenty distinct voices could be made out, each coming from a slightly different quarter. ivan the driver turned half round and crossed himself; then he spat on the ground--a sure sign of discontent in a russian; then he addressed the young tsar with the easy familiarity of an old russian servant. "stop it, peter, the son of alexis," he said; "there are too many wolves here! my horses will lose their heads if they see them.--don't howl any more, boris ivanitch, if you love your life!" boris himself was looking somewhat grave, for he was well aware of the truth of old ivan's remark that there were too many wolves--it was a pack, not a doubt of it; and the character of wolves when in a pack is as different from that of the same animals when alone or in pairs as is the harmless malevolence of a skulking beggar in the streets compared with the mischief-making capacity of an armed and howling mob of roughs and blackguards. but the tsar had never seen a pack of wolves, and knew little of the dangers of which both boris and ivan were well aware; therefore he directed the former to continue his calls, bidding ivan, at the same time, keep a proper hold upon his horses if he was afraid of them. old ivan crossed himself once more and spat a second time, but he gathered up the reins as the tsar commanded. as for boris, he looked graver than ever, and howled in a half-hearted manner. in a very few moments the vanguard of the wolf-host made its appearance. first one gaunt, gray-pointed snout appeared amid the pines on the right of the road, then another; almost at the same instant three cantering forms hove into view close behind; and two more were seen taking a survey in front of the horses' heads. peter was in a high state of excitement; he thought nothing of the danger of the moment--it is doubtful whether he realized it. his gun-barrel was raised and pointed now at one gray form, now at another, as each in turn appeared to offer a better chance of a successful shot. just as he fired, however, the horses had caught sight of the leaders of the pack, but a few paces from their noses, and the sudden apparition so startled them that all three shied with one accord, bringing the wheel of the tarantass into a gigantic rut, and so nearly upsetting the carriage that the gun flew out of peter's hands as he clutched at the side of the vehicle to save himself from being pitched out. the next instant the horses, entirely beyond the control of poor ivan, were dashing along the road at full gallop, the wolves accelerating their easy canter in order to keep up. it now became apparent that there were many more of these grim-looking creatures present than had at first seemed to be the case; indeed, the wood on either side of the roadway appeared to swarm with their gaunt figures, while numbers followed behind, and a few headed the carriage. even peter, now that his gun was lost to him, began to feel that the position was not so agreeable as he had thought; while boris said little, but watched gravely the slightest movement of the leaders of the wolf-mob, loosening the knife at his side the while and bidding peter do the same. "how far to the next post-station, ivan?" the tsar shouted presently. "twelve versts," ivan shouted back, without turning his head. it was all the old man could do to keep the horses' heads straight; so mad were they with terror that they would have rushed wildly into the forest at the side of the road if permitted to do so. twelve versts are eight english miles, and boris was well aware that the wolves would be unlikely to content themselves with passively following or accompanying the carriage for so great a distance; they would, he knew, attack the horses before very long, for their excitement would carry them away into what wolves with cool heads would consider an indiscretion. occasionally a wolf would push ahead of its fellows, impelled by the desire to have the first taste of blood, advancing its gray nose so close to the side of the carriage that boris or his master was able to aim a vicious dig at it, and once or twice a howl of pain attested to the fact that the blow had reached and either scratched or gashed the indiscreet assailant. and so, for several miles, matters remained. boris began to take heart, for half the journey had been accomplished, and if nothing more serious were attempted by the wolves than had been ventured by them up till now, there was no reason to fear any evil consequences. the wolves would pursue them thus up to within a few yards of the village, and then slink back into the woods to reflect upon what might have been had they been more enterprising. peter clearly shared the favourable view of boris; no gloomy fears oppressed his sturdy mind. he laughed as he gashed at the trespassers, calling them all the bad names in the russian vocabulary, including "cholera," which is a favourite term of abuse in that country, for sufficiently apparent reasons, and "pharaoh," which, with less obvious point, is to a russian the most irritating and offensive of all the bad names you can call him. but while the two young men were thus busily engaged in the hinder portion of the carriage, a cry from old ivan on the box caused them to desist from their exciting occupation and to look ahead. not a moment too soon had the old driver uttered his warning note. three huge wolves had pushed in front of their fellows and had commenced their attack upon the horses, just as boris had feared would be the case. the fierce brutes were leaping up on either side, attempting to seize the horses by the throat, but making their springs as yet in a half-hearted way, as though they had not quite worked themselves up to the necessary point of audacity. the poor horses, however, at each spring of their assailants, jerked up their heads in terror, losing their step, and thus causing a new danger, for at the present rate of speed a stumble from any of the three might have had fatal results to the occupants of the carriage. boris realized the danger in a moment. quickly directing his companion to remain where he was and attend to the attack from the rear, he sprang upon the coach-box, and thence upon the back of the shaft-horse. the other two horses were attached to the carriage by pieces of rope only, fastened to leather collars about their necks; and it was these two outsiders against whose flanks and throats the wolves were now directing their attacks. boris with difficulty obtained a position upon the back of one of them, lying along its spine and hitching his feet into the rope at either side, while he clasped the leather collar with one hand and held his long sharp knife in the other. in this awkward and insecure position he managed to slash at the wolves, two of which were now making determined springs, as though resolved at all hazards to pull the unfortunate horse down and put an end to this prolonged chase. it was a good fight. boris aimed his blows well, and before a couple of hundred yards had been covered one of the rash assailants, leaping rather higher than before, received a dig from the big knife that sent him yelping and somersaulting among his fellows, and a detachment of them quickly fell behind to eat him up. this did not affect the rest, however, and boris found that he had about as much as he could do to beat off the constantly increasing number of assailants. meanwhile another warning from old ivan caused boris to look up for a moment, when he became aware that the second outsider was in need of instant assistance. a large wolf had succeeded in effecting for a moment a hold upon the throat of the poor brute, which had, however, either shaken or kicked it off again with its galloping front legs. peter was fully occupied in beating off the increasingly audacious attacks of the rearguard, while ivan could, of course, give him no assistance. boris quickly made up his mind that something must be done, and that instantly, or one of the horses must inevitably be pulled down, with fatal results to all parties. thereupon boris slashed with his knife the rope which attached the left-hand horse; and as the animal, feeling itself free, darted towards the forest, he was pleased to see that it was immediately followed by a dozen gray pursuers, which were thus drawn away from the main body. horse and assailants quickly disappeared among the trees, whither the historian is unable to follow them, and the last tragedy of that steed, and its escape or death, was played out far away in the heart of the pine forest. and now recommenced that fierce fight between boris and his numerous antagonists which had been interrupted for a moment by the last recorded incident. deftly as boris fought, the wolves were so aggressive and numerous that it soon became apparent to the hunter that they were gaining ground upon him, and that in all probability they would succeed before long in pulling down one of the two remaining horses, which he was striving so determinedly to defend. boris was accustomed to make up his mind quickly in cases of emergency. he shouted back to the tsar to hand up to ivan the long bear-spear which was strapped to the side of the tarantass. with this weapon he directed ivan to prod at those wolves which attacked the shaft-horse, while he himself confined his attention to those whose springs were aimed at the remaining outsider. old ivan rose to the occasion; he gathered the reins in one hand, and with the other struck manfully at the brutes which ever swarmed at flank and throat of the poor shafter. some of his blows grazed the horse's shoulder and neck, causing it to rush on with even greater speed. the post-village was now but a mile away, and if only boris could keep off the swarming brutes for a few minutes longer the tsar would be safe. [illustration: "slashing at the wolves which swarmed about him." _page 81._ ] on flew the horses, and on hacked boris; while peter, in the carriage, slashed at the hindmost wolves, and old ivan prodded bravely and shouted loudly at those in front. if things were to go wrong, and he should be unable to keep the leaders at bay until the tsar was in safety, boris knew what he would do. meanwhile the chase went on for another half-mile. then the outside horse, harassed beyond endurance by the ever-increasing number of his assailants, stumbled repeatedly. in an instant boris had slashed in two the cords which attached him to the vehicle, and freed from the incubus of the carriage, the poor animal darted forward and turned aside into the forest, boris himself still lying full length upon its back, but assuming as quickly as he could a sitting posture. in this position, still slashing at the wolves which swarmed about him, and waving adieu to the tsar with his left hand, he disappeared from sight; and in the distance the horrified peter heard the clatter of his horse's hoofs as the devoted hunter was borne away from him to his doom. for one wild moment peter was for bidding ivan direct the carriage in pursuit; but the absurdity of such a course was apparent on the face of it, and the tsar was obliged, with grief and reluctance, to leave his faithful servant and friend to his fate. at least half the wolves or more had followed boris into the depths of the forest, and peter and ivan together succeeded in keeping the rest at bay long enough to allow the panting shafter to drag the carriage in safety to within sight of the village, when, with a gasp of despair, the poor creature stumbled and fell, causing the carriage to stop suddenly with a jolt that almost unseated the driver. peter, with that personal courage in which he has never been surpassed, leaped out to cut the traces and allow the gallant animal which had served him so well to gallop for life. seeing him on foot, the wolves, unable even now to overcome altogether their natural terror of man, drew off for a moment, and in that moment peter freed the horse, which dashed madly away into the woods like its fellows, followed by all the wolves with the exception of two or three which preferred to hang about the two men as they walked on towards the village, but not daring to approach within striking distance of spear or knife. when within a few yards of the first dwelling-house of the village, these disappeared into the forest also, looking round once or twice ere they finally retreated, and licking their lips, as though their imagination dwelt upon the delights of a feast that might have been. the tsar was morose and silent; and his attendants, who arrived within an hour after himself, and who declared that they had met neither wolves nor boris, left the young monarch to his supper, avowing to one another that they had never yet seen the tsar so terrible to look upon. chapter viii. boris and his fellow-officers. the young tsar was himself surprised, as he sat alone at his evening meal, to find how very heavily the loss of poor boris weighed upon him. he had scarcely realized how closely the young hunter had wound himself already around his heart--a heart which, in spite of its hardness and waywardness, was capable of forming the warmest attachments. peter was all through his life on the look-out for men who were after his own ideal, and upon whom he could rely for assistance in carrying out the vast schemes and plans for the good of his people, and the development and aggrandizement of his country, with which his brain was filled from the first. such a man peter thought he had found in boris--one upon whose absolute faithfulness he could rely, and whose courage, as he had seen already more than once, was equal to any emergency. he felt that he could have trained boris to be the ideal man for his purposes, to be employed far or near with equal confidence, and in any capacity that seemed good to his employer; and instead, here was the poor fellow gone already, a martyr to his devotion to himself! "why are there not more of my poor russians like this one?" thought the young tsar; "and where am i to lay my hand upon such another--even _one_?" it certainly was most unfortunate and deplorable; so no wonder the tsar's servants found their master in his most dangerous mood, and left him, as soon as might be, to himself. peter ate his cabbage-soup, and sighed as he ate. why had he not anticipated the sudden action of boris, and sternly forbidden him to sacrifice himself--ah, why indeed? peter was not accustomed to personal devotion of this sort. he had not come across a boris before this one, or he might have guessed what the brave fellow would do, and could have pulled him back into the carriage at the last moment. he would rather have fed those thrice-accursed gray brutes upon the whole of his retinue than that they should have feasted upon that brave heart. poor bear-hunter! he had killed his last bear. what a fight there must have been at the very last before he permitted the skulking brutes to crowd around and pull him down! wrapped in these sad reflections, peter sat before his neglected bowl of soup, when of a sudden the door opened, and the apparition of the very subject of his dismal reflections stood before him. bootless, dishevelled, and with his clothes, what was left of them, blood-stained and in rags, was it the ghost of boris as he had appeared at his last moment on earth? peter was not superstitious, wonderfully little so for a russian, but for a full minute he gazed in doubt and uncertainty upon the apparition before him. then he burst into one of his very loudest guffaws. "boris!" he cried. "yes! it is certainly boris. come here, my brother. i was already mourning you for dead. how did you escape those accursed gray brutes? here is a hunter indeed! come here, my brother." peter kissed his friend upon both cheeks; then administered a pat on the back which might have felled an ox, laughed aloud once more, and poured into a tumbler an immense draught of strong vodka. "there," he said, "sit down and drink that, my tsar of hunters, and tell me all about it." "there's little to tell your majesty," said boris, taking a big sip at the spirits. "god was very merciful to me; and as the wolves rushed in and dragged the poor horse down, which they did almost immediately after i left you, i grabbed at the branch of a pine and hauled myself up out of their reach just in time--not quite in time to save my boots, in fact; for two active fellows jumped up and pulled them both off my legs. i hope they choked the brutes! afterwards i settled myself comfortably in the branches of the tree, and threw fir-cones at them while they pulled poor vaiska the horse to pieces and fought over his carcass. in five minutes there was not as much of vaiska left as would make a meal for a sparrow. when they had eaten vaiska, they sat around my tree, watching me and hoping that i should soon let go and fall into their jaws. i howled at them in their own language instead, and they howled back at me. what i said seemed greatly to excite them, for they ran round the tree, and jumped up at me, and licked their lips. i climbed down to a point just above that which they could reach by leaping, and there i reclined at my ease and slashed at them with my knife as long as they were inclined for the game. when they grew tired of it, they sat round the tree licking their chops and looking up at me, and we exchanged complimentary remarks at intervals in their language. "after a while the rumble and jingle of the carriages of your majesty's retinue was heard approaching. the wolves pricked up their ears to listen. they made as though they would go back to the road at first, in the hope of picking up more horse-flesh--greedy brutes! as if vaiska was not enough for them--but thought better of it, there was so much noise and rattle; and as the carriages came nearer and nearer, they grew more and more anxious, until at length, with a final chorus of abuse levelled at me as i sat up in my perch, they one after the other retired into the wood. then i came down and ran for the village; and here i am, alive to serve your majesty for many a long year, i trust." "glad am i to see you, my prince of hunters," said the tsar earnestly. "but what of your wounds--is there anything serious? you look as though you had been half-way down their throats; you must have had a nasty gash somewhere to have got all that blood on you. call the surgeon and let him see to it. i can't afford to lose so much of your good blood, my boris; russia has not too much of the right quality." boris laughed, and glanced at his saturated shirt and waistcoat. "it's all wolf's blood," he said, "and i wish there were more of it; i haven't a scratch." and this was the simple truth. so ended happily an adventure which came near to depriving russia of her greatest son and me of a hero. two days after this the tsar with his following reached the capital, and boris was given a commission in one of the streltsi regiments, while retaining his place at the side of his master as body-attendant. in the ranks of the streltsi our hunter soon learned the simple drill which the soldiers of the russia of that day had to acquire. the streltsi were at this time practically the only regular regiments of the country, though they were not destined to remain so long under the progressive rule of their present enlightened tsar. being the one armed power in the state, and having on several occasions successfully taken advantage of their position, the streltsi had been loaded with privileges wrung from rulers and statesmen who were afraid of them, and their present position was most enviable. the men were allowed to marry, and to live at their private homes; to carry on any business or trade they pleased by way of adding to the substantial incomes which they already enjoyed at the expense of the state; and, in a word, to do very much as they liked as long as they attended the easy drills and parades which the regulations enjoined. hence boris had plenty of time to spare from his military duties to devote to attendance upon his beloved master. peter had a double object in placing boris in a streltsi regiment. he was anxious that the hunter should learn all that there was to be learned in so poor a military school of the life and duties of the soldier; but chiefly because he had good reason to mistrust the streltsi as a body, and it suited his purpose to distribute a few of his more enlightened and devoted adherents among the various regiments, in order that he might rest assured that in case of disaffection among the troops he would hear of it at the first whisper. peter had not forgotten a certain horrible scene of violence enacted before his eyes by these very regiments in the days of his early childhood, when the entire corps had revolted, and, in presence of himself and his young co-tsar, had massacred their chiefs and others in the square of the palace of the kremlin. it is probable that, young as he had been at that time, peter never forgave the streltsi for that terrible experience, and that his distrust of them as a danger to the state dated from that day. growing as time went on, his hatred of them culminated in the horrors attending their ultimate extermination, to which brief reference will be made at a later stage of this narrative. meanwhile boris hastened to acquire all that he could pick up of military knowledge. he did not like this city life, accustomed as he was to the free and healthy open-air existence of the old dubinka days, neither did he like his fellows in the streltsi regiment to which he had been appointed; but it was enough for our faithful hunter to know that it was the tsar's desire that he should associate with these men: so long as he could render service to his beloved master, boris was content. nor, in truth, was boris popular with his comrades. it was well known that the new-comer was the _protã©gã©_ and favourite of the tsar, and he was distrusted on this account; for the conscience of the regiment was not altogether void of offence towards the young head of the realm, and it was more than suspected that peter had on that very account placed boris as a kind of spy upon their inner counsels. the reason for the dislike entertained by the streltsi for their tsar was this:--the elder brother of peter, ivan, was still alive and physically in good health; but, as is well known, though he had acted at one time as co-tsar with peter, ivan was quite incapable, by reason of the weakness of his intellect, of taking any real part in the government of the country, and peter, by his own brother's earnest wish, as well as by the expressed desire of the nation, had assumed the sole authority over the destinies of the country. the streltsi, full of their own importance as the actual backbone of the state, and on this account "busy-bodies" to a man, were never perfectly satisfied with this state of affairs, and evinced at all times a nervous anxiety as to their duty in the matter. ivan, they considered, was the real tsar or cã¦sar, successor to the byzantine and roman cã¦sars, and therefore the lord, by divine right, of holy russia. it mattered little that he was incompetent and unwilling to govern; that was regrettable, no doubt, but it did not justify another, either peter or any one else, sitting in his place and holding a sceptre which did not belong to him. the streltsi were probably perfectly honest in their opinions. they had nothing to gain by a revolution; their position was assured, and a very good position it was. it was the feeling of responsibility which weighed upon them, and filled them with a restless sense that they ought by rights to interfere. peter, acute as he was, undoubtedly realized the exact state of affairs, and was well aware that a constant danger of trouble with his streltsi regiments stood in the way of the many reforms and projects with which his active brain teemed at all times; and it is probable that he was on the look-out even now for a plausible excuse to rid himself of an incubus which he felt was inconsistent with his own ideas of the fitness of things and with the spirit of the times. boris was therefore, more or less, that very thing which the regiment believed him to be--namely, a spy upon their actions and intentions. the hunter was far too simple-minded to comprehend that this was his position. as a matter of fact, unlettered peasant as he was, he knew little of the history of the last few years. he was aware, indeed, of the existence of ivan, but he had no suspicion whatever of the good faith of his companions towards the tsar; all of which became, moreover, so apparent to his fellow streltsi, that they soon learned to look indulgently upon "simple boris," as he was called, as one who was too much a fool to be a dangerous spy. hence, though never openly airing their views before their latest recruit, the young officers of the regiment gradually began to disregard the presence of boris, and to indulge in hints and innuendoes referring to the matter which they had at heart, even though boris was in the room and sharing in the conversation. now boris, as is the case with many others, was by no means such a fool as he looked. he heard references to matters which he did not understand, and which he knew he was not intended to understand. he observed frequently that parties of officers seated dining at the eating-houses frequented by the regiment would glance at him as he entered the room and moderate their loud tones to a whisper. he overheard such sentences as--"the priests count for much, and they are with us!" or again, "who is to persuade the grand duke that his brother is a mere usurper?" and once boris thought he caught the tsar's name, as he entered the room, received with groans, and striding to the table with flushed face, asked whose name the company had received with these manifestations of dislike; whereupon the streltsi officers had laughed aloud, and replied that they had spoken of a dog which had stolen a bone that didn't belong to it. the simple-minded boris laughed also, and said, "what dog?" whereat the company roared with laughter, and the major replied with streaming eyes,-"oh, a big dog i saw up at the kremlin, that found a little dog with a nice bone, and bow-wowed at him till the little dog thought he had better let it go with a good grace. we all thought this so mean of the big dog that we hooted him and drank his health backwards!" afterwards boris recalled this and other curious sayings of his companions, and revolved them in his mind as he lay at the tsar's door at night. chapter ix. one sword against five. the result of boris's reflections was that he became suspicious and unhappy. he felt that his position was a delicate and difficult one, and that it would be impossible for him to maintain it under present conditions. putting two and two together, he had concluded that there was something existing in the minds of his brother officers to which he was no party, and which he feared--though he hesitated to believe it--might be treason against his beloved master. if this should prove to be the case, he reflected, what course ought he to pursue? should he inform the tsar, and thus be the means of terrible trouble to the regiment of which he was a member, or allow matters to take their course in the hope that either his suspicions would prove unfounded, or that his companions might shortly see the iniquity of their ways, and return to full loyalty, as behoved true officers of the tsar? after all, it was merely a suspicion; all that talk about big dogs and little dogs might be the purest nonsense. what right had he to take serious action upon so feeble a suspicion? boris finally decided that he would do nothing rash and ill-considered; for the generous tsar would be the first to laugh at him for jumping at ill-based conclusions, and boris was very sensitive to derision, especially at peter's mouth. very soon after the discussion on canine iniquity recorded above, boris had the decision as to his duty in these trying circumstances taken out of his hands by the workings of destiny. sitting over his dinner at the restaurant patronized by the officers of the streltsi, he found himself listening in spite of himself to the conversation of a group of his companions dining at a table close to his own. the vodka had flowed pretty freely, it appeared, and tongues were growing looser and slipping the leash which restraint and discretion usually put upon them in the presence of boris. the major, platonof, was the noisiest speaker--he of the dog story; and boris several times recognized his somewhat strident voice raised above that of his fellows, who, however, generally hushed him down before his words became distinctly audible. once boris overheard his own name spoken by one of the younger officers, whereupon the major said aloud,-"what! simple boris--our bear-hunter? why, he's a capital fellow is our boris--he's one of us--we needn't be afraid of boris.--need we, boris?" he continued, looking tipsily over his shoulder at the hunter. "you'll fight for the lord of russia, won't you, boris, in case of need?" "i'll fight for the tsar with my last drop of blood, if that's what you mean," said boris, flushing. "say the tsar that should be--the friend of the church and of the priests--in fact, the lord of russia!" continued platonof. "certainly the lord of russia," said boris, "but why the tsar that 'should be'?" "because," hiccoughed the major solemnly, "while peter remains upon the throne, the lord of russia reigns only in our hearts. when the streltsi have ousted the big dog from the little dog's kennel--peter being the big dog--and given the little dog back his bone--that's ivan--then--" platonof never finished that sentence. boris had sprung to his feet, and drawing his sword, dashed from the major's hand the tumbler which he tipsily waved before his face as he spoke these significant words. the vodka which the glass contained bespattered half the company as they, too, rose excitedly to their feet. "traitors!" cried boris, "so this is the meaning of your whisperings and secrecy; and but for yonder drunken fool i might have remained in ignorance of your treachery. out with your swords and defend yourselves if you are men. i am on peter's side!" the party consisted of the major and four others. all drew their swords, including platonof, who was somewhat unsteady, though partly sobered by the turn events had taken. the rest were pale and determined, for they realized the fact that the tipsy major had plunged them into a serious dilemma. either they must kill this favourite of the tsar, and incur peter's wrath on that account, or else he must be allowed to escape alive, but with the certainty that all he had heard would be repeated for peter's private benefit. and then--well, the young tsar's character was already sufficiently understood by his subjects to leave no doubt in the minds of these streltsi officers that he would make a terrible example of them. under the circumstances there was practically no choice for them: it was boris's life or theirs; boris must not leave the room alive. one of the younger officers sprang to the door and locked it, placing the key in his pocket. meanwhile boris had crossed swords with platonof, but finding that the major was too unsteady to make a fight of it, he pushed him out of the way. platonof tumbled over the table, dragging the glasses and bottles with him. this was fortunate for boris, for it placed the table between himself and his adversaries, and prevented overcrowding. then the four men fiercely attacked the one, hacking savagely but unscientifically at him, each retreating as he thrust back. boris had the advantage of a long reach, and before many blows had been exchanged he had put one of his assailants _hors de combat_ with a straight thrust which penetrated his sword-arm. boris knew, as yet, little swordsmanship, but he had a good natural idea of thrusting straight and quickly, acquired in his bear-hunting days. he had, besides, the advantages of great strength and agility, in both of which qualities he far excelled any of the five men opposed to him, of whom but three were now left to carry on the battle. these three now separated, one presently advancing from either side, while the third endeavoured to get behind him in order to take him in the rear. boris backed towards the wall, hoping to frustrate his intention, while the others pressed him hard in the endeavour to entice him to follow one of them up. but boris, waiting until his third assailant was well behind him, suddenly swept round with so terrible a backhander that the unfortunate officer's arm was cut through and half of his body besides. the man dropped where he stood and never moved again. then boris made so savage an attack upon his two remaining opponents that they fled, and were pursued by him twice round the room, fighting as they ran, until boris, tripping over the sleeping major, fell among the bottles and glasses. during the moment or two which expired before the redoubtable bear-hunter could recover his footing, the two fugitive heroes succeeded in opening the door and escaping, but not before boris, seizing a heavy wooden stool from the floor, hurled it after them with so true an aim that it struck the hindmost between the shoulders, sending him head first downstairs, to the great injury of his front teeth and the bridge of his nose. then boris endeavoured to arouse platonof, to bid him see to his wounded friends, but found this impossible. moreover, he discovered on looking up that the young officer first wounded had taken the opportunity, during boris's preoccupation with the tipsy major, to escape through the open door. as for the fifth man, boris soon found that he would need no help from the major or any one else. he therefore administered a final kick to the snoring form of platonof, and quitted the apartment which had witnessed so exciting a struggle for life. then only did boris discover that he had not come through the fierce fight scathless. his hand was bleeding from a gash over the knuckles, and a pain just above the knee, and a rent in his kaftan, plainly indicated that he had received a second wound more or less severe. he was able to walk home, however, to the palace in the kremlin, and to attend to his duties about the person of the tsar. but there the keen glance of peter detected at once the cut over the fingers, and this discovery was instantly followed by a demand for an explanation. boris had firmly resolved that even at the tsar's bidding he would never reveal the names of his assailants, or say more than was absolutely necessary as to the treasonable words which he had overheard. when therefore the tsar inquired what was the matter with his hand, boris blushed and stammered, and said that he had hurt it. "that much i see already," said peter. "i see also that this is a sword cut, and that you have a rent in your kaftan. you have been fighting, my bear-eater, but not with a bear this time, nor yet with a wolf, except it be a human one. come, who is it? don't be afraid, man--are we not sworn brothers?" "it is true, your majesty, i have fought," said poor boris, and stopped. "and pray with whom," peter insisted, "and with what results? come, boris, this is interesting, and you shall tell me all about it ere we sleep to-night. i desire it. have you killed a man? speak up; i shall not mind if the cause is good." "i have killed a man, your majesty," boris stammered, "and the cause is good. the man was an officer; he is dead, and therefore i may tell his name--zouboff, the streltsi captain, of my regiment." "oho! zouboff killed--and the cause good!" said the tsar, looking grave. "and the others of his company--platonof, katkoff, zaitzoff, shurin--what of them? those five are never apart. fear nothing, tell me all. i have watched them, and guessed their disaffection." boris was thunderstruck at the tsar's knowledge, but he was not startled into committing himself. "there were others, your majesty, who took his part; but i entreat you not to bid me name them, nor to insist upon the cause of our quarrel. it was but certain drunken nonsense to which i objected. i entreat your majesty to press me no further." peter strode up and down the apartment looking his blackest. for a moment or two it seemed as though the storm would burst; then his eye fell once more upon wounded boris, and his brow cleared. "and the rest," he asked kindly, "are they wounded too?" "some are wounded; one was too drunk to fight," boris replied, his cheek flushing with martial ardour as he recalled the circumstances of the late encounter. "ho, ho!" laughed the tsar; "would i had been there to see, my valiant bear-eater. now i will tell you what happened before the fight, and you shall narrate to me, without mentioning names, how the fight itself was conducted; that is a fair compromise. first, then, one of them--perhaps zouboff, who is dead, or drunken platonof, who deserves to be--made a remark about one peter alexeyevitch romanof which our boris disapproved of--no matter what he said. then up strode boris. 'sir,' he said, 'you are a liar!' or words to that effect, perhaps striking the speaker with his hand or with the back of his sword. then out flew all the swords, five traitor swords against one honest and loyal one, and then--well, then comes your part of the story; so put off that melancholy expression and speak up. i love to hear of a good fight." boris laughed in spite of himself, for the tsar's acuteness delighted him and comforted him also; for, he reflected, his puny enemies could surely never triumph over this mighty, all-seeing, all-knowing young demi-god, his master. therefore boris made no further difficulty about the matter, but did as peter bade him, and told the story of his fight in detail, naming no names. peter heard the tale with alternate rage and delight. "very good, my bear-hunter," he said, when the recital was ended; "excellently good. you have done well, and for reward i shall take no notice of the individuals concerned. but for your personal intercession they should have hung in chains to-morrow morning from the four corners of their own barracks. i know their names, though you have not mentioned them. now, good-night, captain bear-eater--you are captain from to-morrow's date--and thank you." boris threw himself at the tsar's feet in gratitude for the magnanimity with which he had consented to forego his just wrath against these traitors--he could have kissed those feet in his joy and in the intensity of his relief--for he felt that though he would have no compunction in slaying these men in fair fight, he could never have forgiven himself had he as informer been the means of bringing them to a disgraceful end upon the gibbet. "but grant me one more favour, your majesty," he pleaded. "i will not ask another until i shall have earned the right to do so; but grant me this one i entreat you: send our regiment far away from moscow; send it to any distant garrison town, but do not let it remain here." "and why not, my bear-eater?" asked the tsar, amused at the earnestness of the appeal. "your majesty knows why not," said boris; "when a bough is rotten who would lean upon it?" "when a bough is rotten," repeated the tsar, looking grave, "it is best cut down and burned. but i will think upon your request--perhaps you are right--though, my bear-eater, you too would go with them in that case, which would be regrettable. meanwhile you take care of your own skin, for the streltsi officers hold together. keep that good sword loose when you approach the dark corners of the city. i will think of what you have said. good-night!" chapter x. a night ambush. contrary to his expectations, boris found that his position in the regiment after the _fracas_ described in the foregoing chapter was in no respect more unpleasant than it had been before; indeed, it appeared to him that his fellow-officers now treated him with greater consideration. no reference whatever was made to the death of zouboff, or indeed to any circumstance in connection with the fight at the restaurant. in those days the taking of life was little thought of, and if an officer chose to brawl with others of his regiment, and lose his life in the struggle, that was considered his own look-out, and so much the worse for him. as for punishing those at whose hands he met his death, no one thought of such a thing. hence matters in the regiment remained very much as they were before; the officers taking care, however, to keep a discreet tongue in the presence of boris, and to maintain outwardly an appearance of respect for that dangerously formidable young man. as for his late opponents, these glared at him whenever they met on parade or elsewhere, and exchanged no word with their late antagonist; but boris was not anxious to enter into friendly intercourse with men whom he had, as he considered, actually convicted of treason to the tsar, and he was glad enough of their coldness towards him. platonof, having no recollection of the circumstances of that fatal afternoon, was not without a feeling of gratified surprise, when informed of his indiscretion and its results, that he had been permitted to depart alive and in peace, and was inclined to make friendly advances towards the magnanimous young man who had neither dug him between the ribs with a sword thrust--as he undoubtedly might have done--nor delivered him alive and guilty into the hands of an enraged tsar. but boris showed no disposition to respond to his advances, and treated him with the same disregard which he showed towards the rest of the party of avowed traitors to his master. meanwhile the tsar had not as yet acceded to the urgent request of boris that the regiment might be sent out of the capital. peter was unwilling to make any concession to a feeling of unworthy anxiety for his personal safety; but, at the same time, he now only awaited an opportunity to banish the regiment upon some plausible pretext, for reflection had quite convinced him that the presence of disaffected streltsi in moscow was a needless standing danger to the peace of the realm. the opportunity he sought came in the course of a few months. it became necessary to send troops into the south of russia in preparation for the contemplated siege of azof, a fortress of the mohammedans, and one of the last still held in the country by the once all-conquering mussulman hosts. the streltsi of boris's regiment were ordered to proceed to the ukraine, where they were to hold themselves at the disposal of the cossack chieftain or hetman mazeppa, who had begged of the tsar some support in order to enable him to maintain and strengthen his lately-acquired position at the head of the warlike tribes he had been called to govern. peter at all times showed the most loyal regard for this mazeppa, who was destined in after years to ill repay him for his generosity; and it was in his desire to accede to the cossacks request for temporary assistance, and at the same time to push on his preparations for the intended azof campaign, that the tsar now found an excellent opportunity for ridding moscow of a dangerous element by despatching this disaffected body of men far away from the seat of government and out of the reach of any ill-advised interference on their part. the order for their departure--exile, as they termed it--was received with a storm of rage and indignation by all ranks in the regiment. the men had never before been called upon to leave moscow for prolonged service, though many others of the streltsi regiments had not been so fortunate. many of them were married men with large families, and were engaged in various profitable trades and professions, without the exercise of which, they declared, they would be unable to support those dependent upon them. besides this, each man and officer had a thousand ties and interests which bound him to the capital, and would bear it ill to have these suddenly torn away and himself cast adrift into unknown places and among strange people, and submitted to dangers and discomforts to which he had not been trained, and which he feared to encounter. all sorts of reasons for the tsar's sudden _ookaz_, or edict, were suggested and considered by men and officers. had he discovered the disaffection of the regiment? if so, how? the affair of boris and platonof and his party had not become generally known, at the urgent request of platonof, who was naturally anxious that his tipsy indiscretion should not be spoken of. those who were acquainted with the details of the affair, however, had no doubt whatever of the cause which had brought the displeasure of the tsar upon the regiment: boris had revealed the whole story. but in that case why had the tsar's vengeance not been--as the vengeance of peter was wont to be--immediate and terrible? why, in other words, were not platonof and his three friends dangling aloft far above the heads of the crowd, upon improvised gibbets, as a warning to the treasonable and the conspiring? probably, these men concluded, because the tsar was somewhat afraid of the streltsi, and was therefore unwilling to risk giving provocation which might lead to a sudden rising. anyhow, it was not the fault of boris that worse things had not happened than this sufficiently annoying ookaz from the tsar; and if opportunity arose during the three days remaining to the regiment in moscow, boris should be made to regret his position as spy and tale-bearer-in-ordinary to the tsar. so vowed platonof and his friends, and with them a few other choice spirits who were acquainted with the state of affairs, and were not averse to a little night work at street corners, provided the dangerous element was eliminated as far as possible! "boris, my trusty one, eater of bears and render of wolves," said the tsar, on the second evening after the issue of the ookaz dismissing the streltsi from moscow, "i feel inclined for an evening out. what say you to a visit to lefort and a taste of his french wine, and perhaps a game or two at cards, to-night? if lefort is asleep, so much the better; we'll pull him out of bed, and bid him send for gordon and the rest, and we can order supper while he's dressing." lefort, one of peter's prime favourites, as he well deserved to be when his services to russia and the tsar are taken into consideration, was the third of the trio selected by the monarch as his constant companions and advisers, the remaining members of this trinity of favour being menshikoff and patrick gordon, once a scotsman, and related to some of the best and oldest scottish families, now a naturalized russian and the ablest of peter's generals, as well as his most faithful and honoured servant. menshikoff had not as yet come into prominence; but gordon and lefort--the latter a russianized foreigner as gordon was--were already the chosen advisers and friends of the tsar, both men after his own heart--capable, brave, hard workers, ready at an instant's notice either to drink and fool with their master, to command his armies or direct his fleets, to wrestle with him and engage in any kind of athletic competition, to build boats with him, to make love with him, or, in a word, share with the tsar in any and every occupation or duty which peter might call upon them to perform. it was no uncommon event for the young monarch to suddenly descend thus upon his friends at any hour of the day or night, and general (patrick) gordon has left it on record that occasionally these visits were made at the dinner-hour, upon short notice, and sometimes with a retinue of a hundred companions. thus it was necessary for the friends of the tsar to keep in the house a constant stock of wine for the consumption of peter and his following, which might consist of one or two persons, or, as i have said, of a hundred men. "we will go incognito," peter added. "muffle yourself in this cloak, and i will do the same; it is better not to be seen. i love to go among my people in the streets and hear what they say about me." nothing loath, boris took the tsar's spare cloak, which was much too big for him in spite of his seventy odd inches of bone and muscle, and followed his master from the kremlin. through the streets of the old city went the tall pair, pausing here and there in the darker corners in order to listen to the conversation of the townsfolk as they passed. this was a favourite pastime of peter's, who loved to gather at first-hand the opinions and wishes of his poorer subjects, with whom he was ever the popular hero as well as the beloved sovereign, and from whose lips there was therefore little risk of hearing anything about himself which would sound unpleasant in his ears. on this occasion he heard little of interest. a few remarks were made about the impending departure of the streltsi, which the people appeared to regret but little. presently, however, two young streltsi officers came walking down the street talking confidentially. peter and boris withdrew deeper into the shadow and listened. "consequently," said one, "there's no doubt whatever about it--we have to thank him and him only for the ookaz." "what! do you suppose he told the tsar about what that fool platonof said, and all that?" said the second officer, who apparently had just been informed by his companion of the encounter between boris and his assailants. "undoubtedly he did, confound him!" said the first; "and that's why we are all off the day after to-morrow." "well, why don't we get hold of the spying rascal and"--the officer made a gesture as of a knife at his throat. the other laughed. "that's just what's going on now, i hope," he said; "for zaitzoff and a few others have sworn to have him before we go. they watched all last night; and to-night they are keeping guard at the corner of the uspensky, where he goes for his supper. i hope they kill him--hateful spy!" peter almost danced with delight as the footsteps of the men died away in the distance. "bear-eater, my son, we are in luck!" he whispered excitedly. "come along quickly. got your sword?" boris rattled his weapon for answer, but he looked grave and preoccupied. "go home, your majesty, i entreat you," he said; "don't run into needless danger. i can settle accounts with these men alone." for a moment the tsar looked as black as thunder. "_what!_" he cried; "go home, and miss the play? don't be a fool, man. am i to be afraid of my own officers? no, my bear-eater. you may cut and run from an old bear if you like, but not i from a streletz, or any number of streltsi. come on!" the tsar ended with one of his loud laughs, and dragged after him poor boris, whose cheek was red by reason of peter's allusion to his escapade with the bear. through the wretchedly lighted streets they sped until they reached the uspensky, where, in the distance, they soon espied a group of figures standing at the corner as though awaiting an arrival. the two tall men, shrouded in their mantles as they were, approached close up to the group of officers before they were recognized. "it's the tsar!" some one whispered at length. "round the corner all, and away--quick!" off went the party, scudding down the road like a pack of frightened sheep; but the tsar's loud voice of authority soon recalled them. they crept back in a huddled, scared group. "good evening, zaitzoff," said peter. "how are you, shurin? what, ulanof, is that you? good evening, gentlemen all. you are waiting for the pleasure of seeing my friend boris ivanitch, i believe. well, here he is." no one spoke a word. the tsar laughed. "is it not so? zaitzoff, speak!" "it is true, your majesty," said zaitzoff at length. "we came to meet the gentleman you name, with whom we have a quarrel." "oh, indeed!" said the tsar, in affected surprise; "what, all of you? do you _all_ desire to quarrel with my friend? it is most flattering, upon my word, gentlemen. and do you still wish to quarrel with boris ivanitch, now he is here? positively i was under the impression that i observed you all racing down the road there, as though anxious to get out of his way!" "our quarrel is a private one, your majesty," said ulanof; "and if your majesty will withdraw, we shall proceed with it." "what!--withdraw? i, his second? no, my good ulanof, that is impossible; the quarrel must proceed. boris ivanitch is here to give you every satisfaction, and i shall act as his second. now then, gentlemen, who is to lay on first? one would suppose that you had contemplated a combined assault in the--ha! ha!--in the dark, were we not acquainted with the strictly honourable traditions of the streltsi officers. come, zaitzoff, you seem to be the leader of the party; you shall have the first opportunity of depriving the rest of their prey.--come, boris, draw!" chapter xi. a battle against odds. the experience of two months ago, when he had last been called upon to defend his life against some of these very men, had not been lost upon boris. he had then realized that he was but a poor swordsman, and that he was indebted more to his superior agility and strength than to his skill for his safety on that occasion. true, his antagonists had shown that their knowledge of the science was not greater than his own; but nevertheless boris had made a mental note of his incapacity, and had registered at the same time a vow to make the science of the sword his principal study until he should have gained at least a fair degree of proficiency. he had not failed to put this good resolution into practice, and had assiduously worked at his fencing daily with an exponent of the art, a german named schmidt, under whose skilful tuition, and with his natural aptitude for every kind of manly exercise, boris had quickly acquired no little skill in the use of his somewhat clumsy but formidable russian weapon. at the first onset, the tsar was surprised and delighted to observe that boris was more than a match for his opponent. before the swords had been crossed for two minutes, zaitzoff was disabled and disarmed. the tsar bade him give up his sword and retire to the opposite wall, where he might watch the fun with as much comfort as was possible with a hole through his sword-arm and a deepish cut in the shoulder as well. then ulanof came to take his place. ulanof was a big and heavy man, determined and very powerful, but lacking skill. he made so furious an onslaught upon his antagonist, cutting and slashing and thrusting at him with extreme rapidity though quite without method, that for some moments boris was fully occupied in defending his own person without attempting to carry the fight into the enemy's camp--in fact he actually lost ground, being surprised into stepping backwards by the unexpectedly furious character of ulanof's attack upon him. but as soon as the tsar whispered encouragingly, "steady, my bear-eater!" boris quickly recovered his position, and pulling himself together delivered an equally furious but a more scientific counter-attack upon ulanof, whose exertions had already deprived him of much breath. still fiercely battling, and contesting every inch of ground, ulanof was now driven backwards yard by yard until he stood at bay with his back to the wall of the house opposite. to that wall boris speedily spitted him, his sword passing through ulanof's body and into the wooden side of the house, whence boris with difficulty drew it forth. as he did so, ulanof fell with a gasp at his feet, and the officers' list of the streltsi regiment was shorter by one name. "bravo, bravo, my good boris!" cried the tsar; "it was well and scientifically done, and after the german method, i perceive. we shall see you sticking bears in the prussian fashion on our next trip.--now, gentlemen, how many more of you? four, is it not?--now, what say you, boris, to taking them two at a time? this single process grows tedious. i shall see fair play--is it agreed?" "with all my heart, your majesty, if you desire it," said boris, eying his still untried foes as though to estimate his chances against them, two swords to one. after a short whispered consultation, these officers, however, stepped forward and informed the tsar that their honour was satisfied--there was no need for the fight to continue. but the tsar would not hear of it. the matter rested with boris ivanitch, he declared; and, if boris so desired it, every one of them should meet him until _his_ honour had obtained ample satisfaction. "as for _your_ honour, gentlemen, you left it at home when you sallied forth this evening like common midnight assassins to fall upon him unawares and murder him. no, officers of the streltsi, you are here to fight, and fight you shall. if any man shirks, i too have a sword, and with my sword i shall write 'coward' on his body for all men to see!" then the two, katkoff and shurin, fell upon the one, and the fight recommenced; and a good fight it was. katkoff was a good swordsman, shurin was strong and active, and the battle was at first sight unequal. the tsar would not suffer the pair to separate. if either attempted to edge to one side and take boris in the flank, the tsar angrily bade him return to line. the battle was to be fought fair, this much was plainly evident; it behoved shurin and his partner, therefore, to be careful and watch, and to take the first advantage that offered. boris fought like a lion, or like one of his own bears at bay. in vain katkoff slashed and shurin thrust; his sword was always there to intercept, and even to aim an answering blow before the pair were able to repeat the attack. once a thrust from shurin touched his cheek and made the blood spirt. shurin cheered, and redoubled his exertions, well backed up by katkoff. then boris, like an enraged tiger, fell upon the pair so fiercely, raining his blows upon them like hailstones in june, that they gave ground both together. pursuing his advantage quickly boris drove them round by the wall, the two whole men and the wounded one moving out of their way as they went, peter close at their heels to see fair play. one tripped over dead ulanof and nearly fell, but recovered himself and fought on. then boris in his turn tripped and fell on his knee. in an instant the two were upon him, and shurin's thrust pierced through his left arm, while he just saved his head from the downward blow of katkoff's weapon. but before shurin could withdraw his sword, boris aimed a cut at the arm that held it with such terrible force that it was severed at the wrist. shurin caught at the kaftan of boris to pull him over; while katkoff, seeing that now, if ever, he must make his effort and end this struggle, rained his blows from above. then boris, in guarding his shoulder, nevertheless contrived at the same time to administer to shurin a backhander which laid him flat beside ulanof, and rising from his kneeling position he so furiously fell upon katkoff that in a moment the latter was disarmed, his sword flying through the air with a whistle, and alighting point-down upon the low wooden roof of an adjoining house, where it stuck, vibrating with the force of its flight. [illustration: "in an instant the two were upon him." _page 124._ ] but this was boris's final effort--tired nature could do no more. he turned, as though to return to peter's side, but slipped and fell fainting into the tsar's strong embrace. peter looked darkly around at the remains of the party which had been so roughly handled by boris. "go!" he said, "get you gone, you that can walk. leave your swords. you shall hear of me to-morrow. meanwhile, you that have escaped, be thankful that i am not tempted myself to finish what boris ivanitch has left undone. i should know well how to treat midnight assassins. leave your swords, i say. now go!" as the party of discomfited warriors limped and slunk away in the darkness, leaving shurin and ulanof behind them, the tsar tenderly picked up the still unconscious boris in his great arms, and carried him like a child to the nearest house. thither he sent his own doctor, a scotsman of much skill, under whose care boris very quickly came round, and, his arm being carefully bandaged and treated, he was able to return on foot to the palace, to the delight of his master. but though boris was able to make his own way home, he was not destined to come through this matter quite so easily as he had at first believed. his wound proved somewhat obstinate, and the poor hunter tossed for many days upon his plain camp-bed, racked with pain and fever, during which time he longed incessantly for the fresh air, and the forest, and the delights of his old open-air life. all that could be done to relieve his pain and hasten his recovery was done by macintyre, the tsar's own doctor, who tended him assiduously, having taken a great liking to this fine specimen of a russian peasant. the tsar himself frequently stole an hour from his various pressing duties in order to sit by his favourite servant and chat over what had been and what was yet to be--fighting over again their battles with bear and wolf, which, to the joy of boris, peter solemnly promised should be repeated at the earliest opportunity; and discussing many projects at that time in the brain of the tsar--such as the development of a standing army, which idea was already beginning to take practical form; the organization of a navy; the building of a capital which should be a seaport; the necessity for recommencing that which ivan the terrible had so nearly accomplished, but in which that monarch had eventually failed--namely, the wresting from their lieges of those ports in the baltic which were absolutely necessary for the development of the empire; and, lastly, eastern conquest--overland trade with india, and many other dazzling projects upon which the heart of peter was set. from the tsar, also, boris learned that the banishment of the streltsi regiment to which the wounded hunter was attached was now an accomplished fact. after the disgraceful conduct of the officers at the corner of the uspensky, peter had determined that the regiment should not remain another hour in the capital, but be marched out of it as early as possible on the following morning. the tsar therefore himself attended the early parade of the regiment, when he read aloud a revised list of officers, in which the names of the six midnight assailants of boris had no place. in their stead were substituted those of six privates, men who had shown aptitude for military service, and whose good conduct had entitled them to recognition. then peter read the names of six officers who, he said, in consequence of conduct which disqualified them for ever from associating with men of their own position in the service, were degraded to the ranks. these men were directed to step out in order to be deprived of their insignia of officer's rank, when peter himself tore from their shoulders the epaulets of their order. it was observed that but four men appeared instead of six, and that one of these wore his arm in a sling, while another limped as he walked. after this ceremony, the tsar bade the commanding officer pass the regiment in review, when peter himself uttered several words of command; finally in stentorian tones giving the order,-"gentlemen of the streltsi, form in marching order! right about face! quick march! to the ukraine!" as the tsar uttered these words, the consternation and surprise of the regiment, men and officers, was indescribable. none had expected this sudden change of date; no one was ready; final arrangements for the winding up or transfer of business had been left by many to the last moment, and were still in abeyance; farewells to families and lovers were still unsaid; many of the men were but half dressed, their long kaftans serving to conceal the shortcomings of the unseen portion of their costume. but none dared disobey the personal ookaz of the masterful young giant whose stern lips had uttered it. sobbing and whining the regiment marched slowly through the streets of moscow, followed by troops of women and children, who sobbed and whined also. the officers strode along looking pale and gloomy, many with tears streaming down their faces. the word had soon passed from street to street, and from house to house, and as the woful procession approached the gates of the city the ranks of the weeping crowd of friends and relatives became largely increased, until, when the regiment had reached the open country, the colonel, who doubtless had matters of his own to attend to, called a halt in order that the unfortunate men might at least take a last farewell of their wives and families ere they marched out into an exile the duration of which none could foretell. then ensued a remarkable scene. most of the men were married, and most of the wives and a great host of children of all ages had heard the news of the sudden departure of their lords, and had hastened after them to get a last glimpse of them, and if possible a last word. no sooner had the ranks obeyed the order to halt, than the lines were instantly invaded by swarms of sobbing women and children, each seeking her own, and calling his name aloud. the confusion became indescribable, the din deafening. frantic women, unable to find their husbands or lovers, rushed shrieking from line to line, imploring sergeants and soldiers to tell them where to seek their lords. others, having found their belongings, clung about their necks, while the children clasped the knees of their fathers and cried aloud. for a full hour the scene of woe and noise was prolonged, and then at last the word was given to resume the march, the women and children being forbidden to follow further. many young wives and girls, however, refused to obey the colonel's command, and followed or accompanied the troops for many miles, wailing and crying and shouting last words of love and farewell to their friends in the ranks. thus did peter rid himself, in a characteristic manner, of a regiment which he knew to be rotten at the core. and thus it happened that boris remained behind while the rest went into exile. chapter xii. a perilous slide. to boris the news that the streltsi had gone away without him was the best and most acceptable news in the world. to his simple, honest mind the atmosphere of disloyalty and disaffection in which he had been forced to live, as well as the unrest and actual physical danger which were the unavoidable consequence of the unpopularity in which he was held by his fellows, as one outside their own circle and therefore dangerous--all this was intolerable. boris was not a quarrelsome man, yet he had been forced into several fights already; and if he had proceeded to the ukraine with the rest he would undoubtedly have been drawn into many other quarrels as soon as the repressive influence of the tsar's presence had ceased to work upon the minds of his comrades. the departure of the streltsi, therefore, acted like a tonic upon his system, and his recovery was speedy from this day onwards. within a week after the scene on the parade-ground boris was up and about attending once more upon his master, the tsar, and learning with astonishment the remarkable phases and contrasts of peter's character--a character which must ever puzzle students and analysts in the inconsistencies and contradictions which it revealed from day to day. peter was particularly busy just at this time enrolling soldiers for certain new regiments of guards which he designed should take the place of the erratic streltsi. lefort, of whom mention has already been made, was most energetic in this work, and proved himself a most successful recruiting officer. foreigners--englishmen, germans, and others--were engaged as far as possible to officer these new troops; but boris, to his great joy, was permitted to exchange from his streltsi regiment, which he hated, into one of the newly-organized corps. the tsar was radiant and happy over the congenial work upon which he was engaged, and worked night and day in order to accomplish the task he had set before himself. yet, in spite of his activity and energy, and of the amazing amount of work he managed to get through during the day, this remarkable young monarch found time for boisterous carousals almost every evening. at these boris was expected to attend the tsar, and did so; but he was never a lover of indoor amusements, and did not take to card-playing and heavy drinking with the zeal infused into the pursuit of such joys by his betters, including peter himself. at the court, too, boris was out of his element. the big bear-hunter was not used to the society of ladies; and though the manners of peter's court were far from being characterized by all that we in our day understand when we speak of refinement and breeding, yet the measure of their civilization was naturally far beyond that reached by the good folks at dubinka, or even at archangel. the ladies of the court, including the empress, were one and all attracted by the handsome young hunter, now officer, and some made no secret of their admiration. the empress was kind and condescending, and occasionally preached boris a little sermon on the iniquity of making friends of foreigners, warning him to beware of familiarity with those alien officers who had lately been imported into russia. these men, the tsaritsa declared, would be the ruin--they and the foreign institutions and vices which they foreshadowed--of holy russia and her exclusiveness. the church, she said, and all her dignitaries looked with horror upon the many un-russian innovations which were the ruling spirit of the day. boris thought that the empress ought to know all about the church and her opinions, if anybody did, for the palace, or her own portion of it, was always full of priests and confessors; but he thought it a curious circumstance, nevertheless, that the wife should speak thus of the work upon which the husband was engaged. to his frank and simple mind it appeared unnatural and wrong that the very person in all the world who should have been the first to encourage and help the tsar in his work of reformation and progress should have neglected no opportunity of hindering and crying it down. in short, the ladies of the court had for boris but little attraction; he had not been used to the society of ladies, and did not understand them and their mysterious ways. he was glad when peter avoided his wife's portion of the palace for days together; and though he did not particularly enjoy the carouses with lefort and gordon, and other kindred spirits of the tsar, yet he preferred these noisy and rowdy gatherings to the society of the ladies. in a word, boris was not a lady's man, although there were many fair damsels at court and out of it who would fain it had been otherwise. but boris had a little adventure early in this first winter in moscow which laid the foundation of a great and momentous friendship, the greatest and most important of any formed by him throughout his life, even though we include that which united him with his beloved tsar. the circumstances were romantic, and may be given with propriety in this place. it has been mentioned that many foreigners were at this time being attracted into russia by the liberal offers made to them of lucrative employment in the service of the tsar. among the officers thus engaged by peter to train and command his newly-levied troops of the guard was a certain englishman of the name of drury, who, with his wife and little daughter aged twelve, had but lately arrived in the great northern city. boris had seen and made the acquaintance of the english officer at peter's palace, and had moreover met the wife and child at the court of the tsaritsa, where he had admired the little, bright-eyed, flaxen-haired english maiden, and had even played ball with her, and taught her the use of the russian swing in the courtyard. nancy drury, as she was called, possessed all the love for outdoor amusements and exercise which is the heritage of the british race; and, consequently, no sooner did the early northern winter bring enough frost to cover the narrow moscow river with a thin layer of ice, than miss nancy determined to make the most of the advantages of living "up north," by enjoying an hour's sliding at the very first opportunity. thus, on the second day after the appearance of the ice, though no russian would have thought of stepping upon it for at least another week, the child walked fearlessly out to the centre of the stream and commenced her sliding. the ice was smooth and very elastic, and nancy found the sliding excellent; but, as might have been expected, at the third or fourth slide the ice gave way beneath even her light feet, and in went nancy, sprawling forwards as her footing played her false, and thus breaking up a large hole for herself to splash into. luckily nancy was a brave child, and did not struggle and choke and go straight to the bottom, or under the ice. she supported herself as best she could upon the sound ice which surrounded the hole she had made, and shouted for assistance. the streets were full of people; but that circumstance was of little comfort to poor nancy, had she known it. for if she had found herself in this fix on ninety-nine out of a hundred occasions, she would have received no doubt the deepest sympathy from those on shore, evidenced by much weeping and wailing from the women, and running about and shouting of conflicting instructions and advice on the part of the men; but as for solid assistance, she would have gone to the bottom long before the one man in a hundred or a thousand who could render it to her had arrived upon the scene. luckily again for nancy, however, that one man chanced to pass by on this occasion, in the shape of our brave bear-hunter, and in the very nick of time. boris grasped the situation at a glance, though without as yet recognizing the child. kicking off his heavy russian boots, he ran nimbly over the intervening ice, which lay in broken, floating pieces behind him as he crushed it beneath his feet at each quick step, and reached the child in a twinkling, seizing her in his arms and floating with her for a moment as he reflected upon the best way to get back. during that moment nancy recognized her preserver and clung to him, shivering and crying a little, but with an assurance of safety in his strong arms which she did her best to express by burying her face in his breast and half drowning him with her clinging arms about his neck. a wonderfully tender spirit fell over the rough hunter as he felt the confiding hugs of this little english girl, and he realized that she must be saved at all hazards. but it was exceedingly difficult to swim with her in his arms, as those who have tried it will know, especially as his course was impeded by floating ice of sufficient strength and thickness to offer an awkward obstacle to a burdened swimmer. boris was aware that little nancy had picked up but little russian as yet; nevertheless he succeeded in conveying to her that she must not clasp his neck so tightly, or both would presently go to the bottom; also that he intended to help her to climb back upon the ice, but that he would be near if it should break again and let her through. then, finding a sound edge which looked strong enough for his purpose, with an effort he raised the child sufficiently high to slide her out upon unbroken ice, where nancy quickly regained her feet and ran lightly to the shore. as for boris, relieved of his burden, he easily swam to shore, where he found his little friend awaiting him. to the immense amusement of the onlookers, of whom there was a considerable gathering, nancy, having first with her little hand helped him out of the water, sprang up into the arms of her big preserver and covered his wet face with kisses. then the tall hunter and his little english friend walked off together, amid the admiring comments of the crowd, who were unanimous in their opinion that the officer was a _molodyets_, or, as a british schoolboy would call it, "a rare good chap;" and that the little _anglichanka_ was very sweet to look upon, and wore very nice clothes. from this day commenced a firm friendship between these two persons, which strengthened and ripened from week to week and from month to month. they were in some respects an oddly-assorted couple; and yet there was much in common between them, as for instance the intense love which both bore towards the open air and all that appertains to life in the country. nancy had lived, while still in her english home, far away from the town; her sympathies were all for the fields, the woods, birds, and rabbits, and wild fowl, and the sights and sounds of the country. neither drury nor his wife had the slightest objection to the great friendship existing between their little daughter and this fine young officer of the tsar; as indeed why should they? on the contrary, they were glad enough to intrust her to one who could be so thoroughly trusted to take good care of her under any and every circumstance and emergency which could arise, whether in the forest or in the streets of the city. consequently the two were often together; and boris loved nothing better than to set his little friend in a _kibitka_, or covered sledge drawn by two horses, and drive out with her into the country, far away beyond the smoke and din of moscow. there he would spend a few happy hours in teaching the child the art of tracking and trapping hares, foxes, and larger game, an art in which nancy proved an apt pupil; while his skill in calling birds and beasts to him proved a source of unfailing delight and amusement to her. concealed in a tiny conical hut made of fir boughs, and built to represent as far as possible a snow-laden pine tree, the pair would sit for an hour or two and watch the effects of boris's skilful imitation of the various voices of the forest. many a time did nancy enjoy the excitement of hearing and even occasionally of seeing a wolf, as he came inquisitively peering and listening close up to the hut, wondering where in the world his talkative friend had hidden himself, and evidently half beginning to fear that he had been the victim of a hoax. on such occasions a loud report from boris's old-fashioned matchlock quickly assured the poor wolf that he had indeed been deluded to his destruction, and that this hoax was the very last he should live to be the victim of. rare, indeed, was the day when the hunter and his little english friend returned to moscow without something to show as the result of their drive out into the forest. whether it was a hare, or a brace of tree-partridges, or the pretty red overcoat of a fox, or the gray hide of a wolf--something was sure to accompany little nancy when she returned to her father's apartments; for boris was a hunter whose skill never failed. thus the winter passed and the summer came, and another winter, and the tsar was ever busy with his recruiting, and his drilling, and his revellings, and his designing of ships and fleets. and boris was busy also with his duty and his pleasure--his duty with his regiment and with his tsar, and his chief pleasure in the company of the little english girl who had found for herself a place so close to his heart. and boris was happy both in his pleasure and in his duties, as should be the case with every right-minded person, and is, i trust, with every reader of these lines. chapter xiii. boris goes on the war-path. one day the tsar asked boris whether he would like to be one of the electors of the college of bacchus, and take part in the election of a new president. the college of bacchus was one of the products of those all too frequent uproarious moods of the tsar, when he and his friends would meet to drink and make a noise, to gamble, wrestle, play with the _kegels_, or skittles, and, in short, pass a day or a night in those festivities which peter found necessary in order to work off some of the superabundant energy with which nature had dowered him. the college was, as its name implies, a mere drinking institution, wherein the hardest drinker was king, or pope, or president; and the last president of this society having lately died, it became necessary to elect a successor. when the tsar proposed to boris, however, that the latter should form one of the electors, he doubtless offered the suggestion more by way of banter than in sober seriousness; for none knew better than peter that such a thing as an election at the college of bacchus was not at all in boris's line. it is distinctly to the credit of the many-sided tsar that he thought none the worse of his faithful hunter because the latter had not proved so good a boon companion as others of his favourites of the day. he was fully conscious of boris's many excellent qualities, and easily forgave him his shortcomings as a reveller in consideration of his humble birth and upbringing, as well as of his pre-eminence in other directions. hence when peter made the suggestion, he was not offended, but only amused, when boris said, with a grimace, that he thought his majesty must probably possess many subjects better qualified than a poor bear-hunter for so exalted an office. peter, with a laugh, agreed that this might be so; but added that he was not so certain that he could find any one better qualified than boris to act as judge or referee at the election, since it would be the duty of that functionary to keep the peace and to restrain the ardour, if necessary, of the electors, who would be likely to prove an awkward body to manage, and would require both a strong hand and a cool head to keep in order during the excitement of the election. since peter appeared anxious that boris should act in the capacity last suggested--that of referee--the hunter did not refuse to comply with his request. the experience was of service to him because it gave him once for all so great a horror of the vice of drinking that he never afterwards, to his dying day, took spirits of any kind excepting on special occasions when he considered the stuff to be required medicinally, and then in small quantities. it was no wonder that a sober-minded man like boris should have refused to act as one of the electors, as my readers will agree when i explain the function in use at the elections of the college of bacchus. the body of twelve electors were locked up together in a room which contained a large table in the centre of which was a wine cask, upon which one of them sat astride, representing bacchus. on either side of this emblematical figure were a stuffed bear and a live monkey. the hour at which those chosen to elect the new president were locked up was about seven in the evening, from which time until the following morning, when the door was thrown open once more, each elector was obliged to swallow at regular intervals a large glassful of vodka, a spirit nearly, though not quite, so strong as whisky. he whose head proved best able to support this trying ordeal was the chosen president for the following year, or series of years. the function to which boris had been called was to see that each elector was supplied with his proper allowance of vodka at the stipulated times, and to prevent any quarrelling between them. the hunter found that the office of judge and peacemaker was no sinecure, and a thousand times during the night did poor boris bitterly repent his compliance with the tsar's wishes in this matter, and long for the arrival of morning to put an end to the scene of which he was a thoroughly disgusted and sickened spectator. this was one of the peculiar ways in which the greatest and by far the ablest and most enlightened monarch that russia had ever seen amused himself, the sovereign but for whom russia would have lagged hundreds of years behind in the race of civilization and progress, but for whose foresight and sagacity, too, russia might never have occupied the position she now holds in the councils of europe and of the world. this was peter at his lowest and meanest; and if we shall see him in these pages at his cruelest and most brutal, we shall also have the opportunity, i trust, of viewing this many-sided and truly remarkable man at his highest and noblest--and none was ever nobler and more self-sacrificing and devoted than he when occasion arose for the display of his best qualities, for the truth of which statement let the manner of his death testify.[2] it must not be supposed that the tsar himself took part in the degrading ceremony i have just described. beyond locking and sealing the door upon the electors, and again unlocking it at morning, peter took no personal part in the proceedings, thus exercising a wise discretion. boris came forth from that room feeling that he could never again attend the tsar at one of his drinking bouts at lefort's or at gordon's, or elsewhere; he had seen enough drinking and drunkenness to make him hate the very sight of a vodka bottle. when he told peter of this, and of his intense desire to be exempted from the duty of attending any further carousals, the tsar slapped him on the back and laughed in his loud way. "i am glad, my bear-eater," he said, "that i have at least one friend who is not afraid of being great when i am little! there are plenty left to drink with me. you shall be a total abstainer, and then i am sure of some one to steady me when i return at nights less master of myself than of russia. i am glad of your decision, my good boris; you shall be as sober as you please, so long as i need not follow your example." with that peter laughed again, louder than ever, and gave boris a great push by the shoulders, which sent him flying backwards against the wall, and proved conclusively that whatever the tsar might be "when he returned late at night," he was master of himself, at all events, at this particular moment. thus it came about that boris gradually became practically a teetotaller--which is a _rara avis_ in russia, and was still more so in those old days when drunkenness was thought little of, and was even habitually indulged in by the honoured head of the realm. boris had many friends now, chiefly among the officers of his regiment, with whom, in spite of his humble origin, he was extremely popular. by this time he excelled in all those arts which were the peculiar property of the military--in swordsmanship, in drill, and even in gunnery, upon the practice of which the tsar laid great stress. competitions were held among the officers; and here boris soon displayed a marked superiority over his fellows, his accurate eye and steady hand enabling him to do far better work with the big clumsy ordnance than his fellows, many of whom could rarely boast of a steady hand at any time of day. it was a peculiarity of the tsar himself, however, who indeed was an exception to all rules, that however deep his potations might have been, either on the previous evening or on the very day of the competition, his hand was always steady and his eye true--in fact, he was at all times the chief rival of boris for first gunnery honours. such was the life in moscow during the two or three years which our friend passed in the capital at this stage of his career--years which were of incalculable benefit to him as a period of education and experience; years also which were passed very happily, and during which the friendship between the young guardsman and nancy drury ever ripened and matured. from nancy, boris gradually picked up more than a smattering of the english language, and by the time he had known her for two full years the pair were able to converse in english--a circumstance greatly applauded by peter, who meditated a visit to our country, and declared that the hunter should go with him and do the talking for him. but before the plans for a trip to england and the continent had taken definite shape, events occurred to postpone the journey for a while. the regiment of guards to which boris was attached was ordered to proceed to the south of russia, where the streltsi were already gathered before the walls of the city of azof in preparation for a siege. boris took an affectionate farewell of his beloved master, who bade him god-speed and a quick return home. "don't get into trouble with your old enemies of the streltsi," were the tsar's parting words. "see if you can be the first man into azof--i expect it of you--and be home as quickly as possible; for what am i to do without my faithful old sobersides bear-eater to keep me in order and take care of me?" boris laughed at the allusion to his old acquaintances the streltsi; he had quite grown out of his dislike and horror for those poor misguided men, and was inclined to recall their treatment of him with indulgence and pity rather than with indignation. "i am sure to be back soon, your majesty," he said, "if the tartars don't pick me off. we'll soon pepper them out of azof. and, besides, i have attractions here besides your majesty's person." "ah, the fair nancy! i had forgotten," said peter, laughing. "well, well, my bear-eater, happy is he who is beloved by a child; their love is better than woman's love, and wears better, too. now go and bid farewell to your nancy. tell her peter will look after her right well in your absence!" boris went straight from the tsar to the house of the drurys, where he was ever a welcome guest. poor nancy was very miserable at the prospect of parting with her friend, for she felt that there would be no more long sledge drives for her over the crisp snow roads, no more pleasant days in mid-forest watching for bird and beast, nor jolly skating expeditions along the smooth surface of the river when the wind or thaws had cleared it of its deep snow-mantle, nor happy half-hours spent in laughing over the hunter's attempts to master the pronunciation of her own difficult language. life would be very dull and miserable for her now, and the colonel informed boris that nancy had even spoken of persuading him, boris, to take her with him to the south. "in fact, boris ivanitch," added drury, "my wife and i both complain that you have quite stolen the child's heart from us; and, if we know anything of nancy, we shall have our hands full to manage her while you are away." nancy had disappeared out of the room, for her feelings had proved too much for her, and boris regretfully felt obliged to depart at length without seeing the child again. but as he groped his way out of the dark, badly-lighted passage to the front door, he was surprised by a small, light figure bouncing suddenly into his arms, and a flaxen head burying itself in his bosom, while hot tears were freely shed and hot kisses rained over his face and neck and wherever the two soft lips could plant them. with difficulty boris unclasped the fond arms, and detached the pretty head from his shoulder, and tenderly placed the little feet upon the ground. then nancy quickly ran away, and disappeared without a word, though boris heard a great sob as the dainty figure passed out of sight in the dusky distance of the passage. when the young guardsman, mighty hunter and redoubtable soldier as he was, left the house and strode down the familiar street for the last time, there was a tear in his eye that would not be denied, but rolled deliberately down his cheek till it was dashed away. on the following morning boris marched out of moscow with his regiment, bound for the seat of war, far away in the south, on the sea of azof. footnote: [2] peter the great contracted his last illness through a chill caught while saving a boat's crew from drowning, which he did at the risk of his life and unaided, rescuing nearly thirty men one by one. chapter xiv. taken prisoner. the fortress of azof, upon the sea of that name, was principally used by the turks and tartars, who at this time occupied it, as a centre for their plundering and marauding expeditions inland. some sixty-five years before this, in 1627, the city had been surprised and captured by the enterprising don cossacks, who found that it lay too close to their own hunting-grounds to be an altogether acceptable neighbour. having possessed themselves of the city, the don cossacks offered it as a free gift to their liege lord, the then tsar of muscovy, michael, peter's grandfather. the tsar sent down officers and experts, before accepting the gift, to report upon the place; but these announced that the fortress was rotten and indefensible, and not worth having. the cossacks were therefore directed to evacuate the city; which they did, but not before they had razed every building to the ground, so that not one stone stood upon another. but now, at the date of my story, the young tsar peter was full of schemes for aggrandizement by land and sea; his mind was intent upon fleet-building as well as upon army-organizing. but the difficulty was, as one of his intimates pointed out to the tsar, "what was the use of building a large number of ships with no ports for them to go to?" for, besides archangel--which was a terribly long way off--russia had at this time no windows looking out to the sea. the baltic was in the hands of sweden, the black sea was held by the turk, the caspian by persia. in one of these directions russia must look for new outlets to the ocean highroads. peter's reply was characteristic. he said, "my ships shall make ports for themselves"--a boast indeed, but, as events showed, not an idle one. but the question arose, which foreign power should be first attacked and made to disgorge that without which the development of russia was hampered and impracticable? the caspian was, after all, but an inland sea; that could wait. the baltic was well enough, but peter knew that he was as yet quite unprepared to tackle sweden, either by land or sea; that must wait also. there remained the black sea. and here peter would fulfil a double purpose in attacking the dominions of the turk. he would secure a much-needed port to begin with--that was reason sufficient in itself for the contemplated onslaught; but besides this, he would be dealing a blow for christianity by smiting islamism in its stronghold, and chasing from their lair the enemies of christ. so peter decided upon the siege of azof as a first step towards greater ends. in 1694 he sent down from moscow several regiments of his new troops, the preobrajensk, of which the tsar was himself a member, having entered the regiment at the very lowest grade, and enjoying at this time the rank of "bombardier;" lefort's regiment of twelve thousand men, mostly foreigners; the semenofski, and the batusitski. besides these were our old friends the streltsi; and the entire army, numbering one hundred thousand men, was led by golovnin, schã©in, gordon, and lefort. accompanying this force went, as we have seen, boris, late bear-hunter, now captain in the preobrajensk regiment. though our friend had bidden farewell to the tsar at moscow, peter nevertheless changed his mind and followed the expedition in person, joining the troops beneath the walls of azof, still as "bombardier peter alexeyevitch," which character he kept up throughout the subsequent proceedings, being determined, as an example to his people, to pass through every grade of both the military and the naval services. boris greatly enjoyed the march southwards. he welcomed with all his heart the change from the close, stuffy life in the moscow drawing-rooms and barracks to his beloved woods and moors and open air at night and day. he was the life of the regiment throughout the long march, entertaining the officers with exhibitions of his animal-calling talent, and teaching them the arts of the forest at every opportunity. big game naturally kept out of the way of the great host of men, and never came within a mile of the road, though answering calls from wolves might frequently be heard in the distance; but the officers' mess was indebted daily to boris and his knowledge of woodcraft for constant supplies of toothsome partridge, or delicious willow-grouse, with sometimes a fine blackcock, or even a lordly capercailzie. there was no more popular officer of the preobrajensk than boris, whose position was thus very different from that he had held in his late streltsi regiment, where every officer had been at heart a revolutionist, and therefore hated him for his known devotion to the person of the tsar. but the long march was finished at last, and the entire force assembled beneath the walls of azof. and now "bombardier peter alexeyevitch" realized with sorrow that without ships to support his land forces he was likely to have a tough struggle to capture the city. when, seventy years before, the don cossacks had surprised and taken it, azof had been a very inferior stronghold to this which now frowned upon him but a mile or less from his outposts. the new city now possessed a high wall, strongly built, and likely to defy awhile the assault of the heavy but feeble ordnance of that time. peter accordingly determined, in council with lefort and the rest, that rather than lay siege to the place, it would be advisable, in the absence of ships, to attempt its capture by assault. arrangements were made that the artillery fire should be concentrated upon that portion of the wall which appeared to be the weakest, and that the instant a breach was made the preobrajensk, supported by the rest, should advance to the assault and carry the town _vi et armis_. the attack was fixed for the following morning. during that evening an unfortunate quarrel took place between the general schã©in and the principal artillery officer, a german named jansen, familiarly known to the russian soldiers as "yakooshka." schã©in fixed upon one portion of the wall as that to be attacked, while jansen was determined that another spot offered a more suitable mark for the russian guns. schã©in insisted, and jansen, with blunt german obstinacy, insisted also. schã©in lost his temper and abused jansen, when jansen grew angry also and said, no doubt, what was unbecoming in an inferior to a superior officer. then schã©in lost control over himself, and commanded the guard to arrest poor "yakooshka," whereupon the latter was led away and actually bastinadoed for insubordination. that night jansen escaped from his undignified captivity, and having first made the round of the russian guns and spiked them all, quietly shook the dust from off his feet, turned his back upon the russian lines, and went over to the enemy, being admitted into azof by its mussulman holders with joy and thanksgiving. on the following morning, when the order was given to train the guns upon the city walls and to open fire, the treachery of jansen was discovered. the bombardier peter alexeyevitch, when this information was brought to him, was a terrible object to behold. great spasms of passion shook him from head to foot, while his face--black as any storm-cloud--worked in contortions and grimaces like the features of one in a terrible fit. for a few moments he said no word. then he took his note-book and wrote therein large and prominent the name _jansen_. after which he gave orders for the assault of azof, guns or no guns, and in a few moments the brave preobrajensk were in full career towards the walls of the city. the guns opened fire upon them so soon as the guard became conscious of the surprisingly rash intentions of the russians; but the shot flew over their heads. boris, mindful of the tsar's words to him while still in moscow, that he should do his best to be the first man into azof, led his company cheering and waving his sword. russians have never held back when there was storming work to do, and the troops advanced quickly at the double, singing, as russians love to do, one of their stirring military songs. the musketry fire opened from the top of the walls as they came to close quarters, and though the shooting was very wild, still many wide gaps were made in the ranks. in a moment the foot of the wall was reached, and now came the difficult work of ascending. scaling-ladders were placed, and knocked ever from above, and placed again. scores of men endeavoured to climb the wall without the aid of ladders, but were easily shot down or knocked on the head if they ever succeeded in climbing within reach of the sharp swords and scimitars waving in readiness above. the din was deafening, the cries of christian and mussulman outvying the roar of musketry. now and again a squad of russians firing from below would clear the wall, and a ladder would be placed for half-a-dozen brave fellows to rush upwards and be cut down by new defenders who came to fill the gaps of the fallen. once a roar of applause was set up by the russian hosts as a russian officer, followed by half-a-dozen men, rushed up one of the ladders, and with a shout of triumph stood upon the top of the wall, waving their swords, and shouting to their companions to follow. this triumph was short-lived. first one man fell, pierced through the heart by a bullet; then another and another was knocked on the head, while those who essayed to come to their rescue were shot down in their attempt to mount the ladder. at length there remained alive the officer alone, he who had first surmounted the wall. this officer was boris, whose superior agility had once more stood him in good stead, and enabled him to climb where the rest had failed. that same activity appeared, however, to have got him into a terrible fix. alone he stood for a few moments, fighting bravely but hopelessly against a dozen swords, until at length, to the consternation of his friends below, he was seen to receive a blow which tumbled him off the wall upon the azof side, and no more was seen of him. for an hour or more the russians fought bravely on, endeavouring to obtain a foothold upon those grim walls, but all in vain. the tartar women brought boiling water and threw it down upon the "christian dogs," together with every sort of filth, and large stones. every inhabitant of the city appeared to have come out upon the walls in order to assist in beating off the infidel; and though many fell pierced by russian bullets, they were entirely successful in their patriotic endeavours, for, with the exception of the half-dozen men who followed boris upon the walls, no single russian succeeded in mounting the ladders, or in any other way effecting a footing within the mussulman stronghold. meanwhile the guns of the town, probably aimed by the treacherous though much provoked jansen, rained fire and hail upon the main body of the besiegers, who, with spiked guns, were unable to retaliate. peter the bombardier was gloomy and black. he strode among his guns, superintending the efforts of his smiths to get them into working order; he swore at his generals right and left, in a manner ill-befitting a humble bombardier; he swore with yet more deadly wrath at jansen, and with greater justice. but in spite of all his ferocity and fury he did not lose his discretion; and finding that his troops were doing and could do no good under present circumstances, the tsar gave orders that the assaulting columns should retire. thus the day, the first of many, passed without result. as time went on, and peter found that his attacks upon azof made no progress, but that he lost daily large numbers of his best soldiers to no purpose, he decided reluctantly that until he should become possessed of a fleet which could blockade the city by sea, while he attacked it at the same time, and in force, by land, he must abandon all hope of capturing the place. at present, as he had now realized to his loss, the city could be reinforced and revictualled at any moment. besides this, his mainstay in the science of artillery attack, jansen, had basely failed him; he had no one competent to take his place. such an officer, together with clever engineers, must be invited to enter his service as quickly as might be--an englishman, a frenchman, even a german again, but not a touchy and quarrelsome and treacherous one, such as yakooshka had proved himself. so peter wisely, but sorrowfully, abandoned the siege of azof for that season, promising himself a speedy return in the following summer, when he was fully determined he would possess a fleet capable of blockading the city from the sea side, as well as capable and experienced foreign officers, who should lead his brave fellows to that victory which had been snatched from them this season through no fault of their own. peter had still much to learn in the art of war; but, like a man of sense, he accepted defeat on this and on future occasions as object-lessons for the benefit of his own inexperience. the great tsar had his own patient way of attaining his ends through many defeats and much discouragement. he learned from his enemies at each repulse, assimilating the experience thus gained until he was in a position, in his turn, to teach. how thorough was his method of impressing a lesson upon those who had once been his teachers, let pultowa and nystad testify. nevertheless, peter's rebuff at azof in 1695 was to him an exceedingly serious matter in the peculiar condition of affairs in the russia of that day; for it gave to his enemies, and the enemies of progress, the opportunity to point the finger of scorn at his foreign soldiers and his un-russian policy generally, and smile and say, "ha, we told you so! these foreigners will be the ruin of russia. the priests are right, and we shall yet see this young man, the tsar, acknowledge the error of his ways, and turn his great energies to clearing the land of the foreigner, with his alien manners and civilization." but these men imagined a vain thing; and the young tsar, like a young lion, did but shake his mane and lick his wounded paw, and sally forth once again to encounter and slay the enemy who had wounded him. chapter xv. an exciting escape. when the tsar returned to moscow and set himself deliberately to count up his losses, he was obliged to admit that what affected him more grievously than anything else was the disappearance of poor boris; a disappearance which he could not but feel certain meant death, or captivity and torture, in comparison with which death would be vastly preferable. peter missed his devoted servant and friend at every turn and at every hour of the day. on the second day after his arrival, the tsar was surprised to receive a request for an audience from, as his orderly informed him, "a little english fairy." permission being given, the door opened, and in walked nancy drury, now nearly fifteen years old, and as sweet-looking an example of english maidenhood as any could wish to see. nancy was very grave and hollow-eyed, and her face showed signs of many tears. "is it true?" said nancy, advancing towards the tsar, and speaking in the hollowest and most tragic of voices. "is what true, my dear?" asked peter kindly, taking the child on his knee, though he thought he knew well enough what she required of him. "is it true that he is lost--my boris--and perhaps dead?" poor nancy burst into tears as she spoke the last word, and hid her face in her hands. "oh, what have you done with him, and why did you let the tartars have him?" she continued, through sobs and tears. peter did his best to pacify the child, assuring her, against his own convictions, that boris was certainly alive and well, and promising faithfully that at the renewed campaign next summer his troops should certainly release boris from captivity before they did anything else. when nancy had extracted this promise from the tsar, she dried her tears, and thanked him and smiled. peter kissed the sweet english face. "if only i were not married already, nancy," he said, laughing, "i declare i should be tempted to make an empress of you when you were old enough! would you like to be an empress?" nancy blushed. "i love your majesty very much," she said, "but i would never be empress--" she hesitated. "and why not, my little english fairy?" said the tsar kindly. "i--i shouldn't like to live in a big palace all my life," faltered nancy. "i love the woods and the fields, and--" "but if boris were emperor?" laughed the tsar. nancy hid her face, and flushed scarlet. then she jumped off his knee and burst into tears again, throwing herself at his feet, and sobbing, "oh, save him from the tartars, your majesty--do save him! take him away from the enemies of christ, and god will bless you for it!" there was not much of the man of sentiment about this practical young potentate, but peter could not help feeling greatly touched to see the child's anxiety and sorrow. once more he assured her that all would be well, and nancy accepted his assurance and left the tsar's cabinet smiling and hopeful. but my readers will wish to know what has become of poor boris all this time. they will think, very properly, that the fate of a single christian falling wounded into the hands of an excited mob of the children of the prophet must be pretty well settled before ever his feet have touched the ground. so it would be, undoubtedly, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred; but boris was not quite "done for" when he fell, and therefore the swords and knives which were anxiously awaiting the opportunity to dip into his christian blood were obliged first to fight for the privilege. he had received a terrific blow, certainly, but had guarded in time, and though overbalanced and tumbled off the wall, he was still unhurt. regaining his feet in an instant, he had placed his back against the wall, and stood to receive attack. half-a-dozen swords soon sprang out to give him battle, and in a minute he was engaged in an encounter compared with which his fight with the streltsi was the tamest of toy battles. boris felt that there was little hope of his keeping his antagonists at bay until some of his friends should have mounted the wall and arrived to give him the much-needed assistance; but he was resolved, nevertheless, to keep up the game until either death or assistance came, and to exact at least twelve mussulman lives as the price of his own! boris fought a good fight that day. turk after turk fell before his big swinging sword, and whenever one fell another took his place. bravely he cut and thrust and guarded, and the very turks themselves stayed their crowding upon the walls to see out this fine exhibition of skill and endurance and muscovitish pluck. but cutting and thrusting and guarding one's body from two or three assailants at once is tiring work, and poor boris felt his strength failing him, and his eye grew dim, so that he could scarcely see accurately where he struck, and some of his blows began to fall at random. his breath came and went in gasps, and his arms ached with weariness. in another moment one of those flashing blades would find a billet somewhere in the region of his stout heart, and the career of the brave bear-hunter would be over and done with. but fate had decided that the readers of these records of boris should have many more pages of his history to peruse, and just when the hunter was making up his mind that he had fought his last fight and lost it, this same fate, in the person of a turkish pasha who had watched the fray admiringly from the beginning, strode up and knocked aside the swords of the assailants of boris just in time to prevent them from dyeing themselves red in his blood. the pasha felt that here was a splendid slave being wasted, or perhaps a prisoner for whom a good ransom might be eventually forthcoming. so he struck away the swords, and skipping aside to avoid a savage thrust from poor dim-eyed boris, who could not see and knew not the signification of this new assailant's interference, he rushed in and pinned the half-fainting russian to the wall. the sword dropped from boris's hand as the fingers of the pasha closed around his throat, a thick film came over his eyes, black fog enveloped his brain, and the shouts and cries of the battle around him receded further and further into space; his consciousness faded and failed, his senses vanished one by one like the extinguishing of candles, and boris knew no more. when boris came to himself he was in a small room, whose only window was at a height of some five feet from the floor and iron-barred. he could hear a sentinel pass and repass beneath it, and from a distance came the sounds of musketry and artillery fire, which quickly recalled to his mind the events of the morning--or of yesterday, for he was without means of ascertaining how long he had remained unconscious. food--some coarse bread and a dish of water--stood upon the floor beside the straw upon which he found himself outstretched. boris was very hungry, and at once ravenously consumed the food, finishing the bread to the last crumb, and wishing there were more of it, coarse though it was. he felt very weary still, and though unwounded, save for a prick or two in the hand and fore-arm, quite incapable of and disinclined for thought or exertion. so boris lay still, and presently fell asleep. he was awakened at night by voices as of people conversing within the room, and opened his eyes to find the pasha, his captor, with another turk and a third figure whose presence first filled him with joy, and then, as he remembered, with bitter loathing. it was jansen, the treacherous gunner, to whose perfidy and desire for vengeance was due the repulse of peter and his army, and, indeed, indirectly, his own present situation. boris was for upraising his voice in angry denunciation of the traitor, but the pasha dealt him a blow in the mouth and bade him roughly be silent. boris felt for his sword, but found it was no longer at his side, neither was his dagger nor his big clumsy pistol; he was entirely unarmed. jansen and the turks were conversing in a language unknown to boris, the pasha asking questions and putting down jansen's replies in a note-book. then jansen, addressing boris, informed him that the pasha had spared his life in order to employ him in his own service, either to teach his soldiers the art of swordsmanship, in which, the pasha had observed, he excelled, or perhaps to help him, jansen, in managing the big guns mounted upon the walls. but at this point the tongue of boris would be silent no longer, and burst into furious invective. that this man should desert his master the tsar in his need was bad enough, but that the traitor should expect him, boris, to employ his skill in gunnery against his own beloved sovereign and his own people passed the patience of man, and boris was with difficulty prevented from casting himself upon the deserter and throttling him as he stood. three swords flashing out of their scabbards at the same moment, however, reminded the captive of his helplessness, and boris relinquished, reluctantly, the pleasure of suffocating the traitor. whether jansen persuaded the pasha of the impracticability of compelling boris to do any useful work with the guns, or whether it struck the pasha that boris might easily do more harm than good at the walls, i know not, but the prisoner was never requested to take part in artillery practice at the russian lines. his duties, he found, consisted chiefly in helping to carry the pasha's palanquin about the streets of the city--an occupation rendered exceedingly disagreeable by the rudeness of the population, who pushed, and jostled, and cursed, and spat upon the "christian dog" whenever he appeared. occasionally he was directed to practise sword exercise with chosen mussulman swordsmen; and this he was glad enough to do, for it gave him amusement in plenty to teach these easterns all manner of western malpractices, tricks of swordsmanship of an obsolete and exploded nature such as would undoubtedly expose them, should they come to blows with an experienced fencer, to speedy defeat. besides these occupations boris was ever busy in another way--a field of activity in which his energies were employed without the sanction or the knowledge of his master, for he was labouring every day to loosen the iron bars of his prison room. by means of peeping out of his window at moments when the sentry was at a distance boris had discovered that between him and the outer wall of the city there was but a space of thirty yards of stone pavement, up and down which paced the sentinel. beyond this was the wall; and over the wall, not indeed the plain whereon the russian troops had till lately been encamped, but the shining waters of that arm of the black sea known as the sea of azof. day by day boris worked at his bar, choosing those moments when the sentinel was farthest from him. once, during the sword instruction in the courtyard, a sword broke, and the broken end of the weapon, a blunt piece of steel about eight inches in length, was left on the ground. boris found an opportunity to seize this and secrete it before leaving the spot, and the fragment proved of the utmost service to him in scraping the mortar from beneath and around the iron bars. two months after his capture boris saw to his delight that he could now at any moment he chose remove these bars and attempt his escape. the opportunity arrived at last: a warm, dark night, drizzling with rain; the sentry, muffled in his _bashlik_, could see little and hear less; no one else would be about the walls in such weather and so late. the bit of sword end, by constant working, had worn to itself by this time a sharp and formidable edge; it was no longer a weapon to be despised. in boris's wallet were stored the economized savings of many meals--food enough to keep him alive for several days. the hunter removed carefully the iron bars which had made this little room a prison-house for two long months, and clambering upon the somewhat narrow ledge, sat in the darkness and waited. would the sentinel never pass close enough for his purpose? to and fro the man went, but he did not guess what was required of him, and passed along rather further from the window than exactly suited the designs of boris. seeing that the man was evidently a person of method, and stepped time after time in his old tracks, boris determined that he must accept the inevitable and deal with matters as they were, without waiting longer for desirable contingencies which destiny refused to bring about. standing crouched upon the ledge, boris waited until the sentinel was opposite, as nearly as he could guess in the darkness; then setting every muscle in his body, he sprang out as far as he could towards the spot where he judged the man to be. so vigorous was his leap, that though the soldier was upwards of five yards from the window, boris alighted with tremendous force upon his shoulders, bearing him to the ground and himself falling over him. the wretched sentry, conscious only that something very heavy indeed had fallen down upon him, apparently from the skies, was about to howl to his prophet for help; but in an instant boris had one big hand over the fellow's mouth, and with the other felt for a spot where a dig of his little weapon might serve to silence for ever the man's appeals, whether to mohammed or to any one else. a quick struggle as they rolled together on the ground, a sharp dig, and the sentinel lay still and harmless, and boris had accomplished his task so far. taking the man's outer garment and bashlik, and leaving his own, taking also the fellow's musket and pistol, boris clambered up the outer wall and looked for a moment into the darkness beneath. that the sea was there was certain, for he could hear the sound of the wavelets lapping the wall below him; but how far down was the water--in other words, how high was the wall? however, this was no time for anxious reflection. if boris ever wished to see his home again, and his beloved tsar, and, lastly, his little friend nancy drury, he must jump now and at once. murmuring a prayer, then giving one somewhat trembling look down into the grim darkness beneath him, boris took a long breath and jumped. it must have been a high wall, for as boris fell through the air it seemed to him as though he would never reach the water. at last he felt the cold waves close over him, and then it seemed as though he would never rise to the surface again; but when his breath was nearly exhausted, and he was well-nigh choked for want of air, his head emerged once more, and he was able to float quietly for a while, in order to obtain a fresh supply of breath, and to listen for any sound which might either warn him of danger, or indicate the direction in which he ought to strike out in order to make the shore. presently boris heard the sound of oars, and remained where he was until the boat should pass. it was a party of fishers putting out to sea, and boris judged that by going in the opposite direction he would reach land; so he struck boldly out for the point whence the boat had come. soon his intently listening ears caught the sound of the twittering of sand-pipers, and boris guessed that he neared the shore. this was the case, and in some twenty minutes from the time of his plunge the hunter had the satisfaction of feeling the bottom, and of wading, drenched and somewhat cold, but exceedingly rejoiced, ashore. there was no one about. the city lay to the left; he could hear the crowing of cocks, and caught the occasional glimmer of a light. boris took the opposite direction, and walked along what seemed to be the edge of an arm of the sea or of a large river. all night he toiled along, sometimes swimming or wading, in order to put possible pursuers off the track. when morning came, boris found himself on the skirt of a large forest, and here he concealed himself, and dried his clothes and his food in the sun. then, deep in the shade of a birch thicket, he lay down and enjoyed a good rest until the evening, when he rose up and recommenced his flight, always keeping to the shore of the river, which, as he afterwards discovered, was the don. thus boris travelled for three days, pushing on at night and resting during the day, until his food was well-nigh exhausted. then, to his joy, he reached a rough-looking village where he found the russian language was understood. here he was received kindly and entertained hospitably by the rough but good-hearted inhabitants, a tribe of don cossacks; and here he rested for several days, and collected his exhausted energies amid his kind cossack friends, in preparation for the long journey for moscow and home! chapter xvi. home again. one day, early in november 1695, when the palace of the tsar in the kremlin was thronged with officers and dignitaries awaiting audience in the ante-chambers, and crowding one another in the halls and passages, discussing the news and transacting various matters of state business, a tall but ragged-looking figure strode in at the principal entrance of the palace, pushing aside the doorkeepers, and elbowed his way through the crowded entrance-hall. up the wide stairs he went, taking no notice of the protests and smothered curses of those whose toes he trod upon, or into whose sides he had insinuated his sharp elbows. many of those who had turned round to see who this audaciously rough individual might be, stopped open-mouthed when they beheld him, the protest half-uttered, and gazed after him with wide eyes, muttering prayers, as men who believe they see a ghost. but the ragged courtier looked neither to the right hand nor to the left, but pursued his reckless march over the toes of the highest dignitaries in the realm, without noticing the fact or the persons, and making straight for the private cabinet of the tsar as though, until he should reach that haven, there could be no thought for anything else. arrived at the ante-chamber, wherein were assembled lefort and menshikoff and a few others of the inner circle of favour, the new arrival paid no more heed to these august personages than he had done to the rest, but elbowed them out of his way and went straight to the door which led into the sanctum of the great peter, altogether disregarding the exclamations of surprise and awe which were all that these found time to utter as he passed rapidly through the room and in at the tsar's own door. peter was sitting alone at the writing-table, busily penning letters to foreign potentates--applications, in fact, for the loan of talented engineer and artillery officers for the new campaign against the turk on the black sea; a project upon which his mind was so fixed that his whole time was spent in planning and organizing it in advance. the tsar raised his eyes as the ragged figure entered the room and stood before his table. but though peters eyes fixed themselves upon the strange, wild object before them, the speculation in them had nothing to do with the object of their regard. peter lowered his head again and wrote; he finished his letter, and signed it. then, once more he raised his eyes, and this time those orbs were looking outwards, not inwards. peter started, and spat on the ground; then he crossed himself, and shaded his eyes, and stared at the figure that stood before him. for a moment the strong face looked scared and bewildered; then the tsar rose with his big laugh, and walking round to the other side of the table caught the man by both shoulders and shook him till his teeth rattled. "it is true flesh and blood," he cried, "and no ghost! boris, my most miraculous of bear-hunters, whence come you, and why is this ragged body of yours not eaten by turkish rats? this is the best and most wonderful thing that mortal man ever heard of." peter drew the grimy traveller to his own broad breast and embraced him in the most approved russian manner, kissing both cheeks and his forehead.--"here! lefort, menshikoff, all you fellows in there!" continued the tsar, shouting aloud, "here's boris come back, our faithful, streltsi-sticking, turk-spitting bear-eater!--come, sit down, my boris, quickly, and tell us all about it. why are you alive--have you a plan of azof--how did you get out of the place--has that yakooshka had his sneaking german tongue cut out of him yet? tell me that first of all, quick!" boris replied that as far as he knew the head of jansen was still upon his shoulders with his tongue in it. "then," said peter, "we shall have at least the satisfaction of removing it ourselves instead of relinquishing the privilege to the turk, as i had feared." peter took two or three turns about the room, looking his blackest; then he recovered his equanimity. "come," he said, "let's talk of pleasanter subjects; tell us all about your adventures." boris told his plain tale amid frequent interjections from the four or five men present. peter roared with laughter over the account of how boris with his sword had kept at bay for ten minutes any number of turks who chose to come on, and how he was ultimately scragged by a pasha while in the very act of fainting from sheer exhaustion. "bravo, bear-eater," he cried, "and bravo again! ho, if i had but five thousand bear-hunters like you, my son, i should attack sweden to-morrow! but there is some good in the turk after all; for think how easily any one of a thousand of them might have blown your brains out with musket or pistol. yet they preferred to see a good fight out to the end; but, ha! ha! that pasha. you shall scrag that same pasha with your own hands, my son, next summer, as sure as i am standing here. go on!" [illustration: "out sprang boris, and alighted with terrific force upon menshikoff's back." _page 186._ ] peter's pleasant mood underwent a great change when boris went on to tell of his interview with jansen in prison. his face worked in terrible contortions, and he rose and paced the room once more without a word. "so you would have throttled him, would you?" he said at last. "i am thankful that you did not interfere with what is my privilege. enough about yakooshka. go on." but the tsar fairly roared with laughter as boris described how he had leaped upon the back of the sentinel, a distance of fifteen feet, and stuck the poor fellow with his little broken bit of sword-end. he must have that little weapon, he said, as a keepsake from his good bear-eater. but nothing would satisfy the tsar with regard to the mighty spring upon the back of the sentry but a rehearsal of the feat then and there, in that very room. menshikoff said the thing was impossible; no man, he said, could leap five yards from a cramped position upon a window ledge. boris must have miscalculated the distance. but menshikoff regretted this remark a moment after he had made it; for peter declared he believed the bear-eater could perform the feat if no one else could, and that he should try it at once, in order to put this sceptic to confusion. menshikoff should act the part of sentry, and walk along while boris jumped on him. afterwards they would all try it. then two tables were piled together, and boris was instructed to bend himself into the original position as far as possible, and thence spring upon the unhappy menshikoff, who paced the floor at a distance of fifteen feet. menshikoff eyed the heavy figure of boris, soon to be launched at him, with gloomy foreboding; but there was no help for it, peter was in earnest. as menshikoff reached the necessary point, out sprang boris, and without difficulty covering the distance, alighted with terrific force upon menshikoff's back. over rolled the favourite, and over went boris with him, amid the boisterous laughter of the tsar and the rest, the crash making such a commotion that frightened courtiers from the room beneath presently rushed in to see what had happened to his majesty. peter insisted upon attempting the feat himself, and insisted also that lefort and menshikoff should leap as well. the tsar easily accomplished the leap; but so tremendous was the shock of his descent, that poor lefort, who was detailed to receive the ponderous imperial body after its flight through space, was well-nigh wiped out of the land of the living. both menshikoff and lefort failed to accomplish the feat, and boris was obliged to repeat it, in order that the tsar might try the sensations of the sentinel, as a "bolt from the blue," in the shape of some thirteen stone of humanity, came crashing down upon his shoulders. peter was better built to stand the shock than the unfortunate turkish soldier, and boris's big body hardly caused him to stagger; though when the two changed places, and the huge tsar sprang through the air and alighted upon the back of boris, that hardy young hunter, for all his sturdiness, rolled over like a rabbit. then at length the tsar, now in the highest good-humour, permitted boris to finish his tale--how he had plunged into the dark waters of the azof sea, and found his way to land; how he had been befriended in a village of the cossacks of the don--peter making a note of the name of the village; and of his long adventurous journey through moor and forest, where he supplied himself with food from day to day by means of his knowledge of woodcraft, until he reached moscow that very morning. then the tsar informed boris of his own designs for a renewed siege of azof by land and sea, and of all that had happened in the regiment and out of it since his disappearance. the officers had all mourned him as certainly lost, the tsar said, and had even included his name in their service for the repose of the souls of those slain beneath the walls of the city; they would be overjoyed to see his face again. then peter told of how little nancy drury had come to scold him for losing "her boris," and of how he had promised faithfully to go and fetch her friend home again in the summer. when peter mentioned nancy, the face of boris flushed, but his eyes glowed with great tenderness; and presently he asked leave to retire, in order to visit his fellow-officers, "and others." the tsar permitted him to go, on condition that he went first to see "those others;" for, said peter, those others might be even more rejoiced to see him home again than the officers of the regiment, who, at least, had not blushed whenever his name had been mentioned. then boris blushed again, and thanked the tsar, and went out to do his kind bidding. when boris reached the house of the drurys, and was ushered into the sitting-room by the frightened servant, who took him for a ghost, and did not announce him because his tongue refused to speak for very fear, mrs. drury was busy over her needlework, while nancy sat at her lessons at the same table. mother and daughter looked up together, but their first impressions were entirely different. mrs. drury had never felt the slightest doubt that her little daughter's faithful friend was long since dead and buried in the far-away tartar city, and had mourned his death in secret, while concealing her convictions from nancy, in the hope that when the truth must be known time would have softened the blow. when, therefore, the door opened noiselessly, and the scared servant, speechless and pale, admitted the ragged figure which so strongly resembled the dead friend of the family, mrs. drury was taken by surprise, and screamed and hid her face in her hands. but nancy's instincts did not err. no sooner did she raise her eyes than she knew that this was no ghost, but her own beloved and familiar friend; and with a cry of great joy and surprise she sprang to her feet, and was in his arms in a moment, her head buried in his tanned neck, sobbing and laughing, and conscious of nothing excepting that here was her boris alive and well and come home again. when mrs. drury recovered her equanimity, which she did in a minute, her english ideas of propriety were a little shocked at nancy's undisguised demonstration towards her friend, and, after warmly greeting boris, she reminded her little daughter that her fifteenth birthday was at hand, and that she would shock boris ivanitch by her demonstrativeness. but boris begged her to let nancy be as affectionate as she pleased, for, he said, he had sadly needed the comfort of a little love for many a long and dreary month. so mrs. drury let matters be as they were, and nancy clung to her friend's neck, and cried and laughed in turns, though saying but little, until boris gently detached her arms from about his neck and placed her upon his knee to hear the stirring tale of his adventures and escape and return home. boris left the drurys' house presently with a new conviction looming large and prominent in his inner consciousness, and that was that there was nothing in all the world quite so good as the love of an innocent girl; neither the delights of bear-hunting, nor the glory of successful fight, nor the favour of a great king, nor the applause of his fellows, nor rank in the army, nor wealth, nor the pride of great strength, nor anything else. all these things were good, especially the praise of a beloved master and tsar; but the clinging arms of this child had revealed a new yet a very old thing to him, and boris walked towards the barracks of the preobrajensk guards on feet that felt not the wooden pavement beneath them, and with his manly heart so full of tenderness towards that other confiding and loving little heart that he almost wished all the world would rise up and menace that one little child, that he might rise also and defend her. then boris went and proved for a third time that he was no ghost, but a solid and able-bodied bear-hunter, and retold once again the story of his adventures for the benefit of an admiring mess. here boris learned also from the officers of his regiment that he had narrowly escaped a shot in the back as he stood alone upon the wall of azof; for a former companion of the streltsi, one zaitzoff, had deliberately taken a shot at him, in order, as he had declared, to pay off old scores. another member of the corps, one platonof, being wounded to death, and horrified at the dastardliness of the proceeding, had communicated zaitzoff's words to the surgeon who attended him. the surgeon in his turn reported to the officers of the preobrajensk, and these took summary vengeance. they had gone in a body to the streltsi quarters that very evening on hearing the surgeon's tale, had pulled zaitzoff out of his tent, held an improvised court-martial on the spot, and shot the miscreant then and there, and in the presence of all his comrades, who did nothing to protect him, being themselves horrified with his action. one more danger escaped, added to the many, was as nothing to this man returned, as it were, from the very gates of death; yet boris did not fail to offer thanks for the erring flight of zaitzoff's bullet when he counted up the mercies of god on this first evening of his return, and knelt long and fervently within the cathedral of the kremlin. neither did nancy forget to be grateful when she knelt at her bedside and said her daily prayers, which were the old english ones, in spite of the fact that colonel drury and all his house were now within the fold of the russo-greek church and naturalized russians. chapter xvii. off to england. bombardier peter alexeyevitch entered with all his impetuosity and marvellous energy into the preparations for the second attack upon azof. during the whole of the winter and spring he was busy superintending the work of ship-building in the south of russia. every little river harbour on either side of the don had its own improvised ship-building yards, and its hundreds of workmen from all parts of the country, engaged in the setting up as quickly as might be of galleys and rafts and every kind of floating vehicle. "we live, as old adam did, in the sweat of our brow," wrote the tsar to one of his intimates in moscow, "and have hardly time to eat our bread for the pressure of work." dockyards burned down, and destroying in their own destruction the work of many months; gangs of labourers deserting and disappearing when most required to complete their work--nothing could discourage the great tsar, or turn him by the fraction of an inch from the path he had laid out for himself. galleys and boats quickly took shape, and gradually approached completion. peter was everywhere, swearing, scolding, encouraging, organizing, never weary, and never losing heart because of the misfortunes of the moment. the don waters rose and carried away many half-completed vessels and much valuable timber; but the forests of voronej were not so far away nor so poor but that inexhaustible supplies of birch and oak and pine and beech might be had to replace what was lost; and these same waters of the don which had swept the timber away should be utilized to carry down on their broad bosom as much again and more than they had stolen and cast into the sea. then peter himself fell ill; but even sickness could not quell his ardour for the work he had set himself, and the building was not delayed for a moment. at last, when the long nights of midsummer were near at hand, the flotilla was ready and slipped down the broad river straight for the doomed city. there were twenty-two galleys, and one hundred large rafts for carrying ordnance, and some seventeen hundred smaller vessels, boats and lighters. by this time the regiments from moscow and the streltsi, who had never left the neighbourhood, were once more assembled beneath the walls of azof. the preobrajensk were there, and among them our friend boris, who had spent a delightful winter and spring in moscow, and was now ready and anxious for adventure again. all the troops which had taken part in the former unsuccessful attack upon the fortress were now present again to retrieve their laurels, which had faded before the breath of turk and tartar. but many new faces were to be seen among the old ones--veterans, chiefly, of tanned and foreign appearance; experienced engineers and gunners from france, and hanover, and brandenburg. under the orders of these men a high wall of earth was built beneath the very ramparts of the city, so that the soil, when the wall was finished, trickled over the ramparts of azof, which it overtopped, and fell into the streets of the city. at the same time the ships and rafts blockaded the town from the water side, so that there was no escape this time by way of the black sea. then, when all was ready for the attack, preparations were made for a combined assault both by land and sea. but the hearts of the tartars failed them, and the city capitulated before the storming was commenced, greatly to the disappointment of many young heroes who had intended to perform deeds of valour, and especially of the valiant boris, whose arms ached for another brush with the turkish swordsmen, especially with those who had been so unfortunate as to be instructed in the art by himself, with whom he had promised himself much entertainment. the tsar spared no pains to discover boris's friend the pasha, whom, when found, he placed at the service of boris. the hunter, remembering the palanquin, but recollecting also that he owed to the pasha, in a fashion, his deliverance from death by the sword, was merciful, and did but take his fun out of him for a day or so, after which he released him altogether and let him go free. but for one day that poor pasha afforded much amusement to the officers of the preobrajensk and to the tsar also; for boris harnessed the poor fat manikin to a light hand-cart, and, himself sitting as a coachman in front, drove him up and down the camp, whipping him up with a horse-lash when he tired, till the wretched turk was ready to fall between the shafts and expire from pure exhaustion. jansen, who was captured also in the streets of the city, though disguised in the garb of a common tartar tradesman, did not escape so easily. he was carried in chains to moscow when the troops returned to the capital, and there his head was struck off his shoulders and exhibited on a pole as a warning to traitors. the army entered moscow in triumph, under festal arches made to represent hercules trampling turkish pashas under foot, while mars, on the summit of a second triumphal archway, pitched tartars over in large numbers. the principal generals were drawn into the city upon gilded sledges placed on wheels; while bombardier peter alexeyevitch, now raised, however, to the rank of captain, walked in the procession as befitted his humbler grade in the service. boris was there, too, in all the glory of a major's epaulets; and if he had glanced up at a certain balcony in the troitski street as he passed beneath, there is no doubt that he might have seen two bright eyes for which he was the centre of the procession, if not the only figure in it, and which did not fail to notice with pride the new insignia of rank and promotion which he bore on either broad shoulder. there, too, in the midst of the happy marching host, was the wretched prisoner yakooshka, hooted and spat upon by the crowd as he dragged his heavily-ironed feet over the stones of moscow. thus the first triumph of peter's new army and navy was achieved with scarcely a single blow struck; for, with the exception of a brilliant assault upon redoubts by the don cossacks and an easily-repulsed sortie by the inhabitants, during which but few lives were lost on the russian side, there had been no fighting done. but the prestige of the foreign troops was won, peter's policy was justified, the enemies of christ and of the true faith had been overthrown, a seaport had been gained for russia, and the beginning of her expansion had become an accomplished fact. peter was thoroughly and entirely happy, for he had made the first move in the great game he had come into this world to play, and it was a good move. the mussulmans had been hustled out of azof, and a garrison of streltsi left in the city to take care that they did not return; and now three thousand russian families were sent to the town, there to abide for ever, they and their descendants. ship-building was commenced wherever docks could be conveniently erected, and all classes were heavily taxed in order to pay for the ships to be built in them. meanwhile, young russians of talent were despatched to venice, to the netherlands, to london, and to paris, in order to learn the newest things, whether in ship-building, or in gunnery, or in drill and uniform. their orders were to keep their eyes open and to see and learn everything worth learning. and now peter felt that he might conscientiously undertake that trip to foreign lands which he had long promised himself, and to which he had so ardently looked forward. he was to travel incognito, in order to avoid the worry of publicity and the tedious attentions of courts. the journey was to be undertaken under the ã¦gis of a great embassy, peter following in the train of his ambassadors in the character of a humble _attachã©_ or secretary. boris was to go, as the tsar had long since promised him; for he would be extremely useful, in england at least, if they ever got so far, by reason of his knowledge of the language. besides, peter liked to have his faithful bear-eater, as he still loved to call him, constantly at his side, and would not have thought of leaving him behind under any circumstances. there was one little heart that was sore indeed when boris came to take his leave before the departure of the embassy. it was always good-bye, nancy said wistfully, as the hunter tore himself regretfully from her side: would there never come a time when she would not continually be looking forward with dread to his departure somewhere? boris gazed long and earnestly into the sorrowful blue eyes raised to his own. "perhaps there will, my nancy, perhaps there will," he said at last, "when you are a little older--god knows; but i must always be a soldier and serve the tsar wherever he will have me go." "and i shall always love you and be miserable when you go away," said nancy, in perfect sincerity. nancy had intrusted to boris many letters and presents to her friends and relations in england, letters in which she had not failed to enlarge upon the greatness and heroism of the bearer; for she had extracted a promise that boris would deliver with his own hands certain of the packages. there would be frequent couriers backwards and forwards, so that she could write to her friend, and he would write too; so after all nancy felt there would still be some comfort in life in spite of the envious fate which so constantly took her idol away from her. then began that historical journey of peter and his suite through the baltic provinces, and kã¶nigsberg, and hanover, and the netherlands, where peter left his embassy to follow him at leisure while he hastened on and lived for some weeks at zaandam as a common dutch labourer, in order to learn thoroughly the rudiments of ship-building, and to set a good example of industry and self-denial to a lazy and self-indulgent people at home. the details of peter's life at zaandam are known to the "youngest schoolboy." i need not therefore dwell upon this hackneyed subject. boris had passed with wonder and admiration through the various foreign lands and courts visited by the great muscovite embassy; but there was far too much eating and drinking and wearing of fine clothes to please him, and he soon began to weary of it and think of home and the simplicity of his life in moscow, and of hunting expeditions, with nancy for companion. especially after the tsar left the suite and went his own way, boris found life desperately dull and monotonous. right glad was he when the embassy reached amsterdam and the spell of the tsar's presence was once more upon him. peter had just been informed that, good as the dutch ship-builders were, they were very inferior to those of england. this had been quite sufficient for the energetic tsar, and boris found that arrangements had already been made for a visit to the latter country. "so get ready, my bold bear-eater, for to-morrow we cross the water. you will be sea-sick, of course; but then you will see nancy's native land--ha, think of that!" boris did think of that, and it rejoiced his heart to reflect that his eyes should look upon the country which could produce so wonderful a thing as nancy drury. so, on the following morning, peter, with boris and fifteen other russians, took ship in the private yacht of his majesty william iii., which that monarch had sent for his accommodation, together with three ships of war, the whole under the orders of admiral mitchell of the british navy, and crossed the seas for this hospitable land of britain. the weather being rough, boris was sea-sick, as foretold by the tsar; but peter himself was as happy as a schoolboy out for a holiday, for that sail in his majesty's beautiful yacht, escorted by such ships of war as he had never yet beheld, was the most delightful thing he had ever experienced. such being the case, peter arrived in this country in the highest good-humour, having familiarized himself on the way with the name and use of every single object on board the yacht, as well as with the names, ages, duties, and salaries of every man and boy that went to make up her crew. once on shore, the tsar would hear no talk of palaces and luxury and the idle life of courts, but went with two or three chosen followers and pitched his tent in a country house close to the shipping at deptford, where he was soon busy among the skippers and sailors, inquiring into and laying to heart everything that he saw which was likely to prove of service to him in his own country. and ever at his right hand, ready for work or for play, though preferring the latter, was boris the bear-hunter, whose prowess in all athletic matters peter was never weary of showing off to his english friends. chapter xviii. how boris threw a big dutchman overboard. but busy as the tsar was during the daytime, visiting and inspecting the ships and trade, and examining the skippers and sailors of all nationalities as to maritime affairs and other matters connected with the various countries from which they hailed, he nevertheless found time at night for much conviviality and jollification. menshikoff was always at hand to bear his master company, but boris, being now practically a teetotaller, was allowed to go to bed instead of taking his share of drinking and revelling. there were generally guests at these entertainments--skippers from english and dutch ships, or english friends of low or high degree who had been fortunate enough to scrape acquaintance with the big russian tsar. one night there was a guest present, the mate of a dutch vessel then lying in the thames, to whom the tsar was much attracted by reason of his great size, of which the man was exceedingly proud. he was almost, if not quite, as tall as peter himself, who, according to russian chroniclers, measured six feet seven inches in height. this person, by name otto koog, had taken his full share of the good cheer provided by his royal host, and his tongue was freed so that it spoke many vain things, both of his own prowess and of the feebleness of other people. there was no man on this earth, the fellow boasted, whom he could not put down in fifteen seconds. the tsar expressed a great desire to witness an exhibition of koog's strength, whereupon koog said that, with his majesty's permission, he would carry peter and menshikoff together three times round the room, like two babies, one upon each arm. this feat he performed with ease, though he declared the tsar to be one of the finest babies he had ever lifted. then peter said that this was all very well, but could he carry in his arms a strongish man who was unwilling to be so carried? to this koog replied that there breathed not a man whom he could not lift and carry, whether willing or unwilling, as easily as a four days' puppy. "that being so, mynheer," said peter, "there is one asleep in the room above us in this very house whom i should like to see brought downstairs in your arms. you shall wake him first and pull him out of bed. tell him i sent you to bring him down in your hands as you would carry a baby." nothing loath, the big dutchman left the room, and soon the tsar and his guests could hear him blundering up the wooden stairs. then came the sound of his heavy feet upon the floor above, after which a ponderous bump, as of a great body falling upon the ground, this being followed by the noise of talking. next began rushings to and fro, bumpings and thumpings on the floor, crashing of glass, and smashing of crockery and furniture; then more jumping and tumbling, with occasional loud shouts. then came the banging open of a door, and the stumbling and sliding footfall as of one descending the stairs with difficulty. next there was much struggling at the door of the room, with kickings at the panels of the door; and presently the hinges flew asunder and a big russian boot appeared through the panels, and into the chamber walked boris, carrying in his arms mynheer otto koog, whose kickings and strugglings scattered many bottles as the young russian deposited his burden upon the supper-table before the tsar in the centre of a large dish of stew. then the tsar and his guests began to laugh and applaud, and laugh again when boris wiped his brow with his hand, and with mock gravity said, "supper is served, your majesty." koog declared that he must have drunk more than was good for him, or no man on earth could have done what boris had done this night. but the tsar laughed, and maintained that drunk or sober koog would find his bold bear-eater a pretty tough customer. then koog, in the smart of defeat, challenged boris to a wrestling match on board his own ship, the match to take place on the following morning, and the victory to belong to him who should first succeed in pitching the other overboard into the water. the tsar did not wait for boris to express any opinion on this matter, but immediately accepted the challenge in his name for ten o'clock on board the _zuyder zee_. when the morning came rain was falling heavily, which made the deck of the dutch ship, upon which this wrestling match was to take place, very wet and slippery. koog had put on his string slippers, which would give him a far better hold of the wet deck than would be afforded by the thick russian boots which boris wore. nevertheless, the hunter made no objection, and took his stand opposite to his antagonist, both being stripped to the waist. the dutchman was by far the taller and heavier man, but what boris lacked in weight he made up in the spring and agility of his movements. at the word to commence, given by the tsar himself, the big dutchman sprang at boris, and clasping him by the waist raised him some inches from the ground, and actually made as though he would end the battle in its earliest stage by carrying the russian to the side of the ship, and fairly hoisting him over the bulwark. but the hunter had no intention of allowing the fight to close before it had fairly begun. he struggled in koog's arms until his feet were once more upon the ground, when he, in his turn, clasped his antagonist by neck and waist, and the wrestle began in earnest. for full half-a-minute neither dutchman nor russian obtained any advantage; if otto succeeded in pushing boris a few inches nearer to the ship's side, boris quickly recovered his lost ground. then, of a sudden, the hunter's foot slipped on the wet deck, and in an instant he was prone at the feet of the other. koog was all ready to take advantage of this misfortune, and before the russian champion could recover himself he seized him in his arms, as though he carried a baby, and sprang with him to the side of the vessel. [illustration: "boris lifted his kicking legs and slid them over the bulwark." _page 210._ ] for a moment peter and the crowd of spectators thought that it was all up with the chances of poor boris, and looked over the side to see him go splashing into the water beneath. but boris was far from being beaten yet. he laid hold of a rope which formed part of the rigging of the ship, and to this he clung so tightly that all the efforts of the mighty dutchman could not compel him to relax his hold. suddenly, however, he did relax his hold, and this just as koog gave so violent a pull that when the resistance unexpectedly failed, he staggered backwards. at the same moment, boris twisted in his arms, and feeling the ground once more with his feet, pushed so vigorously at his antagonist that otto fell violently backwards with boris on the top of him. they both rolled about for many minutes, first one being uppermost and then the other, until by mutual consent they both rose to their feet in order to start fair once more; and thus ended the first round. then began the final stage of the contest. three times boris forced koog to the bulwark, but could get him no further; and twice the bear-hunter was himself well-nigh hoisted over the side. then, at his fourth attempt, boris drove koog backwards till his back touched the bulwark; there, closing with him, with a desperate effort he lifted the ponderous dutchman till koog sat upon the rail. then otto, in desperation, hitched one foot around an iron stay which stood up against the bulwark, and pressed forward with all his weight and strength upon the champion of russia, who, in his turn, did all that lay in his power to force the dutchman backwards; and so the pair remained for upwards of a minute, straining, and hissing, and panting, and sweating, while the fate of koog hung in the balance. then suddenly boris relaxed, for an instant, his pressure upon otto's shoulders, though without losing his grip. the strain removed, koog's body fell forwards, while his leg flew up, having released itself from the stay. instantly boris stooped, and with one hand laid hold of the dutchman's baggy trouser leg, while with the other he continued his pressure upon the shoulder. backwards went the netherlander, slowly but surely; his balance was lost, and so, for him, was the fight. deftly boris lifted his kicking legs and slid them over the bulwark, bending them back over the body, which was now in full retreat towards the water, and in an instant the big man splashed into the waves and the muddy thames closed over his head. so fatigued was the dutchman with his exertions that he could barely keep afloat, and was quite unable to swim a stroke; he floated away gasping and sputtering, and the crew of a neighbouring vessel fished him out with a boat-hook and ropes. great was the joy of the tsar over this victory of his champion. peter hoisted boris upon his own shoulders, and carried him round and round the ship, amid the cheers and laughter of many spectators, not only on board the _zuyder zee_, but also upon many other vessels anchored near her. after this triumph, the tsar was still more anxious to pit his russian champion against those of other nationalities, and involved poor boris in many defeats by reason of this passion. as an instance, a coal miner from cumberland, and a champion wrestler of that county, was hunted up by the tsar and pitted against boris for a match. in the skilled hands of this man, poor, untutored boris was as a child in arms. the cumbrian threw him again and again, adopting at each attempt a new device of the many known to him, and every one of them sufficient to topple over the russian like a nine-pin. boris, and peter also, were to learn that mere strength and activity were insufficient to cope with equal, or even inferior strength, scientifically exercised. but in spite of this, boris, after having fallen heavily six times, ended the fight in a manner unexpected by his adversary, and little to his taste. the match took place on the deck of a collier, and at the seventh round boris, suddenly bending before his antagonist could lay hold of him, caught the cumbrian champion by the knees, and lifting him by a tremendous effort, sent him flying over his shoulder, and over the side of the ship also, into mid-river, where the poor man would have been drowned had not boris himself gone to his assistance. peter gave the cumbrian champion a present in money, and offered him handsome wages to come over to his country and teach the russians to wrestle. but the man of cumberland looked knowingly at the tsar, and refused the offer; he would rather stay, he said, in a country "where men did not eat their own kind," even though at a lower rate of wages. in vain the tsar assured him that in russia men are not cannibals; the sturdy north countryman only looked the more knowing, and the negotiations ended where they began. then, again, boris was required to run races with sundry champions, who easily defeated him, as was natural; though he held his own in jumping. at swimming, however, even the best of his english competitors were obliged to take a second place, for boris excelled any who were pitted against him, especially in the longer races. in the noble science of self-defence boris, though untutored, surprised every one by his aptitude. it was not that he was skilled either in defence or in attack; but his eye was good and his natural guard excellent, while his enemies, or rather antagonists, declared that it was one of the most disagreeable things in the world to receive a blow straight from the russian's shoulder. thus, though often worsted in the competitions wherein, by the desire of the tsar, he tried his strength and agility against the best foreign exponents, boris on the whole held his own against all comers, and the tsar declared himself well satisfied with his faithful bear-hunter, who had upheld, to the best of his ability, the claim of far-away muscovy to compete with the rest of the world in trials of strength and pluck and endurance. it was, indeed, a matter of no little pleasure and encouragement to peter to find that he was able to produce a picked man who had proved himself as good as, and sometimes better than, the picked men of other nationalities. the circumstance led him to hope that his russians, when instructed by qualified tutors, would show themselves worthy to take their proper place in europe, and to hold their own whether on the battle-field or on board ship, as he would assuredly call upon them to do ere many years were past. besides all this, peter saw and did much, during his stay in london, with which our bear-hunter was not so immediately connected; but for a short account of his doings and seeings among our forefathers in this merry land of england, i must refer my readers to the following chapter. chapter xix. bad news from moscow. to admiral carmarthen, of the british navy, peter of russia was indebted for one of the supremest pleasures of his life. this was a review, or naval sham-fight, which the admiral organized for the tsar's benefit at spithead. we can imagine how peter, whose heart was so set at this time upon ships and all matters connected with the sea and maritime affairs, must have gazed in rapture and delight at the beautiful battle-ships that manoeuvred before his eyes; how he must have knit his strong face, and bent his eagle glance which nothing ever escaped, upon each turn and evolution of the vessels, and watched each manoeuvre, drinking in for his future guidance the reason for every movement made and the probable result, had this been actual warfare, of every gun fired. there is no doubt that the young autocrat learned much from this memorable scene, and laid to heart many hints to be utilized afterwards when he himself, in command of a russian fleet, engaged and overcame a stronger fleet of the king of sweden. peter's delight with the day's entertainment may be gauged by his conversation, when it was ended, with admiral carmarthen. "admiral," he said, "you are a lucky man! i would rather be the admiral of a british fleet such as this than the tsar of all the russias!" probably peter's excited state of mind was responsible for this somewhat exaggerated manner of expressing his satisfaction; but there is no doubt that his enthusiasm and delight were perfectly sincere at the time. boris was present also, and his delight was no less than that of his master. he, too, felt that it must indeed be a delightful position to be in command of so magnificent a sea-army as this. "boris, boris!" said peter, as the two tall men stood side by side watching the beautiful spectacle, "shall i ever own a fleet like this, and a good seaport to keep it in?" "that depends upon your majesty," said boris. "every one knows that peter alexeyevitch will perform anything to which he puts his hand and sets his heart!" "ah, boris," said the tsar, "i thought so too before we left russia; but i am humbler now! oh, for the sea, my bear-eater--the sea! that is what we must fight for and live for. our poor russia is cramped and stifled for want of windows; we must break through her walls, boris, and that as quickly as possible. i can build a fleet, there is no fear of that. if we had but a hundredth part of the seaboard that these happy britons possess, i should be blessed indeed!" "never fear, your majesty; we shall have seaports yet!" said boris, to whom the matter presented no difficulty whatever, for did not peter desire it? as the tsar and his henchman walked through the streets of london, they attracted considerable attention by reason both of their size and of the conduct of peter, whose actions were at times very eccentric. he would stop people in the street, in order to ask questions as to the make of their clothes and hats and watch-chains. once he seized the wig of a passing pedestrian, to that individual's surprise and alarm, who thought he had to deal with a gigantic lunatic. peter carefully examined the wig, which was of a new-fashioned shape and did not please him, gave a short laugh and a grunt of disgust, and clapped it back upon the man's head so violently that the unfortunate fellow nearly fell forward upon his nose. he would enter jewellers' and other shops, and question the artificers very minutely as to their trade and craft, frequently ending the conversation by inviting the shopman to remove his business to moscow, where he should be assured of a fine trade among peter's subjects. sometimes these offers were accepted, and numbers of goldsmiths, blacksmiths, gunsmiths, joiners, and other skilled workmen were prevailed upon to travel to the far north, where they were subsequently well treated and made fortunes for themselves, while they were useful in teaching their crafts to the russian people. couriers frequently passed between london and moscow, and through their good offices boris was able to keep up a constant communication with his friend nancy. the hunter was no great hand at letter writing, though he had long since learned the arts of reading and writing, of which of course he had been ignorant while still the bear-hunter of dubinka. in one of his epistles boris wrote to this effect, the letter being partly in english and partly in russian:-"his majesty is exceedingly pleased with this city [london], wherein are more people than would fill a score of moscows. the people are kind and hospitable, but somewhat boastful, and think but little of the russians. his majesty deigns to take his pleasure in causing me to wrestle and otherwise contend with great wrestlers and swimmers and fighters of the english. in these matters there are some experter than i, excepting in swimming. i have seen your friends and delivered your letters and packages, wherewith all were greatly pleased. your friends made much of me, far more than i deserve. for their kindness i am indebted to you, and also for many good words spoken of me in your letters, portions of which they read to me. "the tsar and i had an adventure last night which might have ended in bloodshed, but ended actually only in laughter; for we were fallen upon by robbers, of whom there were five, in an outlying, lonely part named hampstead. the robbers surprised us in the midst of this place, and would, no doubt, have cut our throats, but that his majesty and i, being armed with thick oaken sticks, kept them at bay, and in process of time banged two of them on the head. the rest his majesty, with some assistance from me, pitched into a small pond covered with green ooze, whence they issued half-drowned, and ran to their homes." nancy, on her part, told all the moscow news and the progress of the ship-building throughout the country, of which she heard much talk, for every one spoke of it. nancy also mentioned that many reports were being disseminated in moscow by the priest party to the effect that the tsar had been drowned on his way to england. others said that he had been captured by the queen of sweden, placed in a barrel, and rolled into the sea. the motive of these reports was obvious. if peter were dead, his widow, or his brother, or his son would be proclaimed head of the realm, and in any case his policy would be reversed; foreigners would be sent out of the country, and russia given back to the russians. it may be mentioned in this connection that so deeply was the belief in peter's death at this time rooted in the minds of hundreds among the lower classes, both in moscow and throughout the country, that to their dying day many of these believed that the man who returned eventually from abroad, and assumed the government of the realm, though he certainly resembled peter, was an impostor and a pretender, and that the real tsar lay drowned at the bottom of the north sea. during his stay in london, peter had many opportunities of conversation with all classes of the subjects of william iii. he visited country houses, where he startled the sober rural folks by the eccentricity of his manners--loving to amuse himself in rough and barbarous ways, such as causing boris to wheel him, afterwards himself wheeling boris, in a barrow through a massive holly hedge at saye's court. the tsar could not endure the ways of refinement and luxury, and preferred to sleep on the floor rather than in a grand bed, and loved to drink quantities of english beer, which he condescended to admire. boris thought little of england from the point of view of the hunter. there were no woods, he said, fit to hide a bear or a wolf; as for hunting the fox, it was poor sport. the country was well enough, but not in his line; he preferred the broad forests of his native land, and the excitement and danger of hunting big game. in a word, boris was well tired of england when, at the end of a few months, peter declared that he had seen enough, and would now depart homewards, taking vienna on the way, and travelling slowly in order to see as much as possible of every country visited. the english king made peter the most acceptable of presents at parting, in the shape of a small frigate of twenty-four guns. the delight of the tsar in his new possession was immense, and his return voyage to holland was made aboard of this vessel. but peter, too, desired to offer a memento of his visit to the hospitable british sovereign, and did so in a characteristic manner; for, while bidding william farewell, he pressed into his hand a small object wrapped in a piece of dirty brown paper, which he took out of his waistcoat pocket. this proved to be a magnificent ruby, and was valued afterwards at ten thousand pounds. so the tsar and boris and the rest took ship and set sail for holland in the frigate which the english king had presented to his russian brother. and that voyage came well-nigh to being the last that any of the party were to undertake; for a terrific storm arose in the north sea, and for a day or two they were uncertain whether they should live or die. the tsar's suite were greatly concerned at their master's danger, knowing well that the destiny of russia was kept by this man in the hollow of his hand. but peter himself professed to have perfect confidence in the happy outcome of the voyage; he inquired of his long-visaged companions whether they had ever heard of a tsar of russia being drowned in the north sea? all admitted that they certainly never had read of such a disaster! "very well then," said peter; "i don't intend to be the first to set the example!" whereupon the suite took heart of grace, and trusted to the good luck of the tsar to pull them through, which it did; for the good ship sailed safely into port, and was then sent round to archangel, while the tsar and his embassy continued their journey by land, and in due course arrived at vienna. here peter had intended to stay some little while, in order to learn whatever the austrians might have to teach him; but disquieting news came from moscow, which compelled him to give up the contemplated visit, and to make all the haste he could towards his own capital. so bad was the news, indeed, that the tsar was at his blackest and most savage during the whole of the hurried journey home, and those pleased him best who talked least, and left him most alone to his gloomy thoughts. like a storm-cloud that rushes over the face of the sky, the angry tsar flew over the hundreds of miles that lay between him and the objects of his wrath; and like the piled-up masses of black vapour that burst and vomit forth water and lightning, so burst the anger of peter upon those who had vexed him, when, a very few days after receiving the news, he dashed into moscow with a few attendants only, the rest following as quickly as they could. the purport of the letter received by peter in vienna was certainly disquieting enough, for the epistle contained an account of a military revolt, and of a march upon the capital by the streltsi. it appeared that these regiments, ever on the watch for opportunities of interfering in existing affairs, had sent a deputation to moscow to inquire into the truth of the rumours as to the absence or death of the tsar, and to demand of the authorities orders for the immediate return of all the streltsi regiments to moscow. their wives and families were still in the capital, and they had been absent long enough at azof and elsewhere. besides, political affairs demanded their presence in the capital. the deputation were unable to obtain the ear of the authorities, and were dismissed with scant ceremony from moscow--very loath to leave the city, and extremely angry with those who would not listen to their grievances. meanwhile the main body of the streltsi had become impatient, and sent word that, if not summoned to moscow in compliance with their request, they intended to come without waiting for an invitation. it was at this stage of affairs that letters were despatched to the tsar at vienna, summoning him to his capital, which was menaced by a descent upon it by the dissatisfied streltsi regiments. meanwhile, however, the two generals, schã©in and gordon, whom peter had left at the head of military affairs in his absence, proceeded wisely to take the bull by the horns. they prepared a moderate force, selected from the new regiments, and marched towards the seat of disturbance. before they had gone very far they met emissaries from the streltsi, who informed them that the massed regiments of that body were in full march upon moscow, with intent to chase the foreigner from the soil of holy russia; to place the grand-duchess sophia, late regent, upon the throne in lieu of the tsar peter, who, they had heard, was dead; and to restore the old _rã©gime_ and the good old days of a streltsi-dominated moscow, without a foreigner in the place to set everything upside down and worry the souls of the priests. gordon sent these men back with a message to their comrades to get home as quickly as might be to their quarters, and there to pray heaven to so rule the heart of the tsar peter (who was quite alive enough to cut the throat of every streletz in russia), that he might be led to look with indulgence upon their foolish imaginings, and forgive them in consideration of their instant and complete submission, tendered from their barracks. but the streltsi would not believe the words of gordon, and declared that they must and would come to moscow in order to see with their own eyes that all was well with the tsar and the country. thereupon gordon and schã©in met these misguided men half way as they marched upon moscow. the streltsi would not surrender at demand, and therefore a volley was fired over their heads. this set the brave fellows running, which proved that their courage was scarcely equal to the noise they made in the world. three thousand of them were taken prisoners and brought to moscow; the rest were permitted to escape and return to their own quarters. such was the state of affairs when the enraged young tsar dashed into moscow in his angriest and blackest mood, and with his mind set upon making a terrible example of this body of men, who had been a thorn in the flesh to him since his first experience of their eccentricities, at the age of ten. how he carried out his intentions, and the bearing which this affair had upon the career of our bear-hunter, shall be treated of in the following chapter. chapter xx. boris in disgrace. the page of the history of peter of russia which i must now briefly refer to is stained and blurred with the records of ferocity and brutality, and i am sure my readers will thank me if i give as cursory an account of the tsar's terrible mood of cruelty as is barely necessary for the thread of my own tale. this is the blackest period of peter's life, if we except perhaps his persecution in later years of the unfortunate grand-duke alexis, his utterly unworthy son; and for those who are sincere admirers of the genius and self-denial of the great tsar, and of his many remarkable and wonderful gifts and graces of mind and disposition, the record of his treatment of the streltsi at this time affords extremely unpleasant reading. peter's first step was to form a court of inquiry, or inquisition, on a gigantic scale. for many weeks this court continued its labours of investigation, examining the captured soldiers and officers at great length and with extreme persistency, in the hope of extracting from them minute details of the conspiracy which had culminated in the revolt and march upon moscow. the object of the tsar was to obtain the names of all those connected with the plot who were outside the ranks of the streltsi, and more especially to discover proof of the participation of his sister sophia, the late regent, in the affair. to this end horrible tortures by scourge and fire were daily inflicted upon the unfortunate streltsi, who very soon confessed all they knew, which was the very simple fact that the priests had persuaded them that peter was dead, and that they had therefore determined to come to moscow in order to request sophia, the grand-duchess, to take in hand measures for the legal succession to the throne. also, they were anxious to see their wives and families, from whom they had been, as they imagined, unfairly separated. not a man among them, either by torture or of free will, could be made to say that the grand-duchess had stirred up or in any way encouraged the rising. they had, indeed, brought a letter for sophia, begging her to act as regent and to reinstate themselves in moscow, dismissing the foreigners and disbanding the new regiments; but sophia herself had known nothing of the letter or of their intentions. the grand-duchess and those around her were exhaustively examined, though not by torture, as to the truth of these statements; and the investigators could find no reason to believe that it was otherwise than as declared by the streltsi. foiled in his attempt to dig down to the roots of this matter, but unconvinced that his sister and others were innocent, peter then proceeded to wreak his vengeance upon the streltsi themselves. the tsar was determined that this festering sore in the side of russia should be healed once for all. the streltsi, if allowed to remain in their old strength and numbers, and with their traditions of privilege and license of interference undisturbed, must for ever be a fruitful source of disturbance, and an element of danger to the state. they must be exterminated, root and branch, as an institution. but first these ringleaders must be dealt with; and here peter determined to make a terrible example. nearly two thousand of the unfortunate prisoners, together with a number of priests who were proved to have been implicated in the rising, were put to death in the streets of the city. one man was left hanging close to the window of the grand-duchess sophia, holding in his dead hand the letter which the streltsi had intended to present to her, in order to show peter's half-sister how little he believed in her protestations of innocence. it is not my intention to enter into any details of the horrors of this time, but one circumstance must be mentioned in connection with all this brutality and bloodshed, because it bears upon the career of our friend boris, who was at this time forced into taking a step which was pregnant with changes in his life and prospects. the tsar, lost in these dark days of vengeance and brutality to all sense of propriety and moderation, decreed that his nobles and favourites should all take a hand in the barbarities being enacted--should, in a word, assist in the death of the mutineers. some of peter's intimates, either brutal enough to enjoy the work or else anxious to please the tsar, cheerfully consented to do as he had requested them. others protested, and with tears besought his majesty to exempt them from so unworthy a duty. but the maddened young autocrat was firm, and insisted upon the carrying out of his commands. what misguided motive peter can have had for this outrageous piece of brutality it is impossible to determine; but since he never acted without motive of some kind, it is charitable to suppose that he believed he fulfilled some subtle purpose in commanding these men to do his savage will. perhaps he desired to impress upon his favourites the awful consequences of treason to his person, by means of an object lesson which would linger in their minds as long as they lived, and thus effectually deter them from ever entertaining the idea of disobedience. it was a terrible lesson, whether required or not, and we may safely suppose that no man who was concerned in those scenes of violence and cruelty ever forgot the experience. the streltsi behaved with exemplary bravery, and laughed, and sang soldier-songs, and prayed aloud upon the scaffold, until death stilled their tongues. but there was one man who neither at the request nor at the command of the tsar would take a hand in the horrors of the day, and that man was boris. among the captured and condemned streltsi were several members of the hunter's old regiment (which had revolted with the rest), one or two of whom had in former days crossed swords with boris on a memorable occasion; indeed, two of them were of the party who had lurked in the dusk of the moscow street-corner in order to assassinate him. one morning, when boris paid his usual visit to the cabinet of the tsar to hear his majesty's commands for the day, he found the latter pacing rapidly up and down the apartment, black and gloomy, as he ever was at this time. none had ever known the tsar's savage mood to last for so long as it had continued on this occasion. since the day when, in vienna, the letter of gordon had been brought to him, the "black dog" had sat upon his majesty's shoulder, and there had been no gleam of even transient sunshine to dispel the clouds that overcast his soul. peter was not himself. he had been worked up by his passion into a condition of mind in which his own intimate friends failed to recognize their rough but ever kind and indulgent master. at this present moment boris could plainly see that rage had full possession of his majesty's spirit. he took no notice of him beyond glaring fiercely at him as he entered, and said no word of greeting. boris had been bitterly affected lately, not because of peter's neglect of himself--for that, he knew, would mend with brighter days--but because the dreadful savagery which the tsar had shown at this time revealed his beloved master in a character which the hunter had not seen before; a revelation which filled him with a shocked sense of pain and disappointment very hard to bear. peter continued to stride up and down the room, muttering to himself, and spoiling the rugged beauty of his features by twisting them into contortions and grimaces as the passion worked within his soul. at last he stopped. then he raised his eyes and saw the hunter, who lingered near the door. "ah! it's you, is it?" he said. "it is as well you have come, for i have special work for you to-day. there are some old friends of yours, i find, among these accursed ones, the streltsi prisoners." the heart of boris sank, for he guessed what was coming; many of the tsar's intimates having already been told off to do his savage will, and he knew that his turn was come. "i have reflected that it would be only fair," continued the tsar, "to allow you the privilege of paying off old scores. since these men are sentenced to death, there is none who could so fitly carry out the sentence as yourself." "your majesty must excuse me," said boris, who was more of the athlete and soldier than the orator; "i am an officer, not an executioner." the tsar's face worked. he glared savagely at boris for the space of half a minute; then he laughed, but not in his old hearty way. "you are a bold man, whatever else you may be," he said. "now listen. it is my desire that you take this axe"--here his majesty produced a workman's hatchet from a grim pile beside his table--"and with it proceed to that corner of the uspensky where these men or others of the same regiment once attempted your life. there you will find a block already erected, and upon that block you shall execute these three men--michael orlof, vladimir donskoi, feodor latinski." the tsar read these names from a slip of paper which he took from his table. but boris still preserved a bold front. he raised himself to his full height, looking very proud and very handsome, and almost as big as the tsar himself, who appeared somewhat bent and borne down by the evil days and more evil passions which had fallen upon him. "i have told your majesty i am no executioner," repeated the hunter, regardless of the passion of the tsar. "command me to fight these men, all three at once if you will, with the sword, and i will obey your bidding this very hour, and your majesty knows enough of me to accept my promise that not one of them shall remain alive; but as for beheading them in cold blood with yonder axe, i cannot and i will not do the deed." boris felt that in taking this bold course he was probably, in the tsar's present humour, signing his own death-warrant; yet he knew also that he would sooner die than do this detestable thing that peter would have of him. the tsar bit his lip till the blood showed red on the white. "boris ivanitch, i entreat you," he muttered, "do not anger me more. by the mercy of heaven, i know not myself at this time. i repeat to you that i am to be obeyed. take this axe and do my bidding--go!" but boris stood straight and firm, and looked the tsar boldly in the eyes. his blood was up and his stubborn spirit was in arms. he seized the axe which peter held out to him and flung it crashing to the farthest end of the room. "no," he said, quietly but with firm lips and erect form, "i am not a slave. i love your majesty, but your way this day is not god's way. not even the tsar shall force me into doing this ungodly and detestable deed!" the tsar recoiled, his face livid and bloodless, and his features convulsed with the passion that beset him--drawing his sword as he stepped backwards. boris thought that his end was come; yet even at this supreme moment he felt as cool as though he were going to step out of the chamber next moment and go about his usual business. for a full minute the tsar and boris faced each other without a spoken word from either--peter, with drawn sword half raised to strike, his breast heaving, his breath drawn in with hissings, his face working with evil passion, his eyes ablaze, and the infinite generosity and manhood of his nature struggling beneath the passion that had so long suffocated and cramped it; boris, calm and cool, thinking, like a good russian, of his soul, but thinking also of nancy, who was so soon to be deprived of a friend as tender and true as the best. at length the tsar's arm fell to his side and he tossed his sword upon the table. "be it so," he said; and then, "there is not another in all russia for whose sake that sword should have been held back. boris ivanitch, i remind myself of your good service--we have been friends and brothers--you have even saved my life at the risk of your own. for these reasons i forbear to strike, as you deserve. but you have disobeyed me--" here the tsar's face worked once more, and he was silent for a moment. then he continued, "you have disobeyed me; you can serve me no longer, you are no servant of mine from this hour. thus i tear you from my heart for ever. give me your sword." peter tore the epaulets from his shoulders, and took boris's sword, laying it beside his own upon the table. "now go from my sight; i will never see you more. i can never forget your disobedience; it is for me the unpardonable thing. away--out of my sight!" boris had been prepared for death, but he had not expected this--disgrace and banishment from the face of his beloved master; for at the tsar's words boris had felt all his old love come swelling into his heart. the poor hunter burst into tears and seized the tsar's hand to kiss it ere he left his presence for ever. but the tsar repelled him. "go," he said sternly--"out of my sight; you sicken me with your woman's ways; i am not to be softened by hand-kissing and crying--go!" thus befell the first and only quarrel between the bear-hunter and his much-loved master, and the pair were destined, in consequence of it, to be parted for many a long year. boris realized at once that he must leave moscow. there was little object and much danger in remaining in the capital. once in disgrace with the tsar, there was no certainty but that the madness of peter might cause him to treat boris with scant ceremony should he meet the hunter in the streets or elsewhere. whither, then, should he go? boris went to his apartment, and, with aching head and dazed intelligence, sat down to think out the problem. why not return to dubinka? that was his first idea; but he put it from him at once. dubinka was too far away from moscow; for boris could not allow himself to banish entirely the hope that the tsar might yet forgive him when these evil days had passed and all was forgotten. besides, there was nancy. he could never bear to live so far away from her home; how should he ever do without her love, now that he had come to realize that it was, if not all in all to him, at least a large proportion of his all? boris ended his cogitations, which resulted in nothing, by setting out to walk to the drurys' house, to inform them of the melancholy turn which his affairs had taken, and to ask their advice. no one was at home excepting nancy, and to her boris then and there confided his tale. nancy's face flushed as her friend told of how he had refused to obey the tsar's bidding, of his disgrace, and of the loss of military rank and the tsar's service. to the surprise of boris the girl burst into tears and kissed the torn places upon his tunic where the tsar had violently removed the epaulets. "i thank god you did what you did," she cried, "for, o boris! i could never have loved you quite so well again if you had executed those poor men!" then boris felt a great flood of comfort and encouragement come welling into his heart, and he went on to tell nancy, with recovered spirits, of his determination to leave moscow, and his reasons for taking the step. nancy grew very pale as he spoke of this, and when he was silent she, too, said no word for some little space. then she placed her little hand in his big one and said,-"if you leave moscow, i shall go with you." "where to, nancy? i am not going for one day," said obtuse boris, playing with the little hand in his, and speaking sadly enough. "anywhere--i care not whither; but wherever you go, my boris, i shall go too." nancy smiled through her tears. "won't you take me--won't you have me, boris?" she said. then the hunter understood what the child wished to convey to his dense mind, and all his soul came rushing to his lips as he gathered her to his breast and said a thousand incoherent and tender and ridiculous things. for it had not dawned upon boris that she was no longer a child, but a very beautiful and tender maiden of seventeen; and that it was now possible, if nothing untoward prevented it, to carry her away with him, even as she had, in her innocent candour, suggested, to be his lifelong companion and helpmate. so boris and nancy passed a happy hour together, and all things miserable and unfortunate were forgotten in the new light which was thus shed upon the prospect. how different now seemed the idea of leaving moscow! how could boris have been so blind? fate could not have been kinder. the tsar would have forgiven him long before he should grow tired of indolent married life and wish to return to service and the imperial favour. when colonel and mrs. drury returned home and heard the story of boris, and nancy's declaration that she would not suffer him to go alone into exile (which in no wise surprised them), they had a new plan to propose. they possessed a country house, set in its own corner of the forest, some twenty miles from moscow. why should not the whole party retire to karapselka for a while? the priest of the village could perform the marriage ceremony as well as the high ecclesiastics of moscow; and probably boris would prefer to have a quiet wedding, in order to escape observation. after the ceremony nancy and her husband could take up their abode permanently at karapselka, and there await the dawn of happier days, while the old people returned to moscow, where they would at all times be within easy reach of their daughter. boris would find plenty of congenial occupation among the bears and wolves in the forest. this plan was hailed with joy by all concerned; and it need only be added that nancy and boris were duly married, and took up their abode at karapselka, as the parents of the bride had suggested and as destiny decreed. chapter xxi. nancy and the big bear. there was, as colonel drury had promised, plenty for boris to do at karapselka; so much so, indeed, that the hunter scarcely was aware of the flight of time, so happily did the days and the weeks and the months come and go. nancy was the sweetest of young wives, and in her company boris soon forgot his disgrace, and the sorrow and regret which the quarrel with the tsar still caused him whenever he recalled it. away from drills and service and the countless engagements and amusements of city life, the bear-hunter soon recovered all his old passion for the life of the forest. from morn till night he was afoot, tracking, hunting upon his trusty snow-shoes, stalking capercailzie or blackcock among the rime-embroidered pine trees, and revelling in the free and wholesome air of his oldest friend, the forest. nancy often accompanied him on his excursions, when the distance was not too great; and the evenings passed as happily as mutually agreeable society could make them. during these months and even years of peaceful life at karapselka, boris had many adventures with those animals which had furnished him his original title, as well as with wolves. in these adventures he found that his old skill in the chase was in no wise diminished, nor his nerve shaken, nor his strength and activity abated; he was still the bear-hunter all over. sometimes it appeared to him that all his military career and his many adventures by land and sea were nothing more than a dream, and that he was back in dubinka chasing the wild animals as a paid employã© of his liege lord, the owner of the land and village in which he lived. but a word from nancy, or a look into her sweet face, soon put matters into shape, and he knew himself for what he was--a once-favoured servant and soldier of the tsar, now living under a cloud; a state of affairs which should have made him very miserable, whereas there was no denying the fact that he was nothing of the sort, but, on the contrary, exceedingly well content with his present lot. one day, when they had been married for the better part of a year, boris and nancy met with an adventure which might have had fatal consequences for both of them. boris had allowed his wife to accompany him, as he often did, into the woods, driving in their comfortable kibitka, or covered sledge, to a point at a distance of a few miles from the house, and thence proceeding on snow-shoes for a mile or two further in pursuit of hares or foxes, or perhaps with an eye to a partridge or two to replenish the larder. the day was magnificent--one of those glorious february days when the sun is bright but not warm, and the air rare and invigorating; when every pine is a marvel of subtile filigree-work in silver rime, and the snow beneath one's feet is dazzling with innumerable ice-gems, and has so hard a crust upon it that it will bear the weight of a man. nancy and her husband had enjoyed their drive, and were now drinking in the intoxicating fresh forest air as they slid easily along upon their snow-shoes, nancy having by this time become quite an expert in this graceful fashion of getting over the ground. the larder at karapselka happened to be empty at this time, for there was no system of obliging bakers and butchers to call for orders in that out-of-the-way spot, nor indeed in moscow either in those days; and boris was intent upon whistling up tree-partridges, to provide food for the establishment at home. three of these beautiful birds had come swooping up in response to his call, but had swerved and settled a hundred paces to the left. boris immediately and cautiously followed them, in hope of getting a shot at the birds before they should take fright. on crept boris, nancy cautiously following him at a distance. suddenly, to the surprise and alarm of nancy, and certainly no less of himself, boris disappeared in a cloud of snow--disappeared as completely as though the earth had opened and swallowed him whole. for a moment nancy stopped short in consternation and uncertainty, so sudden had been the disappearance of her lord, when, to her still greater amazement and horror, there came from the spot where her husband had disappeared first terrific roars and growlings, together with much upheaving of snow and pine boughs, and next the ponderous figure of a large bear. boris had fallen into a _berloga_, which is russian for the den which a bear makes for himself during his hibernating period, and in which he remains more or less fast asleep from november until the thawing of the snow in march or april. this was the first occasion upon which nancy had seen a live bear at close quarters; and though she was as courageous a little person as you will meet in a day's march, yet the unexpected sight filled her with terror, which was largely increased when the great brute caught sight of her, and with renewed roarings made straight for the very spot where she stood helpless and motionless. what had happened is easily explained and in a few words. boris had stepped upon the top of a berloga, the roof of which immediately gave way beneath his weight, precipitating him upon the top of the sleeping tenant. the bear was not so far gone in somnolence but that the sudden descent upon his person of so heavy an individual as boris not only awoke but irritated him exceedingly. boris, finding himself upon the bear's back at the bottom of bruin's own premises, felt quite at home; indeed, he was never more so than when in the company of a bear. he felt about for his knife, but found to his annoyance that he had left it at home. his axe was at his side, but there was no room to use it except by getting off the brute's back and allowing it to scramble out of the den, when he might get a stroke at it as it went, wounding it sufficiently to prevent its escape, and finishing the business as soon as he could climb out also. meanwhile, the bear was doing its utmost to rid itself of the incubus on its back. it heaved itself up and wriggled, and at last tried to bolt through the aperture which the new arrival had made in the roof of the den. by this move it rid itself of boris, who slid off backwards, but could not recover himself in time to aim the blow at bruin's hind-quarter which he had intended to deal it. by the time boris was upon his feet the bear had disappeared, and it only then struck boris that nancy was outside, and might be in danger of receiving injury from the frightened and angry creature. full of this fear boris darted upwards in order to follow the bear and see to nancy's safety. but the roof gave way as he attempted to climb out, and he fell backwards a second time to the bottom of the berloga. at the second attempt boris was more successful, and reached the surface in safety. but when he did so he saw a sight which filled him with fear and horror, for the huge brute was in full pursuit of his young wife, who fled before it upon her snow-shoes, uttering cries of alarm and calling on boris to help her. "bear round this way to me--to me, nancy!" shouted the poor hunter in agony, starting to run after the pair in desperate dread. his snow-shoes had been broken in his tumble into the bear's den, so that he was now on foot and trusting to the hard crust of the snow to support him. the animal turned at the sound of his voice, and for a moment seemed to pause, as though doubtful upon which of the two enemies to wreak its passion; then it turned again and resumed its pursuit of poor nancy. boris saw with anguish that whenever nancy endeavoured to edge round in order to come towards him, her pursuer seemed to comprehend her design, and prevented it by cutting the corner to meet her. then boris thought in his agony of mind of another plan. nancy was gliding beautifully on her light shoes, and could easily keep her lead of the bear so long as her breath held out; while he, run as fast as he might, could scarcely keep up with the chase, without shoes to help him along. it was plain that at this rate he would never overtake bear or wife, and could thus do nothing to assist poor nancy. "make for the sledge, nancy," he shouted; "go straight along our old tracks--'tis but a short half-mile away!" nancy heard and understood, and went straight on, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left, but only straining every nerve to gain upon the brute behind her, so as to reach the sledge sufficiently well ahead of him to allow time to unfasten the horse, which was tied to a tree. on rushed nancy, and on came the bear behind her, she gaining slowly but steadily; and after them came panting boris, with difficulty holding his own, for all that he was a good runner and in fair condition, for at every third or fourth step the treacherous snow surface gave way and plunged his foot and leg deep in the powdery ice-covered stuff. and now the sledge came into view, and a glad sight it was for more than one of the party. nancy took heart at seeing it, and made a renewed effort to gain a yard or two, reaching the horse's head--the horse struggling and tugging for terror of the bear the while--with a lead of thirty good yards. deftly she untied the noose and freed the snorting, terrified animal, and as deftly she threw her body across the side of the sledge, and the horse, feeling himself free, dashed with it homewards. then she slipped into the seat, just at the very moment that bruin arrived upon the spot to find his bird flown. "bravo, bravo, my nancy!" shouted boris, as he watched with unspeakable relief and joy how the swift little sledge bore her instantly out of danger.--"now, mishka," he added, "come back and settle accounts with me; you won't catch that bird, she's flown." the bear, who was still standing and watching the sledge as it glided away from him, seemed to hear and comprehend the invitation of boris. it turned sharp round upon hearing his voice, and with a loud roar accepted the challenge thrown out to it. it looked very large, and certainly a terrific object, as it bore down upon boris, half mad with fury that nancy should have escaped its wrath, and roaring aloud as it came. but the hunter cared nothing for its roarings, nor yet for the ferocity of its appearance, though such fury as it had shown was somewhat rare in a bear which is suddenly awaked from its winter sleep. he stood very calmly, axe in hand, and awaited the onslaught. when the bear came close up it raised itself upon its hind-legs, whereupon boris aimed a terrific blow with his axe at the head of the brute. the axe was sharp and the aim was true, and the iron crashed through bruin's head with so mighty a shock that in an instant this monster, who had been so terrible but a moment since, was more harmless than the smallest creature that flies and stings. then boris looked, and perceived that his wife had returned from the sledge and was at his elbow with the gun, which she had found and brought in case he should require help in his dealings with the bear. she was pale with her fright and panting with her run, and boris took her very tenderly in his arms and bore her back to the sledge, praising and encouraging her. and it so fell out that on this very night was born their little daughter katie, of whom i shall have something presently to tell. chapter xxii. a wolf-maiden. happy as she had been before, nancy was now in the seventh heaven of content. there was no more dulness and waiting for her now, when boris had set forth for a full day's hunting in the forest and left her to look after household matters at home. that little baby was companion and occupation and amusement to her, all in one tiny person, and the days passed right joyously at karapselka. when spring came, and the frost and snow had disappeared from the woods, nancy loved to take her little companion in the tiny hand-cart and pass a pleasant hour or two wandering beneath the waving pine trees, enjoying the fine air, and listening to the thousand and one sounds of awakening forest life. the little birds populating the tree-tops were noisy at this time of year, and there were the crooning of the amorous blackcock to listen for, and the tok-tok of the gluhar, or capercailzie, while in the distance might always be heard the screaming of cranes in some damp corner of the woods, as they kept up their constant sentry-cry. there was plenty both to see and hear in these glorious woods--there always is for those who have eyes and ears, and know how to employ them to advantage--and nancy was never weary of strolling with her baby asleep in her cart into the delightful glades which lay within easy reach of her home. since her adventure with the bear, boris had insisted that she should go armed, and had presented her with a neat hunting-knife, without which she was never, he said, to stir from home, were it but for a hundred paces into the forest and back again. so nancy went armed, though she declared she would be far too frightened to use her dagger if she were to encounter a second bear anything like the first. but boris explained carefully how the knife should be used in emergency, and how not to use it, of which there appeared to be a great many ways. one day, while out strolling as usual in the forest, nancy suddenly caught sight of two small animals whose aspect was quite unfamiliar to her, which was odd, for she was as well acquainted with the life of the forest by this time as any russian peasant-woman who had lived in it from childhood. the little creatures were somewhat like puppies, with a suggestion of fox, and when nancy ran after them they scuttled away with comical little barks. nancy mentioned this matter to boris on his return from hunting. "what colour were they?" boris asked. nancy said they were of a yellowish gray. "they were young wolves, then," said boris; "and if you see them again, catch one for me if you can--i long to possess a tame wolf-cub; but have your knife handy in case of the mother interfering." it so fell out that a few days after this conversation nancy did see these same little creatures again, four of them together; whereupon, mindful of her husband's great wish to possess one, she left the baby asleep in its hand-cart and gave chase. the wolflings scampered bravely, and led her up and down and about in every direction, until nancy bethought herself that she was getting winded, and besides that she might easily get confused, if she went further, as to the position in which she had left her precious little katie. so she gave up the hunt, and returned towards the place whence she started. then she realized how just had been her fears, for it was with difficulty that she succeeded at last in retracing her steps to the place where the hand-cart had been left. to her surprise and alarm she saw that the cart lay over upon its side; and hastening towards it she perceived, to her unspeakable consternation and horror, that it was empty. poor nancy was not the person to sit down and do nothing in an emergency; but the horror of the discovery she had just made bereft her for some few moments of the power of action as well as of thought. her mind instantly flew back to the words of boris telling her to beware of the mother-wolf, and for several minutes these words danced in her brain. the mother-wolf, it was the mother-wolf! it had taken her darling child in order to feed those detestable little gray scuttling things which she had chased through the trees! while she had been senselessly hunting the cubs, the mother-wolf--some lean-looking, gray, skulking brute--had crept secretly up and carried away her katie, her darling baby. in another moment nancy had drawn her sharp little dagger, and with shriek upon shriek had rushed wildly into the forest and disappeared among the pines, whither she knew not, but full of a wild determination to find that gray thief and force her to deliver up to her the priceless thing she had stolen. when boris returned home late in the afternoon he was somewhat surprised to find that nancy was not at home. she and the baby had gone for a stroll in the woods, the old servant explained, and had not been home to dinner. "god grant the _lieshui_ [wood-spirits] have not got hold of them, or done them some injury!" the old fellow concluded, sighing deeply. "the forest is a terrible place, and for my part i have always warned the barina." boris did not stay to exchange words with his faithful old serf, but taking a horse from the stable galloped off as fast as he could into the forest, shouting nancy's name in every direction. up and down, and through and through every glade and pathway, wherever there was room for the horse to pass, boris rode; and ever as he rode he shouted nancy's name, until his voice grew hoarse, and the cob waxed weary, and the light began to wane, and still he neither found trace nor heard sound of his lost wife and child. still he rode on and on, and would have ridden all night rather than return home to misery and uncertainty; but when he was upwards of twelve miles from the house, and his heart was despairing and his spirit mad within him, he heard at length a faint reply to his calling. lashing up his tired horse he dashed on, and presently, to his infinite joy and relief, he came upon nancy sitting worn and utterly fagged out beneath a tree, crying bitterly, and nursing in her arms a portion of her baby's frock which she had picked up in the forest. for many minutes poor nancy could do no more than cling to her husband's broad breast, and sob and weep as though her very heart were melted within her for sorrow. at last she held up the tiny torn dress, and murmured, "the mother-wolf," and then betook herself once more to her bitter crying. boris realized at once what had happened--realized also that he had arrived far too late to do any good; for the wolf, even if it had not at once eaten the poor baby but carried it away to feast upon at leisure, must now be far away beyond the reach of pursuit. in his great joy and thankfulness to have found nancy safe, boris did not feel in all its poignancy, in these first moments, that grief for the child which he was destined to suffer acutely afterwards. his chief thought was for nancy; she must be got home and at once, that was the most important duty of the moment. as for the baby, it was gone beyond recall, and would assuredly never be seen again by mortal eye. "come, nancy," he said, when he had comforted and petted his poor stricken wife, "let me get you home, and then i will scour the forest on a fresh horse. you need food and rest. if our katie is alive, i shall not cease searching till she is found; if not, i shall not rest until i have killed every wolf within fifty miles of the house!" but nancy would not hear of it. "oh no, no," she cried, "i shall never go home till we have found our darling. she is alive, i am sure of it. see, there is no blood on the frock; the wolf has not hurt her. it stole her away because i was wicked to chase her little ones. it is wrong to catch the wild animals of god's forest and enslave them. we ought to have known it, boris." the frock had no stain of blood, that was true enough; and the circumstance gave boris some slight hope that it might be as the stricken mother had suggested, though the chances were much against it. boris had heard often enough stories of how wolves had taken and befriended babies, allowing them to grow up with the cubs. his own experience of the ferocity and greed of these animals, however, had always led him to laugh at such tales as old women's yarns, unworthy of a moment's serious consideration. nancy had heard of them too, that was evident, and was now leaning upon the hope that in poor little katie's disappearance was living evidence of their truth. no persuasions would induce the sorrowing mother, therefore, to give up the search. all night long boris walked beside the horse, supporting his weary little wife, who could scarcely sit in the saddle for weakness and fatigue; and not until the horse was unable to go further would she consent to pause in the work of quartering the ground in every direction, and riding through every clump of cover, in case the beloved object of her search should have been concealed in it. when morning came, and the sun rose warm and bright over the aspen bushes, boris found a place where the horse could obtain a meal of coarse grass, and where nancy, upon a soft couch of heather, could lie down and take the rest she so greatly required. he was lucky enough to find and kill a hare, and with the help of a fire of sticks, which no man in russia was better able to kindle than he, an excellent improvised breakfast was soon prepared. afterwards, nancy slept for several hours while boris watched, listening intently the while in the hope of hearing the sound of a wolf-howl, which might possibly indicate the whereabouts of the thief. but the hours passed, and there was nothing to guide him to take one direction more than another, and poor boris knew well enough that he had set himself a hopeless task; nevertheless, for nancy's sake, he agreed to continue the search for the rest of that day, and the forest was hunted as it had never been hunted before, until his feet ached with walking, and nancy was but half-conscious for sheer weariness. then boris took the law into his own hands and directed the horse for home, and the weary trio reached karapselka as the shadows of night fell upon the forest behind them. the next morning a peasant came early and inquired for the barin. boris, who was about to set out once more upon his hopeless search, received the man unwillingly, as one who is in a hurry and cannot stop to discuss trifles. "well?" he said; "quick, what is it?" the man scratched his head for inspiration, then he cleared his throat and began the business upon which he had come. he had been in the forest yesterday, he said, collecting firewood. the winters were cold, he proceeded, and the poor peasants must spend a good deal of their time during summer in laying up a store of fuel for the winter. but it was god's will that the peasants should be always poor. "get to the point," said boris impatiently, "or i must go without hearing it." that would be a pity, the man continued, for he believed that when the barin heard what he had to tell, the barin would give him a _nachaiok_ (tea-money) for the news. he had been in the forest collecting wood, he repeated, when suddenly he saw a sight which filled him with fear--nothing less than a great she-wolf with a whole litter of young ones following at her heels. the man had at once thought to himself, "here now is a chance of a nachaiok from boris ivanitch, who is a great hunter, and will love to hear of a family of wolves close at hand." but the moment after, said the peasant, he saw something which quite altered the aspect of the affair. when the wolf saw him, she had stopped and picked up from the ground where it lay close to her a small creature something like a human child, and which cried like one, but which was of course one of the lieshui, or wood-spirits, which often enough take the form of babe or old man. the she-wolf took up the creature in its mouth and trotted away with it into the forest. "oho," the man had thought, "still more shall i earn a nachaiok from boris ivanitch; for now i must warn him that if he meets with this particular she-wolf and her brats he must give them a wide berth and be sure not to shoot or injure them, for this wolf is the handmaid of the lieshui, and woe to him who interferes with the favoured creatures of those touchy and tricksy spirits, for they would assuredly lure him to his destruction when next he ventured deep into the heart of the forest." boris hastily bade the man follow him and point out the exact spot where he had seen this wonderful sight. the peasant showed a place within a short distance of the house, and added that the wolf family had passed at sunset on the previous evening. here then was joyous news for nancy; her babe had been alive and well some thirty-six hours after its disappearance, and had actually been seen within call of its own home, while its distracted parents had scoured the woods for a score of miles in every direction, little dreaming that the child was left far behind. nancy received the news calmly, but with the intensest joy and gratitude. "i was sure our darling was alive," she said; "but oh, boris, if only it were winter and we could track the thief down! what are we to do, and how are we to find the child before the she-wolf carries her far away, or changes her mind and devours her?" and nancy wailed aloud in her helplessness and misery. there was nothing to be done but to search the forest daily, taking care to do nothing and permit nothing to be done in the village to frighten the wolves, and scare them away far into the depths of the forest, where there would be no hope of ever finding them again. accordingly no day went by but was spent by boris and his ever-hopeful but distracted wife in quartering the woods far and near, the pair going softly and speaking seldom, and that in whispers, for fear of scaring the wolves away. but the days passed, and the weeks also, and a month came, and slowly there crept over their souls the certainty that their labour would be in vain, and that they had seen the last of their beloved child. still, they would never entirely lose hope, and day by day they continued their wearisome tramping, sometimes going afoot, sometimes riding when their feet grew sore with the constant walking. another fortnight went by, and it was now high summer, and still they were childless. chapter xxiii. a notable day among the wolves. then, at length, when their bodies were wearied with the fatigue of constant tramping, and their souls worn out with disappointment, and their hearts sick with hope deferred, there came a day of great joy for boris and nancy. it befell on this wise. they were out, as usual, quartering the forest, and hunting every clump of birch cover and grove of young fir trees, boris being in front, and nancy behind on the left, when a cry from his wife caused the hunter to start and look round, fingering his axe, for he knew not what might befall in these dark depths of the forest. nancy repeated her cry and rushed forwards; and boris knew at once that it was no cry of terror, but of ecstasy and joy. he too sprang forward to rejoin nancy, and a wonderful sight met his eye. there, close before them in an open space between the trees, a huge she-wolf was trotting across the glade, followed by her six cubs, and chasing after the tail of the procession was a tiny human child, hurrying along as fast as it could make way on hands and knees, losing ground, however, rapidly, and crying because it could not keep up with the rest. with swift inarticulate cries of great joy nancy rushed open-armed in pursuit, and boris was not far behind. the old wolf stopped once, and turned and snarled savagely at nancy; but its heart failed, and it quickly disappeared among the trees, followed by its four-legged cubs, leaving the little foster-child. her the true mother, frantic with love and happiness, caught quickly up and hid close in her bosom, bending over it and calling it every sweet name in the english language, and in the russian also, and cooing and talking nonsense to it. but the child snapped, and scratched, and growled, and struggled, and fought, as though it were no human child but a very wolf born and bred. so fiercely did it fight and kick out for its freedom that nancy was obliged presently to set it down, when it instantly made off on hands and knees in the direction taken by its companions. boris fairly roared with laughter in the exuberance of his delight to see the child alive and well; and nancy in her joy could do nothing wiser than laugh also, as they both walked quickly after the little crawling thing, easily keeping up with it, though it went far quicker than they would have believed possible. this time the father picked up the wild tiny creature, and well he got himself scratched for his pains, of which he took no heed whatever. presently the poor babe, finding that her captor had no intention of hurting her, lay quiescent in his arms, and after a while fell asleep, tired of crying and fighting, and doubtless feeling very comfortable. nancy meanwhile walked beside her husband, feeling no ground beneath her feet. all her weariness and her heart-soreness had vanished entirely, and the lines of care which had set themselves upon her face, and caused her to look old and worn in the may-time of her life, had vanished also. she danced and sang as she went, and in all that forestful of gay singers there was none that was so happy as she. and at home, what though the little savage bit and snarled and refused to be fed or washed, and for many hours thought of nothing but how to escape back into the woods--why, a mother's love and care would soon recover it to herself, she said, and she could well afford to wait for a few days longer for her full happiness, she who had waited so long and wearily in tears and sorrow! as a matter of fact, the faithful nancy had not to wait very long before matters began to mend. the little wolf-girl soon found that she was well off, and that no one wished to do her hurt. after this it was merely a matter of patience, for the little one became more human, and showed less of the wolf every hour, until, at the end of a week, she permitted herself to be washed and dressed and fed and petted with no more opposition than is generally shown by people of the age of four or five months! what opposition she did make to anything she disapproved of was perhaps more savage than that of most babies; but there the difference ended. one peculiarity remained for many a day--an intense love of the woods and of the open air generally, as well as a marked taste for scuttling about on hands and knees, which she managed to do at a very great speed considering her size. nancy was wont to declare that for neither of these characteristics was she indebted to her sojourn among the wolves, but that she simply inherited both her love of the forest as well as her nimbleness from her father. i who write these lines am inclined to believe that her wolfish infancy is a sufficiently good reason for both. thus ended happily the most terrible experience that a devoted father and mother could pass through; and if the child was loved before, she was ten times as dear to both parents after her almost miraculous recovery from the very jaws of death. boris declared that he could never kill another she-wolf unless it were to save his own or another life; and this resolution, i may add, he kept until his dying day. thus the months and the years went by at karapselka in peace and happiness, with but an occasional adventure to break the monotony of such an existence. boris was perfectly happy; but for all that he was conscious from time to time of a feeling of regret for his old days of activity in the tsar's service, and of honour fairly won and unfairly lost, and he felt that this fleeting sensation might at any moment strengthen into an irresistible desire and longing to be up and about once more among his fellow-men. this sort of life was all very well for a time, but, after all, it was an inglorious sort of existence, and boris knew that even his devotion to nancy and her babies--for she had two now--would not suffice to keep him at karapselka very much longer, especially if anything should happen to reawaken his old spirit of enterprise, or to bring him again within the magic of the tsar's presence and favour. of this last boris had but little hope, for peter's displeasure had been too deep for forgiveness; but there were rumours of war with sweden, which colonel drury, who brought the news, said would be a long and terrible struggle if the threatenings came to anything; and boris in his wanderings through the forest continually found himself turning over in his mind the idea that if war broke out with sweden he must have a share in the business, ay, even if he enlisted as a soldier of the lowest rank to do it. had not the tsar himself started at the very foot of the ladder? then why not he? he was barely twenty-eight; there was plenty of time to carve himself out new honour and a new career with the sword. and if, _if_ he were so fortunate as to gain the notice of the tsar, by some feat of arms, for instance, or some act of bravery on the battle-field--and the tsar's eye saw everything, so that it would not escape his notice--who knows? as a new man his beloved master might take him into new favour. occupied with these thoughts, boris walked one winter day through the forest, looking for the tracks of any beast that should have had the misfortune to pass where he too wandered. suddenly the hunter was pulled up in his reflections, as also in his stride, by a largish footprint in the snow. he knew it at once for what it was--a wolf's; but the experienced eye of boris knew also at a glance what a less expert woodcraftsman would not have known--namely, that here had passed not one wolf but several, for wolves prefer to tread in one another's tracks, in order to save themselves the trouble of plunging into the snow and out again. boris examined the track, and judged that there must have been five or six wolves, at least, travelling in a procession, and also that they must have passed this spot but a very short while ago, for the loose snow-powder still sifted into the holes left by the animals' feet. the sporting instincts of boris never required much to arouse them when dormant, and in a moment boris had forgotten all about the possible swedish war, and enlistment, and everything else, excepting the fact that here was a family of wolves, and here was he, the hunter, and that the sooner he followed up and engaged those wolves the greater would be his happiness. so away went boris upon the trail, flying like the wind upon his light archangel snow-shoes, which are the best in the world, and the use of which boris understood perhaps better than any man in all russia. before he had gone very far the hunter noticed that the track of a man, without snow-shoes, came into that of the wolves, cross-wise--that is, the wolves had come upon the track of this man, and had turned aside to follow it. "hungry wolves," said boris to himself; "going to run in the man's tracks--perhaps to attack him if they get a good chance!" accordingly boris hastened on, for he scented fun in this, and his life of late had been terribly lacking in incident. the tracks meandered about in the most curious way, now heading in one direction, now in another, and at last travelling round in a complete circle and recrossing a point where they had passed before; and wherever the man went the wolves had gone also. "lost his way," thought boris. "how frightened the poor fellow must have been when he crossed his own track and saw there were wolves after him!" then the hunter could see that after crossing the old tracks the wanderer had greatly accelerated his pace. "frightened," thought boris; "and small wonder." soon there was audible at no great distance a noise of yelpings, such as wolves make when they grow excited in the pursuit of their prey; and boris rightly concluded that these wolves were very hungry, and not likely to hold back from attacking a single man, unless he should be provided with fire-arms. he had better make all speed, or the matter might end unpleasantly for one of the members of the hunt. and presently boris ran suddenly into a stirring sight. there, before him, with his back to a tree, stood a big, kaftaned man, armed with a dagger, keeping at bay as best he could a band of seven wolves, who, to judge by their demeanour, had every intention of pulling him down. if there was one thing in all the world that boris would have chosen, it was such an enterprise as this. his very soul was athirst for a good slashing fight with man or beast--it was four or five years since he had engaged in a real scrimmage against odds, such as this promised to be; so boris flourished his axe and rushed into the thick of it with a shout of real exultation. right and left he slashed, and right and left again, and two wolf-lives had gone out in a moment, while two other gray bleeding creatures crawled yelping and snarling away to die in hiding. another rush in, and the foe would wait no longer, but turned, and in an instant were skulking away into the forest. then for the first time boris looked up at the man whom he had saved from the unpleasant position of a minute or two ago, and as he raised his eyes the axe fell from his hand, and his heart gave a great bound of surprise and joy, and then stood still. of all the men in the world least likely to be met with in this place, of all men in the world that boris loved the dearest and honoured the most, and most ardently longed to see and to speak to, it was he--the tsar--peter! for a full minute neither spoke. the heart of boris was too full for words, and his tongue refused to utter sound of any sort. when at length the silence was broken, it was the tsar who spoke, and his voice seemed to boris unlike the old boisterous voice of three years ago; it was quieter and a little tremulous. "boris," said the tsar, "this cannot be accident; we are but puppets in the hands of a mightier power which overrides our puny will and laughs at our dispositions. this is the fourth time, i account it, that you have directly or indirectly stood between me and death; how can i possibly continue to hold aloof from you, my brother?" at these words all the old love and devotion that boris had felt for his master completely overcame him, and he fairly flung himself at peter's knees and hugged them, weeping. "no, no; get you up, my bear-eater," said the tsar, raising him. "it appears to me that we were both somewhat wrong upon a memorable occasion; i have since thought so more than once. and having said this much, i will neither say nor hear another word in respect of those events, which are done with and lie buried in the past. as concerning the present, my boris, what brought you so miraculously here at the precise moment when you of all men were the most needed? i had you in my mind as you appeared, and had but that instant bethought me that i would you were with me as of old; and at that same instant you came." then boris, his heart bursting with great joy, began to tell the tsar how that his house was but a few miles away, and that in this same house he and nancy had dwelt for the last three years. peter knew nothing of all this, for the name of boris was never breathed at court since the day of his disgrace, seeing that the tsar himself never spoke it. then peter in his turn explained how he had wandered from his suite in pursuit of a roebuck, but had lost his way; and how he had not thought of danger until he found himself pursued by wolves and armed with but a knife. and both thanked god that boris and his axe had chanced to wander in the same direction. then the pair got to talking of old days and their many adventures together as they walked towards the house; and the tsar graciously said that now he had found him again, he could only wonder how he had contrived to do without his faithful bear-eater so long, and would boris, forgetting all that had been unpleasant in the past, return to his service once more, and things should be as they had been at the return from england? and boris could only weep for joy, and this foolishness was the wisest thing he could find to do. chapter xxiv. with the tsar again. supper at karapselka that night was a happy meal for boris and his wife, though nancy, as a matter of fact, preserved her secret private opinion as to the rights and wrongs of the quarrel over the streltsi, and did not altogether forgive peter for his conduct at that time. but boris was happy in his restoration to the tsar's favour--that was enough for nancy to think of to-night; and the tsar was certainly all kindness and cordiality and friendship towards her husband. and so the evening was a right joyous one to herself as well as to boris. peter declared that now he was here he should stay and have one more hunt with his bear-eater before returning to moscow. as for his suite and their feelings, they deserved a lesson for their awkwardness in losing their master in the forest. they might roam the woods in search of him all night and to-morrow morning as well. if one or two of the lazy hounds were eaten by wolves, so much the better; there would be vacancies for better men! accordingly, arrangements were made for the tsar to sleep at karapselka, and nancy went upstairs to prepare the best bed and the most luxurious coverings and decorations that the house afforded. and an extremely good piece of work she made of it; for nancy was a young person of some taste in these matters. but when the tsar was shown, with pride, to his chamber, the very first thing he did was to gather all these turkish coverings and persian silk draperies and fineries together and pitch an armful of them outside the door; after which he dragged the hardest of the mattresses from the bedstead, laid it upon the floor, and slept upon it. in the morning, tsar and hunter had a great spin on snow-shoes. they found a lynx track, which was great good luck, boris said, for lynxes are rare; and following it for miles, they eventually came so close upon the animal's heels that it was forced to run up a tree to avoid being caught and killed from behind. no shaking of the tree from below could bring the lynx to the ground, and it appeared that the animal must either be shot in the tree or fetched down by hand--which is an exceedingly unpleasant process, and not to be recommended to the amateur. "now, boris," said the tsar, "shall it be you or i? we are both fairly good at climbing the rigging!" but the hunter could not think of a tsar of russia climbing a pine tree after a lynx, and was half-way up before the words were well out of peter's mouth. the lynx looked down the tree and up the tree, and ran up a little higher, till the top of the pine bent with its weight like a fishing-rod. then it looked at the next tree, which was the better part of ten yards away; and glared down at boris, and hissed like a great cat at bay to a dog. suddenly the creature jumped straight for the nearest tree, and alighted fairly upon an outstanding branch; but, alas, the branch was a dead one, and broke with the weight, and down came the lynx with a thud to the earth close to the feet of the tsar. down came boris also, almost as rapidly, and he and the tsar threw themselves upon the animal almost at the same instant. though stunned with its fall, the infuriated lynx, which vies with the tiger for ferocity when at bay, instantly seized the tsar by the leg--the imperial limb being clad, luckily for the imperial feelings, in thick russian thigh-boots--whereupon peter caught the animal's neck with one great hand, and deftly passed his knife across its yellow throat with the other. the sharp teeth loosened their hold of the leather hunting-boots, the terrible claws relaxed, the wicked, yellow-green eye grew slowly dim, and the lynx lay dead at peter's feet. the tsar was as pleased as a schoolboy with his success, and together he and boris skinned the creature as a memento of the exploit. afterwards, as the pair strolled together through the woods, the talk fell upon politics and the projects of peter. war was certain and imminent, the tsar said; poland had joined with him in an engagement to drive the swede out of the baltic. "only think of it, my bear-eater," said peter, "the baltic!--ports, boris, seaports! how we shall fight for our windows. if it takes us a score of years, we shall have them!" the tsar spoke more prophetically than he knew of; for those ports were won indeed, but the final winning of them actually did cost russia twenty years of fighting by sea and land, so stubborn was the struggle. then came the question as to what part boris should play in these weighty projects which were so soon to be embarked upon; and at this point the hunter's exultation received a check, for peter spoke as though it must be taken for granted that boris would recommence his career at the foot of the ladder--he must enlist. that, the tsar explained, was indispensable; for he could not stultify himself by taking boris back straight into all the ranks and dignities of his former position. what would the rest of the officers of the preobrajensk think? yes, boris must enlist. boris looked foolish, but said nothing. for the life of him, he could not tell whether the tsar was pleased to joke with him or was serious. "i am only a major myself, you know," continued peter, "and i cannot have officers admitted into the regiment at a grade senior to my own; that would delay my promotion." "very well then, your majesty," said boris, simply because he could think of nothing else to say, "then i enlist." "come, come, then," said peter, "we've made a start. i congratulate you, mr. private-soldier boris ivanitch, and may your promotion be speedy!" boris began to think that the tsar was scarcely treating an old friend very generously. he grinned, however, weakly, because there was nothing else to do, and said he was "much obliged." "let me see," peter continued, after a pause; "was it you or was it another who saved me from an old she-bear at archangel some years since?" boris began to fear for the tsar's reason, but he replied,-"it was i, your majesty; but then you had befriended me a few days before, so that we were quits for that." "what! the bear you ran away from? dear me! yes; so i did. well, well, never mind that. as i was about to observe, in consideration of the service you did me on that day, i think you might be allowed a step in rank--say a corporal. you are promoted, mr. corporal!" "i am extremely obliged," said poor boris, bewildered. "who was it behaved rather well that afternoon when the pack of wolves attacked us?" asked peter, with perfectly-assumed seriousness, a minute or two later. "was it you or old ivan the driver?" "oh, ivan, your majesty," said boris, nettled at the tsar's levity. "ah, modest as usual!" said the tsar. "but it won't do, boris; you must be promoted, whether you like it or not! sergeant of the preobrajensk, i congratulate you!" "thank you, your majesty; but surely i have already received all the recognition those services deserved, for you rewarded me well at the time with many favours." "well, now, there's a good deal in what you say," said peter, still quite serious, "and perhaps you are right. your promotion, mr. sergeant boris ivanitch, should, properly speaking, follow some signal achievement of the present time, and not be awarded for services long past. now, see what i have in my mind. you were a good jumper in the old days; i daresay you are stiffer now, for want of practice. here i lay my cap on the ground: for every foot you can jump beyond the distance of five yards, you shall have a step in rank. there, now, that's fair enough; only don't jump yourself into a major-general, for i have too many of them on my hands already." "come, come!" thought boris, "if the tsar is in this playful mood, i'm his man!" so the hunter stripped off his kaftan and laid aside his heavy long-boots, and chose a spot where the snow was hard enough to bear him running over it, and stood ready to jump for his rank and position in life. "three jumps," said the tsar, "and i'll measure the best. my foot is just an english foot, without the boot." boris girt up his loins, took a good run, and launched himself into space. but he was stiff, and barely cleared the five-yard mark planted by the tsar. "only just got your commission," peter remarked. "that won't do; you must leap better than that." at the second attempt boris cleared a foot and a half over the mark. "better!" said the tsar; "but leap well up for your last!" this time the hunter, who was getting into the way of it now, sprang so lightly and powerfully that the tsar ran up excitedly to measure the distance. as he placed his feet down one behind the other, measuring, he ticked off the promotions thus:-"sub-lieutenant, lieutenant, captain, major, and a bit--say brevet lieutenant-colonel. bravo, bravo, colonel bear-eater, 'tis a good jump--nineteen and a half feet--and it has landed you one grade above me! a good jump indeed!" and so pleased was the tsar with his pleasantry, that he caused boris's commission to be made out endorsed with all these promotions, "for special service." * * * * * boris found great changes in moscow. as he and the tsar reached the western gate of the city, the hunter was immensely surprised to observe hanging upon a large post what at first sight appeared to be a human being, but which proved, on closer inspection, to be a suit of clothes such as he had seen worn in london by the people of the country. written underneath the clothes, in large letters that all might read, was a notice to the effect that it was the tsar's will that all his subjects above the rank of peasant should wear clothes of a cut similar to the suit here represented. any who left or arrived in the city by any gate thereof, at any time after the 1st january 1700, without having previously complied with this ookaz, should be condemned to pay a heavy fine, or submit to have their kaftans cut short to the knee by the gatekeeper. peter informed his companion that most people had quietly submitted to the change, but that there were still many who would neither wear the new clothes nor pay the fine which would be payable at each passing through the gates of the city, whether leaving or returning; and that these men went with kaftans cut short to the knee, to the huge delight of the people. boris saw the gatekeeper in the act of cutting down a kaftan; and certainly the appearance of the obstinate gentleman who wore it was funny enough to justify the amusement which it caused to the yelling and hooting crowd who watched him leave the place. boris laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks, as he stood with the tsar and looked on at the comedy; nor did he stop laughing until the tsar jogged him by the elbow and said, "come, bear-eater, your turn; will you pay up or be cut short?" then boris laughed no more, but paid up with the best grace he could. and this was the tsar's method of teaching his people the way to dress _ã  l'anglais_. boris noticed, further, that beards were no longer worn in moscow, and found that this also was the result of an ookaz from peter, which ookaz cost boris himself a very fine specimen of a patriarchal russian beard; indeed, when he rode down next day to karapselka, poor nancy did not recognize him in his new style of apparel and without the flowing ornament to his chin, though she was bound to admit, when she became used to them, that both the changes were great improvements to his personal appearance. the officers of the preobrajensk greeted boris as one returned from the grave. he had always been a favourite with his fellows, and their delight to have him back among them was cordial and sincere. from them boris learned that the tsar's evil humour had lasted for long months after the hunter's banishment from moscow; and that his bitterness against boris must have been deep indeed, for that he had never once mentioned the name of the bear-hunter in all the three years of his absence. accordingly, they congratulated him the more sincerely upon his return to favour; and when boris described to the mess, or rather to the assembled officers at the favourite eating-house, where his return was celebrated, how he had literally jumped from non-commissioned rank to that of brevet lieutenant-colonel, they fairly roared with laughter in their delight, for, they said, the tsar must be quite coming round again to his old _status quo ante streltsi_, and they had not heard of so "peterish" an action on his part for many a long day. so, at last, after three years of quiet life in exile at karapselka, boris was restored to favour, and entered once more upon an active military career. for the next three or four years he enjoyed many opportunities of distinguishing himself in arms, and of engaging in the kind of stirring adventure which his soul loved; for, a few months after his arrival, with nancy and her babies, in his new moscow home, war was declared with sweden, and the entire army lately raised by peter and carefully drilled by himself and his trusted veteran officers at preobrajensk, together with the four old regiments raised by lefort and peter for the siege of azof, marched away for the swedish fortress of narva, and with them went boris the hunter. chapter xxv. boris has a narrow escape. the formation of the twenty-nine new regiments which were to take part in the war had been an arduous undertaking. while boris was in exile at karapselka the tsar had lost two capable assistants, as well as dear friends, in lefort and gordon, both of whom had died during that interval of time. had these men lived to assist him at this emergency, there is no doubt that the raw peasantry now sent up for training at preobrajensk would have emerged from their months of drill in a higher state of efficiency than that in which they actually marched out of moscow in august. nevertheless much had been done, and the tsar had worked as few but he could labour to make soldiers of them. in this matter boris was of inestimable service to him; and many a time did peter declare that he would not for half his empire that those wolves had not run him down in the karapselka forest and in doing so brought him back his bear-eater, for what could he have done without boris at this time? nancy was sensible enough to see that, happy as she had been with her husband for three long years of country life at karapselka, she must accept the inevitable, and allow him to do now as his duty and his manhood dictated. so boris bade farewell to his young wife, and the little wolf-maiden and her tiny brother, and marched away from moscow with a feeling that life was recommencing for him--stern, workaday, adventurous life--and that the idle paradise of karapselka had been nothing but a dream. the possession of livonia and esthonia, of ingria and karelia was the darling object of peter's ambition. he longed for the mastery of the gulf of finland and a grip of the baltic coast as a hungry man longs for the food he sees in a shop window. without some outlet to the sea in this direction, he well knew that russia could never develop her trade and take her proper position in europe as a european power. but sweden at this time was strong and courageous, and there sat upon her throne a young prince who had been devoted from his earliest infancy to the study of war and its practice in the playground--charles xii.; who at this very moment was proving to the allies of russia--poland and denmark--that in picking a quarrel with him they had attacked a hornet's nest. charles had not as yet attained to his full reputation as a soldier; but he was formidable already, and his name was feared and respected by all who had had dealings with him in the field. for this reason, peter knew well that he must proceed with caution. no sooner was war declared than he marched away towards narva, the nearest esthonian fortress occupied by the swedes; for, could he but possess himself of this stronghold, he foresaw that the neva and the opposite coasts of the gulf of finland would be practically at his mercy, for both livonia and esthonia would be cut off from direct communication with those parts. thus narva became the first objective for the armies of peter. but the journey from moscow to that fortress, undertaken at this late season of the year, proved long and tedious. the transport service was crude and inefficient, and the want of stores delayed the march; the roads were frightfully bad, as any one who knows russian roads, even at this day, may well believe; hence it was not until the first days of november that the first detachment of troops with a portion of the artillery arrived before the walls of narva. the tsar himself superintended the placing of the guns in position, and fired the first shot. it was soon found that the gun-carriages had been so knocked about that they would not stand more than two or three discharges, and then broke in pieces. by the 14th november all the powder and shot had been used, and the troops were obliged to sit and wait for new supplies with the best grace they could muster. during this tiresome period of waiting the garrison of narva made several gallant sorties. during one of these, peter's own regiment, the preobrajensk, was engaged, boris and the tsar both fighting at their posts. one of the foreign officers, a certain major hummert, at one period of the engagement, finding himself pressed by the swedes, became alarmed, and gave the word to retire; thereupon the whole regiment turned and fled in sudden panic, in spite of all the efforts of the officers to keep them in their places. the tsar was furious, and sent for hummert in the evening, when the day's fighting was over, in order to treat him to one of those ebullitions of passion in which he indulged on provocation. but poor hummert could not face the ordeal, and escaping from the lines under cover of the darkness, deserted to the enemy. peter hung him in effigy; but the swedes themselves improved upon this by hanging the deserter in the flesh. shortly after this episode, the tsar left the russian troops at narva and departed to attend to other duties, and while he was absent a great and unexpected misfortune befell the russians. no sooner did charles of sweden hear of the action of peter in laying siege to narva than he took ship with nine thousand troops for revel and pernau. landing at these ports, he marched with all his characteristic energy and marvellous expedition straight across country to narva, falling upon the russians from the rear like a sudden terrible tornado. the russians, with the exception of the preobrajensk and semenofski--two of the veteran regiments--ran like sheep, hardly striking a blow in self-defence. they rushed hither and thither headlong, shrieking that the "germans had betrayed them," and making matters very unpleasant for their foreign officers, many of whom they killed, or chased over the field. the preobrajensk, with boris among them, held out bravely, and boris had the honour of crossing swords with charles xii. as the latter rode by slashing right and left with his weapon, and doing execution at each passage of his terrible blade. boris barred his way, guarded a tremendous downward cut at his helm, and lunged fiercely back, striking the swedish king full in the breast-plate, and causing him to grab with his left hand at the horse's mane in order to prevent himself falling over backwards. charles was furious, and smote at boris with such energy that, though boris guarded the blow, the sword cut his tall preobrajensk helmet clean in two, but fortunately left his head untouched. then the hunter's blood was thoroughly up, and he slashed back at the king with such good will that his majesty was knocked clean off his horse by the force of the blows, though his body remained unwounded. at the same moment the horse itself received a flesh wound and dashed away in terror and pain. but charles was quickly placed upon a second horse by his people, who thronged around when they perceived his dangerous position, and the king, though he endeavoured to get back to boris, was unable, because the crowd separated them. charles turned in his saddle and smiled and waved to boris. "well done, russian," he shouted. "i am glad there are not many of them like you! we'll finish this another day!" but boris, together with the rest of his regiment, was being forced back at this moment, fighting for every yard of ground, and he had no time to respond to his majesty's kind attentions. bravely the preobrajensk fought, but the weight of numbers drove them back surely and steadily; and now they were upon the bridge which the russians themselves had built in order to connect the two portions of their camp, which occupied both sides of the river. suddenly, the bridge being crammed at the moment with crowds of russian soldiers and gun-carriages, all retiring face to foe, there was a terrible sound of crashing and rending timbers, which rose above the din of musketry fire, the shouting of officers, and the cries of the wounded, and in an instant boris found himself struggling in the half-frozen waters of the river, one of several hundred russians in the same predicament. as we have had occasion to see during the course of his adventurous career, water had no terrors for boris; but to the danger of drowning was added on this occasion a far greater peril. the banks were lined with swedish soldiers, and these men immediately opened fire upon the unfortunate russians in the water. as charles wrote to a friend after the battle, "the greatest fun was when the bridge broke and tumbled the russians into the water. the whole surface of the river was crammed with heads and legs of men and horses sticking up, and my men shot at them as though they were ducks." it may have been very amusing for charles xii. to watch, but it was very poor fun for boris and his unfortunate companions, who were drowned around him in scores, while hundreds of others were killed by the rain of bullets poured upon them from the banks. boris felt that this was indeed a critical moment in his career, for if he allowed his head to remain a moment above the surface his life was not worth a moment's purchase. accordingly, the hunter allowed himself to sink to the bottom, and then swam under water down the current, as fast and as far as his breath would hold out. the water was freezing cold, and he was much hampered in his swimming by the numbers of drowning men whom he was obliged to circumvent as far as possible for fear of being seized and drowned before he could escape from the grip of despair. boris came to the surface some twenty yards from the bridge, but the bullets were falling upon the water like hailstones in a sharp shower, and after taking a gulp or two of air he sank once more. he was instantly gripped by a drowning man, who clung to his throat with both hands. boris felt that his last hour was come, and said the prayer of the dying; nevertheless he gripped the man by the neck also, and it became a strangling match. for ten seconds or so, which seemed an eternity, both men throttled each other in this strange and unnatural duel, and then boris saw the man's mouth open wide and the water pour in, and the poor fellow's grasp relaxed and let go, and he floated away. boris rose to the surface a second time, but little further from the bridge than before. finding a dead body floating beside him as he rose, he used this as a screen from the fire while he took four or five deep lungfuls of air. he was used to the water now and did not feel it so cold. he dived again, and this time he swam under water for a long distance, coming to the surface far enough from the bridge to be out of the great crush of struggling humanity. from this point his progress was much easier; and though he was shot at several times, none of the bullets struck him. one swedish soldier ran down the bank after him, and fired twice as he rose. boris was obliged to pretend that he was hit in order to rid himself of this tiresome individual. he raised his arms and gave a cry as of one sorely struck, and sank; but came to the surface ten yards further up stream and close under the bank, whence he watched the soldier look out for him to appear at a point lower down, his musket ready to shoot again. presently the man, satisfied that boris was "done for," came slowly along towards the bridge, and the hunter bobbed beneath the current, though he stood in shallow water close to the low bank. as he came up again the swedish soldier was just passing him, but he did not see him, for he was gazing towards the bridge, looking out for more russian ducks to wing. boris could not resist the temptation, but stretched out his arm and seized the man by the leg, pulling him violently as he did so. the swede slipped and fell with a cry of surprise and alarm; but boris dragged him remorselessly down into the cold stream before he could recover himself, and pushing him out into deep water drowned him then and there as a punishment for his cruelty in shooting poor, struggling russians as they battled for life with the river. almost worn out, boris, by swimming and diving, succeeded in making his way to a turn of the stream where he was out of sight of the bridge and its tragedies, and he came to the shore for a good rest. he was numb and cold and stiff, and finding a dead swedish soldier he took the liberty of divesting him of his uniform and of putting himself into it, leaving his own wet garments on the ground. he took the man's sword and pistol also; and thus provided, boris felt that, all things considered, he had come fairly well out of this adventure. after resting a while, the hunter took careful observations from a neighbouring tree to discover in which direction the russian army had fled, and how best to avoid the swedish troops which, he imagined, would be sure to have followed in close pursuit. but boris soon found that he had little to fear from the swedish forces. they had by this time all returned to the russian camp, and were now making free with the russian provisions, which they much needed, since they had marched for nearly three days without resting and with scarcely any food to eat, thanks to the energy and military ardour of their young king, who was determined to reach the russian position before rumours of his landing should have spoiled his game. that night every swedish soldier in his army was drunk with russian vodka; and had the russians known it, they might have returned and made short work of their late victors. but the troops of the tsar were now far away, heading for home as rapidly as they could get over the ground, in terror for their lives, and imagining that the swedes with that terrible young king at their head would overtake them and cut them to pieces at any moment. thus peter's first attempt to wrest a fortress from sweden proved a terrible failure; but the experience was by no means an unmixed disaster for russia, because of its different effect upon the minds of the two sovereigns concerned. charles was puffed up with pride and vainglory, and from the day of his victory at narva imagined himself to be invincible, and the russians to be mere sheep who would scatter at any time at the barking of a dog. the tsar, on the other hand, took his defeat coolly and sensibly. it was an object lesson, and he recognized it as such. his men were, he knew, mere recruits; the troops of charles were veterans. he studied the details of the fight as reported to him by his generals, and learned, by careful comparison, where the swedish generalship had been superior to the russian, and made a note of it. "we shall learn to fight by-and-by!" he said; "and when we have learned what charles has to teach us, we shall practise our knowledge upon our teacher!" events proved that narva was a blessing in disguise to the vanquished russian troops, and that this was so is due to the greatness of peter. chapter xxvi. how boris outwitted the swedish admiral. his reverse at narva aroused the tsar to tremendous exertions. he met the remains of his beaten troops at novgorod, where he ordered every portion of the scattered army to assemble and report itself. the town of novgorod first, and afterwards those of pskof and petcherski--the site of the famous monastery--were strongly fortified and garrisoned, as the frontier to be defended against a possible advance of the enemy. for the work of fortification every man, woman, and child in the several districts was employed; the services in the churches were suspended in order that the priests might be free to assist in the business of national defence; houses and even churches were pulled down if they in any degree impeded the work; the bells of cathedrals and monasteries all over the country were melted down to supply metal for the forging of cannon; and through it all peter himself worked like a common labourer in the trenches, except that he did as much work as any three other men. his disposition towards those generals who had been beaten at narva was kind, and he did not this time allow his passion to get the mastery of his judgment; so that all men worked in harmony for the defence of the fatherland. gradually the troops dribbled into novgorod, arriving sometimes in bodies of several hundreds, and occasionally in small companies of ten or a dozen men. one fine afternoon a small company reached the town, bringing with them a swedish prisoner, whom they led straight to the tsar as he stood working in the trenches, exceedingly proud of their achievement in having secured and retained the fellow, for he was a big man, much bigger than any of themselves, and a good deal too big for his clothes. the men marched up to the trench where the tsar was busy with his spade, and stood at attention. peter looked up after a while. "well," he said, "what is it?" "a swedish prisoner, your majesty," said the men. peter was all attention immediately, for this was the first prisoner brought in, and he might prove an exceedingly valuable source of information as to charles's intended movements. the tsar fumbled in his pocket for loose cash, intending to bestow a gratuity on those who had effected the capture. but as he did so his eye fell upon the face of the prisoner. peter stared at the fellow. suddenly his countenance changed, and he burst into one of his loudest laughs. "bear-eater," he said, "i shall never believe you dead again, until i bury you with my own hands.--get out there, you idiots, and report yourselves to your colonel; your prisoner is about as much a swede as i am.--here, boris, my wonderful bear-eater, come into this ditch, if you aren't a ghost, and tell me all about it. don't think i am not mighty glad to see you; but there's no time for chatting idly. get a spade and come in; we can talk as we dig." so boris was obliged to do half a day's work in the trenches while he told the tsar his story, part of which we know. "at last," boris continued, having described his adventures in the water, and how he had travelled half the night in pursuit of the retiring russian troops--"at last i overtook those heroes there, who, seeing that i was in a swedish uniform, were at first for catching up all they were possessed of and continuing their headlong flight; but finding that i was but one belated man, and without a musket besides, they gallantly surrounded me and discussed my throat as a suitable whetstone for their swords. i informed them in my purest russian that i was of their own way of thinking--not as to my throat, but politically; but they were not to be taken in, and declared that i was a swedish spy, and as such ought to be shot. i pointed out that, even if this were so, it would be far better to make me a prisoner and take me straight to the tsar, who would give them a handsome gratuity for their service. what would they gain by shooting me down? there would be no nachaiok [tea-money], and no glory either; for none would believe them, and they could not well take along my body for evidence, with the swedish troops in full pursuit behind them; it would hamper their movements and prevent their escape! this last consideration decided them, and they took me prisoner, and bound me hand and foot. one of them had secured a horse, and as i found it awkward to walk all tied up like a bit of boiled beef, they put me on the horse and gave me a pleasant lift to novgorod; and here i am." "well done, my bear-eater," said the tsar, delighted with the tale. "i thought we could trust you to take good care of yourself, and, believing this, i did not send word to nancy of your death--which is just as well. and now i have plenty of work for you!" there was indeed work, not only for boris but for all those who had the safety of the country at heart. besides the fortifying of the frontier towns, there was much recruiting to be done. the tsar would have nine new regiments of dragoons formed at once; this being one of the results of his object lesson at narva, where the cavalry of charles had swept peter's timid footmen before them like autumn leaves before the storm-wind. then the infantry regiments must be patched up with new men to fill the gaps. and the drilling of all these soldiers, new and old, must be taken in hand by men like boris qualified to undertake it. all this necessary work was set agoing without a moment's delay by the never-weary tsar; and so well did it proceed that, within a few months after the rout at narva, peter found himself in possession of a far better army than that which he had left beneath the walls of the swedish fortress to be cut to pieces by the enemy as soon as he had turned his back. boris was as busy as man could be over his various occupations, but found time to write continually to moscow, where his letters comforted and entertained his wife amazingly, whose faith in the star of boris was so great, that even his narrative of the adventures at and after narva alarmed her less than they amused her. she felt, as the tsar had declared that he also felt, that under any conceivable circumstances her husband was well able to take care of himself. but with the spring came a change for the hunter. news arrived that the swedish fleet meditated a descent upon archangel as soon as the disappearance of the ice should have rendered navigation possible. boris, to his delight, was sent up north to superintend the fortification of the old town which had been the home of his boyhood and early youth. the hunter received his new commission with joy, and started at once, passing through those forests and villages which were memorable by reason of his adventures with the tsar nearly ten years ago. though there was no time to waste, boris managed to enjoy a day or two in the woods, after his old friends the bears and wolves, and reached archangel early in april, when he commenced the work of fortifying the place without further delay. and now the hunter was to experience one of the most exciting of all the adventures of his chequered career. scarcely was the ice away, and the mouth of the dwina open to navigation, than one fine day in may there appeared a fleet of, seemingly, english and dutch merchant vessels, which sailed in from sea and anchored off the island of modiug. suspecting nothing, a boat containing fifteen soldiers, acting as custom-house officials, made the usual visit to the foreign ships to collect the harbour dues, receive the reports of cargo, and go through the ordinary commercial formalities in connection with the port. these men did not return at once; and when night fell and they were still absent, the authorities were obliged to conclude that the dutch or british skippers had proved too hospitable, and that the officials were still occupied in drinking the health of the first arrivals of the year. but in the middle of the night boris, in his capacity of commissioner of the tsar, was awakened from his sleep by a half-drowned, dripping person, who stated that he was one of those who had been sent on board the supposed english and dutch merchantmen. he had swum ashore at modiug, he said, having escaped from the cabin in which the company had been confined. but the rest were still on board, and likely to remain so; for the ships were not merchantmen but vessels of war, and their crews were not good englishmen and dutchmen but blackguardly swedes, sailing under false colours in order to steal a march upon the forts and capture the city unawares as soon as the first glimmering of light should render such an enterprise possible. the man had climbed out, by the help of his companions, through the skylight, choosing his time when the sentry had his back turned, had crept to the side, let himself down by means of a rope, and swum to the island. there he found a boat, and got himself rowed quickly to the town; and here he was! the man added that he had overheard it said that three of the vessels would signal for a pilot in the morning, and sail into port; the remainder of the fleet were to wait where they were, in case of accidents, and would come on if required. boris made glad the heart of this dripping hero by rewarding him handsomely in money, and promising to mention his conduct to the tsar at the first opportunity. then the hunter sat down to think matters out, and the result of his cogitations was, first, a visit to the commandant of the fort, to whom he gave his instructions. after this boris got himself ready for the further development of his plans, and took up his position in the pilot-house, whence a good view of the foreigners would be obtained as soon as it became light enough to see. boris had concocted a delightful plot, and hugged himself with joy to think how the tsar would roar with laughter when he told him of it, after its successful outcome. it did not occur to boris that he ran about as good a chance of having his own throat cut as ever man deliberately set himself to run; but then boris was a great believer in his own star, and would have laughed at the very idea of danger in his scheme. when morning came, boris soon observed the usual signal flying from the deceitful flag-ship's mainmast indicating that a pilot was required. then he arrayed himself in an over-garment, which caused him to look as much like a pilot as any other man, stepped into the pilot-boat, and had himself conveyed on board the swedish admiral's ship, to the great astonishment of the real pilot, who could not imagine why the tsar's commissioner usurped his duties when he had plenty of his own to look after. when boris stepped aboard the frigate, the swedish admiral did not pretend to be other than he really was, but roughly bade the "pilot" take the vessel into archangel harbour. the pilot, simulating great fear and distress of mind, did as he was told--the frigate, followed by its two companions, sailing gallantly forward on a light wind direct for port. but that deceitful pilot did not intend that those swedish ships should ever reach the harbour save under the russian flag, and before a mile of water had been covered they were all three suddenly brought up by running straight upon a sandbank which jutted out from the island of modiug. when the admiral and the rest of the swedish gentlemen who happened to be on deck at the moment of the catastrophe had picked themselves up from the undignified attitudes into which they had been thrown by the shock, they learned two extremely unpleasant things. one was that their pilot had left them the legacy of his topcoat, and had taken a neat header into the water, whence he was now addressing certain remarks to them in the english language, remarks of a valedictory nature, coupled with flattering expressions of the hope that he would soon have the pleasure of meeting them again on shore; and the other that the forts were in the act of opening fire upon them as they lay helpless and immovable upon the sandbank. within half a minute of the first discovery a dozen furious swedes had snatched their muskets, and a dozen swedish bullets whistled through the air and sent up little fountains of spray as they struck the water somewhere near the spot where the head of that pilot had last appeared. but the head was no longer there. when it appeared again it did so in a direction where it was not expected; and though the bullets sought it once more, they did not find it. the furious swedes even went so far as to train a gun upon the vanishing black spot, and banged away merrily at it with musket and cannon as long as it was in sight, but never went within several yards of the mark; for boris dived so deftly and dodged so cunningly that he invariably had plenty of time to fill his lungs before he was seen and shot at. meanwhile the fort blazed away at the stranded ships, with such success that these soon hauled down their colours; after which a party of russians from the fort put off in boats to take possession, picking up the swimming pilot on their way. once on board, the russians turned the ships' guns upon the four remaining swedish vessels and quickly drove them from their moorings. boris was not mistaken as to the tsar's delight upon hearing of his exploit. peter wrote him an affectionate and appreciative letter, in which he congratulated him on his out-foxing the old swedish reynard, presented him with a gratuity of two thousand roubles, and gave him a commission in the navy. peter himself was at this time a boatswain in the same service, having risen, some say, from the humble position of cabin-boy, in which capacity he had insisted upon entering the navy in order that he might experience the duties of every grade of both branches of the service. chapter xxvii. small beginnings of a great city. boris lived on at archangel during the whole of the summer of 1701; but his majesty of sweden did not venture to send a second force to russia's only seaport, the first lesson having proved a salutary one. boris had therefore plenty of time for the indulgence of his passion for hunting, and during those pleasant months he was fully occupied in clearing the country around, including his own native village, of the bears which infested it. the peasants declared that they had suffered from a plague of bears since his departure, for there had been no one to rid the place of them. accordingly, the hunter had a grand summer of it among the members of the bruin family, who must have regretted his reappearance as fervently as the peasants rejoiced over it. nancy with the little ones had joined boris at archangel, and the pair enjoyed many days together in the woods, days which reminded them of old moscow times and recalled the three quiet years at karapselka. with the approach of winter, however, came letters from the tsar appointing boris to the command of one of the new regiments of infantry, and requiring his immediate attendance at the head of his men to act under the orders of general sheremetieff, who had already had a brush with the swedes at rappin in livonia, and was now waiting to follow up his success there with a more important affair. in january the opportunity arrived, and a serious engagement was fought at erestfer, boris being present with his regiment. on this occasion the russian troops gained a victory which went far to efface the memory of narva. three thousand of the troops of charles xii. were left dead upon the field, after both sides had fought for several hours with the greatest courage and determination. every officer engaged in this fight was promoted or decorated, sheremetieff being made field-marshal, and boris receiving the decoration of st. ann. the troops marched into moscow in triumph, and a solemn te deum was chanted in the national cathedral in the kremlin. the russians followed up this success with a second brilliant victory at hummelshof, which decided the fate of livonia; and this unfortunate province was given over to devastation, from the effects of which it took many years to recover. swedish prisoners became so common that a boy or a girl of fifteen years of age could be bought for the sum of fourpence. boris was not present at this second battle, for he had at this time accompanied the tsar to archangel, whither peter had travelled on ship-building intent. here the pair had a small adventure with a bear. boris had introduced the tsar on this occasion to a new method of hunting the bear--that of sitting in ambush over the carcass of a horse or a cow, in the hope that the bear will scent the delicacy and arrive to make a meal of it. on the occasion in question the tsar and boris had sat up in the branches of two pine trees opposite each other for two nights without result, and were in the midst of a third, which peter vowed should be the last--for the carcass was by this time so very unsavoury that nothing would induce him to sit there another night--when of a sudden the watchers became aware by sundry gruntings and shufflings in the distance that the guest for whom the feast had been set was approaching. it was a moonlight night, and peter, being anxious to secure the brute while he could see to shoot, sighted him as best he could, and pulled the trigger. the bullet passed through one of the bear's ears, and only served to enrage it. seeing the smoke hanging about the tree in which the tsar sat, the angry brute rightly guessed that its assailant lurked amid the branches, and with a roar of rage and defiance it dashed to the foot of the tree, intent upon climbing it and fetching down the rash person who had dared to burn its ear with a hot iron. the tsar had nothing but his knife to protect himself with; and remembering this, boris was somewhat concerned to observe the course which events had taken. he was not long in making up his mind, however, that he must shoot and that quickly, for the bear was already half-way up the trunk of the pine. boris hastily put his gun to his shoulder and fired, but his bullet did nothing better than hit the furious brute in the foot, redoubling its fury. the tsar was now in a somewhat serious position, for it is never pleasant to be obliged to face a bear with no weapon excepting a knife, and from the insecure position of a pine branch it is even less agreeable than on _terra firma_. peter nevertheless drew his knife and settled himself in his place, resolved to make things as unpleasant as possible for the visitor, as soon as he should come within striking distance. up came bruin, hand over hand, climbing very fast, and already the tsar was slashing at him, though as yet without reaching him, when suddenly, with a loud roar of rage, the bear let go his hold of the tree trunk and slipped down to the ground, clutching at the stem of the tree as he went. boris, seeing the tsar's danger, had slipped down from his perch, and with a bound just succeeded in catching hold of the bear's hind feet, from which he dangled and swung with all his weight. this sudden mysterious tugging from below had so startled bruin that he let go and fell together with poor boris to the ground, the hunter being undermost. the bear caught him by the leg as he attempted to crawl away from beneath, and inflicted a nasty wound. but just at this moment the tsar dropped from his perch to the ground, and stepping behind the bear as it tore at the poor hunter's leg, he deftly inserted his sharp blade in the brute's windpipe and ended the fray. * * * * * soon after this last episode, boris having recovered from his wounds, the tsar left archangel with the hunter, full of plans for a great _coup_ to be directed at that portion of the swedish king's territory which he coveted far more than any other. peter went south through the onega lake, thence by the river svir to lake ladoga, where he met by appointment sheremetieff with his army of thirteen thousand men, still flushed with their great victory at hummelshof. after a few days' rest, peter fell upon the small fortress of noteburg, which stood upon a tiny island just where the neva flows out of ladoga. this fortress was attacked with great spirit, and was defended with equal gallantry by its swedish garrison. on the second day, peter received a letter from the "ladies of noteburg," begging that they might be allowed to leave the place, the russian fire being rather warmer than they liked. the tsar, however, returned a characteristic reply to the effect that he could not think of permitting the ladies to travel alone in these troublous times; they were quite at liberty to depart, however, if they took their husbands with them. so on the third day of the siege, the ladies actually persuaded their lords to escort them to the nearest swedish stronghold, and the place was evacuated. the capture of noteburg was most important, since it furnished the tsar with the mastery of the neva, so far as its upper waters were concerned, and there now remained but one small fortress between him and the open sea. this was a day of joy for peter. the fort at noteburg was rechristened schlã¼sselburg, and the tsar caused the key of the castle to be fastened to a bastion as an indication that here was the _open sesame_ to the neva, which was the gate of the sea. having proceeded thus far towards the attainment of his ends, the conqueror, leaving a strong force in possession of his newly-acquired fortress of schlã¼sselburg, and with it our friend the hunter, hurried away to voronej in order to see to the ship-building on the don, and to keep an eye upon the movements of turkey, whom he suspected of designs upon his city of azof, the tartar stronghold whence boris had escaped on a memorable occasion. boris found life at schlã¼sselburg very pleasant. it was winter time, and the forest in this part of the country was full of game, so that he had ample opportunity both to enjoy himself and also to instruct his fellow officers in the delights of the chase. wolf hunting became the fashionable occupation among the garrison of schlã¼sselburg, and many were the exciting hunts and adventures which occurred during those months, not always to the final triumph of the hunters; for more than one inexperienced sportsman met with his end at the teeth of a desperate wolf, or in the close embrace of a bear who would not be denied the pleasure of hugging one of his majesty's subjects. but my readers will pardon me if i do not enter into details of these events in this place, for there is matter of more moment to be described. the tsar, having satisfied himself that all was right in the south, returned to schlã¼sselburg in the early part of the year 1703, and without loss of time proceeded to do that which set the seal upon russia's greatness by providing her for ever with that window into europe, to attain which was the main object of his life. peter marched down the flat banks of the neva with an army of twenty thousand men until he came to a spot where a small stream called the ochta mingles its waters with those of the larger river. here was situated the swedish stronghold of nyenkanz, which was quickly bombarded by the russian troops, and captured the following day. peter rechristened this fort slotburg, and from this small beginning there arose in a very few years the city of st. petersburg, which was built around the nucleus afforded by this little fort. soon after the capture of this all-important _pied-ã -terre_, the garrison were startled to hear one day the sound of two cannon shots coming from the direction of the gulf of finland, which opens out almost from the very city of st. petersburg. peter, guessing rightly that this was a signal from a swedish fleet which approached in ignorance that the place was in the hands of the russians, immediately replied with a similar discharge of two pieces. within an hour a row-boat appeared, and was allowed to approach close up to the walls of the fort, when its crew were made prisoners, to their unbounded astonishment. from these men peter learned that the fleet consisted of nine ships of war. soon after two large vessels were observed to leave the fleet and sail up the neva as far as the island now forming the northern half of the city, and known as vasili ostrof (william, or basil island). here they anchored by reason of the darkness. they had come to see why their boat had not returned, and what was the meaning of the suspicious absence of the usual courtesies between garrisons and maritime visitors. that night peter prepared thirty large flat-bottomed boats, and when morning came loaded these full with two regiments of the guards, and made the best of his way, by a circuitous route, towards the swedish frigates. the neva, just before throwing itself into the gulf at st. petersburg, spreads out into several branches, like the fingers of a hand, the spaces between these fingers being occupied by islands. hidden among these islands, the barges of the tsar had no difficulty in keeping themselves out of sight, and after a thorough inspection of the swedish strength it was resolved to make a dash and, if possible, board the vessels. accordingly the long oars were got out, and the barges glided silently around the eastern end of basil island, massed just at that corner where the bourse now stands, and at a given signal dashed round the corner and were upon the astonished swedes in a moment. before the enemy could do anything to prevent it, boarding-ladders were placed at the ships' sides, and crowds of the russian guards swarmed up and over the bulwarks, sword in hand, peter and boris among the foremost. from the first the swedes were at a hopeless disadvantage, and in half-an-hour or less the sailor tsar found himself in possession of two very fine specimens of the warship of that day, and, what was still better, the undisputed proprietor of a fine natural harbour, with outlet to the sea, to keep them in. there was no happier man inhabiting this planet that evening than peter alexeyevitch; and if he demonstrated his delight by dancing upon the supper-table after that meal was over, we must regard with indulgence this characteristic manner of working off the exuberance of his feelings in consideration of the momentous importance of his achievements of the past few days. for russia had won her first naval engagement, and from this day would commence to rank as a maritime power, and to draw into her bosom the wealth and the commerce of other nations. truly there was something to dance for, even though it were among empty bottles and upon the top of the supper-table. chapter xxviii. how the swedes erected a gibbet for boris. now that russia was, or would be, a maritime power, the tsar was determined that those around him, of every grade, should learn something of naval affairs. while, therefore, the beginnings of the city of st. petersburg were in progress, the sovereign devised means whereby as many as possible of his favourite companions and officers, as well as humbler classes of his subjects, should at least have the opportunity of learning the use of sails and oars. peter organized entertainments for his people, inviting large numbers to sup with him each evening in a tent upon an island, which could only be approached by means of boats or sailing yachts, for of course there were as yet no bridges. peter provided the craft as well as the supper, but the guests were obliged to navigate for themselves. many, the majority indeed, of these had never set foot in a boat of any sort in their lives, and, notwithstanding the honour which an invitation to his majesty's board undoubtedly carried with it, they would gladly have gone without both the honour and the sailing, too. the tsar's guests were invited to step into the first boat that came, and whether this happened to be a rowing or sailing boat they were expected to find their way unassisted by experts to the imperial sea-girt pavilion. if this plan was productive of confusion and exciting incident while the unfortunate guests set out supperwards, it is easy to imagine that the scenes when these same gentlemen returned after their meal and its accompanying potations must have been doubly entertaining. wrecks and drenchings were the rule; prosperous journeys and the haven safely won the exception. the tsar stood upon his island and watched the approach of his expected guests as one who goes to the play; their frantic efforts to manage oar and sail gave him the most exquisite delight, his happiness reaching its culmination whenever one of them, more awkward than the rest, was upset. no one was permitted to drown, for either the tsar himself or boris or other competent persons were ever at hand to rescue the shipwrecked; and many a poor dripping wretch was brought ashore by the hunter, to eat his supper in the miserable anticipation of more boating to be done afterwards. meanwhile a new fortress began to take shape, close to the old one, and the city of st. petersburg was commenced. boris returned to moscow in the autumn, and spent the winter with his family, to the great content of his devoted nancy. but his peaceful home-life did not last very long; for with the return of spring the troops were called out once more to finish that which had been so well begun in the previous year, and the hunter bade farewell to his belongings, little thinking that he should come very nigh, during this summer's campaign, to forming a meal for the swedish crows--nearer, indeed, than ever before. there were two fortresses which the tsar felt must be his before he could feel quite secure in the possession of the neva--namely, dorpat, and his old friend narva, where the russian arms had received their first salutary check, and where boris had so nearly had his brains blown out as he swam for life in the blood-stained river whose surface hissed in the hail of the swedish bullets. with the siege of dorpat we are not concerned, for boris was not present. suffice it to say that it fell before the russian assault during the summer months, and that its fall greatly encouraged the other half of the russian army which sat before the walls of narva, among which latter was boris. weeks passed, but narva, mindful of former achievements, still held out, and besiegers and besieged alike grew very tired of the weary business of bombarding one another, and longed for something more exciting. then the ingenious spirit of menshikoff devised a plan which promised at least the chance of a few lively moments. early in august the russian troops before the city divided themselves under cover of night into two portions. one half retired out of sight of the city, where they arrayed themselves in swedish uniforms, and returning when it became light, with drums beating and flags flying, fell upon the russian lines, to the intense delight of the beleaguered ones within the city, who imagined that history was here repeating itself, and that charles himself had arrived once more in the nick of time to relieve his faithful city, and to cut the russians to pieces. their delight was still greater when the supposed swedish hosts hotly pressed the russians, who slowly but surely gave way before them towards the walls of the city. so well did the russians perform this wholesale piece of play-acting, that not for one moment did the troops within the city doubt the reality of the victory which their friends outside appeared to be gaining over the besiegers. with the intensest excitement they watched the progress of the fight; and when there was no longer any doubt as to which side was winning, they threw open the gates of narva and sallied out to assist in the rout of the enemy. then the fleeing hosts turned savagely upon them, and what was a thousand times worse, the late assailants of the latter, swedes though they appeared to be, now took sides with their defeated foes and fell upon them also. the brave narva garrison fought well, though they were surprised and demoralized by the deception of which they were the victims. they fell back in good order towards the town; and though they lost several hundreds of their men, they succeeded in getting home again and shutting their gates in the face of the russians, of whom they carried away one or two prisoners. boris had acted as one of the pseudo-swedes, and had fought with his usual dash, both while the cartridges had been blank ones and the swords ash staves, and also afterwards when the curtain fell upon the opening farce and the real play began. he had pressed, at the head of his men, to the very gates of narva, and was fighting desperately to effect an entrance, when something crashed upon him from the walls above, the gates of the city turned black in his eyes, and as he fell senseless at the almost-entered haven, the last retiring squad of swedish soldiers picked him up and carried him into the city, his men vainly struggling to effect a rescue, and many of them falling as he had beneath the showers of large stones and sand-bags hurled upon their heads from above. when boris recovered his senses he found himself in a small cell in the citadel, aching all over, and sick and weary. he was still in the swedish uniform which he had donned for the purpose of carrying out the ruse of menshikoff. a tall swedish guardsman stood at the door. boris was visited during the day by many of the leaders of the garrison troops in narva, and was questioned by them at great length as to matters upon which he had not the remotest intention to enlighten them. one of the officials who thus catechised the poor hunter recognized him as having been the sham pilot in the archangel affair of a year or two ago--the swede having been at that time on board the frigate captured by means of the hunter's successful deception. boris was unwise enough to laugh heartily as the official recalled this circumstance, a proceeding which much incensed his interviewer. it appeared that the commandant of narva and his officers were not in the best of humours, by reason of the trick played upon them by the russians, and were inclined to make an example of boris, especially now that he was recognized as having already outwitted them on a previous occasion. every day boris was examined by the authorities, but all to no purpose. gradually it dawned upon the governor that there was nothing to be done with this long-limbed russian, whose legs stuck out of his swedish garments, and whose tongue could not be induced to wag. he might just as well be hung on the ramparts at once, as a warning to other russian deceivers who presumed to play-act in swedish uniforms. so boris was given to understand that he might prepare for his end, which would be brought about on the gallows, and in the uniform which he had dared to desecrate. even to boris, who believed so implicitly in his own star, this communication came with somewhat of a shock. to be hung on the gallows like a common spy, and in full view of his own people too--for the execution was to take place upon the ramparts--this was rather more than even boris could contemplate with serenity! one thing was certain--he must escape, if he was shot a thousand times in the attempt; anything would be preferable to hanging on a gibbet. but there was no question of escape at present. the window, so called, was too small to admit of the passage of a full-sized human being; and boris was certainly full-size. the door of the cell was but the entrance to a stone corridor which, in its turn, was jealously locked and guarded, and led into a courtyard full of soldiers. besides this, the poor hunter was heavily chained. there could be no talk of escape here. however, they could not rear a gallows in this little room and hang him here; they must take him outside to die--and then! well, then, boris promised himself, he would have a merry five seconds or five minutes with somebody's sword, or, failing that, with his own fists, which he had learned to use with some skill while in england. meanwhile the russians outside the walls were growing deadly tired of this long siege. a new general, a foreigner named ogilvie, had been brought down by the tsar to watch the siege. ogilvie declared that if the russians peppered away at narva until doomsday, in the present disposition of their guns, they would never take the city. the guns must be placed differently. if this were done, and a sharp fire kept up for two days, he would guarantee that the place could be stormed with success on the third day. ogilvie's advice was taken. the guns were brought round to the eastern side of the walls, and a terrific bombardment was commenced and kept up for two days. on the morning of the third day, at sunrise, the tsar, with his new general and a group of officers, was up and about preparing for the attack upon the besieged city which was to take place that day. the fire of the last two days had been marvellously successful, and the tsar was in the best of spirits as he visited the guns which had been so well served on the preceding day. peter distributed rewards among the gunners, and bade them recommence their practice immediately. he swept the walls with his telescope, considering which spot should be selected as the breach to be stormed by his brave soldiers; for there were several weak places, and it would be well to concentrate his fire upon one or two. "ogilvie," said peter, after a prolonged stare through the glass, "what do you make of the erection upon the eastern ramparts? what are they doing? it looks to me more like a crane than anything else--probably to raise stones for patching their walls. they really might save themselves the trouble." ogilvie took the glass. "it's no crane," he said; "it's a gallows. some poor fellow going to be hung, i suppose." "then why on the walls?" said the tsar. "that must be for our edification. they haven't another hummert, have they, or any deserter from us; or--" peter's countenance suddenly changed--"it can't surely be for boris ivanitch! they would never dare!--here, men! a hundred roubles to the gunner who brings down yonder gallows on the walls--fire, quick, every one of you!" crash went the big guns one after the other, sending the stonework flying around the spot indicated, and scattering the crowds of people who could be distinguished surrounding the gibbet; and, finally, a shot struck the gallows itself, either full or at a ricochet, and the erection disappeared. peter gave orders that the fortunate gunner should receive his reward, and hurried away to see after the immediate despatch of the storming party. meanwhile boris, on the evening preceding the events just narrated, had been informed by a friendly sentry that he was to be publicly executed on the following morning. he did not sleep the worse for this information. he had lived up till now with his life in his hand, and had stood many a time face to face with death, and yet survived it. if by the mercy of god he should escape this time also, why, so much the better; if it was decreed that he should die, well, that was no reason why he should fret all night and destroy his nerve, in case it were wanted in the morning. at sunrise boris was led out upon the ramparts; and certainly his heart sank when he caught sight of the gallows upon which these swedish fellows meant to suspend his long body. he was still bound at the wrists as he marched up to the place of execution; but they would not surely hang him in thongs? boris vehemently protested as the final arrangements were being made, imploring the officer of the guard to loose his wrists; but in vain. when all was ready he was seized by soldiers, and in another instant would have been carried to the gibbet and set swinging there, when, at this critical moment, big shot from the russian lines began to fly high and low and in every direction, and soldiers and crowd were scattered in an instant to all points of the compass. [illustration: "bringing up his clenched fists together against the fellow's chin." _page 337._ ] boris thought this a good opportunity to make his first move for freedom. he raised his foot and tripped up one of the men who held him by the arm, the guards with boris between them being in full run at the moment. the man fell. thus freed of one hindrance to his movements, boris quickly turned upon his second custodian, and bringing up his clenched fists together with tremendous force against the fellow's chin sent him flying backwards. the crowd were fortunately too busy rushing hither and thither for shelter from the russian cannon-balls to take much notice of the prisoner and his doings, and boris was able to dodge round the corner of a house and into a yard with a gate to it before his bewildered guards had recovered their feet. kicking the gate shut behind him, boris rushed down the yard and into the back door of a house. here he found himself within a kitchen, in which a woman was busy preparing food, presumably for some one's breakfast boris appealed to her to cut his thongs, which she (he being still in his swedish uniform) immediately did, without asking questions. having heartily thanked the amiable cook, he went back to the yard and prospected through the key-hole of the gate. the russian gunners had made good practice, he observed, during the last few minutes. the crowd was dispersed; the gallows had disappeared--shot away, doubtless; many dead soldiers lay about the walls and in the street below--there was one just outside the yard gate. this was the very opportunity the hunter required. he opened the gate and dragged the man inside, where he despoiled him of his sword. he recognized the fellow as one of the guards from whose hands he had escaped a few minutes since: clearly he had been in the act of following boris into the yard when he was shot down. now boris was ready for anything. if they came to fetch him here, at this gateway--well, it was narrow, and, barring accidents, he thought he could defend it against swords all day! as a matter of fact he was not again molested, for the garrison had enough to do in defending the breaches in their walls from the storming party to have any time to search for the escaped prisoner. when his fellow-officers and the men of his regiment came scouring into the town an hour afterwards, flushed with victory, and on plunder and prisoners intent, some of them rushed into the house which had been the hunter's shelter since the early morning, and there they found our friend boris seated in the kitchen over an excellent breakfast, of which some of them were invited to partake, and waited upon by his benefactress, the swedish cook. chapter xxix. mazeppa. and now the tsar of russia, well satisfied with the success of his arms, was for making peace with the king of sweden. he had made himself master of ingria and livonia, but was ready, if necessary, to restore the latter province if he might be allowed to retain the neva with its two forts of schlã¼sselburg and slotburg. but charles xii. would not hear of peace. he would have the neva forts, he declared, if it should cost him his last soldier to regain them. then peter sent ambassadors to the court of st. james in london, to petition for the mediation of queen anne. but the ambassadors found the british statesmen, as they declared, too diplomatic and tricky for them, and could get no decided answer. then the duke of marlborough was approached, and handsome bids were made for his good offices, if only he would consent to be peacemaker. the tsar offered to the duke the title of prince of siberia, or of kief or vladimir, a large sum of money in gold, and "the finest ruby in europe." marlborough did not at once refuse to act as mediator, but, though he seriously considered the proposition, nothing came of peter's offer, and the matter dropped. then the tsar regretfully realized that there was to be no peace, but that he must make himself ready for war. the year 1705 began with a victory for sweden at gemanerthof, near mitau; but peter, hastening up to the front with fresh troops, stormed mitau and made the honours equal. neither was there much advantage to either side in 1706, though the russians were lucky in retiring from the fortress of grodno, hard pressed by the swedes, without serious misfortune. charles himself had awaited the moment when the russian troops must retire in order to follow them and cut them to pieces, which he probably would have succeeded in doing, but he was delayed for a week by the breaking up of the ice on the river niemen, and this delay saved the russians from destruction. the following year was without military movement on either side, but was spent chiefly in diplomacy--peter striving for peace, charles insisting upon war; and when the year went out, it left the latter young monarch occupied in making preparations for the invasion of russia, and the tsar equally busy in putting his forces into order for the defence of the fatherland. meanwhile boris, after his terrible experiences in narva, had been but little engaged in the few military movements of the following year or two, and had spent most of his time at home in moscow, or rather at karapselka, with nancy and the children. his little wolf-maiden was now seven years old, and there was very little of the wolf about her seemingly; for she was as pretty a child as could be found in all russia. nevertheless she was strangely and passionately devoted to the woods, and was never so happy as when allowed to accompany her father and mother upon their drives into the forest. in the summer time she would spend the entire day there, wandering about among the pines, or lying couched in a heathery bed at their roots. she was never in the least afraid of wild animals, and loved nothing better than to hear repeated the oft-told tale of her own sojourn among the wolves as a helpless baby. if the truth had been known, she longed in her heart to see a big wolf, and she would undoubtedly have offered to play with it then and there had one appeared, without an atom of fear. her little brother boris, aged six, was a fitting companion to this forest-loving maiden. the boy was the bear-hunter in miniature, strong and hearty, and a stranger to all cravenness. nancy and her husband were proud of their children, and were right glad, moreover, to have spent this quiet year with them at karapselka; for the little ones had not seen much of their father during those troublous war-years. next year there would be more fighting--any one with his eye on the signs of the times could see that; indeed, half europe was convinced that 1708 would close with the swedish king dictating terms of peace from the kremlin. why this should have been the opinion of europe it is difficult to say, for the balance of success up to this point had undoubtedly rested with the russian arms; but charles was making great preparations, and was very much in earnest, and his reputation as a successful soldier was very great, and, since he would conduct the new campaign in person, those who knew best made no secret of their conviction that he would carry all before him. as for charles xii., he himself was perfectly sure that there could be but one end to the struggle. he gave out far and wide that russia was to be subdued, and that he intended to do it. she was to be forced to disband her new regular armies, and peter was to be made to restore to the country the streltsi whom he had abolished, and the old order of things generally. the neva was to remain, of course, a swedish river; and as for dorpat and narva, and the rest of the places which his fools of generals had allowed peter to become temporarily possessed of--why, charles would soon make him disgorge them. meanwhile boris was summoned to the tsar, who was busy at st. petersburg building that city under difficulties. peter wished to send him, he said, on a mission to the hetman of the cossacks of the ukraine, to inquire what force the latter could put into the field for the approaching campaign of defence. the hetman bore a name familiar to my readers. he was no other than that mazeppa whom voltaire and byron have made so familiar to readers of poetry as the hero of one of the most romantic episodes ever sung by bard or told as sober truth by historian. i regret to say that the real mazeppa was very far from being the romantic hero he is generally supposed to have been. his ride, strapped to the back of a wild horse and pursued by numbers of wolves, is little better than a myth, though founded upon a slight substratum of truth, as will presently be shown. born of cossack parentage, young mazeppa appears to have served as page to king john casimir of poland about the year 1660, twelve years before the birth of boris; but by reason of his quarrelsome disposition he soon got himself into trouble at court, and retired to his father's estate in volhynia. here again mazeppa fell into disgrace, this time with a neighbouring polish gentleman. this is where mazeppa's ride comes in. the polish neighbour, infuriated at the young cossack, caused his attendants to strip mazeppa of his clothes, and to fasten him with thongs to the back of his own horse. in this undignified and uncomfortable position mazeppa was conveyed to his home, which lay but a mile away, the horse galloping straight to its own stable with its naked master tightly secured to it. after so disgraceful an exposure, mazeppa disappeared, and he is next heard of as a man of light and leading among the cossacks of the ukraine. the ukraine[3] was a sort of no-man's-land, lying between pole, russian, turk, and tartar. to this happy retreat fled, in former years, every kind of freebooter, robber, and bad character who had made his own home, whether in russia or poland or elsewhere, too hot to hold him. these were the first cossacks of the ukraine. as time went on and the cossacks became numerous, large portions of the fertile soil of the country were reclaimed, and a great proportion of the inhabitants gradually settled down as peaceful agriculturists, tilling their own land. those cossacks nearest to poland became independent vassals of the kings of poland, and were called "registered cossacks," because their names were entered in a book as "subjects" of the polish monarch, though they insisted throughout on their absolute independence, and their hetman or chief considered himself the equal of the king, and brooked no condescension or patronage from him. towards the middle of the seventeenth century, however, the cossacks threw off the polish connection and espoused the cause of russia; the tribe having decided by their votes whether they should enrol themselves under the protectorate of russia, poland, or turkey. thus the ukraine became russian territory, and the cossacks, though "preserving their privileges," acknowledged the tsar as their head. this was the position of affairs when mazeppa appeared among the cossacks of the ukraine. at this particular juncture there were two hetmans, one being at the head of that larger half of the population which had embraced the protectorate of russia; the other, chief of a portion of the cossacks who still coquetted with pole and turk and russian, faithful to none of the three, but always on the look-out for betterment. mazeppa became secretary to this latter chief. in this capacity he was, a year or two later, despatched to constantinople with letters to the sultan containing proposals for the transfer of the allegiance of his wavering master from russian to turk. but mazeppa never reached constantinople. he was arrested, papers and all, by agents of the tsar, and carried off to moscow. here, by his diplomatic gifts, mazeppa not only succeeded in exculpating himself, but contrived so deeply to impress the reigning tsar, alexey, peter's father, with a belief in his merits, that both alexey and afterwards peter himself remained his truest friends and benefactors, in spite of every attempt of his enemies--and there were many--to dethrone the idol. mazeppa now realized that the russian was the real "strong man," and that he had espoused the wrong cause. his late employer was arrested and exiled; but a place was found for mazeppa with the rival hetman, russia's faithful vassal, samoilovitch, in whose service he so greatly strengthened his position that in 1687, when galitsin returned from an unsuccessful campaign in the crimea, and in order to shield himself threw the blame upon samoilovitch and his cossacks, who had been employed to assist him, mazeppa found means to overthrow his late chief and to get himself elected in his place as hetman of the cossacks of the ukraine. one of mazeppa's first acts was to hasten to moscow in order to assure the young tsar peter of his loyalty, and, if possible, to make a personal friend of the monarch. in this he proved so successful that, once having accepted and pinned his faith to the cossack chief, peter never could be persuaded to doubt his honesty, in spite of every effort to convince him of mazeppa's perfidy. for many years there was a constant stream of correspondence reaching the tsar from various sources, warning him of the treacherous disposition of his trusted hetman. all these letters peter invariably forwarded to mazeppa, with assurances to the effect that his faith in the latter was quite unshaken. frequently the tsar added that the cossack might consider himself free to deal with his traducers as he pleased. mazeppa was never backward in taking the hint, and many of his enemies were thus removed out of his way, some with great barbarity. as for the rights and wrongs of these matters, it is impossible to judge whether mazeppa was or was not so bad as he was painted. his name is execrated to this day in the national songs and ballads of the ukraine, where his memory appears to be cordially hated, while the names of his enemies are crowned with all the tribute of honour and love that song can offer. an intimate personal acquaintance of mazeppa has placed on record his conviction that the famous hetman was always at heart a pole and detested russia, and that all his life he was on the look-out for a good opportunity of casting off his allegiance, and transferring it to pole or turk or swede, as soon as any one of these should have proved himself the stronger man. at the same time, in justice to mazeppa, it must be mentioned that he undoubtedly received more than one invitation from the king of poland to break with the tsar, and that he invariably forwarded such proposals to moscow for peter's perusal. probably mazeppa was a time-server, and was faithful to russia only so long as russia appeared to be the rock upon which his house was built. as will presently appear, he eventually, in his old age, made the one great mistake of his life, when his political sagacity, which had befriended him and guided him aright for many a long year, at last failed him and brought about the ruin which his treachery undoubtedly deserved. mazeppa received boris with every mark of honour and respect as the tsar's emissary. his court at batourin was that of a king, far more luxurious and refined than that of peter himself; and boris was surprised to see the gorgeousness and magnificence of this man, whom he had been accustomed to think of more as a wild cossack chief than as a monarch surrounded by every luxury and refinement of western civilization. mazeppa spoke with tears in his eyes of his love and devotion for peter, and quite charmed the simple-minded boris by his eloquent declaration that he would rather be the bear-hunter himself (of whom he said he had heard), and be ever about the person of that most marvellous man, his master, than hetman of the cossacks of the ukraine, honourable and dignified though the position might be. to boris's questions as to the forces at his disposal and their loyalty to the cause of russia, mazeppa replied,-"my dear man, i have fifty thousand lances; and i would rather each one was buried in my own flesh than turned against the throne of my brother peter. why has he sent you? does he not know that we are brothers, and more than brothers, and that all that i have is his?" boris was perfectly satisfied. he could not doubt this man, whose voice shook with feeling as he spoke, and whose eyes were filled with tears when he told of his devotion to the great tsar, their beloved master. then mazeppa entertained boris with much talking, of which he was a master, and with a review of those fifty thousand lances of which he had made mention, or as many of them as he could collect at batourin. boris was delighted with their wonderful feats of horsemanship. whole squadrons would dash forward at the charge, the wiry little ponies holding up their heads till their ears touched the cossacks' bending figures; then, suddenly, every man would dip down sideways till his hand swept the ground, and again with one accord the entire body would recover their original position. then a company would gallop past, every man kneeling in his saddle; followed by a second, of which each cossack stood upright. then a body of men would dash by, spring from their saddles while at the gallop, and spring back again. then the entire corps would burst into wild, stirring song, and charge, singing, at an imaginary foe. it was a fine sight, and gave boris much sincere pleasure; and he returned to give his report to the tsar, convinced that in mazeppa and his lances peter possessed a friendly contingent which would prove of immense service during the coming swedish attack. how mazeppa acted, and what is the exact value to be attached to moist-eyed protestations of love and faith from a cossack of the ukraine, will be seen in the following pages. footnote: [3] _russian_, "at the borderland." chapter xxx. russia's great day. in the autumn of 1707, charles xii. made the first move in the great game which was to decide for ever the supremacy of sweden or of her great rival of the north of europe. charles left his camp near altstadt with forty-five thousand men, marching through poland; twenty thousand were sent under lewenhaupt to riga, and fifteen thousand to finland; in all, the swedish king put in the field eighty thousand of the finest troops in the world. passing the winter at grodno, charles appeared early in the following summer at borisof. here he found a russian army ready to contest his passage over the river beresina; but he drove the tsar's troops before him, and defeated them again at moghilef, and a third time at smolensk, which point he reached about september 1708. he was now but ten days' march from moscow, and there is no doubt that, had he pushed straight on at this time, he might have, as he had promised, dictated terms of peace from the kremlin. there is no doubt, also, that the tsar himself began at this period to entertain grave fears for the final outcome of the struggle, and made proposals of peace which would practically have annulled his successes of the past few years. had charles either accepted these terms or marched direct to moscow, the history of russia from that day to this would have been written very differently; but, fortunately for the tsar and for russia, he did neither the one nor the other, and the reason for this was the conviction of a certain individual of whom we have lately heard that the run of luck which had attended the arms of russia had received a check. mazeppa, watching events from his castle at batourin, observed with disquietude the rapid and victorious advance of the dashing young soldier whom all europe at that time hailed as a second alexander of macedon. he saw his lord the tsar, in the person of his advanced guards, driven from pillar to post, and flying before the soldiers of charles like sheep before the sheep-dog; and the politic soul of mazeppa quaked within him. still he waited on, unwilling to take decisive action until there remained no doubt whatever as to the final issue of the struggle. when, however, the swedish hosts arrived at smolensk, mazeppa deemed that the moment had come when it behoved him to declare for the stronger, and he despatched letters secretly to charles at his camp in that city, offering to place at the disposal of the swedish monarch his entire strength of fifty thousand lances. on receiving this communication, charles immediately altered his plans. he quitted the highroad to moscow, and turned aside into the ukraine in order to effect a junction with the cossacks of mazeppa. this movement proved a fatal mistake. the tsar had not been idle during the last few months, and though his troops had met with no success in their efforts to stop the onward march of charles's hosts, peter, with his best officers and an army of about one hundred thousand men, had still to be reckoned with before his majesty of sweden could carry out his threat of dictating peace from the palace in moscow. no sooner had charles turned aside into the ukraine, thereby exposing his flank to the russian attack, than the tsar saw his advantage, and hastened towards the borysthenes, or dnieper, with all the speed he could, at the head of a strong force of fifty thousand picked troops. his object was to cut off the main swedish body from communication with the army of lewenhaupt, which was hastening to join charles in the ukraine, at a distance of twelve days' march behind him. with this force was the whole of charles's supply of provisions, upon which the swedish host relied for its maintenance during the approaching winter. peter, with whom was of course his faithful bear-hunter, in command of the semenofski regiment, fell upon lewenhaupt near the banks of the river borysthenes. for three days a stubborn fight dragged on, and the brave swedes strove to break through the opposing ranks of the equally valiant russians; and when, at length, they cut their way through, and the general joined his master at the river desna, he found himself at the head of but four thousand men--the rest of his army of twenty thousand fine troops being either dead on the battle-field or prisoners in the hands of the enemy, who had captured also all the guns and ammunition, and, worst of all, the invaluable convoy of supplies upon which the troops of charles had relied. this was a great day for the tsar, and he celebrated his victory by a grand te deum in the cathedral at moscow, leaving charles and his famishing troops to winter as best they could in the ukraine, in company with their perfidious ally mazeppa, who, instead of fifty thousand lances, had provided but six thousand in all, the rest either preferring to remain loyal to russia, or else joining charles, but afterwards deserting. the swedish army spent a wretched winter in the ukraine, and charles lost half his men by hunger and cold. before departing for moscow, the tsar demolished mazeppa's castle at batourin; and from that day to this, or until recent years, the name of mazeppa has been solemnly cursed once a year in all the churches of russia. mazeppa was safe with charles, however, having discreetly fled before the tsar appeared, carrying with him two barrels of gold, in which form he had consolidated the greater portion of his possessions. the winter was spent by the tsar, as well as by boris, in busily preparing for the crisis of russia's fate--a crisis which could not now be longer delayed, for the enemy was at the gates, and with the spring would commence to knock loudly for admittance. when the troops were collected and drilled into shape, boris received a signal favour from the tsar in the command of a contingent of these forces, which he was instructed to conduct southwards to pultowa, a fortified city on the river vorskla, which had the advantage of commanding the main road to moscow as well as that of being close to the base of charles's operations. boris had charge of large quantities of provisions and ammunition for the use of the army during the coming season. the trusty hunter safely reached his destination and took over the command of the garrison at pultowa. and none too soon, as it turned out; for early in the spring charles set out upon his march for moscow, and as a first step towards attaining his end, invested the fortress of pultowa, of which he expected to make short work. but charles was not so intimately acquainted with the character of commandant boris as you, reader, and i; and all his efforts to bring the brave bear-hunter and his men to submission were unavailing. on the contrary, he found them perfectly ready and willing to meet him, in so far as fighting at close quarters was concerned, and many a time did the russian troops sally out from behind their protecting walls and give battle to their assailants in the open. on one of these occasions, boris had the honour of crossing swords a second time with his swedish majesty. the two men met at the head of their respective parties, charles being, as usual, on horseback, the hunter afoot. charles recognized his former adversary immediately. "ha!" he cried, "mr. russian, we are old friends surely? there was a matter we left unfinished; come, lay on now. i am on horseback; you shall have the first blow!" boris did not wait for a second invitation, but aimed one of his bravest slashes at the king's head, which the king neatly turned aside, aiming a furious blow at boris in return, which went near to lopping off one of the hunter's ears. then the pair had a cut-and-thrust match, each laying on at his best, until something startled the horse of charles and it swerved aside, just as the sword of boris descended from a vicious sweep at sweden's most precious crest. most unfortunately for charles, the sharp blade caught his foot in its descent and inflicted a painful wound, while at the same moment the horse bolted and the duel came to an indecisive termination. on this occasion, as always, the sortie did no more than vex the besiegers, and the enterprising party of russians were soon driven back. but boris found that his men liked these sorties, as a change from the dulness of the siege, and he was not the man to refuse them their pleasure from prudential motives. but the crisis was now at hand. in june, the tsar, fearing for the safety of pultowa, hastened to the relief of the garrison with a force of nearly sixty thousand men. he crossed the vorskla and established himself upon the same side of that river with the besiegers, arranging his lines so that if the army of charles should attack him and be worsted in the fight they must be driven back to the angle formed by the junction of the vorskla and the borysthenes. here he strengthened his position with redoubts mounted with heavy artillery, and awaited developments; which he could afford to do, for his troops were amply supplied with provisions and ammunition, whereas what was left of charles's force--about twenty-five thousand men--were in a wretched condition by reason of the hardships they had endured for many months while roughing it in the ukraine. the proud charles, hearing that peter intended to attack him, immediately decided to take the initiative and be himself the assailant. still suffering from his wounded foot, he was carried to battle in a litter, and, placing himself at the head of his troops, he advanced to attack the russian redoubts. it was scarcely a fair fight, for peter's force outnumbered that of charles by two to one, besides having the fortress of pultowa with its garrison at their back. but so bravely did the swedes fight that day, that at the first advance they reached and captured the first russian line of defence, and were actually raising cries of victory when the russians, encouraged by the tsar himself, who fought all day at the head of his men, made a tremendous effort and put a new aspect upon the affair. forth from the walls of pultowa poured fresh masses of russians, with boris at their head; the swedes, at the point of victory, wavered, but fought bravely on; the russian guns redoubled their efforts and poured a rain of cannon-balls among the ranks of the assailants; peter called upon his men to make their effort, and like one man the russian host, singing their soldier songs as they went, advanced and drove the swedes before them. in vain the gallant charles was borne up and down the lines in his litter, shouting, fighting, encouraging; in vain mazeppa and his cossacks made charge upon charge--for, in spite of all his faults, it must be admitted that the hetman fought well this day and performed prodigies of valour. the russians would take no denial, but marched steadily forward. and ever as they advanced they drove the swedes before them; and ever as the swedish hosts retired the star of sweden fell lower and lower in the heavens, until, on the evening of pultowa, it sank for ever in the waters of the borysthenes. boris, as well as his master, fought like a lion on this russia's greatest day. his great object during the fight was to come to close quarters with the traitor mazeppa; but though he was able at one moment to arrive within speaking distance, he could not approach close enough to exchange blows. "ha, traitor and liar!" boris had shouted, as mazeppa dashed past at the head of his cossacks, "is this your sworn love and devotion to the tsar? come and answer for your lies!" "my dear man," said the courtly hetman, "the rats leave a falling house. peter should have made a better fight last year. as for meeting you now, i should be delighted, but there is no time for pleasure to-day, i am too busy. _au revoir!_" mazeppa certainly was busy, and it was no fault of his that his side failed to gain the day. soon the battle became a mere rout. the swedes were driven steadily onward towards the angle of the two rivers; and here they were forced to surrender to their pursuers, though a few hundred men, among whom were charles and mazeppa, succeeded in crossing the waters of the borysthenes. about ten thousand had fallen on the field or in the redoubts. that night on the banks of the borysthenes peter pitched his tent in joy and gratitude such as no words can describe. weary as he was with the tremendous exertion and excitement of the day, sleep would not visit the aching eyes or soothe the restless brain of the victorious tsar, and he left his tent and strolled out in the quiet moonlight in order to breathe the cool air of night and enjoy the luxury of a little calm reflection upon the events of the day. the july moon lay upon the face of the river, so lately crossed in hot haste by charles and the traitor mazeppa. what were they doing at this moment, thought peter, and where were they, poor wretches?--hurrying on, probably, in terror for their lives, somewhere in the heart of yonder forest, their hopes turned to despair, their lives spoiled, the greatness of sweden buried for ever in the reddened soil of pultowa field; while he stood here and contemplated the same events from how widely different a standpoint! to them pultowa meant ruin, complete and irretrievable; to him it told of a fatherland saved, of an empire whose foundations this day had been secured for ever, of the removal of an hereditary enemy whose existence as a first-class power in the north of europe must for ever have hampered and prevented the expansion of russia. and then, what a battle it had been! how his men had fought, and how charles's soldiers had fought also, to do them justice! as the conqueror thus mused and watched the moon's broad highway over the water, a man came up and disturbed the tsar's reflections. it was boris. he, too, was unable to sleep after this exciting day, and had wandered down to the river side to cool his heated brow in the fresh night air. peter grasped his old friend's hand solemnly and without a word and wrung it until the bones crunched together; then he took the hunter's arm and walked up and down by the river's bank in silence. "bear-eater," said the tsar at length, "god has been very good to us this day. the neva is safe; we shall have the baltic for our own. you have served me well, my boris, both this day and for many a day--ask what you will of me!" but boris laughed, and said that he had all he desired and there was nothing to ask. "that is well," said peter; "the wisest man is he who is the most contented." after a while the tsar spoke again. "my bear-eater," he said, "i am so happy to-night that i even feel glad poor charles escaped; but not mazeppa--not mazeppa! ha! if i had come within reach of the traitor!" peter burst out laughing. "poor fellow," he said, "poor fellow! he thought charles was our master, my boris--poor charles the twelfth--the new alexander--who is wandering among the wolves and the pine trees, tired and cold and hungry, in yonder forest--poor fellow!" then after a pause, "can you sleep to-night, boris?" he asked. boris could not sleep, he said; he was too much affected by the excitement and wild joy of the battle. "neither can i," said peter. "sit you down here and tell me a stirring wolf tale or two, or a bear story--something which will take us both from the events of the day. this will ease our brains, and we shall sleep after it." so the pair settled themselves upon the bank of the dnieper and watched the moonlight weld its silver ladder over the broad stream, and boris told many tales of adventure--of nancy's bear, and of his little katie carried off by the wolves, and many others. and when he had done, and glanced at his companion, lo! peter--like that other monarch whom byron describes as listening on this very night to mazeppa's tale in the sanctuary of yonder dark forest--peter, tired out with the joys and exertions of this great day, "had been an hour asleep." chapter xxxi. peace at last. the return to moscow was a joyous procession. never had the tsar been so merry, so indulgent to all ranks, and so absolutely free of all traces of his evil temper. charles had escaped into turkish territory, indeed; but what cared peter for that? he was harmless enough now. as for mazeppa, it was a pity he had escaped; but perhaps the sultan would hang him, or if he failed to perform this service, likely enough the wretched man would save others the trouble by doing it himself! in any case he was out of mischief's way. peter offered up thanks for pultowa at every shrine and church and monastery on the route to the capital. further, he gave way to no excessive service of bacchus during this time, but passed his evenings with boris and others of his intimates in song and laughter and tale-telling, using the vodka in moderation. boris became quite an expert spinner of yarns, most of them about his adventures with bears, as befitted his title of the bear-hunter; but the tsar himself occasionally treated his hearers to one of his own reminiscences, many of which were of stirring interest. he told, among others, of an adventure in the forest, when, having lost his way, he overtook a soldier, by whom he was not recognized. with this man he had sought shelter in a lonely hut in mid-forest, which had turned out to be the headquarters of a gang of murderous thieves. here, overcome with weariness, he had fallen asleep in an outhouse, where he had sought repose in company with his new friend. the soldier, however, suspicious of the good faith of his hosts, had preferred to remain awake and watch. during the night, this brave fellow had protected his sleeping companion from the attack of five ruffians, who ascended the ladder one by one and were in turn despatched by the soldier as soon as their heads appeared within the garret window. the tsar added that the man's conduct when he found out whom he had rescued from assassination was more ridiculous than words can describe, as was his delight when he received his promotion to the rank of corporal, together with one thousand roubles in cash. right glorious was the entry into moscow of the victorious pultowa heroes. the church and cathedral bells clanged; flower-decked triumphal arches had been reared in every street; gorgeously robed priests and bishops met the troops and chanted litanies of praise, and sprinkled the ranks with holy water; while the wives and children of the returning soldiers marched alongside, singing and laughing and dancing for joy. nancy was there with her little ones, and boris took both the tiny wolf-maiden and her brother upon the saddle before him; for the hunter was now a general of brigade and rode a fine black charger whose long tail swept the ground. the children chattered in english as they rode and told their father all the news--that katie had caught a young fox at karapselka, and mother had given little boris a new pony from england which had run away with him into the forest and upset him into a morass, spraining his ankle, but he was all right now; with other information of a like nature. those were happy days, and there were happy years to follow. there was war, indeed, for charles by dint of much perseverance persuaded the turk to enter the lists against peter and fight his battles for him; and adventurous war too, for the troops of the tsar suffered defeat on more than one occasion in the disastrous campaign of the pruth, where both the tsar and boris himself were once well-nigh captured by the mussulman enemy, and peter was obliged to surrender the fortress of azof, the capture of which had been the first exploit of russian arms under his flag. but in spite of all this, and of the fact that the tsar was still unable, as the years went on, to conclude a satisfactory peace with sweden, there was more peace than war during the five or six years which followed pultowa, and the building of st. petersburg was the work that occupied most of the sovereign's attention. the greater portion of his time was spent there, superintending the erection of fortress and city, and there he collected a large fleet of both british-made and home-built vessels of war. boris lived in the new city with peter, his house being one of the very first to be erected. nancy and her children joined him on the neva banks, and soon became as ardent sailors as the tsar could desire his subjects to be. as for boris himself, he had plenty of congenial occupation in endeavouring to thin the numbers of the wolves which infested the forests around, and even swarmed into the streets of the half-built city. even as late as 1713, about ten years after the first pile of the new capital had been driven, wolves still occasionally entered the town and carried away children and women during the severe weather, when starvation made them bold; and many were the exciting chases which boris enjoyed after such depredators, and many were the lives he saved of those who had been seized and carried off by the midnight robbers. little katie, now aged twelve years, and her brother, had an exciting adventure at this time. they had been for a sail in the boat which the tsar had given them; but the wind having failed them while still in the gulf, they were somewhat late in returning, and landed at the farther end of the city in order to avoid the necessity of rowing home against the current. it was dusk of a september evening, and the streets through which they had to pass were unfinished and unpopulated; the open country, with the forest but a short distance away, stretching straight from the road on their right, while the river flowed swiftly towards the gulf on their left. of a sudden they became aware of two gray wolves standing in the midst of the muddy road, blocking their passage. neither child was afraid of wolves or of any other wild animal that breathes; but they were unarmed, save for the knife which little boris, like a true son of his father, invariably carried at his side. the children stopped to consult: should they move on, in the hope that the brutes would give way and allow them to pass; or would it be wiser to retire towards the boat and row homewards, in spite of the current? the wolves, however, decided the question for them by opening their savage mouths, showing their business-like teeth, and themselves advancing, in order to carry the war into the enemy's country. "get behind me, katie," said little boris, "i've got my long knife; i'll take care they shan't touch you!" but this was not katie's way. she remained at her brother's side, catching up a thick piece of wood, one of many with which the ground was covered preliminary to road-making. and now occurred a most unaccountable incident. the foremost wolf made a rush at katie, stopped, sniffed at her dress, and slunk aside. the other brute behaved very differently. it sprang towards young boris, who stood up to it and smote bravely at it with his knife, inflicting more than one gash upon nose and head and shoulder. each time it was struck the wolf whined but came on again, until at length, having had enough of little boris and his sharp knife, it too slunk away and joined its companion, and the two trotted off towards the forest. nancy declared, amid sobs and kisses, as the children related their story, that katie could never be hurt by a wolf, for every wolf would know by some mysterious instinct of the relationship which her darling little wolf-maiden bore to his kind, and would not touch her. but that rude man, her husband, laughed loud and long at the very idea of such a thing, as i daresay my reader will also; and yet i am half inclined to believe in nancy's pretty theory, for want of a better. while at st. petersburg, boris took part, for the first time in his life, in a naval engagement. his rank in the navy was now lieutenant, and in this capacity boris sailed out with the tsar one fine morning in the flagship of "rear-admiral peter alexeyevitch" as the tsar loved to style himself, this being his rank in the navy at that time. a swedish fleet had been reported in the gulf, and the russian vessels were now sallying forth to sight the enemy, and if possible to offer them battle. the tsar-admiral not only came upon the enemy, but engaged and overthrew him also, capturing the swedish admiral in person, together with a number of his ships. with his prizes in tow, peter sailed proudly up the neva and landed at the senate steps, where he was met and requested to attend and present to the authorities a report of his engagement with the enemy. after hearing this report, the senate unanimously decided that, in consideration of his services, rear-admiral peter alexeyevitch be promoted then and there to the rank of vice-admiral. thereupon the tsar immediately hurried back to his ship and hoisted the flag of a vice-admiral. nothing in the world could have made peter happier than such recognition of his services as a sailor apart from his position as tsar. boris lived to take the chief part in many adventures both by sea and land. he slew many bears and wolves in all parts of the country, and went through more terrible dangers and sufferings during an ill-omened expedition despatched by his master against khiva and india, than any which i have narrated in the foregoing pages; but the limits of this volume forbid me to enter into any of these, much as i should like to introduce my readers to the ambitions of peter in the indies, and the misfortunes which overtook his arms in those distant parts of the world. perhaps, if the fates will it, i may find occasion to treat of these thrilling matters another day; but the moment has now arrived when i must describe the closing scene in this present tale of the tsar's triumphs and his faithful hunter's adventures. for many years peter laboured his utmost to make such terms of peace with sweden as should secure to him those solid advantages which his victories and his perseverance warranted him in demanding. but ardently as he laboured for peace, sweden, beaten and subdued though she was, still held out for war. at last, when the eighteenth century was already a score of years old, negotiations were entered into at nystad which promised to bring forward a satisfactory result. in feverish anxiety the tsar sailed daily in his yacht about the placid waters of the gulf of finland, on the look-out for that longed-for messenger-boat which should bring him the news that peace was signed. one afternoon, the tsar, with boris and one or two others, cruised thus close to cronstadt, when a small vessel was observed sailing with all speed towards st. petersburg, now the capital city of russia. it was the messenger-boat, and on board was that treaty of peace for which the tsar had fought and negotiated and waited for upwards of twenty years. with this priceless document on board, peter's little yacht fled through the waters; and as it approached the mouth of the neva it fired first one gun and then many, in token of the glorious news it brought. as the yacht raced up the river, banging its guns and flying every inch of bunting it carried, every gun in the metropolis responded, and every house mounted its flag and sent out its cheering contribution to the thronged streets of the city; for all understood the meaning of the tsar's noisy little vessel flitting up the neva in this way. it meant that war was over, and that russia had leave to grow and prosper and develop. oxen were roasted whole in the large square in front of the senate, and the tsar himself carved and dispensed the meat to all who came. in the evening a display of fireworks was given, and here again peter, in his capacity of all things to all men, personally superintended the fun and himself fired off the rockets. the senators assembled and proclaimed new titles for their adored sovereign, the maker of russia: he should be known henceforth as "emperor," in place of tsar, and to all time he should be called "the great," and "father of his people." that evening there were banquets throughout the city, and the joy of the populace was shown in every way in which a happy people can demonstrate their delight; for all were weary of war and bloodshed, and longed for peace as ardently as their sovereign himself. lastly, there was a grand procession to the cathedral of st. isaac--or rather, this came first though i mention it last; a procession of a fervent, thankful population. the crowds in the streets all joined in as it approached them, and the tsar walked with the priests and sang and chanted with them as one of themselves. when the procession reached the steps of the cathedral, and the tall tsar stood upon the highest and faced the multitude, a great shout of joy and praise rang out, such as had not been heard in all russia before that day; and when, the shouting being ended, the tsar raised his hand and would speak to the multitude, all were silent to listen. then peter the great raised both arms high over his head,-"_sursum corda! sursum corda!_" cried the emperor. "lift up your hearts, o my people!" and all the people with one voice made answer,-"we lift them up unto the lord!" the end. kingston's (w. h. g.) books for boys. crown 8vo volumes, gilt edges, price 5s. each. cloth extra, uniform binding, 3s. 6d. each. =in the wilds of africa.= with upwards of seventy illustrations. an interesting account of the adventures of a shipwrecked party who are landed on the west coast of africa, and make their way to the south through many dangers. gives much valuable information respecting the animals, scenery, people, and products of africa. =in the eastern seas=; or, the regions of the bird of paradise. a tale for boys. one hundred and eleven illustrations. a tale of voyage and adventure among the islands of the malay archipelago, with descriptions of scenery and objects of natural history. =old jack.= a sea tale. with sixty-six illustrations. an old sailor's account of his own adventures, during times of peace and of war, in many parts of the world--privateering, whale-fishing, etc. =the south sea whaler.= a story of the loss of the _champion_, and the adventures of her crew. with upwards of thirty illustrations. a tale of mutiny and shipwreck in the south seas, the captain having his son and daughter on board with him. =a voyage round the world.= with forty-two illustrations. a young sailor's account of his own adventures by sea and land, the scenes being laid chiefly in south america, the south sea islands, and japan. =the young rajah.= a story of indian life and adventure. with upwards of forty full-page illustrations. a story of the indian mutiny; the hero a young indian prince, who had received an english education and become a christian. =on the banks of the amazon=; or, a boy's journal of his adventures in the tropical wilds of south america. profusely illustrated. in the course of the narrative some of the numberless animals, as well as a few of the most interesting of the vegetable productions, of the amazonian valley are described. =in the wilds of florida.= with thirty-seven illustrations. a tale of warfare and hunting. =my first voyage to southern seas.= fifty-two illustrations. a young sailor's story, describing cape colony, ceylon, aden, etc. =saved from the sea=; or, the loss of the _viper_, and the adventures of her crew in the great sahara. with thirty full-page illustrations. a young sailor's account of his adventures, along with three shipwrecked comrades. =twice lost.= with thirty-six illustrations. a young sailor's story of shipwreck, and perilous adventures in the wilds of australia; which is the more interesting from the fact that he was accompanied by his father, mother, and sister. =the wanderers=; or, adventures in the wilds of trinidad and up the orinoco. with thirty full-page illustrations. =the young llanero.= a story of war and wild life in venezuela. with forty-four illustrations. a thrilling and fascinating narrative of adventures in south america during the struggle for independence between the state of colombia and the spaniards. t. nelson and sons, london, edinburgh, and new york. r. m. ballantyne's books for boys. each with finely coloured frontispiece and title page. post 8vo, cloth extra. price 2s. 6d. each. cheaper edition in cloth, price 2s. and 1s.; and in paper covers, 6d. mr. j. m. barrie says of "the coral island":--"for the authorship of that book i would joyously swop all mine. if there is a parent who has not given it to his son (or does not do so within eight days from now), he should at the least be turned out of his club. many men, no doubt, become parents in order to give 'the coral island' to their sons. jack, ralph, and peterkin, i salute you, and hope you are all a fond memory recalls. not since my schooldays have i met you, but i know what was in the pockets of the three of you the day you landed on that island better than i know the contents of my own to-day, and your wondrous cave is more to me than the strand." =the coral island.= a tale of the pacific. "no boy could be expected to respect another boy who had not read ballantyne's bewitching book 'the coral island.'"--gavin ogilvy, in _the british weekly_. =the gorilla hunters.= a tale of the wilds of africa. a sequel to "the coral island," and of as entrancing interest. =the dog crusoe and his master.= a story of adventure on the western prairies. "all the tales bear the stamp of the master hand. here we rove amid the wilds of the west, hunt the buffalo and the grizzly bear, are chased and captured by indians, and make a clever escape."--_perthshire courier._ =martin rattler.= a boy's adventures in the forests of brazil. "one of the best of this delightful and popular author's books."--_scotsman._ =ungava.= a tale of esquimau land. "any one who wants boys to believe that there is a better writer of boys' books than mr. r. m. ballantyne must shout very loud. 'ungava' takes us to esquimau land, and illustrates the phases of the fur-trader's life in the wild regions which surround hudson bay."--_sheffield telegraph._ =the young fur-traders=; or, snowflakes and sunbeams from the far north. =the world of ice.= adventures in the polar regions. =hudson bay=; or, everyday life in the wilds of north america, during a six years' residence in the territories of the hon. hudson bay company. with memoir of the author, and portrait. also twenty-nine illustrations drawn by bayard and other artists, from sketches by the author. "the death of mr. r. m. ballantyne is the close of a long and busy and distinguished literary career. the news will have been received with regret by the many readers whom mr. ballantyne's books have stirred and stimulated and charmed. they were written avowedly for boys, but they have been caught up eagerly by readers of every age, old and young alike, and when once taken in hand have seldom been laid down again until the last page had been reached."--_the times_ (obituary notice, 1894). hayens's (herbert) books for boys. price 6s. each. =for the colours.= a historical sketch of the british army. with coloured frontispiece and thirty-two illustrations by archibald webb and other well-known artists. crown 8vo, bevelled boards, cloth extra, gilt top. =ye mariners of england.= a boys' book of the navy. profusely illustrated. crown 8vo, bevelled boards, cloth extra, gilt top. _tales of adventure._ crown 8vo, bevelled boards, cloth extra, gilt top, price 5s. each. =at the point of the sword.= a new story for boys. illustrated by r. payton reid, a.r.s.a. =a captain of irregulars.= a stirring tale of war and adventure in chili. with six illustrations by sidney paget. =clevely sahib.= a tale of the khyber pass. with eight illustrations by j. williamson. =an emperor's doom=; or, the patriots of mexico. with eight illustrations by a. j. b. salmon. =a fighter in green.= a tale of algeria. with nine illustrations by r. talbot kelly, r.b.a. =in the grip of the spaniard.= with nine illustrations by wal paget. =red, white, and green.= illustrated by arch. webb. =under the lone star.= with eight illustrations by w. s. stacey. =a vanished nation.= a tale of fighting in paraguay. with six illustrations by w. b. wollen, r.i. price 3s. 6d. each. =the british legion.= a tale of the carlist war. with six illustrations by w. h. margetson. =scouting for buller.= a story of the south african war. with coloured illustrations. t. nelson and sons, london, edinburgh, and new york. the boys' own library. post 8vo, cloth extra. price 2s. each. three books by m. douglas. =across greenland's ice-fields.= the adventures of nansen and peary on the great ice-cap. =breaking the record.= the story of three arctic expeditions. =the white north.= with nordenskiã¶ld, de long, and nansen. with illustrations. =after years.= a story of trials and triumphs. by j. w. bradley. with illustrations. =culm rock=; or, ready work for willing hands. a book for boys. by j. w. bradley. with illustrations. =among the turks.= by verney lovett cameron, c.b., d.c.l., commander royal navy, author of "jack hooper," etc. with illustrations. =archie digby=; or, an eton boy's holidays. by g. e. wyatt, author of "harry bertram and his eighth birthday." =as we sweep through the deep.= a story of the stirring times of old. by gordon stables, m.d., r.n. with illustrations. =at the black rocks.= a story for boys. by the rev. edward a. rand, author of "margie at the harbour light," etc. =the battle of the rafts.= and other stories of boyhood in norway. by h. h. boyesen. =a fortune from the sky.= by skelton kuppord, author of "the uncharted island," etc. illustrated by robert hope. =great explorers.= an account of exploration and travel in many lands. with thirty-two full-page illustrations. =gunpowder treason and plot=, and other stories for boys. by harold avery, fred. whishaw, and r. b. townshend. with fourteen illustrations. =lost in the wilds of canada.= by eleanor stredder, author of "the merchant's children," etc. =the lost squire of inglewood=; or, adventures in the caves of robin hood. a boy's story of adventure. by dr. jackson. illustrated by walter g. grieve. =the romance of the south pole.= antarctic voyages and explorations. by g. barnett smith. with twelve illustrations. =soldiers of the queen=; or, jack fenleigh's luck. a story of the dash to khartoum. by harold avery, author of "frank's first term," etc. =vandrad the viking=; or, the feud and the spell. a tale of the norsemen. by j. storer clouston. with six illustrations by hubert paton. =the willoughby boys.= by emily c. hartley. t. nelson and sons, london, edinburgh, and new york. good purpose tales and stories. post 8vo, cloth extra. price 2s. =a little cockney.= a story for girls. by miss gaye, author of "dickie winton," "all's well that ends well." illustrated. a very simple story, giving some of the real impressions and recollections of a london child. =look at the bright side.= a tale for the young. by the author of "little sunbeams." a tale showing the fault and misfortune of a fearful, foreboding spirit, and the happiness of cheerful trust in god. =madamscourt=; or, the adventures of a fugitive princess. a new story for girls. by h. may poynter, author of "a merry heart," etc. illustrated by r. farquhar. a wholesome and vigorous tale, dealing with the romantic and adventurous escape of princess sobieskã , who journeys across the alps to bologna, and is there married to prince james francis stuart. the story is extremely interesting, and will fully repay perusal. =mark hamilton's daughters.= by a. fraser robertson. this story of two sisters will be found most interesting by older girls. there is a great contrast between the characters of hilda and elma. =mark marksen's secret.= a tale. by jessie armstrong, author of "dan's little girl," etc. =martin's inheritance=; or, the story of a life's chances. a temperance tale. by e. van sommer, author of "lionel franklin's victory," etc. =the merchant's children.= a story for the young. by e. stredder, author of "alive in the jungle," etc. "we heartily commend this interesting book to our young readers."--_literary world._ =the robber baron of bedford castle.= a story of the 13th century. by albert j. foster, m.a., vicar of wootton, bedfordshire, and e. e. cuthell. "the story is full of life and incident, awkward situations and underground passages, and is, moreover, interwoven with a romantic love story."--_christian world._ =salome=; or, "let patience have her perfect work." by mrs. emma marshall, author of "mrs. haycock's chronicles," etc. an interesting tale for young people. trials form the true test of character; and one member of a family, by self-denying energy, may do much for all the others. =sir aylmer's heir.= a story for the young. by e. everett-green, author of "winning the victory," etc. tells in a touching and interesting way how a "little one" was the means of leading a selfish and worldly man into the way of truth and of doing good. "=whatsoever!=" an everyday story. by m. a. paull, author of "tim's troubles," "the children's tour," etc. "the author drives her teaching home with power, and the story is brightly written, as becomes a book so full of moral ozone."--_christian leader._ t. nelson and sons, london, edinburgh, and new york. self-effort series. price 3s. 6d. each. =men who win=; or, making things happen. by w. m. thayer, author of "from log cabin to white house," etc. =women who win=; or, making things happen. by w. m. thayer, author of "from log cabin to white house," etc. =the achievements of youth.= by the rev. robert steel, d.d., ph.d., author of "lives made sublime," etc. =lives made sublime by faith and works.= by rev. robert steel, d.d., ph.d., author of "doing good," etc. =self-effort=; or, the true method of attaining success in life. by joseph johnson, author of "living in earnest," etc. =the secret of achievement.= a book designed to teach that the highest achievement is that which results in noble manhood and womanhood; that there is something greater than wealth, grander than fame; that character is the only success. by orison swett marden, author of "architects of fate," etc. illustrated with portraits of eminent persons. =noble women of our time.= by joseph johnson, author of "living in earnest," etc. with accounts of the work of misses de broã«n, whately, carpenter, f. r. havergal, sister dora, etc. =architects of fate=; or, steps to success and power. by orison swett marden, author of "pushing to the front; or, success under difficulties." with eight illustrations. =earnest men=: their life and work. by the late rev. w. k. tweedie, d.d. =famous artists.= michael angelo--leonardo da vinci--raphael--titian--murillo--rubens--rembrandt. by sarah k. bolton. =fritz of prussia.= germany's second emperor. by lucy taylor, author of "going on pilgrimage," etc. =heroes of the desert.= the story of the lives of moffat and livingstone. by the author of "mary powell." new and enlarged edition, with numerous illustrations and two portraits. t. nelson and sons, london, edinburgh, and new york. "red rose" library of choice books. a carefully-selected list of copyright works. specially suitable for gift-book, lending library, and p.s.a. purposes. crown 8vo, beautifully bound in cloth extra, artistic cover design. price 2s. 6d. each. =a thorny way.= by mary bradford whiting. =through storm to sunshine.= by w. j. lacey. =tim's troubles=; or, tried and true. by m. a. paull. =true hearts make happy homes.= the story of the vivians of woodiford. by m. a. paull. =true to his colours=; or, the life that wears best. by the rev. t. p. wilson, m.a. =true to the last=; or, my boyhood's hero. by e. everett-green. =with the admiral of the ocean sea.= a narrative of the first voyage to the western world. drawn mainly from the diary of christopher columbus. by charles paul mackie. =the young huguenots=; or, the soldiers of the cross. a story of the seventeenth century. by "fleur de lys." books about wild flowers. by m. c. cooke, ll.d. post 8vo, cloth extra. price 1s. 6d. each. =around a cornfield in a ramble after wild flowers.= by uncle matt. with twenty-six illustrations and a beautiful coloured picture. =across the common after wild flowers.= by uncle matt. with forty-two illustrations and a beautiful coloured picture. =down the lane and back in search of wild flowers.= by uncle matt. with twenty-three illustrations and a beautiful coloured picture. =a stroll on a marsh in search of wild flowers.= by uncle matt. with twenty-five illustrations and a beautiful coloured picture. =through the copse.= another ramble after flowers with uncle matt. with twenty-three illustrations and a beautiful coloured picture. "the author aims at writing such books as shall prove interesting as well as amusing to little folk.... those who like reliable information conveyed in an informal manner should appreciate dr. cooke's style."--_gardener's chronicle._ t. nelson and sons, london, edinburgh, and new york. the 'royal' libraries of reward books in uniform bindings. containing a selection of messrs. nelson and sons' popular copyright tales and standard books by the best authors. _the 'royal' two shilling library._ =chronicles of the schã¶nberg-cotta family.= by mrs. rundle charles. =the spanish brothers.= by deborah alcock. =leonie=; or, light out of darkness. by annie lucas. =isabel's secret=; or, a sister's love. by the author of "the story of a happy little girl." =ivanhoe.= by sir walter scott. =the triple alliance.= by harold avery. =the uncharted island.= by skelton kuppord. =in palace and faubourg.= by c. j. g. =maud melville's marriage.= by evelyn everett-green. =kenilworth.= by sir walter scott. _the 'royal' eighteenpenny library._ =the young rajah.= by w. h. g. kingston. =boris the bear-hunter.= by fred. whishaw. =afar in the forest.= by w. h. g. kingston. =on angels' wings.= by hon. mrs. greene. =for the queen's sake.= by e. everett-green. =winning the victory.= by e. everett-green. =one summer by the sea.= by j. m. callwell. =esther's charge.= by evelyn everett-green. =dulcie's little brother.= by e. everett-green. =salome.= by mrs. emma marshall. _the 'royal' shilling library._ =the coral island.= by r. m. ballantyne. =the gorilla hunters.= by r. m. ballantyne. =ungava.= by r. m. ballantyne. =the grey house on the hill=; or, trust in god and do the right. by the hon. mrs. greene. =sir aylmer's heir.= by evelyn everett-green. =at the black rocks.= by edward a. rand. =soldiers of the queen.= by harold avery. =the golden house.= by the author of "the swedish twins." =the robber baron of bedford castle.= by a. j. foster and e. e. cuthell. =mark marksen's secret.= by jessie armstrong. t. nelson and sons, london, edinburgh, and new york. transcriber's notes =bold face= font indicated thus. obvious punctuation errors repaired. the capitalization of "bear-eater" and "bear-hunter" is inconsistent but has not been changed. hyphen added: "hand-cart" (p. 196). hyphen removed: "outdoor" (p. 11), "schoolboy" (p. 140), "seaport" (pp. 58, 316). p. 34: duplicate "that" removed (stating that somebody proposed to deprive). bruin, by captain mayne reid. ________________________________________________________________________ the story told is quite good one, but is rather spoilt by the author's insistence on showing how clever he is by calling the animals and plants that appear in the story, by their latin names. two young brothers, the sons of a russian nobleman, ask their father if they may spend a while travelling the world. he agrees, but lays down two conditions: one, that they should bring back the skins, in good condition, of every species of bear there is; two, that they should proceed from east to west, or from west to east, without doubling back on their tracks, except, of course, while actually engaged in the chase. the boys, for they are still in their teens, accept the conditions, and set off westward, visiting all sorts of interesting places in europe and elsewhere, and gathering numerous bearskin trophies on the way. oddly enough they never go to australia, but maybe the koala bear is not a bear, within the definition of the word. they take with them an old retired guardsman, pouchskin, who looks after them generally, and takes a lot of the knocks of the journey. eventually they return home, where the boys are lauded as heroes, and pouchskin returns to obscurity. ________________________________________________________________________ bruin, by captain mayne reid. chapter one. the palace grodonoff. on the banks of the neva, near the great city of saint petersburg, stands a splendid palace, known as the palace grodonoff. it is the property of a russian nobleman of that name, as it is also his place of residence. were you to drive up to the front gate of this grand palace, you would see a coat-of-arms sculptured in granite over the entrance. in this piece of sculpture, the principal and most striking figure is a bear, with the blade of a knife buried in his breast, the haft being clutched by a human hand! open the gate, and enter the spacious courtyard. inside, on the right and left, you will observe two live bears--both of chestnut-brown colour, and each of them as big as a buffalo. you cannot fail to notice them, for, ten chances to one, they will rush towards you with fierce growls; and were it not that a strong chain hinders them from reaching you, you might have reason to repent having entered the courtyard of the palace grodonoff. look around you in the courtyard and over the different doors that open upon it; you will again see the crest of the bear, sculptured in stone; you will see it over the stables, the coach-house, the granary, the kitchens,-everywhere. you may know by all this, that it is the coat-of-arms of the baron grodonoff, whose crest is a bear with a blade buried in its breast, and a human band clutching the haft. you will naturally conclude that there is some history connected with this singular tableau--that it is the commemoration of some deed done by a grodonoff, entitling him to use the bear as his heraldic device. this is quite true; and if you enter the picture-gallery of the palace, you will there behold the deed more explicitly represented, in a large oil-painting hung conspicuously in the centre of the wall. the scene of this painting is a forest of old trees, whose grey, gnarled trunks stand thickly over the ground. there is only a little open space or glade in the middle; and this is occupied by three figures, two men and a bear. the bear is between the two men; or, rather, one of the men is prostrate upon the ground--where he has been struck down by a blow from bruin's paw--while the huge animal stands over him reared up on his hind quarters. the other man is upon his feet, apparently engaged in a desperate wrestle with the fierce brute, and likely to prove the conqueror--as he has already buried the blade of a large hunting-knife in the animal's breast, and directly over the region of its heart. indeed, the shaggy monster already shows signs of succumbing. his paw has dropped from the shoulder of his antagonist, his long tongue lolls out, the blood rushes from his mouth and nostrils, and it is evident that his strength is fast forsaking him, and that he will soon sink lifeless upon the earth. you will notice that the two men who figure in the painting are very dissimilar in appearance. both are young men, and both are in hunting costume; but so unlike in their dress, that you could not fancy they followed the same occupation. he upon the ground is richly attired. he wears a tunic of finest green cloth slashed with sable fur on the skirt, collar, and sleeves; his limbs are encased in breeches of white doeskin; and his boots, reaching nearly to his thighs, are of soft russet leather, ample at the tops. a belt around his waist is richly embroidered; and the hilt of a short hunting-sword, protruding from the sheath, appears chased and studded with jewels. a light plumed hat lies upon the ground near his head--evidently tossed off in the struggle--and beside it is a boar-spear that has been jerked out of his fingers as he fell. the whole costume is similar to that used upon the stage--when some young german or sclavonian prince is represented as hunting the wild boar in the forests of lithuania. in reality it is a prince who is depicted in the group of the gallery grodonoff--but not a german prince. he is a russian, and the bear is the russian bear. the other hunter--he who had given its death-blow to the fierce quadruped--is dressed in a style entirely different. it is the costume of a fur-hunter--a trapper of sables--and consists of skin coat and cap, with a strong leathern belt round his waist, and rough boots of untanned hide upon his legs and feet. the costume is rude, and bespeaks him a peasant; but his face, as the painter has represented it, is neither common nor ill-looking. it is not so handsome as that of the prince: for he would be an unskilful artist--one utterly reckless of his own fortune--who should paint the features of a peasant as handsome as those of a prince. in russia, as elsewhere, such an imprudent painter would be a _rara avis_ indeed. the picture of which we are speaking is the _piece de resistance_ of the grodonoff gallery. its size and conspicuous position declare the fact; and the story attached to it will show that it merits the distinction. but for that picture, or rather the scene which it represents, there would be no grodonoff gallery--no palace--no baron of the name. paintings, palace, title, all have their origin in the incident there represented--the battle with the bear. the story is simple and may be briefly told. as, already stated, he upon his back, hat off, and spear detached from his grasp, is a russian prince--or rather was one, for at the time when our history commences he is an emperor. he had been hunting the wild boar; and, as often happens to sporting princes, had become separated from his courtier attendants. the enthusiasm of the chase had led him on, into the fastnesses of the forest, where he came suddenly face to face with a bear. princes have their hunter ambition as well as other men; and, in hopes of tailing a trophy, this one attacked the bear with his boar-spear. but the thrust that might have penetrated the flesh of a wild boar, had no effect upon the tough thick hide of bruin. it only irritated him; and as the brown bear will often do, he sprang savagely upon his assailant, and with his huge paw gave the prince such a "pat" upon the shoulder, as not only sent the spear shivering from his grasp, but stretched his royal highness at full length upon the grass. following up his advantage, the bear had bounded forward upon the prostrate body; and, no doubt, in the twinkling of a bedpost would have made a corpse of it--either squeezing the breath out of it by one of his formidable "hugs," or tearing it to pieces with his trenchant teeth. in another moment the hope of russia would have been extinguished; but, just at this crisis, a third figure appeared upon the scene--in the person of a young hunter--a _real_ one--who had already been in pursuit of the bear, and had tracked him up to the spot. on coming upon the ground, the hunter fired his gun; but, seeing that the shot was insufficient, he drew his knife and rushed upon the bear. a desperate struggle ensued, in which, as may be already anticipated, the young hunter proved victorious--having succeeded in sheathing his blade in the heart of the bear, and causing the savage quadruped to "bite the dust." neither the prince nor the peasant came scathless out of the encounter. both were well scratched; but neither had received any wound of a serious nature; and the amateur hunter rose once more to his feet, conscious of having made a very narrow escape. i need not add that the prince was profuse in his expressions of gratitude to him who had saved his life. the young hunter was not one of his own party, but a stranger to him, whose home was in the forest where the incident occurred. but their acquaintance did not end with the adventure. the prince became an emperor--the peasant hunter a lieutenant in the imperial guard, afterwards a captain, a colonel, a general, and finally a baron of the empire! his name? grodonoff,--he in whose palace hangs the picture we have described. chapter two. the baron grodonoff. in one of the apartments of the palace grodonoff, behold its proprietor, the baron himself! he is seated in an old oak chair, with a heavy table of the same material in front of him. on the table is spread out a map of the world; and by the side of the chair stands a large terrestrial globe. several shelves standing against the wails contain books; and yet the apartment is not a library in the proper sense of the word: rather is it a large oblong saloon; having three of its sides occupied by spacious glass cases, in which are exhibited objects of natural history,--birds, quadrupeds, reptiles, and insects,--all mounted in proper form and arranged in due order. it is, in fact, a museum,--a private collection--made by the baron himself; and the books that fill the shelves are works relating to natural history alone. in a man of military aspect--an old veteran with snow-white hair, and grand moustaches of like hue--such as he who is seated at the table--you would scarce expect to meet the lover of a study so pacific in its character as that of natural history? rather would you look to find him pouring over plans of fortifications, with the pages of yauban spread open before him; or some history detailing the campaigns of suwarrow, diebitsch, paskiewitch or potemkin? in this instance, however, appearances were deceptive. though the baron had proved an excellent military officer, and seen service, he was a student of nature. his early years, spent as a hunter, had begot within him a taste for natural history; which, as soon as the opportunity offered, had become developed by study and research. it was now no longer a predilection, but a passion; and in his retirement nearly the whole of his time was devoted to his favourite study. a vast fortune, which his grateful sovereign had bestowed upon him, enabled him to command the means for gratifying his taste; and the magnificent collection by which he was surrounded gave evidence that no expense was spared in its gratification. it was a map and globe of the world that now occupied his attention. could these have reference to a question of natural history? in an indirect manner they had,--and what follows will account for their presence. a hand-bell stood upon the table. the baron rang it; and before its tingling had ceased, the door opened, and a servant entered the apartment. "summon my sons to attend me!" the servant bowed, and retired. a few minutes after, two youths entered the apartment. they appeared to be of the respective ages of sixteen and eighteen. one, the elder and taller, was of a darkish complexion, with brown waving hair, and hazel eyes. the expression of his countenance was that of a youth of firm and rather serious character; while the style of his dress, or rather his manner of wearing it, showed that he was altogether without vanity in matters of personal appearance. he was handsome withal, having that aristocratic air common to the nobility of russia. this was alexis. the younger brother differed from him as much as if no kinship existed between them. he was more the son of his mother, the baroness; while alexis inherited the features and a good deal of the disposition of his father. ivan was a fair-haired lad, with golden locks curling over a forehead of bright blonde complexion, and cheeks that exhibited the hue of the rose. his eyes were of a deep azure-blue--such as is often seen among the sclavonic races--and their quick sparkle told that in the breast of ivan there beat a heart brimming with bright thoughts, and ever ready for mischief and merriment, but without any admixture of malice. both approached their father with a serious expression of countenance. that of alexis bespoke sincerity; while ivan stole forward with the air of one who had been recently engaged in some sly mischief, and who was assuming a demure deportment with the design of concealing it. a word about these two youths, and the object for which their father had summoned them into his presence. they had now been each of them more than ten years engaged in the study of books, under some of the ablest teachers that russia could furnish. their father himself had given much time to their instruction; and, of course, an inclination to their minds similar to that which characterised his own, but chiefly to the mind of alexis. the latter had imbibed a fondness for the study of nature, while ivan was more given to admire the records of stirring events, with a strong _penchant_ for the splendours of the world, in which he felt longing to bear a part. the nature of the books which had passed through their hands--a great number of them being books of travel--had begotten within these youths a wish to see the world, which, increasing each day, had grown into an eager desire. this desire had been often expressed in hints to their father; but at length, in a more formal manner, by means of a written petition, which the boys, after much deliberation, had drawn up and presented to him, and which was now seen lying open before him upon the table. the petition was simply their united request, that their father would be so good as to allow them to travel and see foreign countries--where, and how, to be left to his wise guidance and discretion. it was to receive an answer to this petition, that his sons were now summoned into his presence. chapter three. the sealed orders. "so, my youngsters!" said the baron, directing his glance upon them, "you have a desire to to travel? you wish to see the world, do you?" "true, papa!" modestly answered alexis; "our tutor tells us that we are sufficiently educated to go abroad; and, if you have no objection, we should very much like to make a tour." "what! before going to the university!" "why, papa! i thought you were not going to send us to the university for some time to come? did you not say, that a year of travelling was worth ten at a university?" "perhaps i may have said so; but that depends upon _how_ one travels. if you travel merely to amuse yourselves, you may go over all the world, and come back no wiser than when you started! i have known many a man return from a circumnavigation of the globe, without bringing with him the knowledge of a single fact that he might not have obtained at home. you would expect to travel in snug railway-carriages, and comfortable steam-ships, and sleep in splendid hotels--is that your expectation?" "oh no, papa! whatever way you may direct, that will be agreeable to me," said alexis. "as for me," rejoined ivan, "i'm not particular. i can rough it, i'm sure." there was a little flavour of _bravado_ in the manner of ivan's speech, that showed he was scarce inclined to the roughing system, and that he merely assumed the swaggering air, because he had no belief that he would be called upon to make trial of it. "if i permit you to travel," continued the baron, "where would you like to go? you, alexis! to what part of the world would your inclination lead you?" "i should like to see the new world of america--its noble rivers, and forests, and mountains. i should certainly visit america, if it were left to my choice; but i shall be guided by you, papa, and do as you direct." "you, ivan?" "paris, for me, of all places in the world!" replied ivan, without any suspicion that the answer would be displeasing to the father. "i might have known so," muttered the baron, with a slight frown clouding his forehead. "o papa!" added ivan, noticing the shade of displeasure which his answer had produced; "i don't care particularly about paris. i'll go anywhere--to america, if alexis likes it best--_all round the world_ for that matter." "ha! ha! ha!" laughed the baron; "that sounds better, ivan; and, since you offer no objection to it, _all round the world you shall go_." "indeed? i'm glad to hear it," said alexis. "what! visit all the great cities of the world?" exclaimed ivan, whose mind was evidently occupied with the delights of great cities. "_so_" replied his father; "it is just that which i do not intend you shall do. there is a great deal to be learnt in cities, but much that would be better not learnt at all. i have no objection to your passing through cities--for you must needs do so on your journey--but one of the conditions which i shall prescribe is, that you make stay in no city, longer than you can arrange for getting out of it. it is through _countries_ i wish you to travel--amidst the scenes of nature--and not in towns and cities, where you would see very little more than you can in saint petersburg itself. it is nature i wish you to become acquainted with, and you must see it in its most primitive forms. there only can you appreciate nature in all its sublimity and grandeur." "agreed, papa!" exclaimed both the boys at once. "which way do you wish us to go?" "all round the world, as ivan has suggested." "oh, what a long voyage! i suppose we shall cross the atlantic, and then by the isthmus of panama to the pacific; or shall we go as magellan went, around cape horn?" "neither way--i wish you to make great journeys by land, rather than voyages by sea. the former will be more instructive, though they may cost more time and toil. remember, my sons! i do not send you forth to risk your lives without a purpose. i have more than one purpose. first, i wish you to complete your studies of natural science, of which i have taught you the elements. the best school for this is the field of nature herself, which you shall explore in your travels. secondly, as you both know, i am fond of all natural objects, but especially those that have life--the beasts of the field and the birds of the air; these you must observe in their native haunts, with their habits and modes of existence. you will keep a journal of all facts and events that may be worth noting down, and write out in detail such adventures as may occur to you upon your route, and you think may prove interesting to me to read on your return. i shall provide you with ample means to accomplish your journey; but no money is to be wasted by idly sojourning in large cities: it must be used only for the necessary expenses of your travels. the emperor has been kind enough to give you a circular letter, which will get you funds and such other assistance as you may require from his agents in all parts of the world." "we promise, dear father, strictly to adhere to your instructions. but whither do you desire us to go?" alexis asked the question. the baron paused for some time before making reply. then, drawing from his desk a sealed paper, which showed signs of having been but recently folded, he gravely said as he held it towards them-"in this document you will find the conditions upon which i give you permission to travel. i do not ask you to agree to them, until you have carefully examined and reflected upon them. you will therefore retire to your room, read this document over, and, having given its contents due consideration, return, and signify whether you accept the terms; for if not, there is to be no travelling." "_by the great peter_!" whispered ivan to alexis, "they will be hard indeed if we don't accept them." alexis took the paper, and both, bowing to their father, retired to their own apartment. the seal was immediately broken and not without some surprise did they peruse the contents of the document. it was in the form of an epistle, and ran thus:-"my sons alexis and ivan!--you have expressed a desire to travel, and have requested me to give you my permission. i accede to your request, but only upon the following conditions: you must procure for me a skin of every variety of bear known upon the earth. i do not mean such varieties as are termed `accidental,' arising from albinism or like circumstances, but every species or variety known to naturalists and acknowledged as `permanent.' the bears from which these skins are to be taken must be killed in their native haunts, and by your own hands--with no other assistance than that of an attendant whom i shall appoint to accompany you. in order to accomplish the task which i have imposed upon you, it will be necessary for you to go `round the world;' but i add the further condition, that you are to go _only once round it_. in _latitude_, i leave you free to range--from pole to pole, if it so please you [this was a stretch of liberty at which both boys laughed]; but _longitudinally_, no. you must not cross the same meridian twice before returning to saint petersburg. i do not intend this condition to apply to such traverses as you may be compelled to make, while actually engaged in the chase of a bear, or in tracking the animal to his den: only when you are _en route_ upon your journey. you will take your departure from saint petersburg, and go east or west, which you please. from the conditions i have imposed upon you, i hope you will have skill enough to discover that a route is traced out for you, and, that, on starting, you _can_ follow it either eastward or westward. this, with all matters relating to your means and mode of travelling, i leave to your own choice; and i trust that the practical education you have received will enable you to make your tour with proper judgment. [`tour, indeed!' exclaimed ivan.] once out of my palace, i take no farther charge of you. you may be some years older before i see you again; but i trust the time will not be mis-spent; and that upon your return you may be able to give a proper account of yourselves, is the earnest hope and wish of your affectionate father, michael grodonoff." chapter four. discussing the conditions. the two youths were no little astonished by the contents of this singular epistle; but, for all that, the terms imposed did not seem to them either harsh or unreasonable, and they were only too pleased to accede to them. they partly guessed their father's motive. they knew that he loved both of them with a true paternal love; but his affection was not of that kind to pet and pamper them within the precincts of his luxurious palace. he had a different idea of what would be beneficial to their future interests. he believed in the education which is acquired in the rude school of toil and travel, more than in the book-lore of classic universities; and he was determined that they should have a full measure of this sort of training. he had resolved that they _should_ see the world; not according to the ordinary understanding of this hackneyed phrase--not the world of towns and great cities, with their empty shows and vices--but the _world of nature_; and, in order that they should have the opportunity of becoming thoroughly acquainted with this sort of world, he had traced out for them a route that would lead them into its very wildest scenes, and disclose to them its rarest and most primitive forms. "by my word, brother!" exclaimed ivan as soon as alexis had finished reading the letter, "we shall have travelling to our hearts' content. certainly, papa has adopted a strange plan to keep us out of the walls of great cities." "yes," quietly answered alexis; "there are not many cities where bears abound." "such strange conditions!" added ivan, "i wonder what father can mean by imposing them upon us." "indeed, i hardly know myself. one thing only seems to explain it." "what is that, brother?" "you are aware, ivan, of the interest that papa takes in all matters relating to bears. as people say, it is almost a mania with him." "oh! the great picture in the gallery will account for that," said ivan, laughing. "but for a _bear_, you know, our papa would never have been a _baron_." "true: that may have been what first led him to take an interest in these animals." "and yet to impose upon us these queer conditions!" continued ivan; "it certainly does seem a little eccentric?" "no doubt papa has his purpose," said alexis. "who knows that he may not be intending to write a _monograph_ of the bears; and it is for this he wishes to have full set of their skins--the complete costume of each individual member of monsieur bruin's family? well, we must do our best, and procure them for him. it is not for us to inquire into the motives of our dear father. it is our duty to obey his orders--even though the task be ever so irksome or difficult." "oh, certainly, brother! i admit that; and i am ready to yield obedience and perform any task dear papa may think proper to impose on us." certainly there was some reason for the surprise with which the youths had read the letter. its contents might have appeared still more whimsical to them, had it not been their father that had written it; and, but for the fact that he had already given them a thorough training in the natural sciences, they would have found it difficult, if not altogether impossible, to carry out his instructions. a bear of every known variety was to be killed and skinned--killed, too, in its own haunts and by their own hands; which, of course, meant that they were to visit every country where bears are to be found, and obtain a skin of each kind. notwithstanding their youth both boys were skilled hunters, and excellent marksmen. himself brought up to the calling, their father had early initiated them into the hunter's craft; and, in addition to the knowledge of natural history, which he had imparted, he had taught them habits of self-reliance--such as are only acquired by ordinary individuals at the full age of manhood. both were already inured to such perils and hardships as are incidental to a hunter's life; both could endure to go a day or two without food or drink--could sleep in the open air, with no other tent than the canopy of heaven, and no other couch than the grassy covering of the earth. all this sort of experience they had already gone through, in the cold climate of their own country; and it was not likely they would meet with one much more rigorous anywhere on the earth. the young grodonoffs had been submitted to a training of almost spartan severity--a perfect _cyropoedia_--and dreaded neither hardships nor dangers. they were just the youths to carry out that singular programme which had been traced for them by the paternal hand. was it possible, however to do so? this was their first query. there were some very nice points in that brief chapter of instructions. _latitudinally_ they might traverse as circumstances required, but not _longitudinally_. under these limitations would it be possible to visit the haunts of all the bears,--to cover, as it were, the whole area of bruin's geographical distribution? that it was possible might be inferred, from the fact of their father having issued the orders; but it was necessary for the young expeditionists to set out with caution: else might they take a wrong route, and be altogether unable to fulfil his injunctions. they must _not twice cross the same meridian_. it was this quaint condition that puzzled them, and rendered it necessary to guard against making a false start. lucky it was that alexis was an accomplished zoologist, and thoroughly understood the geographical distribution of the genus _ursus_. but for this knowledge, they would certainly have been puzzled as to the route they were to take. "well, brother ivan!" said alexis with a smile, "had these orders been issued when the great swede published his _systema naturae_, our task would have been easily accomplished. how far do you suppose our travels need to have extended?" "i don't quite comprehend you, alexis. how far?" "why, simply into the courtyard of our palace. it would have been only necessary to kill and skin one of the great bears chained by the gate, and that would have fulfilled all the conditions papa has imposed upon us." "and yet, i don't understand you," rejoined ivan, with a puzzled look. "how obtuse you are, brother! read the letter again; note well its terms!" "well, i understand them. we are to travel on, and not come home again till we have killed a bear of every variety known." "there--just so. of course papa means every variety known to naturalists,--that is, to the `scientific world,' as it is termed. now you comprehend my meaning?" "oh, yes!" answered ivan; "you mean that when linnaeus published his `system of nature,' only our own brown bear of europe was known to naturalists?" "precisely so--only the _ursus arctos_; and consequently we should have had but a very short journey to make, compared with what is before us now. it is true that previous to his death, the swedish naturalist had made the acquaintance of the `polar' bear (_ursus maritimus_); but, strange enough, he regarded this as a mere variety of the _ursus arctos_--an error that one may wonder linnaeus could have made. "oh, they are very different. i could tell that myself. to say nothing of the colour, they are unlike in shape; and, as everybody knows, their habits are very dissimilar. why, one lives in forests, and feeds chiefly upon fruits; while the other dwells amidst fields of snow and ice, and subsists almost exclusively on flesh, or fish. variety, indeed! no, they are surely different species." "undoubtedly," answered alexis; "but we shall have an opportunity of comparing them hereafter. for the present we must drop the subject, and find out the route of travel which papa has traced out for us." "but he has not indicated any route--has he? he gives us permission to go where we please, so long as we get the bearskins, and do not return upon our meridian. we are not to take the _backtrack_--ha! ha! ha!" "of course not; but you will find, to avoid doing this, we shall have to go by a definite course, and can take no other." "by my word! brother, i don't see what you mean. i shall trust all to you: so take me where you please--which way, then?" "ah! that has yet to be determined. i cannot tell myself; and it will take me some time before i can make quite sure as to what direction we are to take on starting out--whether east, west, north, or south. it will be necessary for me to examine a map of the world, and trace out the boundaries of the different countries in which king bruin holds sovereignty." "ah! that will be an interesting lesson for me. here is the map; let me spread it out, and do what i can to assist you in finding our way." as ivan said this, he drew a large travelling map of the world from its case, and opening it out, laid it upon the table. both the youths sat down; and, running their eyes over the chart, proceeded to discuss the direction which, by the conditions imposed upon them, they must necessarily take. chapter five. tracing the route. "in the first place," said alexis, "there is the brown bear (_ursus arctos_). him we might find in many parts of our own country--since he is emphatically our `russian bear'; but there is also a black bear, which some naturalists say is a variety of the _ursus arctos_, while others believe it to be a separate species, having given to it the specific name of _ursus niger_--_ursus ator_ it is sometimes called. now, whether it be a species or only a variety, we must get a skin of it all the same--since papa has definitely expressed it so." "this black bear is to be found in our own northern forests, is it not?" "yes; it has been observed there; but more frequently in the mountains of scandinavia: and, as we might wander through all the north of russia without finding one, our best plan will be to proceed at once to norway or lapland. there we shall be certain also of finding the brown bear, and thus kill two birds with one stone." "say lapland: i should like to see the little laps, but where next? to north america, i suppose?" "by no means. there is a bear in the pyrenees, and other mountains of spain--in the asturias especially. it is also deemed by most naturalists to be only a variety of the _ursus arctos_, but it is certainly a distinct species; and papa thinks so. some naturalists would have it that there are only three or four distinct species in the whole world. they might just as well say there was but _one_. i think it better to follow papa's views upon this subject, and regard all those bears which have permanent marks of distinction--whether it be in size, colour, or otherwise--as being so many separate species, however much they may approximate in habits or disposition. why, some naturalists even call the american black bear merely a variety of our brown; and, as i said a moment ago, linnaeus himself believed the polar to be the same species. this is now known to be an erroneous theory. since papa has given as much time to the study of the bears as perhaps any one else, i shall follow his theory, and regard the spanish bear (_ursus pyrenaicus_ it is called) a distinct species." "you propose, then, to go next to spain, and kill the spanish bear?" "we _must_. having started in a westerly course by going to lapland, we must keep on in that direction." "but how about the white bear of the alps?" "you mean the _ursus albus_ of lesson?" "yes. to reach the alps, where it is said to be found, we should have to recross a meridian of longitude?" "we should, if there were such an animal to be found in the alps; but there is not. the white bear of buffon and lesson (_ursus albus_) was only a mere accidental variety or _albino_ of the brown bear; and papa does not mean that we should collect the skins of such as these. he has said so. indeed, ivan, were that task imposed on us, we should both be old men before we could complete it, and return home again. it is only the skins of the _permanent_ varieties we are to procure, and therefore the _ursus albus_ is scratched out of our list." "out with him then! where go we next? to north america, then no doubt?" "no." "perhaps to africa?" "no." "are there no bears in africa?" "that is a disputed point among writers, and has been so since the days of pliny. bears are mentioned as having been exhibited in the roman circus, under the name of _numidian_ bears; and herodotus, virgil, juvenal, and martial all mention _libyan_ bears in their writings. pliny, however, stoutly denies that there were any of these animals in africa; but it must be remembered that he equally denies that stags, goats, and boars existed on the african continent: therefore his statement about the non-existence of the numidian bears is not worth a straw. strange enough, the point is as much disputed now as in the days of pliny. the english traveller bruce, states positively that there are no bears in africa. another english traveller to abyssinia, salt, makes no mention of them; while the german, ehrenberg, says that he has seen them in the mountains of abyssinia, and heard of them also in arabia felix! several french and english travellers (dapper, shaw, poncet, and poiret), bear testimony to the existence of bears in different parts of africa--in nubia, babur, and congo. in the atlas mountains, between algiers and morocco, according to poiret, bears are common enough; and this writer even gives some details as to their habits. he says that they are exceedingly fierce and carnivorous, and that the arabs believe they can lift stones in their paws and fling them at those who may be in pursuit of them! he relates that an arab hunter brought him the skin of one of those bears; and also showed him a wound in his leg, which he had received by the animal having launched a stone at him while he was pursuing it! monsieur poiret, however, does not vouch for the truth of the stone-throwing, though he stoutly maintains the existence of african bears." "what does papa think about it?" inquired ivan. "that there are bears in africa--perhaps in all the mountainous parts of africa--but certainly in the atlas and tetuan ranges. indeed, an english traveller of veracity has put the question beyond a doubt, by giving some points in the description of these african bears. naturalists thought that if such an animal existed in africa, it would be the same species as the syrian; but although the bears reported in the arabian and abyssinian mountains are likely enough to be of that species, those of the atlas are evidently not only distinct from the syrian bear, but from all other known kinds. one that was killed near tetuan, about twenty-five miles from the atlas mountains, was a female, and less in size than the american black bear. it was black also, or rather brownish black, and without any white marking about the muzzle, but under the belly its fur was of a reddish orange. the hair was shaggy and four or five inches long, while the snout, toes, and claws were all shorter than in the american black bear, and the body was of thicker and stouter make. the englishman had learnt something of its habits too. the arabs said it was rarely met with near tetuan; that it fed on roots, acorns, and fruits, but was only an indifferent climber. indeed it would be very improbable," continued alexis, "that the great ranges of the atlas and abyssinian mountains should be without these mammalia, since they exist in nearly all the other mountains of the globe. moreover, it should be remembered that it is only a few years since the bears of the himalayas, of the great andes of america, and those of the east-indian islands--and even the bear of mount lebanon-became known to the scientific world. why, then, should there not be a species in africa--perhaps more than one--though civilised people are yet unacquainted with it?" "but you say we are not going to africa?" "no; our instructions relate only to every variety of bear known to naturalists; and the african bear does not come under this category-since it has not yet been described by any naturalist. for that reason we shall have no errand into africa." "then, surely north america is our next stage?" "certainly not--you are aware that there is a south american bear." "yes, the `spectacled bear,' as he is called." "just so--the _ursus ornatus_. i think we shall find two species in south america, though that is also a disputed point." "well, brother, what if we should?" "why, both will be found in the andes of chili and peru, and not in the eastern parts of south america." "and how should that affect our route of travel?" "very essentially indeed. were we to go first to north america, we should find no less than five species, or four species and one well-marked variety. to reach the native haunt of one of these--i mean the grizzly (_ursus ferox_)--we should have to go farther west than any part of the south american andes: how, then, could we afterwards reach the spectacled bear without doubling back on our meridian?" "true, brother--i see that, by looking on the map. you propose, then, steering first to south america, and afterwards to the northern division of the american continent?" "we are compelled to do so, by the very nature of our contract. having procured the skins of _ursus ornatus_ and another variety we shall find in the andes, we can then travel almost due north. on the mississippi we shall be able to pick up a skin of the american black bear (_ursus americanus_), and by the help of the hudson's bay _voyageurs_ we shall reach the shores of the great gulf in which that territory takes its name. there the `polar bear' (_ursus maritimus_) can be found. farther westward and northward we may hope to capture the `barren ground bear,' which the english traveller sir john richardson thinks is only a variety of our european brown bear, but which papa--and good reasons he has-believes to be nothing of the kind. crossing the rocky mountains, we shall be able, i hope, to knock over the famed and formidable grizzly (_ursus ferox_), and in oregon, or british columbia, we shall strip his hide from the `cinnamon bear' (_ursus cinnamonus_), believed to be a variety of the american black. that will finish with the bears of america." "asia next, i suppose?" "yes, straight across to kamschatka. there we shall meet with the `siberian,' or `collared bear' (_ursus collaris_). of these, two varieties are said to exist, one of which, specified by the name _ursus sibiricus_, is also found in lapland and siberia." "go on, brother! where next?" "from kamschatka we shall make a long traverse to the south-west. our best hunting-ground will be borneo." "ah! the beautiful little bear with the orange-coloured breast!" "yes; that is the `bornean bear' (_ursus euryspilus_), or `bruang,' as he is called by the malays." "but there is another bruang?" "yes--the `malayan sun-bear' (_ursus malagenus_). this we shall encounter in sumatra or java, whichever we choose to visit." "well, the list is much larger than i expected; certainly it has been wonderfully lengthened since the days of the good old linnaeus." "we have not reached the end yet." "where next, brother?" "up the bay of bengal, and on to the himalayas. first in the foot-hills of these mountains we shall have to search for the curious `sloth bear,' or `juggler's bear' (_ours de jongleurs_) as the french writers term him. he is the _ursus labiatus_ of naturalists; and we may find him in the plains of india, before reaching the himalayas. having skinned him, we shall proceed to climb the great mountains, and higher up we are certain to come across the `thibet bear' (_ursus thibetanus_)--by some very erroneously described as being one of the numerous varieties of the european brown bear! still higher up we shall, i hope, have the good luck to encounter and kill a specimen of the `isabella bear' (_ursus isabelinus_), so called from his colour, but termed by anglo-indian sportsmen the `snow bear,' because he frequents the declivities near the snow-line of these stupendous mountains." "that is all, is it not?" "_no_, ivan--one more, and that will be the last." "what is he?" "the `syrian' (_ursus syriacus_); and though the last in our catalogue, this is the very first on record: for they were bears of this species that came out of the wood and `tare forty and two' of the mockers of the prophet elisha. we shall have to visit syria, to procure a skin of the _ursus syriacus_." "well, i hope their ferociousness has been tamed down since elisha's time, else we may stand a fair chance of being served in a similar fashion." "no doubt we shall have many a scratch before we encounter the bears of mount lebanon. when we have obtained a robe from one of them, there will be nothing more for us to do but take the most direct route home. we shall then have gone _once round the world_." "ah, that we shall!" said ivan, laughing; "and all over it too. great czar! i think by the time we have captured one of elisha's bears, we shall have had a surfeit of travel." "no doubt of it; but now, brother, that we know where we are going, let us waste no more time, but signify our acceptance of the conditions, and be off at once." "agreed," said ivan; and both returning into the presence of the baron, announced their readiness to take the road. "are we to travel alone, papa?" inquired ivan; "i think you spoke of an attendant?" "yes, one attendant. you must not be encumbered with too many servants to wait upon you. one will be quite sufficient." "who is it to be?" asked ivan. the baron rang the bell, and a servant entered. "send corporal pouchskin to me!" shortly after, the door reopened, and a man of about fifty appeared. the tall well-balanced form and erect attitude--the close-cropped hair and enormous grizzled moustache--combined with great gravity of features, denoted a veteran of the imperial guard,--one of those grand and redoubtable soldiers who have seen service in the presence of an emperor. though no longer wearing the military uniform, but dressed somewhat as a park or game keeper, the silent salute and attitude of "attention" were sufficiently indicative of the profession which pouchskin had followed: for it was the veritable pouchskin who had entered the apartment. he said not a word, nor did he look either to the right or left,--only directly forward, and at the baron. "corporal pouchskin!" "general!" "i wish you to make a journey." "i am ready." "not quite, corporal. i will give you an hour to prepare." "where does the general wish me to go?" "round the world." "half an hour will suffice." "so much the better, then. prepare to start in half an hour." pouchskin bowed and retired. chapter six. to the tornea. we shall not detail the parting interview between the baron grodonoff and his sons; there was the usual interchange of affectionate expressions, with as much feeling as is common on such occasions. neither need we relate the ordinary incidents of travel which befell our expeditionists, on their way to the mountains of lapland. suffice it to say that they journeyed by post from saint petersburg direct to tornea, at the head of the great bothnian gulf. thence they proceeded northward up this river tornea--till they had reached the mountainous region in which this stream takes its rise. they were amply furnished with the means of travelling in the most expeditious manner, and were not encumbered with any great amount of luggage. a bag of roubles, which pouchskin carried in a safe pocket, proved the most convenient article they could have taken along with them; since it enabled them to supply their wants from day to day, without troubling themselves with any cumbersome baggage. there are few parts of the world in which ready money will not command the necessaries of life; and as this was all our hunters cared for, they had no difficulty in obtaining supplies--even in the remote regions of uncivilised lapland. the wild, half-savage lap perfectly comprehends the value of a coin; and will exchange for it his reindeer flesh and milk, or anything else that may be asked from him. our young hunters therefore travelled lightly--with little else in the shape of baggage than a pair of knapsacks which they carried on their backs, and which contained only a change or two of linen, and such toilet articles as were absolutely necessary to their comfort. a knapsack of much larger dimensions formed the chief care of pouchskin; and although this, with its contents, would have been a heavy load for an ordinary man, the veteran of the imperial guard thought no more of it than if it had been a bag of feathers. each in addition carried an ample fur cloak; which, on the march, was folded up and strapped to their backs on top of the knapsack, but at night was wrapped around their bodies, and served both as bed and bedclothes. all three were armed and equipped, in the most substantial manner. they carried guns, though differing in kind. the piece of alexis was a handsome jager rifle; ivan's was a double-barrelled shot-gun or fowling-piece; while pouchskin balanced over his shoulder an immense fusil, the bullet of which weighed a good ounce avoirdupois. all were provided with a knife of one fashion or another. in such guise did our young hunters enter the mountains of lapland; and commence their search after the "old man in the fur coat," as the laplanders term the bear. they had taken proper measures to secure success. they had secured the services of a guide, who engaged to conduct them to a district where bears existed in great plenty, and where he himself lived in a state almost as savage as the bears--for he was a true laplander and lived in a tent in the very heart of the mountains. he was one of those who had no reindeer; and was therefore forced to depend on the chase for his subsistence. he trapped the ermine and beaver--killed the wild reindeer when he could--spent his whole life in battling with wolves and bears; and with the skins of these animals--which he sold to the fur-traders-he was able to supply himself with the few necessaries which such a state of existence called for. under his tent of coarse _wadmal_ cloth the travellers found shelter, and such rude hospitality as the poor lap could afford them--in return for which they had to live in the midst of a smoke that nearly put out their eyes. but they knew they had entered upon an expedition, in which many hardships were to be expected; and they bore the inconvenience with becoming fortitude. it is not my intention to give the details of the everyday life of the young hunters, nor yet an account of the very many curious incidents, which occurred to them during their sojourn in lapland. much was noted down in their journal--from which this narrative has been drawn-interesting only to themselves, or perhaps still more to their father the baron. for him they wrote an account of everything peculiar that they observed--such as the odd customs of the laplanders--their mode of travelling in sledges with reindeer--their snow-skating on the _skidors_ and _skabargers_--and, in short, a full account of the habits and manners of these singular people. especially, however, did alexis describe the objects of natural history which came under his notice-giving such details as he drew from personal observation, or derived from the native hunters, many of whom they encountered while engaged in the chase of the bear. these details, were they given in full, would fill a book of themselves. we must content ourselves, therefore, with relating only the more interesting incidents, and striking adventures which happened to our heroes. we may here state that it was in the early part of spring that they arrived in lapland, or rather in the latter part of winter, when the ground is still covered with deep snow. at this season the bears are hidden away in their caves--in crevices of the rocks or hollow trees-from which they only issue forth when the spring sun makes itself felt, and the snow begins to disappear from the sides of the hills. every one has heard of this _winter sleep_ of the bears; and it has been attributed to bears of all species. this, however, is a mistake, as it is only indulged in by a few kinds; and the climate and nature of the country which the bear inhabits has more to do with his _hybernation_ than any natural instinct of the animal: since it has been observed that bears will go to sleep, or _hybernate_, as it is termed, in one part of a country, while individuals of the same species, in another region, will be found roaming about all the winter through. the state of torpor seems to be voluntary with these animals: since it is generally in districts where food could not be procured, that they submit themselves to this prolonged _siesta_. however this may be, the brown bears of lapland certainly indulge in a period of slumber--during which they are difficult to find. never issuing from their places of concealment, they make no track in the snow by which they might be followed. at such seasons it is only by accident, or by the aid of his dog, that the lap hunter chances to discover the retreat of a bear; and, when one is thus discovered, various methods are adopted for securing the valuable skin and carcass of the animal. it so chanced that, previous to the arrival of the young russians upon their hunting-ground, there had been a show of spring--that is, a few days of warm sun--but this had been succeeded by a return of the cold weather, with a fresh fall of snow. the spell of warmth, however, had aroused many bears from their lethargy--some of which had ventured out of their caves, and made short excursions among the hills--in search, no doubt, of the berries, that, preserved all winter by the snow, are sweet and mellow at this season, and a favourite food of the bears. this casual occurrence of the spring having made a promise and not kept it, was just the chance for our hunters; since it enabled them in a _very_ short time to track a bear to his den. a few days after their arrival upon the hunting-ground, they were able to do this--having come upon the footmarks of a bear, that, followed for a mile or so through the snow, led them to the animal's lair. it led them also to an adventure, which was the first they had yet encountered; and which came very near being the last that pouchskin was ever to have in the world. pouchskin was certainly in great peril; and how he escaped from it will be learnt, by reading an account of the adventure. chapter seven. jack-in-the-box. it was early in the morning, shortly after leaving the tent of the laplander, they had chanced upon the track of the bear. after following it for nearly a mile, it conducted them to a narrow gorge or ravine, lying between two rocky ridges. the ravine itself was not more than ten or a dozen yards in width, and its bottom was filled with snow to the depth of several feet. along the sides the snow lay sparsely; and in fact there had been scarce any in that place before the fall the preceding night. this had only covered the ground to the depth of a few inches: but it was sufficient to show the footmarks of the bear; and they were able to follow the _spar_--so the scandinavian hunters call the tracks of an animal--as fast as they chose to go. following it up, then, our hunters entered the ravine. they kept for some distance along one side--just by the edge of the deep snow; but at length, the track indicated where the bear had crossed to the other side; and of course they were compelled to cross likewise. this deep snow was the accumulated deposits of different storms that had occurred during the winter; and, shadowed from the sun by the long branches of evergreen pines from both sides stretching outward over the ravine, it had remained without melting. there was a crust over it-strong enough to carry a man on _skidors_, but not without them, unless he proceeded with care and caution. the bear had gone over it; but these animals, notwithstanding their enormous weight and bulk, can pass over ice or crusted snow that will not carry a man. their weight rests upon four points instead of two; and as they need only lift one foot at a time, they still have three points of support. a man must also lift one foot, which leaves him only one to stand upon; and therefore his whole weight presses upon a single point, and so endangers his breaking through. the great length of a bear's body, moreover, and the vast stretch between his fore and hind legs give him an additional advantage--enabling him to distribute his weight over a large surface-and this is why he can shuffle over ice or snow-crust, that may be too weak to carry a human being. every boy knows--at least every boy who has skated or ventured upon a frozen pond--that by creeping on hands and knees, or, more certain still, by sprawling along on the breast, ice may be passed over, that would not bear the same boy in an erect attitude. such advantage, then, had the bear which our young hunters were tracking up; and it would have been well for them--at least for pouchskin--had they thought of it. they did not. they supposed that where a great heavy animal like a bear had gone they might go too; and, without further reflection, they stepped out upon the deep bed of snow. alexis and ivan being light weights passed over the snow safely enough; but pouchskin, weighing nearly as much as both of them--and further loaded with a ponderous wood-axe and his huge gun, to say nothing of sundry well-filled pockets and pouches--was more than the crust would carry. just when he had got about halfway across, there was heard a tearing crash; and before the boys could turn to inquire the cause, pouchskin had disappeared, and all his _paraphernalia_ along with him! no, not quite all. there was seen about two feet of the barrel of his gun above the surface; and as that still pointed upward--while it moved around the circular hole through which the old guardsman had fallen--the boys concluded that the piece was in his hands, and that pouchskin was still upon his feet. at the same instant a voice reached their ears--in a hollow sepulchral tone, like that of a man speaking from the bottom of a well, or through the bung-hole of an empty cask! notwithstanding its _baritone_ notes, the boys perceived that the exclamations made by the voice were not those of terror, but rather of surprise, followed by a slight laugh. of course, therefore, their attendant had received no injury, nor was he in any danger; and, assured of this, ivan first, and then alexis, broke out into yells of laughter. on cautiously approaching the trap-like hole, through which pouchskin had disappeared, their merriment burst forth afresh, at the ludicrous spectacle. there stood the old guardsman, like a jack-in-the-box in the centre of a hollow funnel-shaped cylinder which he had made in the snow. but what was strangest of all, there was no snow among his feet: on the contrary, he was up to his knees in water, and not stagnant water either, but a current, that ran rapidly underneath the snow, and had swished the crusted fragments from the spot where he was standing! a stream, in fact, ran down the ravine; and, although the snow completely hid it from view, there it was, rushing along underneath through a tunnel which it had melted out for itself--the snow forming a continuous bridge above it. the boys did not know all this--for they could only just see the top of pouchskin's head, with his long arms holding the gun--but they could hear the rushing noise of the water, and pouchskin reported the rest. it did not appear so easy to extricate him from his unpleasant predicament; for the resemblance between his situation, and that of jack-in-the-box, went no further. there was no jerking machinery by which the ex-guardsman could be jumped out of his box; and, since his head was full three feet below the crust of the snow, how he was to be raised to the surface required some consideration. neither of the young hunters dared to approach the circumference of the circular hole through which pouchskin had sunk. they might have broken through themselves, and then all three would have been in the same fix. of course, under this apprehension, they dared not go near enough to pull him out with their hands--even had they been able to reach down to him. it is true he might have got out, after some time, by breaking the snow before him, and working his way at right angles to the course of the stream: for it was evident that the ground sloped sharply up in that direction, and the snow became shallower. except above the water, it was firm enough to have borne his weight, and after a time he might have scrambled out; but a more expeditious plan of relieving him, and one far less troublesome to pouchskin, suggested itself to alexis. one of the _impedimenta_, which the old guardsman carried on his shoulders, was a coil of stout cord--almost a rope. this they had brought with them, in the anticipation of being successful in their hunt; and, with the idea of its being required at the skinning of the bear--as also for packing the hide, or any similar purpose. it was the presence of this cord that suggested to alexis the scheme he had conceived, for relieving his faithful follower from his unhappy position; and the plan itself will be understood by our describing its execution, which took place on the instant. alexis called to pouchskin to tie one end of the rope round his body, and then fling the other out upon the snow--as far as he could cast it. this request was instantly complied with; and the end of the rope made its appearance at the feet of alexis. the latter taking it in his hand, ran up the bank to the nearest tree; and, giving it a turn or two round the trunk, he handed it to ivan, with the direction to hold it fast and keep it from slipping. a knot would have served the same purpose; but the whole thing was the work of only a few moments; and as ivan was standing by doing nothing, his brother thought he might just as well take hold of the rope and save time. alexis now crept back, as near to the edge of the trap as it was safe to go. he took with him a long pole, which by a lucky chance, he had found lying under the trees. slipping this under the rope, and placing it crosswise, he shoved it still nearer to the circumference of the broken circle--his object being to give support to the cord, and keep it from cutting into the snow. the contrivance was perfectly correct; and as soon as alexis had got all ready, he shouted to pouchskin to haul upon the rope, and help himself. meanwhile, the old guardsman had slung his fusil upon his back; and, immediately on receiving the signal, commenced his ascent--pulling hand over hand upon the rope, and assisting his arms by working his feet against the wall of snow. the moment his head appeared above the surface, the laughter of his young masters, that had been for a while suspended, burst forth afresh. and it was no wonder: for the expression upon the old soldier's visage, as it rose above the white crust, his bent attitude, and the desperate exertions he was making to clamber upward, all combined to form a most ludicrous picture. ivan screamed till the tears ran down his cheeks. so overcome was he with mirth, that it is possible he would have let go, and permitted pouchskin to tumble back into his trap; but the more sober alexis, foreseeing such a contingency, ran up and took hold of the rope. by this means, pouchskin was at length landed safely on the surface of the snow; but even his tall boots of russia leather had not saved his legs and feet from getting well soaked; and he was now dripping with muddy water from the thighs downwards. there was no time, however, to kindle a fire and dry him. they did not think of such a thing. so eager were all three in the chase of the bear, that they only waited to coil up the cord, and then continued onward. chapter eight. the scandinavian bears. "really, now," said ivan, pointing to one of the tracks, "if it wasn't that i see the marks of claws instead of toes, i should fancy we were tracking a man instead of a bear--some barefooted laplander, for instance. how very like these tracks are to those of a human foot!" "that is quite true," rejoined alexis; "there is a very remarkable resemblance between the footprints of the bear and those of a human being--especially when the trades have stood a while. as it is, now, you can see clearly the marks of the claws; but in a day or two, when the sun or the rain has fallen upon the snow, and melted it a little, the claw marks will then be filled up with the thaw, and, losing their sharp outlines, will look much more like the tracks of toes. for that reason, an old bear-track is, indeed, as you say, very like that of a human foot." "and quite as large too?" "quite as large: the tracks of some kinds even larger than those of most men. as, for instance, the white and grizzly species--many individuals of both having paws over twelve inches in length!" "the bear does not tread upon his toes in walking, but lays the whole sole of his foot along the ground--does he not?" asked ivan. "precisely so," replied alexis; "and hence he is termed a _plantigrade_ animal, to distinguish him from those other kinds, as horses, oxen, swine, dogs, cats, and so forth, that all, in reality, step upon their toes." "there are some other plantigrade animals besides bears?" said ivan, interrogatively; "our badger and glutton, for instance?" "yes," answered the naturalist. "these are plantigrade; and for this reason they have been classed along with the bears under the general name _ursidae_; but in father's opinion, and mine too," added alexis, with a slight sparkle of scientific conceit, "this classification is altogether an erroneous one, and rests upon the very insignificant support of the plantigrade feet. in all other respects the different genera of small animals, that have thus been introduced into the family of the bears are, as unlike the latter almost bears as are to blue bottles." "what animals have been included in this family _ursidae_?" "the european glutton and american wolverine (_gulo_), the badgers of both continents, and of asia (_meles_), the raccoon (_procyon_), the cape ratel (_mellivora_), the panda (_ailurus_), the benturong (_ictides_), the coati (_nasua_), the paradoxure (_paradoxurus_), and even the curious little teledu of java (_mydaus_). it was linnaeus himself who first entered these animals under the heading of _bears_--at least, such of them as were known in his day; and the french anatomist, cuvier, extended this incongruous list to the others. to distinguish them from the true bears, they divided the family into two branches--the _ursinae_, or bears properly so called, and the _subursinae_, or little bears. now, in my opinion," continued alexis, "there is not the slightest necessity for calling these numerous species of animals even `_little bears_.' they are not bears in any sense of the word: having scarce any other resemblance to the noble bruin than their plantigrade feet. all these animals--the javanese teledu excepted--have long tails; some of them, in fact, being very long and very bushy--a characteristic altogether wanting to the bears, that can hardly be said to have tails at all. but there are other peculiarities that still more widely separate the bears from the so called `little bears;' and indeed so many essential points of difference, that the fact of their being classed together might easily be shown to be little better than mere anatomical nonsense. it is an outrage upon common sense," continued alexis, warming with his subject, "to regard a raccoon as a bear,--an animal that is ten times more like a fox, and certainly far nearer to the genus _canis_ than that of _ursus_. on the other hand, it is equally absurd to break up the true bears into different _genera_--as these same anatomists have done; for if there be a family in the world the individual members of which bear a close family likeness to one another, that is the family of master bruin. indeed, so like are the different species, that other learned anatomists have gone to the opposite extreme of absurdity, and asserted that they are all one and the same! however, we shall see as we become acquainted with the different members of this distinguished family, in what respects they differ from each other, and in what they are alike." "i have heard," said ivan, "that here, in norway and lapland, there are two distinct species of the brown bear, besides the black variety, which is so rare; and i have also heard say that the hunters sometimes capture a variety of a greyish colour, which they call the `silver bear.' i think papa mentioned these facts." "just so," replied alexis; "it has been the belief among swedish naturalists that there are two species, or at least permanent varieties, of the brown bear in northern europe. they have even gone so far as to give them separate specific names. one is the _ursus arctos major_, while the other is _ursas arctos minor_. the former is the larger animal--more fierce in its nature, and more carnivorous in its food. the other, or smaller kind, is of a gentler disposition--or at all events more timid--and instead of preying upon oxen and other domestic animals, confines itself to eating grubs, ants, roots, berries, and vegetable substances. in their colour there is no perceptible difference between the two supposed varieties--more than may be often found between two individuals notedly of the same kind; and it is only in size and habits that a distinction has been observed. the latest and most accurate writers upon this subject believe that the great and little brown bears are not even varieties; and that the distinctive characteristics are merely the effects of age, sex, or other accidental circumstances. it is but natural to suppose that the younger bears would not be so carnivorous as those of greater age. it is well-known that preying upon other animals and feeding upon their flesh, is not a natural instinct of the brown bear; it is a habit that has its origin, first in the scarcity of other food, but which, once entered upon, soon develops itself into a strong propensity--almost equalling that of the _felidae_. "as to the black bear being a distinct species, that is a question also much debated among both hunters and naturalists. the hunters say that the fur of the black european bear is never of that jetty blackness which characterises the real black bears of american and asiatic countries, but only a very dark shade of brown; and they believe that it is nothing more than the brown fur itself, grown darker in old age. certainly they have reason for this belief: since it is a well-known fact that the brown bears do become darker as they grow older." "ha!" said ivan, with a laugh, "that is just the reverse with us. look at pouchskin there! your hair was once black, wasn't it, old pouchy?" "yes, master ivan, black as a crow's feathers." "and now you're as grey as a badger. some day, before long--before we get home again may be--your moustache, old fellow, will be as white as an ermine." "very like, master, very like--we'll all be a bit older by that time." "ha! ha! ha!" laughed ivan; "you're right there, pouchy; but go on, brother!" he added, turning to alexis, "let us hear all about these scandinavian bears. you have not spoken yet of the `silver' ones." "no," said alexis; "nor of another kind that is found in these countries, and that some naturalists have elevated into a different species--the `ringed bear.'" "you mean the bears with a white ring round their necks? yes, i have heard of them too." "just so," rejoined alexis. "well, brother, what do _you_ think? is it a distinct species, or a permanent variety?" "neither one nor the other. it is merely an accidental marking which some young individuals of the brown bear chance to have, and it scarcely ever remains beyond the age of _cubhood_. it is only very young bears that are met with of this colour; and the white ring disappears as they get older. it is true that hunters now and then meet with an odd ringed bear of tolerable size and age; but all agree that he is the brown bear, and not a distinct kind. the same remarks apply to the `silver' bear; and hunters say that in a litter of three cubs they have found all three colours--the common brown, the `ringed,' and the `silver,'--while the old mother herself was a true _ursus arctos_." "well, since papa only binds us to the brown and black, it will be a nice thing if we could fall in with a skin of the ringed and silver varieties. it would please him all the better. i wonder now what sort is this fellow we are following? by the size of his tracks he must be a wopper!" "no doubt an old male," rejoined alexis; "but if i am not mistaken, we shall soon be able to determine that point. the _spar_ gets fresher and fresher. he must have passed here but a very short while ago; and i should not wonder if we were to find him in this very ravine." "see!" exclaimed ivan, whose eyes had been lifted from the trail, and bent impatiently forward;--"see! by the great peter! yonder's a hole, under the root of that tree. why might it not be his cave?" "it looks like enough. hush! let us keep to the trail, and go up to it with caution--not a word!" all three, now scarce breathing--lest the sound should be heard--stole silently along the trail. the fresh-fallen snow, still soft as eider-down, enabled them to proceed without making the slightest noise; and without making any, they crept up, till within half-a-dozen paces of the tree. ivan's conjecture was likely to prove correct. there was a line of tracks leading up the bank; and around the orifice of the cavity the snow was considerably trampled down--as if the bear had turned himself two or three times before entering. that he had entered, the hunters did not entertain a doubt: there were no return tracks visible in the snow--only the single line that led up to the mouth of the cave, and this seemed to prove conclusively that bruin was "at home." chapter nine. hybernation of bears. as already stated, it is the custom of the brown bear, as well as of several other species, to go to sleep for a period of several months every winter,--in other words, to _hybernate_. when about to take this long nap, the bear seeks for himself a cave or den, in which he makes his bed with such soft substances as may be most convenient--dry leaves, grass, moss, or rushes. he collects no great store of these however-his thick matted fur serving him alike for bed and coverlet; and very often he makes no further ado about the matter than to creep into the hole he has chosen, lie down, snugly couch his head among the thickets of long hair that cover his hams, and thus go to sleep. some naturalists have asserted that this sleep is a state of torpidity-from which the animal is incapable of awaking himself or of being awakened, until the regular period of indulgence in it may have passed. this, however, is not the case; for bears are often surprised in their sleep, and when aroused by the hunters act just as is usual with them at other times. it must be observed, however, that the retirement of the bear into winter quarters is not to be regarded as of the same nature as the hybernation of marmots, squirrels, and other species of rodent animals. these creatures merely shut themselves up from the cold; and to meet the exigencies of their voluntary imprisonment, they have already collected in their cells a large store of their usual food. bees and many other insects do precisely same thing. not so with the bear. whether it be that he is not gifted with an instinct of providence it is difficult to say; but certain it is, that he lays up no store for these long dark days, but goes to sleep without thought of the morrow. how he is maintained for several months without eating is one of nature's mysteries. every one has heard the absurd theory: that he does so by "sucking his paws," and the ingenious buffon has not only given credence to this story, but endeavours to support it, by stating that the paws when cut open yield a substance of a milky nature! it is a curious fact that this story is to be found scattered all over the world--wherever bears hybernate. the people of kamschatka have it; so also the indians, and esquimaux of the hudson's bay territory, and the norwegian and lap hunters of europe. whence did these widely-distributed races of men derive this common idea of a habit which, if the story be a true one, must be common to bears of very different species? this question can be answered. in northern europe the idea first originated--among the hunters of scandinavia. but the odd story once told was too good to be lost; and every traveller, since the first teller of it, has taken care to embellish his narrative about bears with this selfsame conceit; so that, like the tale of the amazon women in south america, the natives have learnt it from the travellers, and not the travellers from the natives! how absurd to suppose that a huge quadruped, whose daily food would be several pounds weight of animal or vegetable matter--a bear who can devour the carcass of a calf at a single meal--could possibly subsist for two months on the _paw-milk_ which monsieur buffon has described! how then can we account for his keeping alive? there need be no difficulty in doing so. it is quite possible that during this long sleep the digestive power or process is suspended, or only carried on at a rate infinitesimally small; that, moreover, life is sustained and the blood kept in action by means of the large amount of fat which the bear has collected previous to his _going to bed_. it is certain that, just at their annual _bed time_, bears are fatter than at any other season of the year. the ripening of the forest fruits, and the falling of various seeds of mast-worts, upon which, during the autumn, bears principally subsist, then supply them with abundance, and nothing hinders them to get fat and go to sleep upon it. they would have no object in keeping awake: were they to do so, in those countries where they practise hybernation, they would certainly starve, for, the ground being then frozen hard, they could not dig for roots, and under the deep covering of snow they might search in vain for their masts and berries. as to foraging on birds or other quadrupeds, bears are not fitted for that. they are not agile enough for such a purpose. they will eat both when they can catch them; but they cannot always catch them; and if they had no other resource in the snowy season the bears would certainly starve. to provide them against this time of scarcity, nature has furnished them with the singular power of somnolence. indeed, that this is the purpose is easily proved. it is proved by the simple fact that those bears belonging to warm latitudes, as the bornean, malayan, and even the black american of the southern states, do not hybernate at all. there is no need for them to do so. their unfrozen forests furnish them with food all the year round; and all the year round are they seen roaming about in search of it. even in the arctic lands the polar bear keeps afoot all the year; his diet not being vegetable, and therefore not snowed up in winter. the female of this species hides herself away; but that is done for another purpose, and not merely to save herself from starvation. that the stock of fat, which the bear lays in before going to sleep, has something to do with subsisting him, is very evident from the fact that it is all gone by the time he awakes. then or shortly afterwards, master bruin finds himself as thin as a rail; and were he to look in a glass just then, he would scarce recognise himself, so very different is his long emaciated carcass from that huge plump round body, that two months before he could scarce squeeze through the entrance to his cave! another great change comes over him during his prolonged sleep. on going to bed, he is not only very fat, but also very lazy; so much so that the merest tyro of a hunter can then circumvent and slay him. naturally a well-disposed animal--we are speaking only of the brown bear (_ursus arctos_) though the remark will hold good of several other species--he is at this period more than usually civil and soft-tempered. he has found a sufficiency of vegetable food which is more congenial to his taste than animal substances; and he will not molest living creature just then, if living creature will only let him alone. aroused from his sleep, however, he shows a different disposition. he appears as if he had got up "wrong side foremost." his head aches, his belly hungers, and he is disposed to believe that some one has stolen upon him while asleep, and robbed him of his suet. under this impression he issues from his dark chamber in very ill humour indeed. this disposition clings to him for a length of time; and if at this period, during his morning rambles, he should encounter any one who does not get speedily out of his way, the party thus meeting him will find him a very awkward customer. it is then that he makes havoc among the flocks and herds of the scandinavian shepherd--for he actually does commit such ravages--and even the hunter who meets him at this season will do well to "ware bear." and so does the hunter; and so did alexis, and ivan, and pouchskin. all three of them were well enough acquainted with the habits of the bear-their own russian bear--to know that they should act with caution in approaching him. and in this wise they acted; for instead of rushing up to the mouth of the hole, and making a great riot, they stole forward in perfect silence, each holding his gun cocked, and ready to give bruin a salute, the moment he should show his snout beyond the portals of his den. had they not tracked him to his cave, they would have acted quite differently. had they found a bear's den--within which they knew that the animal was indulging in his winter sleep--they would not have cared so much how they approached it. then he would have required a good deal of stirring up to induce him to show himself, so that they could get a shot at him; but the track told them that this one had been up and abroad--perhaps for several days--and as the new snow, in all likelihood, had hindered him from picking up much to eat, he would be as "savage as a meat axe." expecting him to spring out almost on the instant, the three took stand at some distance from the mouth of the cave; and, with arms in readiness, awaited his coming forth. chapter ten. bruin at home? the entrance to the cave, if cave it was, was an aperture of no great dimensions--about large enough to admit the body of a full-grown bear, and no bigger. it appeared to be a hole or burrow, rather than a cave, and ran under a great pine-tree, among whose roots, no doubt, was the den of the bear. the tree itself grew up out of the sloping bank; and its great rhizomes stretched over a large space, many of them appearing above the surface soil. in front of the aperture was a little ledge, where the snow was hacked by the bear's paws, but below this ledge the bank trended steeply down--its slope terminating in the bed of deeper snow already described. as stated, the three hunters had taken their stand, but not all together. directly in front of the cave was pouchskin, and below it, of course, on account of the sloping bank. he was some six paces from the aperture. on the right side ivan had been placed, while alexis had passed on, and now stood upon the left. the three formed a sort of isosceles triangle, of which pouchskin was the apex, and the line of the bank the base. a perpendicular dropped from the muzzle of pouchskin's gun would have entered the aperture of the cave. of course pouchskin's was the post of danger; but that was to be expected. they stood a good while in silence. no signs of bruin--neither by sight nor hearing. it was then resolved that some stir should be made--a noise of any kind, that might bring the beast forth. they coughed and talked loudly, but all to no purpose. they shouted at length with like fruitless result-bruin would not stir! that he was inside none of them doubted. how could they? the tracks going to the cave, and none coming from it, set that question at rest. certainly he was in his den? but whether asleep or not, it was evident he took no heed of their shouting. some other means must be adopted to get him out. he must be stirred up with a pole! this was the plan that suggested itself, and the one determined upon. pouchskin started off to procure a pole. the others kept guard--still holding their guns in readiness, lest the bear might make a rush in pouchskin's absence. but bruin had no such intention; nor was his presence betrayed by sight or sound, until pouchskin came back. he had cut a pole with his axe, and had taken the precaution to select a long one. a young sapling it was, that when cleared of its branches appeared as long as a hop-pole. pouchskin knew the advantage of its length. he had no particular wish to come to close quarters with the bear. creeping back pretty nearly into his old place, he inserted the end of the sapling into the aperture--then rattled it against the sides, and waited a bit. no response from bruin! once more the pole was pushed in, this time a little further, and again accompanied with similar noisy demonstrations. bruin neither moves nor makes sound! "he must be asleep! try a little further, pouchskin!" this suggestion came from the impatient ivan. encouraged by the words of his young master, pouchskin approached, nearer to the aperture, and buried half of the pole inside. he then turned the stick and poked it all about, but could touch nothing that felt like a bear. growing more confident, he crept yet nearer, and pushed the pole up till he could touch the bottom of the cave--once more feeling with its point in all directions, against the further end, along the sides, upwards and downwards, and everywhere. still he touched nothing soft--nothing that felt as the shaggy hide of a bear should do-nothing, in fact, but hard rocks, against which the stick could be heard rattling wherever he pushed it! this was very mysterious. pouchskin was an old bear-hunter. he had poked his pole into many a burrow of bruin, and he knew well enough when he had touched bottom. he could tell moreover that the cave he was now exploring was all in one piece--a single-roomed house. had there been any second or inner chamber he would have found the aperture that led to it; but there appeared to be none. to make sure of this, he now approached quite near to the entrance, and continued to guage the cavity with his stick. alexis and ivan also drew near--one on each side of him--and the exploration continued. in a short while, however, pouchskin became nearly satisfied that _there was no bear in the den_! he had groped with his stick all round and round it, and had come in contact with nothing softer than a rock or a root of the tree. as a last _resource_ he lay down on the ground to listen--placing his ear close to the mouth of the cave; and, cautioning his young masters to keep silent, in this position he remained for some seconds of time. perhaps it was fortunate for them, if not for him, that they attended to his caution. their silence enabled them to hear what pouchskin could not--placed as he now was--and that was a sound that caused the young bear-hunters to start back and look upwards, instead of into the cave. as they did so, a sight met their eyes that drew from both a simultaneous cry, while both at the same instant retreated several paces from the spot, elevating their guns as they went backward. slowly moving down the trunk of the great pine-tree appeared an animal of enormous size. had they not been expecting something of the kind neither could have told that this moving object was an animal: since at first sight neither a head nor limbs could be distinguished--only an immense shapeless mass of brown shaggy hair. the instant after a huge hairy limb was protruded below, and then another both terminating in broad ungulated paws, that in succession griped the rough bark of the tree, causing it to rattle and scale off. singular as its shape was there was no mistaking the animal that was making this retrograde movement. it was bruin himself, descending the tree buttocks downward! chapter eleven. hand to hand. alexis and ivan, as they started back, simultaneously screamed out a shout of warning to pouchskin. both, almost at the same instant, raised their guns, and fired into the buttocks of the bear. pouchskin had heard their cries, but not the preliminary "sniff" which the animal had uttered: he had been too eager in _listening inside of the cave_, to hear aught that was passing without. he heard their warning cry however, and the reports of their guns; but not in time to get out of the way. just as the shots were fired, he had half risen from his recumbent attitude; but the bear at that moment dropped down from the tree, and coming "_co-thump_" on the back of the old guardsman, once more flattened him out upon his face! perhaps it would have been as well for pouchskin, if he had quietly remained in that attitude: for the bear had already turned from him, and showed signs of an intention to retreat; but pouchskin, deeming that he was in the worst position he could well be in, scrambled suddenly to his feet, and made a "grab" at his gun. this show of fight on the part of his antagonist--and the belief, perhaps, that it was pouchskin that had so rudely tickled his posteriors--roused the fury of the bear; and instead of exposing his hind quarters to a second assault, he charged mouth open upon the ex-guardsman. by this time, the latter had recovered his gun, and promptly brought the piece to his shoulder; but, alas! the gun snapped! the lock had been wetted in the snow-trap. it was a flint lock, and the priming had got damped. the failure only increased the fury of the animal; and a charge of swan-shot, which ivan at the same instant fired from his second barrel, still further irritated him. pouchskin drew his long-bladed knife. it was the only weapon he could lay his hand upon, for the axe, which might have served him better, had been left above on the bank, where he had lopped the sapling. he drew his knife, therefore, and prepared to defend himself in a _hand to paw_ struggle. he might still have retreated, though not with a certainty of safety-for in the hurry of the moment the bear had got on the bank above him: and had he turned his back, the fierce quadruped might have overtaken, and knocked him down at his will. pouchskin thought it better to face the bear, and receive his onslaught at arm's length. there was but one way in which he could have retreated, and that was backward down the slope. he might make ground in that direction; and it occurred to him to do so, in order to get footing on a more level surface. the bear having paused a moment to bite the place where the rifle bullet had stung him, gave pouchskin time to gain some ground backwards; but only a few paces--since the whole affair did not occupy a tenth of the time taken in describing it. just as pouchskin had reached the bottom of the slope, his angry assailant, with a terrific growl, rushed forth from the smoke, and galloped directly towards him. when about three feet distant from the hunter, bruin reared upon his hind legs, in the attitude of a prize-fighter! pouchskin was seen to lunge forward with his right arm--the one which carried his knife; and, the moment after, both man and beast appeared closed together, "in grips." in this fashion they went waltzing over the snow, the spray of which rose in a cloud around them; and for a while they were seen only as one dark upright form, in confused and violent motion! ivan was uttering cries of fear--fear for the safety of his dearly-loved pouchskin; while alexis, more cool, was rapidly reloading his rifle,-knowing that the surest means of saving the life of their faithful attendant, was to encompass the death of the bear. it was a moment of real peril for pouchskin. the bear was one of the largest and fiercest he had ever encountered; and, perhaps, had he examined the brute more minutely before the conflict commenced, he would have thought twice before facing him. but the smoke from the guns was still over and around the spot, hanging upon the damp air. up to the time when pouchskin resolved to make stand, he had not yet had a clear view of his shaggy antagonist. when at length he perceived the formidable proportions of the animal, it was too late to retreat; and the struggle began as described. in brief time alexis--who at loading was quick as a tirailleur--had recharged his piece, and was now hastening up to the rescue. without going quite close he dared not fire: for in the way that man and bear were dancing about, there would be as much danger of killing the one as the other. all at once, however, they appeared to separate. pouchskin had torn himself out of the bear's clutches, and, evidently disinclined to a renewal of the embrace, was retreating backward, over the snow, still hotly pursued by the animal. at this moment alexis would have fired; but, unfortunately, the direction in which pouchskin was going, kept his body nearly in a line with that of the animal; and alexis could not fire without danger of hitting him. the chase led across the ravine, and of course over the bed of snow. the pursued was doing his best to escape. but the pursuer had the advantage--for while the man was breaking through at every step, the broad-pawed quadruped glided over the frozen crust without sinking an inch. pouchskin had got a little the start, but his pursuer was fast gaining upon him. once or twice, indeed, the bear was close enough to touch pouchskin's skirts with his extended snout; but the necessity of rearing up, before making a stroke with his paw, required him to get still nearer, and bruin knew that. he had, however, got near enough even for this; and had risen on his hind feet, with the intention of clawing down his victim. ivan and alexis simultaneously uttered a cry of dismay; but before the dangerous stroke could descend, he for whom it was intended had sunk out of sight! at first, the young hunters believed the blow had been struck, and that pouchskin had fallen prostrate under it. they saw the bear spring forward as if to cover the fallen man; but the next moment their terror was mingled with astonishment on seeing, or rather _not_ seeing, either man or bear: both had suddenly disappeared! chapter twelve. a mysterious disappearance. the sudden disappearance of both man and bear would no doubt have sadly perplexed our young hunters, had it not been for pouchskin's previous adventure. with that still fresh in their memory, they were at no loss to comprehend what had occurred. while eagerly endeavouring to escape from his antagonist, pouchskin had, no doubt, forgotten the dangerous snow-bridge; and, just as before, he had broken through it. this time, however, it was no laughing matter. pouchskin was no longer playing a solitary jack-in-the-box, but, in all likelihood, he was under the huge body of the savage monster, in the act of being torn to pieces by his teeth, or perhaps drowned in the _subnivean_ stream. whether the bear had sprung voluntarily after him, or, in the impetus of charging, had been himself precipitated into the snow chasm without the power of preventing it, could not for the moment be known. the young hunters suspected that the bear had fallen in rather against his will; for certainly he had been seen to go down in rather an awkward and blundering manner, his hind legs pitching upwards as he broke through. whether the plunge had been voluntary or against his will could matter but little. he must be now upon top of the ex-guardsman; and, knowing the implacable fury of these animals when roused to resentment, his young masters had no other idea but that their attendant would be either drowned or torn to pieces. as a last hope, however, alexis rushed on over the snow, holding his ride before him, and prepared to fire its contents into the bear the moment he should get sight of the animal. as he advanced, he could hear a plunging and splashing of water, with other noises,--as the snorting and growling of the bear, and the crashing of frozen snow, all mixed up in confusion of sounds. concluding that these noises were caused by the struggle still going on between the man and the bear, he hurried forward. strange! there came no voice from pouchskin! when within about three paces of the broken edge, an object came under his eyes, that caused him to halt in his track. that object was the snout of the bear, that was projected upward above the surface of the snow. the eyes of the animal were not visible, nor any other part of it, except the aforesaid snout, and about six inches of the muzzle. the thought instantly occurred to alexis, that the bear had reared upon his hind feet, and was endeavouring to clamber out; and this was true enough, for the instant after, he was seen to spring perpendicularly upward, until his whole head and part of his neck became visible. only for an instant, however; for bruin, who now appeared to be playing jack-in-the-box, sank once more out of sight, snout and all. the young hunter was just regretting that he had not taken a snap shot at the animal's head; but before ten seconds of time had elapsed, the snout was again popped up by the edge of the hole. in all probability the bear would make a second attempt to spring out. alexis was therefore waiting till the whole head should show itself; but quick as a flash of lightning, it occurred to him that the brute might at the second effort succeed in reaching the surface of the snow, and then he would himself be in danger. to avoid this contingency, he resolved to fire at once; not at the snout, for, although he could not have failed to send his bullet through it, he knew that that would not kill the bear, but only render him more desperately furious, if such a thing had been possible. it was the bear's skull he meant to take aim at. from the position of the animal's snout, of course he could tell exactly where the head must be, though he could not see it. had alexis been an unskilled marksman, he would have stood his ground; and, guessing the position of the bear's head, would have fired at it through the snow. but he did not act in this manner. he had scientific knowledge sufficient to tell him that his bullet, sent in a slanting direction, might glance off the frozen crust, and miss the mark altogether. to ensure its direction, therefore, he instantly glided two steps forward, poked the barrel of his piece through the snow, until the muzzle almost touched the head of the bear--and then fired! for some seconds he saw nothing. the smoke of the gunpowder, as well as the snow-dust blown up before the muzzle of the gun, formed a dense cloud over the spot. but though alexis could not see the effect of his shot, he could tell by what he heard that his bullet had done good work. a loud "swattering" at the bottom of the hole proclaimed that the bear was struggling in the water; while his piteous whines and faint grunting told that his fierce strength was fast passing away. as soon as the smoke had cleared off, alexis upon his knees crept forward to the edge, and looked over it. there was blood upon the snow; the side against which the bear had stood was crimsoned with streams of it; and below, in the water, among the clumps of broken snow-crust, appeared a dark-brown mass, which alexis knew to be the body of the animal. it was still in motion; but as it was in a prostrate attitude, and making only feeble efforts, the young hunter knew that the life was nearly out of it. it was not this that was now causing him to look down with such an anxious and troubled countenance. it was his apprehensions for pouchskin. where was he? at the bottom of the crater-like pit alexis could see the body of the animal, but nothing of a man--neither arms, legs, nor body. could he be under the bear, concealed by the shaggy hair? was he hidden under the black water that filled the bottom of the ravine?--or, horrible thought! was he dead, and had his body been carried off by the current that rushed rapidly under the snow? this was not improbable, for alexis could see that there was a sort of arched tunnel between the snow and the water, quite large enough to have admitted the body of a man! in agony he cried out, calling pouchskin by name. he was repeating his despairing invocation, when all at once a loud laugh echoed in his ears, uttered close behind him. in the laughter he recognised the voice of ivan. alexis suddenly leaped to his feet, wondering what on earth could be the cause of this ill-timed merriment. he turned towards ivan with the intention of chiding him; but at that moment an object fell under his eye, that hindered him from carrying his intention into effect. on the contrary, the sight he saw caused him such joy, that he could not restrain himself from joining ivan in his laughter. no wonder. the sight was odd enough to have drawn a smile from a dying man. a spectacle more ludicrous could scarce have been conceived. a little further down the ravine, and about ten paces from where the boys were standing, an object was seen protruding above the snow. it was about ten inches in vertical diameter, something less horizontally, and of a roundish or oval shape. in colour it was almost white as the snow itself: for, indeed, it was sprinkled over with this material out of the bosom of which it had just emerged. a stranger coming upon the ground might have been sorely puzzled to make out what it was; but not so ivan, who, on first beholding it, as it popped upward through the frozen crust, recognised it as the head of pouchskin. alexis also made it out at the first glance; and it was the comic twinkle of pouchskin's eyes--denoting that no great damage had happened to him--that led alexis to join his brother in the laughter. their merriment, however, was of short continuance--only an involuntary burst, for a moment's reflection told them that pouchskin, although they saw him alive, might nevertheless have sustained some serious injury; and both at the thought hastened up towards the head. on getting close to it, however, ivan was unable to control himself, and once more gave way to a fit of involuntary laughter. the head of the old guardsman, standing up like a sphinx above the frozen surface,--his grizzled hair powdered all over with snow like the poll of some grand flunkey,--his long moustache loaded with it,--his eyes sparkling and twinkling, and his features set in a serio-comic expression,--all combined to form a picture that it was difficult to contemplate with seriousness. alexis, however, anxious to ascertain as to whether pouchskin had received any dangerous wound, did _not_ this time join in his brother's mirth; and, as soon as they came near enough, his inquiries were directed to that end. "only scratched a bit, masters!" answered the old guardsman,--"only scratched a bit--nothing much; but the bear--the bear! where has the brute gone?" "to his long home," answered alexis; "you need be under no further apprehension about him. i think your knife must have well-nigh settled his account, for he was unable to get out of the hole again; but, fortunately, i have finished him with a bullet, and it only remains for us to haul his carcass up and take the skin off it. first, however, let us endeavour to extricate you, my good pouchskin; and then you can tell us by what means you have managed to make an escape that certainly appears miraculous!" so saying, alexis, assisted by ivan, commenced digging away the hard crust that surrounded the neck of pouchskin; and kept on at it, until they had uncovered his shoulders. then seizing him by the arms--one on each side--they drew him up, till his feet once more rested on the surface of the snow. chapter thirteen. a subnivean escape. pouchskin proceeded to describe the manner of his escape--his young masters listening to him with great interest--although they already guessed pretty nearly how it had been accomplished. still there were some points not so clear to them, which the old guardsman detailed. in the first place, he had retreated from the bear, not because he believed himself vanquished, but because he had lost his knife. its handle, wet with blood, had slipped from his grasp; and he could not tell what had become of it! finding himself unarmed, of course his next thought was to get out of bruin's way, for what could an unarmed man do in the embrace of a bear--and such a bear? he then turned and ran; but he had quite forgotten the dangerous character of the snow-bed--the bridge that had refused to carry him before; though, indeed, over it was the only direction he could have taken. had he attempted to run to the right or left, his course must have been up-hill; and the bear would have been certain to overhaul him in a couple of leaps. after all, he had taken the proper direction; and, as it proved in the end, his breaking through was the most fortunate accident that could possibly have happened to him. had it not chanced so, he would, in all probability, have fallen into the clutches of the bear, and been torn to shreds by the infuriated animal. well, on touching bottom, he felt the water among his feet, and just then remembered how it had been before. he remembered the hollow archway under the snow, and, seeing the bear above, and in the act of being precipitated on top of him, he suddenly ducked his head, and pushed himself into the tunnel. he could feel the bear falling upon him behind, and the weight of the animal's body, as it was precipitated downwards, forced him still further under the snow-bridge. once in, he continued on down the stream, working both with head and arms, and clearing a space that would allow his body to pass. the soft snow was easily pressed out of the way; and, after going as far as he deemed necessary, he turned to the right, and worked his way upward to the surface. it was while he was thus engaged that alexis had been squaring accounts with the bear. the fierce creature had not followed pouchskin under the snow. in all probability, his sudden "souse" into the water had astonished bruin himself;--from that moment all his thoughts were to provide for his own safety, and, with this intention, he was endeavouring to get back to the surface of the snowdrift, when alexis first caught sight of his snout. at the moment that alexis fired the final shot, or just a little after it, pouchskin had popped up his head through the congealed crust of the snow, and elicited from ivan those peals of laughter that had so much astonished his brother. pouchskin, however, had not come unscathed out of the "scrimmage." on examining the old guardsman, it was found that the bear had clawed him severely; and a piece of skin, of several inches square was peeled from his left shoulder. the flesh, too, was rather badly lacerated. alexis was not without some surgical skill; and, without suffering a moment to be lost, he dressed the wound in the best manner possible under the circumstances. a clean handkerchief, which ivan chanced to have, served as a covering for the scar; and this being tied on securely, with a strip torn from the sleeve of pouchskin's own shirt, left the wounded guardsman in a condition to recover, as soon as it might please nature to permit. nothing more could have been done by the most "skilful practitioner." their next business was to look after the bear. on going back to the hole, and, gazing into it, the animal, as alexis had anticipated, was quite dead; and the water, partially dammed up by the huge carcass, was flowing over it. ivan, who had hitherto done least of all to secure the prize, now became the most active of the three; and, leaping down upon the body of the great brute, he looped the rope around one of its hind legs, and then stood on one side to help the rest in raising it upward. alexis and pouchskin commenced hauling on the other end of the rope, and the vast mass slowly ascended upward, ivan pushing from below, and guiding it past the inequalities of the snow. it would have been a different sort of a task, to have hauled bruin out of such a hole three months earlier in the season; that is, about the time he had lain down for his winter _siesta_. then he would have turned six or seven hundred pounds upon the scales, whereas at this time he was not more than half the weight. his skin, however, was in just as good condition as if he had been fat; and it was this, and not his carcass, that our hunters cared for. after some tough pulling, accompanied by a good deal of shouting from ivan at the bottom of the hole, the huge carcass was dragged forth, and lay at full length along the frozen snow. it was still necessary to raise it to the branch of a tree, in order that it might be skinned in a proper manner. this however, could be easily accomplished by means of the rope. up to this time pouchskin had been puzzled about the loss of his knife. everywhere he looked for it; but it was nowhere to be found. all the surface _over_ which he had danced with the bear was carefully examined, and the snow scraped up to the depth of several inches. there was the blood of the bear, and some of pouchskin's own too, but no knife! could it have got into the water? no. pouchskin declared that he had dropped it near the edge of the snow-bed: for this accident, as already stated, had been the cause of his retreat from the conflict. it was only when the great carcass was being hauled up to the branch, that the lost knife made its appearance. then, to the astonishment of the young hunters, as well as to pouchskin himself, the knife was seen sticking in the shoulder of the bear! there it had been when the haft slipped from his hands, and there had it remained. no doubt that stab would have given the bear his death-blow; but still more fatal had been the bullet from the rifle of alexis, which had passed through bruin's brain, crushing his skull like a shell! the skinning of the animal was accomplished with great care; for the coat was one of the finest, and the boys knew with what interest it would be regarded on its arrival at the palace grodonoff. they spared no pains, therefore, in removing it from the carcass; and after the work was finished, it was neatly folded up, tied with the rope, and placed like a knapsack on pouchskin's shoulders. of the carcass they took no heed; but leaving it to the wolves, the gluttons, or any other carnivorous creatures that might chance to stray that way, they turned back up the ravine; and, striking off on a path that led towards the tent of the laplander, reached their smoky quarters in good time for dinner. chapter fourteen. ringing the bear. the bear thus killed was the true _ursus arctos_, or brown bear--the latter name being given to him from the colour of his fur, which, in ninety-nine cases out of every hundred, is a uniform brown. the name, however, is not appropriate, since there are other brown bears belonging to very different species. having secured his robe, as we have seen, the next call of our hunters was to obtain a skin from the body of his black brother. they were well aware that this would not be so easy of accomplishment, from the simple fact, that the _ursus niger_, or "european black bear," is one of the rarest of animals--indeed, so few of them are obtained, that out of a thousand skins of the european bear that pass through the hands of the furriers, not more than two or three will be found to be of the black variety. it is true that they were just in the country where they would be most likely to fall in with one; for it is only in the northern zone of europe (and asia also) where the black ones are found. this variety is not encountered in the southern ranges of mountains in the alps, pyrenees, and carpathians. whether this black bear is a distinct species was not a question with them. they knew that by most naturalists he is recognised as a variety--by some a permanent one. it was therefore certainly included in the conditions of their father's letter; and a skin must be procured _coute qui coute_. this done, they would have no further business in lapland, but might proceed at once to the pyrenees. it was not necessary to procure skins of the grey or silver bear, nor that with the white ring round its neck--known as the ringed or collared bear. as alexis had said, it is acknowledged by all who know the _ursus arctos_ his native haunts, that these are mere accidental varieties. the true "collared bear" (_ursus collaris_) is not found in lapland,-only in northern asia and kamschatka, and it is he that is known as the "siberian bear." the boys therefore were not "bound" by their covenant to procure these varieties; but for all that, they were gratified at going beyond the strict letter of their agreement, which good luck enabled them to do; for while scouring the country in search of the _ursus niger_, they chanced upon another brown bear, a female, with three cubs, one of which was brown, like the mother; the second had the white ring round its neck, and the third was as grey as a little badger! all four were taken; and the young hunters not only had the gratification of being able to send the different varieties of skins to their father's museum, but an additional satisfaction was afforded to alexis, the naturalist, by this grand family capture. it proved incontestably, what he already suspected, and what, moreover, the native peasants and hunters had told him, that the "silver" and "ringed" bears were identical with the _ursus arctos_. notwithstanding their joy at the capture of the old she, and her parti-coloured pets, they were yet very anxious about the black bear. they had hunted all the forests and mountains for miles around, and had even succeeded in killing several other specimens of "brownie," but no "blackie" was to be met with. it had now got known among the native hunters what they were in search of; and, as they had offered a liberal reward to any one who could guide them to the haunt or den of a real black bear, it was not unlikely they should soon hear of one. in this expectation they were not deceived. about a week after the offer had been proclaimed, a finnish peasant (one of the quans, as they are called) made his appearance at their headquarters, add announced that he had "ringed" a black bear. it was welcome tidings; and the young russians at once proceeded to the indicated place. it may be necessary to explain what the man meant when he told them he had "ringed" the bear; since that is a phrase of specific meaning throughout the countries of scandinavia. in these countries, when the track of a bear is observed in the snow, it is followed up by the person who has discovered it, with the intention of "ringing" the animal--that is, ascertaining as near as maybe, the locality in which it may have halted from its rambles, and lain down to rest. of course, if the person thus trailing the bear be a hunter--or if it be a party of hunters actually engaged in the chase, they will keep on until they have found the bear in his den. but in nine cases out of ten, bears are not pursued in this fashion. generally, their haunt--whether temporary or otherwise--has been ascertained beforehand, by some shepherd or woodcutter, and a party of hunters then proceeds to the spot, and makes a surround of the animal before rousing him from his lair. this "surround," however, has nothing whatever to do with the "ringing" of the bear, which is an operation of a different character, and is performed by the party who has first chanced upon the tracks. the mode of proceeding is simply to follow the trail, or _spar_, of the bear as silently as possible--until the tracker has reason to believe that the animal is not far off. this he discovers by observing that the _spar_ no longer trends in a direct line, but doubles about in zigzags, and backward turnings, upon itself; for when a bear intends to lie down, it is his habit to quarter the ground in every direction, precisely as does the hare before squatting in her form. many other animals observe a similar caution before going to rest. the bear-tracker having reached this point, then leaves the track altogether, and makes a circuit round that part of the forest within which he suspects bruin to have couched himself. this circuit is of greater or less diameter, according to circumstances--depending on the season of the year, nature of the ground, and a variety of other considerations. while going round this circle, if it should be seen that the track of the bear leads beyond it, then that "ring" is given up, and another commenced further forward. if, on the other hand, the tracker gets round to the place whence he first started, without again coming upon the _spar_, he concludes that the bear must be lying somewhere within the circumference which he has traced, and will there be found. this, then, is termed "ringing" the bear. you may wonder why the man does not follow up the _spar_ until he actually reaches the den or lair of the animal. that is easily explained. the tracker is not always a bear-hunter, and even if he were, it would not be prudent for him to approach a bear without assistants, who, by surrounding the animal, should cut off its retreat. were he to go forward direct to the bear's hiding-place, bruin would, in all probability, discover him before he could approach within shot; and, making a bolt, might carry him a chase of ten or twelve miles before stopping. the brown bear often does so. the tracker, having ascertained the circle within which the animal has made its temporary resting-place, next proceeds to warn the hunters of his village or settlement; and then a large party go out for the destruction of the common enemy. they deploy around the ring, and closing inward, are pretty sure to find the bear either asleep in his den, or just starting out of it, and trying to get off. the "ring" will usually keep for several days--sometimes for weeks--for the bear, especially in winter time, will remain in the vicinity of his lair for long spells at a time. frequently several days will elapse before any hunters arrive on the ground; but, if the bear should have strayed off in the mean time, his tracks in the snow will still enable them to follow and find him. if, however, fresh snow should have fallen, after the bear has made his exit from the marked circle, then, of course, the search will prove a blank, and bruin make his escape--at least out of that "ring." one of the most singular features of this custom is, that he who has succeeded in "ringing" a bear, is regarded as the lawful proprietor of the animal--or rather of the "ring"--and can dispose of his right to any hunting party he pleases. of course he cannot guarantee the killing of the bear: that is left to the skill of the hunters, who must take their chance. the tracker only answers for a bear being found within a prescribed circle, of which he gives proof by pointing out the _spar_. with such conditions, established by long and well-observed custom, it will easily be believed that the woodcutters and other peasants make a market by ringing bears, frequently disposing of the "ring" to the more ardent hunters for a very considerable price! it was just with this view that the finnish peasant had put himself in communication with our young russians; and as the bounty they had already offered far exceeded the usual purchase-money in such cases, the quan at once closed with their offer, and conducted them to the "ring." chapter fifteen. old nalle. while proceeding towards the ground where they expected to find the bear, their guide informed them that he had not only ringed the animal, but actually knew the den in which it was lying. this was still better: it would not only save them a search, but enable them to encompass the beast on all sides and cut off his retreat--should he attempt to bolt before they could get near. on approaching the place, therefore, pouchskin proposed that the three should separate, and, after having deployed into a circle, proceed inward from different directions. but the guide opposed this suggestion--saying, with a significant smile, that there was no need of such precautions, as he would answer for the bear not leaving his den, until they had all got up as near as they might wish to be. the hunters wondered at this confidence on the part of their guide, but in a few minutes' time they had an explanation of it. going up to a sort of cliff that formed the side of a little stony knoll, the quan pointed to a hole in the rocks, saying, as he did so:-"old _nalle_ is in there." now "nalle" is the nickname of the bear throughout the scandinavian countries, and our russian hunters knew this well enough; but that a bear could be inside the little hole, to which their guide had pointed, appeared utterly incredible, and ivan and alexis burst into a loud laugh, while pouchskin was rather inclined to show a little anger about the matter. the hole which the quan had pointed out was a crevice between two great boulders of rock. it was about a yard above the ground, upon which they stood; and was certainly not more than six or eight inches in diameter. all round the orifice the rocks were thickly coated with ice; and from the top of the cliff on both sides huge icicles projected downwards, until their tips touched the earth, looking like enormous trunks of elephants, or such as even mammoths might have carried. one of these immense icicles was directly in front of the aperture; while on the ground just below its point stood up a huge mass of an irregular conical shape, the convex surface of which was coated with snow that had lately fallen. the first impression of the hunters was, that they had been deceived by the cunning quan. pouchskin declared that they would not stand being tricked; and at once demanded back the ten rix-dollars which his young masters had paid for the "ring" of the bear. "it was all nonsense," he said; "even if there was a cave, no bear could be inside, for the simple reason that none, even the smallest, could possibly have squeezed his carcass through a hole like that;--a cat could hardly have crept into such an aperture. besides, where were the tracks of the bear? there were none to be seen--neither by the mouth of the hole, nor in the snow outside." there were old tracks of the peasant himself and of a dog, but not of a bear. "it's a decided take-in," grumbled pouchskin. "patience, master!" said the quan. "there is a bear inside for all that; and i'll prove it, or else return you your money. see my little dog! he'll tell you old _nalle_ is there. it was he that told me." as the quan said this he let slip a diminutive cur, which he had hitherto held in the leash. the animal, on being set free, rushed up to the hole, and commenced scratching at the ice, and barking in the most furious and excited manner. it certainly proved there was some living creature inside; but how could the quan tell it was a bear? and, above all, a black bear! he was interrogated on this point. "by it," replied the peasant, taking from his pouch a tuft of long black fur, which was evidently that of a bear; "that is how i know that old _nalle's_ in the cave, and the colour of the hair tells me that it's _black nalle_ who's inside." "but how came you by that?" inquired all three in a breath, as the man held the tuft before their eyes. "well, masters!" answered the quan, "you see some jaggy points on the rock, at the top of the hole, there. i found it sticking there, where the bear must have left it, as he was squeezing himself into his cave-that's how it was." "but surely," said alexis, "you don't mean to assert that a bear could pass through such a hole as that? why, a badger couldn't get in there, my man!" "not _now_," said the quan, "i admit; it's three months since he went in. the hole was bigger then." "bigger _then_?" "certainly, masters! the heap you see below is only ice. it's the drip of that great icicle that has frozen up as it fell, and if it were not there you'd see a place big enough for a bear to get in. ah! sirs! he's there, i can assure you." "why, he couldn't get out of himself?" "that is very true," replied the peasant; "he'd be safe enough there till a good bit on in the spring. if we hadn't found him, he would have been obliged to stay in his cave till the sun had thawed that great heap out of his way. it often happens so with the bears in these parts," added the quan, without seeming to think there was anything unusual about the circumstance. what the man said was literally true. the bear had gone into this cleft or cave to take his winter nap, and during the long weeks, while he was thus hybernating, the water, of rain and melting snow, dripping from the top of the cliff, had formed enormous stalactites of ice, with stalagmites as well: since it was one of the latter that had closed up the entrance to the den, and fairly shut him up in his own house! not only does this curious accident often occur to scandinavian bears, but these animals, notwithstanding their proverbial sagacity, frequently become their own jailers. they have a habit of collecting large quantities of moss and grass in front of their caves, which they place right in the aperture; and not inside as a bed to lie upon. why they do so is not clearly understood. the scandinavian hunters allege that it is for the purpose of sheltering them from the cold wind, that would otherwise blow up into their chamber; and in the absence of any better explanation this has been generally adopted. the heap soon gets saturated by rain and melting snow, and congeals into a solid mass, so hard that it requires to be cut with an axe before it can be got out of the way; and the bear himself is totally incapable of removing it. the consequence is that it often shuts up the entrance to his winter chamber; and bruin, on awakening from his sleep, finds himself caught in a trap of his own construction. he has then no other resource but to remain inside till the spring heats have thawed the mass, so that he can tear it to pieces with his claws, and thus effect an exit. on such occasions, he issues forth in a state of extreme weakness and emaciation. not unfrequently he is altogether unable to clear away the obstacle, and perishes in his den. on hearing these explanations from the quan, who appeared to be well acquainted with bruin's habits, the young hunters were satisfied that a bear was really in the cave. indeed, they were not long upon the spot, till they had still more satisfactory evidence of this fact; for they could hear the "sniffing" of the animal, with an occasional querulous growl, as if uttered in answer to the barking of the dog. beyond doubt, there was a bear inside. how was he to be got out? that now became the important question. chapter sixteen. the staked enclosure. they waited, for a time, in hopes that he might show his snout at the little aperture, and all three stood watching it, with guns cocked and ready. a good while passed, however, and, as no snout made its appearance, they came to the conclusion that the bear was not to be caught in that simple way. by the snorting growl they could tell that he was at no great distance from the entrance, and they thought a pole might reach him. they tried this, but found that it could be inserted only in a diagonal direction; and although pouchskin poised in the pole, and bent it round like a rattan, he could not touch wool anywhere; while the bear, though he gave tongue now and then, still kept his place at the further end of the cave. no other plan offered, except to cut away the icy mass, and set open the mouth of the cavity. if this were done, would bruin be then likely to come forth? the quan was confident he would; alleging as his reason, that, in consequence of the spell of warm weather there had been, the bear must have fully shaken off his winter drowsiness, and would no doubt have been abroad long ago, but for the ice preventing his egress from the den. as soon as that should be removed, he would be pretty sure to sally out--for hunger, said the peasant, will bring him forth, if not just at the moment, certainly within an hour or so. at the worst they could wait a while. moreover, were the ice removed, they might be able to reach him with a pole; and that would be certain to put him in such a rage as would at once tempt him to make a _sortie_. with this idea, pouchskin seized his axe, knocked the great icicle into "smithereens," and was about going to work upon the huge _stalagmite_ that blocked up the entrance, when he was interrupted by the quan. "with your leave, master!" said the latter, as he laid his hand upon pouchskin's arm to restrain him. "not so fast, if you please?" "why?" asked the ex-guardsman, "don't you intend to unearth the brute?" "yes, master," replied the quan; "but something must be done first. this is a black bear, you must know." "well, and what of a black one more than any other?" demanded pouchskin, somewhat surprised, for in the forests of russia, where he had hunted bears, there were no black ones. "don't you know," said the finn, "that black nalle is always bigger and fiercer than his brown brother? besides, just at this time he will be so savage with hunger, that he would eat one of us up the moment he got out. if that ice was away, i shouldn't like to stand here. take your time, master! i think i can show you a better plan, at all events it is a safer one. it's a way we practise here--when we are sure that a bear is asleep, and won't interrupt us while we're making ready for him." "oh, well," replied pouchskin, "i'm agreeable to anything you propose. i'm not particularly desirous of risking another wrestle--not i--i had enough of that the other day." and as the old guardsman made the remark, he gave a significant shrug of his shoulders, the wounds upon which not being yet quite cicatrised, feelingly reminded him of the rough handling he had received. "well then," said the quan, "if you will help me to cut some strong stakes, i shall show you a plan by which you may knock old _nalle_ upon the skull without danger to any of us, or send your bullets through his brain, if you like better to kill him in that way." all, of course, agreed to the quan's proposal; for if the black bear was as he represented him, fiercer than his brown brethren, it would be no pleasant prospect to have him loose among them; and in case of their not being able to shoot him dead on the spot as he rushed out, they might not only be in danger of getting mauled, but in danger of what they dreaded almost as much--losing him altogether. he might get off into the forest; and as there were tracts along the hill-sides, now quite clear of snow, he might steal away from them beyond recovery. this would be a disappointment of no ordinary kind. in fact, it might be the means of keeping them for weeks, or perhaps months, from proceeding on their journey: since it might be weeks or months before they should fall in with another chance of obtaining a black bearskin; and until that was procured they could not turn their faces towards spain. with such a prospect then, they were only too ready to agree to any conditions by which the bear might be safely secured. the quan was not long in disclosing his plan; and as soon as he had communicated it, all three set to work to aid him in its execution. a number of stout stakes were cut--each about six feet in length, and pointed at one end. these were driven into the earth around the outer edge of the icy mass, in a sort of semicircular row; and so as to enclose a small space in front of the aperture. to hold the stakes all the more firmly, large stones were piled up against them, and the uprights themselves were closely wattled together by the broad flat branches of the spruce pines that grew near. in this way was constructed a fence that a cat could not have crawled through, much less a bear. one aperture only was left in it, and that was directly in front--a hole at about the height of a man's knee from the ground, and just big enough to admit the head of a bear--for that was the purpose for which it was intended. the next thing done was to roof the whole of this stockade enclosure; and that was accomplished by resting long poles horizontally over it, tying them at the ends to the tops of the uprights, and then covering them thickly with _granris_ (the spray lopped from the branches of the evergreen pines). it now only remained to get the ice cut of the way, and allow the bear to come forth. that would not have been so easy of accomplishment, had it not been already partially removed. before closing up the top, pouchskin, directed by the finnish peasant, had cut away most of the mass, leaving only a shell; which, although filling up the entrance as before, could be easily beaten down, or driven in from the outside of the enclosure. during the time that the ex-guardsman had been sapping away the ice, he had been keeping a sharp lookout. he was admonished to do this by certain noises that, now and then, came rumbling out of the cave; and not very certain that he was in perfect safety, he had been under some apprehension. the bear, by throwing all his weight against the reduced mass of ice, _might_ break his way out; and as by the constant chiselling the wall grew weaker and thinner, pouchskin's fears increased in proportion. he was only too happy, when, having picked the congealed mass to what was thought a sufficient thinness, he desisted from his work, and crept out of the enclosure, through the space that had been kept open for him. this was now fenced up as securely as the rest; and it only remained to knock away the icy barricade, and tempt bruin to come forth. the icy wall could be broken in by means of a long boar-spear with which the finnish peasant had provided himself. it was headed with a heavy piece of iron, edged and tipped with the best swedish steel, and this being jobbed against the ice, and kept constantly at work, soon splintered the shell into pieces. as soon as the quan saw that he had opened a hole large enough to pass the body of the bear, he drew back his spear, telling the hunter to look out. during the operation, all three had kept watch through crevices in the stockade-wall, holding their guns pointed towards the aperture, and ready to give the bear a volley the moment he should show his snout. chapter seventeen. the spitting-devil. to their disappointment, however, the bear refused to exhibit even as much as the tip of his nose, not only while his door was being opened, but afterwards; and they began to think that he might not come forth after all. the quan assured them that he would be certain to do so in time; but perhaps not for a few hours, till after they should have remained quiet a while, and old _nalle_ should fancy they had gone away. "he has been a long time without his breakfast," added the quan, "and his stomach will now be talking loudly to him; that will tell him to steal out for something to eat. no fear of it, masters!" "but for what purpose have you designed this hole?" inquired ivan, pointing to the little aperture that had been left in the wattled enclosure. "oh," replied the peasant, "that is how we kill bears sometimes; especially if we are not rich enough to have a gun. as soon as old _nalle_ rushes out from his den, the first thing he does is to run all round, looking for a chance to break through the fence. of course he finds the hole, and pokes his head through it. one of us stands outside, as you see me now, with a hatchet ready; and we would be clumsy, indeed, if we could not cleave in his skull, or give him such a crack upon it, as would turn him back downwards. you shall see how the bear will rush to this hole the moment he comes out, and then, masters! you shall see!" here the quan gave a significant shake to his hatchet, twirling it with the dexterity peculiar to his craft, for it so chanced that he was a woodcutter by trade. our hunters, however, saw that this would never do. according to the conditions under which they travelled, the bear must be killed by one of themselves; and, therefore, after a little explanation, the quan resigned his intention and stepped aside. his post, however, was supplied by the ex-guardsman, who, poising his ponderous axe, stood ready to deal a far heavier, and deadlier, blow than could be given by any woodcutter in scandinavia. alexis took charge of pouchskin's gun, determined to fire it as soon as he had discharged his own rifle; and as ivan had one barrel loaded with ball and the other with slugs, it was not likely, against such a formidable battery as was thus prepared for him, that bruin could manage to live much longer. it now became a question whether they should wait patiently till the bear came out, or whether they might not adopt some mode of tempting him forth, that would act upon him more rapidly than the cravings of his stomach. there could be no harm in trying to reach and stir him up with a pole; and for this purpose the woodcutter stepped aside to find one. he very soon succeeded in procuring a long birch sapling--as long as an ordinary fishing-rod; and having cleared this of its spray, he inserted it into the cave. to the gratification of the party it was found long enough for the purpose; for by the muffled feel it could only be bruin's fur that its point was buried in. it was just as far, however, as the pole would reach; and as it was a slender sapling without any stiffness in it, they were unable to do anything in the way of giving him a poke. no doubt, had the entrance to his den been wider, even the tickling of the pole would have caused him to "turn out;" for a bear, unless badly wounded, will not stand much badgering. it was possible, in this case, that bruin suspected there was some trap set for him outside--indeed, the noises he had been listening to for more than an hour, must have admonished him that all was not as it ought to be; and this perhaps rendered him more wary than was his wont. he might not yet be aware that his door was open; for the roofed enclosure still kept out the light as much as the _stalagmite_ had done; and although he might have heard the icy mass giving way before the axe and spear, he might not understand all that. it was necessary, therefore, to coax him as far as the threshold--so that he might discover that the door of his chamber had been opened for him. the tickling of the pole, however, proved of no service; for, although it drew from the huge brute a sniff or two, he still kept to his bed. what was to be done? must they retire, and wait patiently till the calls of hunger should urge him forth? the day was piercingly cold, and to remain there long would have been unpleasant enough. they might, indeed, have to stay by the cave all day and all night too: for the enclosure had been only slightly put up--merely to check the bear for a few minutes--and if they were to leave him all night to himself, he could easily tear down the stakes and get off. they could not think of deserting the spot for an instant; but to avoid a long vigil they set about considering some plan by which bruin might be induced to come forth from his inaccessible retreat. a thought occurred to ivan, who was a quick conceiver--a plan which promised well--and that was to make a "spitting-devil," and send it up into the cave. it appeared a good idea--at all events, it would not be difficult to give it a trial. gunpowder was not scarce with them--since russian roubles were plenty; and pouchskin, pouring out nearly a quarter of a pound into the palm of his broad hand, commenced spitting upon it and working the powder into a paste. ivan, who directed this operation, was determined his plan should not fail by any stinginess in regard to the materials required for carrying it out. after a short space of time the plastic fingers of pouchskin had elaborated the powder paste into a roll as large as a regalia cigar; and this being dried slightly near a fire--which they had long before kindled--was ready for the touch. to the old grenadier was intrusted the management of the miniature rocket; and, while the young hunters once more stood to their guns, he proceeded to carry out the design. having thrust his head through the hole intended for the bear, and his arm through another which he had made for himself, he held the "devil" at arm's length between his finger and thumb. the quan now took a blazing faggot from the fire, and passing it between the wattles, ignited the _fuse_ which the old grenadier had ingeniously placed in the "devil's" tail. as soon as pouchskin perceived that it was fairly on fire, with an adroit jerk he sent the little rocket up into the cave, as far as he could throw it; and then jerking himself backward, he seized hold of his axe. there was a moment of suspense; not long: for almost on the instant a brilliant light shone within the cave, accompanied with a sputtering and whizzing and cracking, as if half a dozen alarm-clocks had been set going at the same time! in the midst of this confusion of noises, and louder far than any, could be heard a number of sharp wild shrieks, and before the rocket had half burnt out, bruin was seen bolting forth over the broken fragments of ice. two shots were fired, almost simultaneously; but both failed to check his onward rush; and with a mighty force he came "bump" against the palisades, causing them to crash and swag as if they would give way. it was fortunate for the hunters that the stakes stood the shock: for such a set of teeth as that bear exhibited they had never before seen. a single stroke from those paws would have been enough to crack the thickest skull in creation. ivan gave him his second barrel--the one loaded with slugs,--but it only served to increase his fury; and now rearing up, and then going on all-fours, he kept rushing backward and forward through the enclosure, all the while uttering fierce growls. alexis, meanwhile, had dropped his rifle and taken up the fusil of pouchskin. his place was at one side of the enclosure. he had already got the barrel through the wattles, and was endeavouring to level it upon the bear--seeking for a mortal part at which he might aim. the darkness, however,--for the roofed stockade rendered it dark--combined with the quick movements of the animal, hindered him from getting a sight to his satisfaction. he knew the importance of making this a killing shot. should the bear, wounded as he now was, retreat back into his den, there would be no chance whatever of getting him out again. alexis thought of this; and therefore resolved not to fire at random, as he had done before. he knew that a full-grown bear, unless shot in the brain or heart, can accommodate a score of bullets without being much inconvenienced by them. knowing this, alexis was biding his time, when all at once he perceived the bear make halt on the front side of the enclosure. he now aimed at the heart of the huge animal, but before he could pull trigger, a loud crash sounded in his ear, and bruin was seen dropping to the ground, where he continued to lie, almost without giving a kick! it was the axe of pouchskin that had caused the crash, as its edge of steel descended upon the bear's cranium, smashing it in as if it had been an eggshell. as the quan predicted, the animal had imprudently poked his head through the aperture where pouchskin was standing ready for him. this, of course, finished the affair. it was only necessary to remove the palisades, sling the bear to a tree, and then strip him of his much-coveted skin. all this in due time was accomplished; and with the robe once more packed on the shoulders of pouchskin, the hunters returned to their headquarters. it proved--as the quan had promised them--to be a black bear; not that his fur was altogether black, as is the case with the _ursus americanus_ and the black bears of india. on the contrary, the hair was brown near the roots, and only black at the tips, which, however, gave it the appearance of being black all over the surface; and alexis knew that this was the variety of bear they were in search of. satisfied that they had obtained the skin of the _ursus niger_, it only remained for our hunters to pack up their travelling traps, bid adieu to the cold climate of scandinavia, and start for the sunny south--for the far-famed pyrenees of spain. chapter eighteen. the palombiere. it is not intended to detail the many incidents that befell them on the way, the chit-chat of steamboats, railroads, and hotels. their father cared not to hear of these trifles; he could read enough of such delightful stuff in the books of whole legions of travellers; and, as they did not note anything of this kind in their journal, we are left to suppose that they encountered the usual pleasures and _desagremens_ which all travellers must experience on similar journeys. as money was no object, they travelled with expedition--making only a short stay in the great capitals through which they passed, in order to have their passports _vised_, and sometimes for the purpose of using the great emperor's letter for the replenishment of their exchequer. this magic document proved all-powerful everywhere they went; and as they knew it would be so in all corners of the habitable globe, they could rely upon it with perfect confidence. pouchskin's leathers bag was always well weighted with the yellow metal,--and _specie_, whatever stamp it may bear, is current all over the world. their journal merely mentions the route followed. from their hunting-ground they returned down the tornea river, which, running due north and south, of course did not compromise the terms of their covenant; neither were the conditions infringed by their taking at any time the backtrack when engaged in the chase, for, as already known, there was a specification in the baron's letter, that allowed of this deviation. all that was required of them was that they should not recross a meridian when on their actual route of travel. a ship carried them from tornea to dantzic. hence they passed to berlin, and on through frankfort, stutgard, and strasbourg, to paris. paris, it is true, was a little out of their way; but what russian could travel across europe without paying a visit to paris? pouchskin cared little about it. the old grenadier had been there before--in 1815--when he was far from being welcome to the parisians; and alexis would rather have gone by another and more direct route, that is, through switzerland; but the gay ivan would not hear of such a thing. to see paris he was determined; and see it he did; though what he or they did there is not mentioned in the book of the chronicles of our young bear-hunters. from paris they travelled by rail, almost directly south--though still slightly westward--to the celebrated baths of bagneres. here they found themselves not only within sight, but actually among the _foot-hills_ of those mountains, for the tourist scarce second in interest to the alps themselves, but perhaps for the naturalist even more interesting than these. at bagneres they made but a short stay, only long enough to recruit their strength by bathing in its thermal springs, and to witness a spectacle which is regarded as the grand lion of the place--the _palombiere_. as you, young reader, may not have heard of the _palombiere_, and may be curious to know what it is, i give the account of it, which i find recorded in the journal of alexis. about two miles from bagneres rises a ridge of considerable elevation-running parallel with the general direction of the pyrenees, of which it may be considered an outlying step, or "foot hill" (_pied mont_). along the crest of this hill stands a row of very tall trees, from which the branches have been carefully lopped, leaving only a little bunch at the top of each. on coming close to these trees--provided it be in the months of september or october--you will observe a something between them that resembles a thin gauzy veil of a greyish colour. on getting still nearer, you will perceive that this veil is a net--or rather a series of nets--extended from tree to tree, and filling up all the spaces between them--from the highest point to which the branches have been lopped down to within three feet of the ground. another singular object, or series of objects, will long ere this have attracted your attention. you will see standing, at certain intervals apart, and about thirty yards in front of the trees, a row of tall tapering sticks--so tall that their tops are fifty yards from the ground! they might remind you of the masts of a ship; but that there are in each case two of them together,--the one standing vertically, and the other bending over to it, with a slight curve. on this account you may be more struck with their resemblance to the "shears" seen in shipyards, by which the masts are "stepped" into their places. these masts, as we may call them, are not all of one stick of wood, but of several pieces spliced together; and notwithstanding their prodigious length--fifty yards, you will remember--they are of no great thickness. in fact, although the two are joined together at the top--as we shall presently have occasion to show--when a strong wind blows, both bend, and vibrate back and forward like an elastic trout rod. at their bases they are only five feet apart; and the curving one is intended to act as a stay to the other. both, as already stated, meet at the top, and looking up you will see--while the sight makes you dizzy--a little roundish object at the point of the junction. it is a basket set there firmly, and just big enough to hold the body of a man. if you look carefully you will see a man actually within it; but, to quote shakespeare's quaint simile, he will appear to your eyes not half as gross as a beetle! in all likelihood he is not a man, but only a boy; for it is boys who are selected to perform this elevated and apparently dangerous service. how did the boy get there? will probably be your next question. by running your eye along the curved pole, you will perceive a row of projecting pegs extending from bottom to top. they are quite two feet apart; but had you been present while that youth was making the ascent-which he did by the help of these pegs--you would have seen him scramble up as rapidly, and with as little concern, as a sailor would ascend the ratlines of a ship! it is his trade to do so, and practice has made him as nimble as he is intrepid; but you, who are unaccustomed to witness such tall gymnastics, cannot help again recalling shakespeare, and exclaiming, with the great dramatic poet, "fearful trade!" quite as fearful, indeed, as the gathering of "samphire." but what is this trade? what is all this contrivance for--these nets and tall masts, with "crows' nests" at their tops? what are the boys doing up there? and what are they about below--those men, women, and children--a crowd composed of all ages and all sexes? what are they doing? _pigeon-catching_. that is what they are doing, or rather what they are aiming to do, as soon as the opportunity offers. these people are simply pigeon-catchers. what sort of pigeons? and where do they come from? these questions must be answered. to the first, then, the answer is the common european wild pigeon (_columba palumbis_). it is well-known in england by the name of "wood-pigeon," and in france it is called _ramier_. in england the wood-pigeon is not migratory. in that country there is a much milder winter than is experienced in the same or even a more southerly latitude on the continent. this enables the pigeon to find food throughout all the year, and it therefore remains in england. in continental countries--prance among the number--the severity of the winter forces it southward; and it annually migrates into africa--the supposed limit of its flight being the chain of the atlas mountains. of course the wood-pigeon is only one of many birds that make this annual tour, taking, as the rest do, a "return ticket." now the _ramiers_ of france, in passing southward, must ply their wings a little more strenuously to mount over the snowy summits of the pyrenees; but they only commence ascending to this higher elevation when near the mountains. the ridge at bagneres chances to lie in the line of their flight--of course, not of all of them, but such as may be sweeping along in that particular meridian; and, passing between the tall trees already mentioned, they get caught in the meshes of the nets. the moment they strike these--several of them coming "butt" against one at the same instant,--a trigger is pulled by the men--who are below concealed under screens--and this trigger, acting on a string, causes the net to drop, with the fluttering victims safely secured in its meshes. when the flight has passed, the women, girls, boys, and even the children, rush forth from their hiding-places; and, seizing the struggling birds, put a quick termination to their fruitless efforts, by biting each of them in the neck. old, half-toothless crones--for this is especially their part of the performance--will be seen thus giving the final _coup_ to the beautiful but unfortunate wanderers! and still we have not explained what the boys are doing up yonder. well, we shall now announce their _metier_. each has taken up with him a number of little billets of wood, fashioned something like the letter t, and about six inches in length. when this billet is flung into the air, and twirls about in its descent, it exhibits some resemblance-though not a very close one--to a flying pigeon-hawk. the resemblance, however, is near enough to "do" the pigeons; for when they are within about one hundred yards of the crows' nest, the boy launches his billet into the air, and the birds, believing it to be a hawk, immediately dip several yards in their flight--as they may be seen to do when a real hawk makes his appearance. this descent usually brings them low enough to pass between the trees; and of course the old women soon get their teeth upon them. the pigeon-catching is not free to every one who may take a "fancy" to it. there are pigeon-catchers by trade; who, with their families, follow it as a regular calling during the season, while it lasts; and this, as already stated, is in the months of september and october. the _palombiere_, or pigeon-ridge, belongs to the communal authorities, who let it out in sections to the people that follow the calling of pigeon-netting; and these, in their turn, dispose of the produce of their nets in the markets of bagneres and other neighbouring towns. every one knows how excellent for the table is the flesh of this beautiful bird: so much is it esteemed, that even at bagneres, in the season of their greatest plenty, a pair will fetch a market price of from twelve to twenty sous. chapter nineteen. the pyrenees. speaking geologically, the pyrenees extend along the whole north of spain, from the mediterranean to the province of galicia on the atlantic; and in this sense the chain may be regarded as between six and seven hundred miles in length. more properly, however, the term "pyrenees" is limited to that portion of the range which lies directly between france and spain; in other words, along the neck or isthmus of the spanish peninsula. thus limited, the range is less than half the above length, or about three hundred miles; while its average breadth is fifty. though less elevated than the alps, the pyrenees mountains are no molehills. their highest peak, maladetta, towers above 11,000 feet; and several others are of nearly equal height--while more than forty summits reach the elevation of 9,000! the most elevated peaks are near the centre of the pyrenees, the range gradually dipping downward as the extremities are approached. for this reason the most practicable passes are found near the eastern and western ends; though many also exist in the central part of the chain. in all, there are fifty passes or "ports," as they are called, leading from the french to the spanish side; but only five of these are practicable for wheeled vehicles; and a large number are only known (or at all events only travelled) by the smugglers--_contrabandistas_--a class of gentry who swarm on both sides of the pyrenean frontier. the superficial extent of these mountains is about 11,000 or 12,000 square miles. part of this is french, and the remainder spanish territory. as a general rule, the "divide," or main axis of the ridge forms the boundary line; but in the eastern section, the french territory has been extended beyond the natural frontier. the geological formation of the pyrenees consists both of primitive and secondary rocks--the latter being greater in mass, and composed of argillaceous schist, grauwacke (schistose and common), and limestone. mines of lead, iron, and copper are found in this formation--the lead containing a proportion of silver. the primitive rocks are granite; and run in zones or belts, extended lengthwise in the direction of the chain; and it is in the rupture between these and the transition strata, that the chemical springs, for which the pyrenees are so famous, gush forth. of these remarkable fountains--many of them almost at boiling heat--no less than 253 have been discovered in different parts of the range. a great number of them are celebrated for their medicinal virtues, and are the favourite summer resorts of invalids, as well as the votaries of pleasure, from all parts of the world--but more especially from france and spain. the botany of the pyrenees is full of interest. it may be regarded as an epitome of the whole european _flora_: since scarcely a plant exists, from the mediterranean to the arctic sea, that has not a representative species in some part of this mountain chain. in the valleys and lower slopes of the mountains the forest is chiefly composed of lombardy poplars and sycamores; a little higher, the spanish chestnut, oaks, hazels, and alders, the mountain ash and birch trees abound; and still farther up you enter the region of the pines--the _pinus sylvestris_ growing in dense continuous forests, while the more graceful "stone pine" is seen only in isolated groups or scattered trees. everywhere a rich _flora_ meets the eye; flowers of the most lovely hues reflected in crystal rivulets--for the waters of the pyrenees are pure beyond comparison, such a thing as a turbid stream being unknown throughout the whole range. above the pine forests the mountains exhibit a zone of naked declivities, stretching upward to the line of congelation--which in the pyrenees is higher than upon the alps. the former has been variously estimated: some fixing it at 8,300 feet, while others raise it as high as 9,000; but, indeed, it would be more just to say that the snow-line depends greatly upon the locality of the particular mountain, and its southern or northern exposure. in any case, it is more than 1,000 feet higher than on the alps; the superior elevation being accounted for, by the more southern latitude of the franco-spanish chain. perhaps the proximity of the sea has more to do with this phenomenon than the trifling difference of latitude? upon the higher declivities and summits, snowfields and glaciers abound, as in the alps; and even in some of the passes these phenomena are encountered. most of the passes are higher than those of the alps; but in consequence of the greater elevation of the snow-line, they remain open throughout the winter. at all seasons, however, they are by no means easy to traverse; and the cold winds that whistle through them are scarce to be endured. the spaniards, who have a proverbial expression for almost every idea, have not neglected this one. in the ports (_puertos_) of the pyrenees, say they, "the father waits not for his son, nor the son for his father." if the passes across these mountains are higher than those of the alps, the transverse valleys are the reverse; those of the pyrenees being in general much lower. the consequence is, that from the bottom of these valleys the mountains themselves appear far loftier than any of the alpine peaks,--the eye taking in at one view a greater angle of elevation. the _fauna_ of the pyrenean chain, though less full and varied than its _flora_, is nevertheless of great interest. in the more densely wooded solitudes, and higher declivities of the mountains, a large bear is found, whose light fulvous-coloured body and black paws pronounce him a different animal from the _ursus arctos_. if he be the same species, as naturalists assert, he claims at least to be a permanent variety, and deserves his distinctive appellation of _ursus pyrenaicus_. wolves abound; spanish wolves, long famed for their fierceness; the common whitish-brown wolf (_canis lupus_), and a darker and still larger variety--in short, a black wolf, designated the "wolf of the pyrenees," though it is equally a denizen of the other mountain _sierras_ of portugal and spain. the european lynx (_felis lynx_), and the wild cat, both skulk through the pyrenean forests; the former now only rarely seen. along the naked cliffs leaps the "izzard," which is identical with the chamois of the alps (_antelope rupicapra_); and in the same localities, but more rarely seen, the "bouquetin," or "tur" (_aigocerus pyrenaicus_)--a species of ibex, _not_ identical with the _capra ibex_ of linnaeus and the alpine mountains. birds of many european species frequent the lower forests of the pyrenees, or fill the sheltered valleys with their vocal music; while, soaring above the mountain summits, may be seen the great vulture-eagle, or "lammergeyer," watching with greedy eye the feeble lambkin, or the new-born kid of the ibex and izzard. with such knowledge of their natural history, it was with feelings of no ordinary interest that our young hunters turned their faces towards that vast serried rampart that separates the land of the gaul from the country of the iberian. it was by the val d'ossau, literally the "valley of the bear," that they made their approach to the mountains,--that valley celebrated as the residence and hunting-ground of henri of navarre: but now, in modern days, noted for its valuable thermal springs of _eaux bonnes_ and _eaux chaudes_. up this mountain gorge went our heroes, their faces turned southward, and their eyes carried high up to the pic du midi d'ossau--the mountain of the bears--an appropriate name for that beacon which was now directing their course. chapter twenty. an odd avalanche. it is needless to say that the young russians were delighted with the scenes that met their eyes in this fair southern land; and many of them are found faithfully described in their journal. they noted the picturesque dresses of the pyrenean peasantry--so different from the eternal blue blouse which they had met in northern and central france. here was worn the "barret," of scarlet or white, the rich brown jacket and red sash of the peculiar costumes of the basque and bearnais peasants--a fine race of men, and one, too, historically noble. they saw carts drawn by large limbed cream-coloured oxen; and passed flocks of sheep and milch goats, tended by shepherds in picturesque dresses, and guarded by numbers of large pyrenean dogs, whose chief duty was to protect their charge from the wolves. they saw men standing knee-deep in the water, surrounded by droves of pigs--the latter voluntarily submitting themselves to a process of washing, which resulted in producing over their skins a roseate, pinky appearance. it could be seen, too, that these _pachyderms_ not only submitted voluntarily to the operation, but with a keen sense of enjoyment, as evinced by their contented grunts, and by their long tails, hanging "kinkless" while the large calabashes of water were poured over their backs. perhaps to this careful management of the pyrenean pigs are the beautiful "bayonne hams" indebted for their celebrity. further on, our travellers passed a _plumire_, or "hen-bath." here was a tank--another thermal spring--in which the water was something more than "tepid." in fact, it was almost on the boil; and yet in this tank a number of women were ducking their hens--not, as might be supposed, dead ones, in order to scald off their feathers, but live fowls, to rid them, as they said, of parasitical insects, and make them feel more comfortable! as the water was almost hot enough to _parboil_ the poor birds, and as the women held them in it immersed to the necks, the _comfort_ of the thing--so thought our travellers--was rather a doubtful question. a little further on, another "custom" of the french pyrenees came under the eyes of the party. their ears were assailed by a singular medley of sounds, that rose from a little valley near the side of the road. on looking into the valley, they saw a crowd of forty or fifty women, all engaged in the same operation, which was that of flax-hackling. they learnt from this that; in the pyrenean countries the women are the hacklers of flax; and that, instead of each staying at her own home to perform the operation, a large number of them meet together in some shaded spot, bringing their unhackled flax along with them; and there, amidst jesting and laughing and singing, the rough staple is reduced to its shining and silky fineness. still another curious custom was observed; but this was further on, and higher up the sides of the mountains. their observation of it was attended with some degree of danger, and therefore came very close on being an "adventure." for this reason it found a place among the events recorded in their journal. it should be remarked, that all three were mounted--alexis and ivan upon stout, active ponies, of that race for which the pyrenees,--especially the western section of them,--are celebrated. pouchskin's mount was not of the genus _equus_, nor yet an _asinus_, but a hybrid of both genera,--in short, a mule. it was a french mule, and a very large one: for it required a good-sized quadruped of the kind to make an appropriate roadster for the ex-grenadier of the imperial guard. it was not a very fat mule, however, but raw-boned and gaunt as a pyrenean wolf. of course these animals were all hired ones--obtained at eaux bonnes, and engaged for the trip across the pyrenees to the spanish side--as also to be used in any deviations that the hunters should think proper to make, while engaged in the pursuit of the bear. from the nearest village on the spanish side, the animals were to be sent back to their owner; for it was not the intention of our travellers to return to the french territory. having crossed the mountains, and accomplishing the object for which they had visited them, their course would then be continued southward, through spain. along with them--also mounted on muleback--was a fourth individual, whose services they had secured. his _metier_ was manifold--on this occasion combining in his single person at least three purposes. first, he was to serve them as guide; secondly, he was to bring back the hired horses; and, thirdly, he was to aid them in the "chasse" of the bear: for it so happened that this man-of-all-work was one of the most noted "izzard-hunters" of the pyrenees. it is scarcely correct to say it _happened_ so. rather was it a thing of design than chance; for it was on account of his fame as a hunter, that he had been engaged for the triple duty he was now called upon to fulfil. the four travellers, then, all mounted as we have described, were ascending a very steep declivity. they had left the last hamlet--and even the last house--behind them; and were now climbing one of the outlying spurs that project many miles from the main axis of the mountains. the road they were following scarcely deserved the name; being a pack-road, or mere bridle-path; and so sleep was the ascent, that it was necessary to zigzag nearly a dozen times, before the summit of the ridge could be attained. while entering upon this path, and near the base of the ridge, they had noticed the forms of men far above them, moving about the summit, as if engaged in some work. their guide told them that these men were faggot-cutters, whose business was to procure firewood for the towns in the valley. there was nothing in this bit of information to produce astonishment. what _did_ astonish our travellers, however, was the mode in which these men transported their firewood down the mountain, of which, shortly after, they were treated to an exhibition. as they were zigzagging up the mountain-path, their ears were all at once saluted by a noise that resembled a crashing of stones, mingled with a crackling of sticks. the noise appeared to proceed from above; and, on looking up, they beheld a number of dark objects coming in full rush down the declivity. these objects were of rounded form--in fact, they were bundles of faggots--and so rapidly did they roll over, and make way down the mountain, that had our travellers chanced to be in their track, they might have found some difficulty in getting out of the way. such was their reflection at the moment; and they were even thanking their stars that they had escaped the danger, when all at once a fresh avalanche of faggots was launched from above; and these were evidently bounding straight towards the party! it was impossible to tell which way to go--whether to rush forward or draw back: for what with the inequality of the mountain-side, and the irregular rolling of the bundles, they could not tell the exact direction they would take. all therefore drew up, and waited the result in silent apprehension. of course they had not long to wait--scarce a second--for the huge bundles bounding on, each moment with increased impetus, came down with the suddenness of a thunderclap; and before the words "jack robinson" could have been pronounced, they went whizzing past with the velocity of aerolites, and with such a force, that had one of them struck either mule or pony it would have hurled both the quadruped and its rider to the bottom of the mountain. it was only their good fortune that saved them: for in such a place it would have been impossible for the most adroit equestrian to have got out of the way. the path was not the two breadths of a horse; and to have wheeled round, or even drawn back upon it, would have been a risk of itself. they rode on, again congratulating themselves on their escape; but fancy their consternation when they found themselves once more, and for the third time, exposed to the very same danger! again came a set of bundles rolling and tearing down the slope, the billets rattling and crackling as they rolled; again they went swishing by; again, by the merest accident, did they miss the travellers, as they stood upon the path. now, it might be supposed that the faggots were being launched all along the ridge of the hill; and that, go which way they might, our party would still be exposed to the danger. not so. the bundles were all rolled down at one particular place--where the slope was most favourable for this purpose--but it was the zigzag path, which every now and then obliqued across the line of the wood-avalanche, that had thus repeatedly placed them in peril. as they had yet to "quarter" the declivity several times before they could reach the summit, they were more careful about approaching the line of descent; and whenever they drew near it, they put their ponies and mules to as good a speed as they could take out of them. though all four succeeded in reaching the summit in safety, it did not hinder pouchskin from pouring out his vial of wrath on the heads of the offending woodcutters; and if they could have only understood his russian, they would have heard themselves called by a good many hard names, and threatened with a second pursuit of moscow. "frog-eating frenchmen!" was the very mildest title which the ex-guardsman bestowed upon them; but as his russian was not translated, of course the phrase fell harmless--else it would have undoubtedly been retaliated by a taunt about "tallow." the "izzard-hunter" swore at them to more purpose; for he, too, having undergone equal risk with the rest of the party, had equally good reasons for being angry; and giving utterance to a long string of execrations with all the volubility of a bearnais, he further threatened them with the terrors of the law. as the woodcutters, slightly stupefied by this unexpected attack, submitted with tolerable grace, and said nothing in reply, the izzard-hunter at length cooled down, and the party proceeded on their way; pouchskin, as he rode off, shaking his clenched fist at the staring log-choppers, and hissing out in angry aspirate another russian shibboleth, which neither could nor should be translated. chapter twenty one. a meeting with muleteers. a little beyond the scene of their encounter with the woodcutters, the path entered among the gorges of the mountains, and the level plains of france were for a time lost to their view. the route they were following was a mere bridle-track, quite impracticable for carriages, but leading to one of the "ports" already mentioned, by which they could pass through to the spanish side. through this port a considerable traffic is carried on between the two countries--most of the carrying being done by spanish muleteers, who cross the mountains conducting large trains of mules--all, except those upon which they themselves ride, laden with packs and bales of merchandise. that such a traffic was carried over this route, our russian travellers needed no other evidence than what came under their own eyes; for shortly after, on rounding a point of rock, they saw before them a large drove of mules, gaily caparisoned with red cloth and stamped leather, and each carrying its pack. the gang had halted on a platform of no great breadth; and the drivers--about a dozen men in all--were seen seated upon the rocks, a little way in advance of the animals. each wore a capacious cloak of brown cloth--a favourite colour among the pyrenean spaniards; and what with their swarthy complexions, bearded lips, and wild attire, it would have been pardonable enough to have mistaken them for a band of brigands, or, at all events, a party of _contrabandistas_. they were neither one nor the other, however; but honest spanish muleteers, on their way to a french market, with commodities produced on the southern side of the mountains. as our travellers came up, they were in the act of discussing a luncheon, which consisted simply of black bread, tough goat's-milk cheese, and thin malaga wine--the last carried in a skin bag, out of which each individual drank in his turn, simply holding up the bag and pouring the wine by a small jet down his throat. they were good-humoured fellows, and invited our travellers to taste their wine; which invitation it would have been ill-mannered to refuse. ivan and alexis emptied some out into their silver cups--which they carried slung conveniently to their belts; but pouchskin not having his can so ready, essayed to drink the wine after the fashion of the muleteers. but the goat-skin bag, clumsily manipulated in the hands of the old guardsman, instead of sending the stream into his mouth, jetted it all over his face and into his eyes, blinding and half-choking him! as he stood in his stultified attitude, wine-skin in hand, the precious fluid running down his nose, and dripping from the tips of his grand mustachios, he presented a picture that caused the muleteers to laugh till the tears ran down their cheeks; shouting out their _bravos_ and other exclamations, as if they were applauding some exquisite piece of performance in a theatre. pouchskin took it all in good part, and the muleteers pressed him to try again; but, not caring to expose himself to a fresh burst of ridicule, the old grenadier borrowed the cup of one of his young masters; and by the help of this managed matters a little more to his mind. as the wine tasted good to the old soldier's palate, and as the hospitable muleteers invited him to drink as much as he pleased, it was not until the goat-skin bag exhibited symptoms of collapse, that he returned it to its owners. perhaps had pouchskin not indulged so freely in the seducing malaga tipple, he might have avoided a very perilous adventure which befell him almost on the instant, and which we shall now relate. our travellers, after exchanging some further civilities with the muleteers, had once more mounted, and were about proceeding on their way. pouchskin, riding his great french jennet, had started in the advance. just in front of him, however, the pack mules were standing in a cluster--not only blocking up the path, but barring the way on both sides--so that to get beyond them it would be necessary to pass through their midst. the animals all seemed tranquil enough--some picking at the bushes that were within their reach, but most of them standing perfectly still, occasionally shaking their long ears, or changing one leg to throw the weight upon another. pouchskin saw that it was necessary to pass among them; and, probably, had he squeezed quietly through, they might have remained still, and taken no notice of him. but, elated with the wine he had drunk, the ex-grenadier, instead of following this moderate course, drove his spurs into his great french hybrid, and with a loud charging yell--such as might have issued from the throat of a cossack--he dashed right into the midst of the drove. whether it was because the animal he bestrode was french, or whether something in pouchskin's voice had sounded ill in their ears, it is not possible to say, but all, at once the whole spanish _mulada_ was perceived to be in motion--each individual mule rushing towards pouchskin with pricked ears, open mouth, and tail elevated in the air! it was too late for him to hear the cry of the izzard-hunter, "_prenez-garde_!" or the synonym, "_guarda te_!" of the muleteers. he may have heard both these cautionary exclamations, but they reached him too late to be of any service to him: for before he could have counted six, at least twice that number of mules had closed round him, and with a simultaneous scream commenced snapping and biting at both him and his french roadster with all the fury of famished wolves! in vain did the stalwart jennet defend itself with its shod hoofs, in vain did its rider lay round him with his whip: for not only did the spanish mules assail him with their teeth, but, turning tail as well, they sent their heels whistling around his head, and now and then thumping against his legs, until his leather boots and breeches cracked under their kicks! of course the muleteers, on perceiving pouchskin's dilemma, had rushed instantaneously to the rescue; and with loud cries and cracking of their whips--as muleteers alone can crack them--were endeavouring to beat off the assailants. but, with all their exertions, backed by their authority over the animals, pouchskin might have fared badly enough, had not an opportunity offered for extricating himself. his animal, fleeing from the persecution of its spanish enemies, had rushed in among some boulders of rock. thither it was hotly pursued; and pouchskin would again have been overtaken, had he not made a very skilful and extensive leap out of the saddle, and landed himself on a ledge of rock. from this he was able to clamber still higher, until he had reached a point that entirely cleared him of the danger. the french jennet, however, had still to sustain the attack of the infuriated mules; but, now that it was relieved from the encumbrance of its heavy rider, it gained fresh confidence in its long legs; and making a dash through the midst of the _mulada_, it struck off up the mountain-path, and galloped clear out of sight. the mules, encumbered with their packs, did not show any inclination to follow, and the drama was thus brought to a termination. the woe-begone look of the old guardsman, as he stood perched upon the high pinnacle of rock, was again too much for the muleteers; and one and all of them gave utterance to fresh peals of laughter. his young masters were too much concerned about their faithful pouchskin to give way to mirth; but on ascertaining that he had only received a few insignificant bruises,--thanks to the spanish mules not being shod,-they, too, were very much disposed to have a laugh at his expense. alexis was of opinion that their follower had made rather free with the wine-skin; and therefore regarded the chastisement rather in the light of a just retribution. it cost the izzard-hunter a chase before pouchskin's runaway could be recovered; but the capture of the jennet was at length effected; and, all things being set to-rights, a parting salute was once more exchanged with the muleteers, and the travellers proceeded on their way. chapter twenty two. the pyrenean bears. it was well they had the izzard-hunter for a guide, for without him they might have searched a long time without finding a bear. these animals, although plenteous enough in the pyrenees some half-century ago, are now only to be met with in the most remote and solitary places. such forest-tracts, as lie well into the interior gorges of the mountains, and where the lumberer's axe never sounds in his ears, are the winter haunts of the pyrenean bear; while in summer he roams to a higher elevation--along the lower edge of the snowfields and glaciers, where he finds the roots and bulbs of many alpine plants, and even lichens, congenial to his taste. he sometimes steals into the lower valleys, where these are but sparsely cultivated; and gathers a meal of young maize, or potatoes, where such are grown. of truffles he is as fond as a parisian sybarite,--scenting them with a keenness far excelling that of the regular truffle dog, and "rooting" them out from under the shade of the great oak trees, where these rare delicacies are inexplicably produced. like his near congener, the brown bear, he is frugivorous; and, like most other members of their common family, he possesses a sweet tooth, and will rob bees of their honey whenever he can find a hive. he is carnivorous at times, and not unfrequently makes havoc among the flocks that in summer are fed far up on the declivities of the mountains; but it has been observed by the shepherds, that only odd individuals are given to this sanguinary practice, and, as a general rule, the bear will not molest their sheep. on this account, a belief exists among the mountaineers that there are two kinds of bears in the pyrenees; one, an eater of fruits, roots, and _larvae_,--the other, of more carnivorous habits, that eats flesh, and preys upon such animals as he can catch. the latter they allege to be larger, of more fierce disposition, and when assailed, caring not to avoid an encounter with man. the facts may be true, but the deduction erroneous. the izzard-hunter's opinion was that the pyrenean bears were all of one species; and that, if there were two kinds, one was a younger and more unsophisticated sort, the other a bear whom greater age has rendered more savage in disposition. the same remark will apply to the pyrenean bear that is true of the _ursus arctos_,--viz., having once eaten flesh, he acquires a taste for it; and to gratify this, of course the fiercest passions of his nature are called into play. hunger may have driven him to his first meal of flesh-meat; and afterwards he seeks it from choice. the izzard-hunter's father remembered when bears were common enough in the lower valleys; and then not only did the flocks of sheep and goats suffer severely, but the larger kinds of cattle were often dragged down by the ravenous brutes--even men lost their lives in encounters with them! in modern times, such occurrences were rare, as the bears kept high up the mountains, where cattle were never taken, and where men went very seldom. the hunter stated, that the bears were much sought after by hunters like himself, as their skins were greatly prized, and fetched a good price; that the young bears were also very valuable, and to capture a den, of cubs was esteemed a bit of rare good luck: since these were brought up to be used in the sports of bear-baiting and bear-dancing, spectacles greatly relished in the frontier towns of france. he knew of no particular mode for taking bears. their chase was too precarious to make it worth while; and they were only encountered accidentally by the izzard-hunters, when in pursuit of their own regular game. then they were killed by being shot, if old ones; and if young, they captured them by the aid of their dogs. "so scarce are they," added the hunter, "that i have killed only three this whole season; but i know where there's a fourth--a fine fellow too; and if you feel inclined--" the young russians understood the hint. money is all-powerful everywhere; and a gold coin will conduct to the den of a pyrenean bear, where the keenest-scented hound or the sharpest-sighted hunter would fail to find it. in an instant almost, the bargain was made. ten dollars for the haunt of the bear! the _pic du midi d'ossau_ was now in sight; and, leaving the beaten path that passed near its base, our hunters turned off up a lateral ravine. the sides and bottom of this ravine were covered with a stunted growth of pine-trees; but as they advanced further into it, the trees assumed greater dimensions--until at length they were riding through a tall and stately forest. it was, to all _appearance_, as wild and primitive as if it had been on the banks of the amazon or amid the cordilleras of the andes. neither track nor trail was seen--only the paths made by wild beasts, or such small rodent animals as had their home there. the izzard-hunter said that he had killed lynxes in this forest; and at night he would not care to be alone in it, as it was a favourite haunt of the black wolves. with, such company, however, he had no fear: as they could kindle fires and keep the wolves at bay. the neighbourhood, in which he expected to find the bear, was more than two miles from the place where they had entered the forest. he knew the exact spot where the animal was at that moment lying--that is, he knew its cave. he had seen it only a few days before going into this cave; but as he had no dogs with him, and no means of getting the bear out, he had only marked the place, intending to return, with a comrade to help him. some business had kept him at eaux bonnes, till the arrival of the strangers; and learning their intentions, he had reserved the prize for them. he had now brought his dogs--two great creatures they were, evidently of lupine descent--and with these bruin might be baited till he should come forth from his cave. but that plan was only to be tried as a last resource. the better way would be to wait till the bear started out on his midnight ramble,--a thing he would be sure to do,-then close up the mouth of the cave, and lie in ambush for his return. he would "not come home till morning," said the izzard-hunter; and they would have light to take aim, and fire at him from their different stations. it seemed a feasible plan, and as our adventurers now placed themselves in the hands of the native hunter, it was decided they should halt where they were, kindle a fire, and make themselves as comfortable as they could, until the hour when bruin might be expected to go out upon his midnight prowl. a roaring fire was kindled; and pouchskin's capacious haversack being turned inside out, all four were soon enjoying their dinner-supper with that zest well-known to those who have ridden twenty miles up a steep mountain-road. chapter twenty three. the izzard-hunter. they passed the time pleasantly enough, listening to the stories of the izzard-hunter, who related to them much of the lore current among the peasantry of the mountains--tales of the chase, and of the contraband trade carried on between spain and france, besides many anecdotes about the peninsular war, when the french and english armies were campaigning in the pyrenees. in this conversation pouchskin took part: for nothing was of greater interest to the old soldier than _souvenirs_ of those grand times, when pouchskin entered paris. the conversation of the izzard-hunter related chiefly to his own calling, and upon this theme he was enthusiastic. he told them of all the curious habits of the izzard; and among others that of its using its hooked horns to let itself down from the cliffs--a fancy which is equally in vogue among the chamois hunters of the alps, but which alexis did not believe, although he did not say so--not wishing to throw a doubt on the veracity of their guide. the latter, however, when closely questioned upon the point, admitted that he had never himself been an eye-witness of this little bit of goat gymnastics; he had only heard of it from other hunters, who said they had seen it; and similar, no doubt, would be the answer of every one who spoke the truth about this alleged habit of the chamois. the fact is, that this active creature needs no help from its horns. its hoofs are sufficient to carry it along the very narrowest ledges; and the immense leaps it can take either upward or downward, can be compared to nothing but the flight of some creature furnished with wings. its hoof, too, is sure, as its eye is unerring. the chamois never slips upon the smoothest rocks--any more than would a squirrel upon the branch of a tree. our travellers questioned the izzard-hunter about the profits of his calling. they were surprised to find that the emolument was so trifling. for the carcass of an izzard he received only ten francs; and for the skins two or three more! the flesh or venison was chiefly purchased by the landlords of the hotels--of which there are hundreds at the different watering-places on the french side of the pyrenees. the visitors were fond of izzard, and called for it at the table. perhaps they did not relish it so much as they pretended to do; but coming from great cities, and places where they never saw a chamois, they wished to be able to say they had eaten of its flesh. in this conjecture the izzard-hunter was, perhaps, not far out. a considerable quantity of game of other kinds is masticated from a like motive. it was suggested by ivan, that, with such a demand for the flesh, the izzard should fetch a better price. ten francs was nothing? "ah!" replied the hunter with a sigh, "that is easily explained, monsieur! the hotel-keepers are too cunning, both for us and their guests. if we were to charge more, they would not take it off our hands." "but they would be under the necessity of having it, since their guests call for it." "so they do; and if there were no _goats_, our izzard-venison would sell at a higher price." "how?" demanded ivan, puzzled to make out the connection between goats and izzard-venison. "goats and izzards are too much alike, monsieur--that is, after being skinned and cut up. the hotel-keeper knows this, and often makes `nanny' do duty for izzard. many a hotel traveller at eaux bonnes may be heard praising our izzard's flesh, when it is only a quarter of young kid he's been dining upon. ha! ha! ha!" and the hunter laughed at the cheat--though he well knew that its practice seriously affected the income of his own calling. but, indeed, if the truth had been told, the man followed the chase far less from a belief in its being a remunerative profession, than from an innate love for the hunter's life. so enthusiastic was he upon the theme, that it was easy to see he would not have exchanged his calling for any other--even had the change promised him a fortune! it is so with professional hunters in all parts of the world, who submit to hardships, and often the greatest privations, for that still sweeter privilege of roaming the woods and wilds at will, and being free from the cares and trammels that too often attach themselves to social life. conversing on such topics, the party sat around the bivouac fire until after sunset, when their guide admonished them that they would do well to take a few hours of sleep. there was no necessity for going after the bear until a very late hour--that is, until near morning--for then the beast would be most likely to be abroad. if they went too soon, and found him still in his cave, it was not so certain that even the dogs could prevail on him to turn out. it might be a large cavern. he might give battle to the dogs inside; and big as they were, they would be worsted in an encounter of that sort: since a single blow from the paw of a bear is sufficient to silence the noisiest individual of the canine kind. the dogs--as the hunter again repeated--should only be used as a last resource. the other plan promised better; as the bear, once shut out of his cave, would be compelled to take to the woods. the dogs could then follow him up by the fresh scent; and unless he should succeed in finding some other cavern in which to ensconce himself, they might count upon coming up with him. it was not uncommon for the pyrenean bear, when pursued by dogs and men, to take to a tree; and this would be all that their hearts could desire: since in a tree the bear would be easily reached by the bullets of their guns. besides, they might have a chance, when he returned to his closed cave, to shoot him down at once; and that would end the matter without further trouble. it was not necessary to go to the cave until near morning--just early enough to give them time to close up the entrance, and set themselves in ambush before day broke. on this account the guide recommended them to take some sleep. he would answer for it that they should be waked up in time. this advice was cheerfully accepted and followed. even pouchskin required repose, after the rough handling he had received at the mouths of the mules; and he was now quite as ready as his young masters to wrap himself up in his ample grenadier great-coat, and surrender himself into the arms of the pyrenean morpheus. chapter twenty four. the ambuscade. true to his promise, the izzard-hunter awoke them about an hour before dawn; and having saddled and bridled their animals, they mounted and rode off. among the great tree trunks it was very dark; but the hunter knew the ground; and, after groping along for half a mile farther, and somewhat slowly, they arrived at the base of a cliff. keeping along this for some distance farther, they came at length to the place of their destination--the mouth of the cave. even through the gloom, they could see a darker spot upon the face of the rock, which indicated the entrance. it was of no great size--about large enough to admit the body of a man in a stooping attitude--but the hunter was under the impression that it widened inward, and led to a grand cavern. he drew his inference, not from having ever explored this particular cave, but from knowing that there were many others of a similar kind in that part of the mountains, where the limestone formation was favourable to such cavities. had it been only a hole just big enough for the den of a bear, he would have acted very differently--then there would have been a hope of drawing bruin out with the dogs; but if the place was an actual cavern, where the beast might range freely about, she hunter knew there would be no chance of getting him out. their presence outside once suspected, the bear might remain for days within his secure fortress; and a siege would have to be laid, which would be a tedious affair, and might prove fruitless in the end. for this reason, great caution had been observed as they drew near the cave. they feared that they might come upon the bear, by chance wandering about in the woods,--that he might hear them, and, taking the alarm, scamper back to his cavern. acting under this apprehension, they had left their animals a good way off--having tied them to the trees--and had approached the cave on foot, without making the slightest noise, and talking to each other only in whispers. the izzard-hunter now proceeded to put his designs into execution. while the others had been sleeping, he had prepared a large torch, out of dry splinters of the stone pine; and now quietly igniting this, set it in the ground near the base of the cliff. the moment the bright flame illuminated the entrance to the cave, all stood with their guns in hand ready to fire. they were not sure that bruin had gone out at all. he might still be a-bed. if so, the light of the torch might wake him up and tempt him forth; therefore it was best to be prepared for such a contingency. the izzard-hunter now slipped his dogs, which up to this time he had held securely in the leash. as soon as they were free, the well-trained animals, knowing what was expected of them, rushed right into the care. for some seconds the dogs kept up a quick continuous yelping, and their excited manner told that they at least scented a bear: but the question to be determined was, whether the brute was still in his den. the hunter had surmised correctly. the aperture conducted to a real cavern, and a very large one--as could be told by the distance at which the yelping of the dogs was heard. out of such a place it would have been hopeless to have thought of starting a bear--unless it should please bruin to make a voluntary exit. it was, therefore, with no little anxiety that the hunters listened to the "tongue" of the dogs, as it echoed within the cavernous hollow. they all knew that if the bear should prove to be inside, the dogs would soon announce the fact by their barking, and other fierce sounds characteristic of canine strife. they were not kept long in suspense; for, after an interval of less than a minute, both dogs came running out, with that air of disappointment that told of their having made an idle exploration. their excited movements, however, proved that the scent of the bear was fresh--that he had only recently forsaken his den--for the dogs had been heard scratching among the sticks and grass that composed it; but this only showed clearly that his habitation was untenanted, and bruin was "not at home." this was just what the izzard-hunter desired; and all of them laying aside their guns, proceeded to close up the entrance. this was an easy task. loose boulders lay around, and with these a battery was soon built across the mouth of the cavern, through which no animal could possibly have made an entrance. the hunters now breathed freely. they felt certain they had cut off the retreat of the bear; and unless he should suspect something wrong, and fail to return to his cave, they would be pretty sure of having a shot at him. nothing remained but to place themselves in ambush, and wait for his coming. how to conceal themselves became the next consideration. it was a question, too, of some importance. they knew not which way the bear might come. he might see them while approaching, and trot off again before a shot could be fired? to prevent this some extraordinary measure must be adopted. a plan soon presented itself to the practised hunter of the pyrenees. directly in front of the cliff grew several large trees. they were of the _pinus sylvestris_, and thickly covered with bunches of long needle-shaped leaves. if they should climb into these trees, the leaves and branches would sufficiently conceal them, and the bear would hardly suspect their presence in such a situation. the suggestion of their guide was at once acted upon. ivan and pouchskin got into one tree, while the izzard-hunter and alexis chose another; and all having secured places where they could command a view of the walled-up entrance without being themselves seen, they waited for daylight and the coming back of the bear. chapter twenty five. a bear in a bird's nest. for the light they had not long to wait. the day broke almost as soon as they had got well settled in their places; but the bear was likely to delay them a little longer--though how long it was impossible to guess, since his return to his sleeping quarters might depend on many contingencies. formerly the pyrenean bears--so the izzard-hunter said--were often met with ranging about in the day-time; but that was when they were more numerous, and less hunted. now that they were scarce, and their skins so highly prized--which, of course, led to their becoming scarcer every day, and more shy too--they rarely ever left their hiding-place except during the night, and in this way they contrived to escape the vigilance of the hunters. as to the one they were waiting for, the hunter said he might return earlier or later, according to whether he had been much chased of late. the exact time of his return, however, was soon after ascertained, by the bear himself making his appearance right under their noses. all at once, and in the most unexpected manner, the great quadruped came shuffling up to the mouth of the cave. he was evidently moving under some excitement, as if pursued, or alarmed by something he had seen in the woods. it was perhaps the sight of the horses, or else the scent of the hunters themselves--on whose track he appeared to have come. whatever it was, the party in the trees did not take time to consider, or rather the bear did not give them time; for, the moment he reached the entrance to his cave, and saw that it was blocked up, he gave utterance to a terrific scream expressing disappointment, and turning in his tracks, bounded off, as rapidly as he had come up! the volley of four shots, fired from the trees, caused some of his fur to fly off; and he was seen to stagger, as if about to fall. the hunters raised a shout of triumph, thinking they had been successful; but their satisfaction was short-lived: for, before the echoes of their voices died along the cliff, the bear seemed once more to recover his equilibrium, and ran steadily on. once or twice he was seen to stop, and face round to the trees--as if threatening to charge towards them; but again resigning the intention, he increased his speed, went off at a lumbering gallop, and was soon lost to their sight. the disappointed hunters rapidly descended from their perch; and letting loose the dogs, started off on the trail. somewhat to their surprise, as well as gratification, it led near the place where they had left their animals; and as they came up to these, they had proofs of the bear having passed that way, by seeing all four, both ponies and mules, dancing about, as if suddenly smitten with madness. the ponies were "whighering," and the mules squealing, so that their owners had heard them long before coming in sight of them. fortunately the animals had been securely fastened--else there was no knowing whither they would have galloped, so panic-stricken did they appear. our hunters believed it a fortunate circumstance that the bear had gone that way; for the guide assured them that there was no telling where he would now stop; and as the chase might carry them for miles through the mountains, they would have been compelled to take to their saddles before starting upon it. the direction the bear had taken, therefore, was just the one most convenient for his pursuers. staying no longer than to untie their animals, they once more mounted, and kept after the dogs, whose yelping they could hear already some distance in the advance. as the izzard-hunter said, the pyrenean bear, like his norwegian cousin, when started from his lair, often scours the country to a great distance before making halt--not unfrequently deserting the ravine or mountain-side, where he habitually dwells, and making for some other place, where he anticipates finding greater security. in this way he often puts his pursuers at fault--by passing over rocky shingle, along ledges of cliffs, or up precipitous slopes, where neither men nor dogs can safely follow him. this was just what they now had to fear; for the guide well knew that the forest they were in was surrounded on almost every side by rocky cliffs; and if the bear should get up these, and make to the bald mountains above, they would stand a good chance of losing him altogether. but one hope the hunter had. he had perceived--as indeed they all had-that several of their shots had hit the bear--and that he must be severely wounded to have staggered as he had done. for this reason he might seek a hiding-place in the forest, or perchance take to a tree. cheered by this hope, the pursuers pushed onward. the conjecture proved to be a just one; for before they had gone half a mile farther, a continuous barking sounded on their ears, which they knew to be that of the dogs. they knew, moreover, by this sign, that the bear had done one of three things--either taken to a tree, retreated into a cave, or come to a stand in the open ground, and was keeping the dogs at bay. of the three conjectures, they desired that the first should prove the correct one; and from the manner in which the dogs were giving tongue, they had reason to hope that it would. in effect, so it did; for, on getting a little closer, the two dogs were seen bounding about the roots of an enormous tree, at intervals springing up against its trunk, and barking at some object that had taken refuge in the branches above. of course, this object could only be the bear; and under this belief, the pursuers approached the tree--each holding his gun cocked and ready to fire. when they had got quite up to the tree, and stood under it, no bear was to be seen! a large black mass was visible among the topmost branches; but this was not the body of a bear: it was something altogether different. the tree was one of gigantic size--the very largest they had seen in the whole forest; it was a pine, of the species _sylvestris_, with huge spreading limbs, and branches thickly covered with fascicles of long leaves. in many places the foliage was dark and dense enough to have afforded concealment to an animal of considerable size; but not one so bulky as a bear; and had there been nothing else but the leaves and branches to conceal him, a bear could not have found shelter in that tree without being visible from below. and yet a bear was actually in it--the very same bear they were in pursuit of--though not a bit of his body--not even the tip of his snout, was visible to the eyes of the hunters! he was certainly there: for the dogs, who were not trusting to their eyes, but to that in which they placed far more confidence--their scent,--by their movements and behaviour, showed their positive belief that bruin was in the tree. perhaps you will fancy that the pine was a hollow one, and that the bear had crept inside. nothing of the kind: the tree was perfectly sound-not even a knot-hole was visible either in its trunk or limbs. it was not in a cavity that bruin had been able to conceal himself. there was no mystery whatever about their not seeing him: for as soon as the hunters got fairly under the tree, and looked up, they perceived, amidst its topmost branches, the dark object already mentioned; and as the bear could be seen nowhere else in the tree, this object accounted for his being invisible. you will be wondering what it was; and so wondered our young hunters when they first raised their eyes to it. it looked more like a stack of faggots than aught else; and, indeed, very good faggots would it have made: since it consisted of a large mass of dry sticks and branches, resting in an elevated fork of the tree, and matted together into a solid mass. there were enough to have made a load for an ordinary cart, and so densely packed together, that only around the edges could the sky be seen through them; towards the centre, and for a diameter as large as a millstone, the mass appeared quite solid and black, not a ray of light passing through the interwoven sticks. "the nest of a lammergeyer!" exclaimed the izzard-hunter, the moment his eye glanced up to it. "just so!--my dogs are right: the bear has taken shelter in the nest of the birds!" chapter twenty six. the lammergeyers. this was evident to all. bruin had climbed the tree, and was now snugly ensconced in the great nest of the vulture-eagles, though not a hair of his shaggy hide could be visible from below. the hunters had no doubt about his being there. the _chasseur_ was too confident in the instinct of his well-trained dogs to doubt them for a moment, and his companions had no reason to question a fact so very probable. had there been any doubt, it would soon have been set aside, by an incident that occurred the moment after their arrival under the tree. as they stood looking upward, two great birds were seen upon the wing, rapidly swooping downward from on high. they were _lammergeyers_, and evidently the owners of the invaded nest. that the intruder was not welcome there, became apparent in the next moment; for both the birds were seen shooting in quick curves around the top branches of the tree, flapping their wings over the nest, and screaming with all the concentrated rage of creatures in the act of being plundered. whether bruin, in addition to his unwelcome presence, had also committed burglary, and robbed the eagles of their eggs or young, could not be told. if he had done so, he could not have received greater objurgation from the infuriated birds, that continued their noisy demonstrations, until a shot fired from below admonished them of the presence of that biped enemy far more dreaded than the bear. then did they only widen the circle of their flight, still continuing to swoop down over the nest at intervals, and uttering their mingled cries of rage and lamentation. the shot was from the gun of the izzard-hunter; but it was not till after he had been some time upon the ground that he had fired it. all four had previously dismounted and fastened their animals to the surrounding trees. they knew that the bear was in the nest; but although his retreat was now cut off, it was still not so certain that they should succeed in making a capture. had the bear taken refuge in a fork, or even among thick branches, where their bullets might have reached him, it would have been a very different thing. they might then have brought him down at their pleasure, for if killed, or severely wounded, he must have fallen to the ground; but now--ah, now! what was to be done? the broad platform of the nest not only gave him a surface on which he could recline at his ease, but its thick mass formed a rampart through which not even a bullet would be likely to penetrate to his body! how were they to reach him with their bullets? that was the next question that came under consideration. the odd shot had been fired as an experiment. it was fired in the hope that it might startle the bear, and cause him to shift his quarters--if only a little--so that some part of his body might be exposed; and while the izzard-hunter was discharging his piece, the others had stood watching for a chance. none was given to them, however. the bullet was heard striking the sticks, and caused the dust to puff out, but it produced no further effect--not a move was made by the occupant of that elevated eyrie. two or three more shots were fired with like effect; and the fusil of pouchskin was next called into requisition, and brought to bear upon the nest. the large bullet crashed up among the dry sticks, scattering the fragments on all sides, and raising a cloud of dust that enveloped the whole top of the tree. but not a sign came from bruin, to tell that it had disturbed him; not even a growl, to reward pouchskin for the expenditure of his powder and lead. it was evident that this mode of proceeding could be of no service; and the firing was at once discontinued--in order that they might take into consideration some other plan of attack. at first there appeared to be no way by which the bear might be ousted from his secure quarters. they might fire away until they should empty both their powder-horns and pouches, and all to no purpose. they might just as well fire their shots into the air. so far as their bullets were concerned, the bear might bid them defiance--a cannon shot alone could have gone through his strong rampart of sticks. what could they do to get at him? to climb up and assail him where he lay was not to be thought of--even could they have climbed into the nest. on the firm ground, none of them would have liked to risk an encounter with the enemy, much less upon such insecure footing as a nest of rotten sticks. but they could not have got into the nest, however bent upon such a thing. its wide rim extended far beyond the supporting branches; and only a monkey, or the bear himself, could have clambered over its edge. to a human being, ascent to the nest would have been not only difficult, but impossible; and no doubt the instinct of the eagles guided them to this while they were constructing it. not for a moment, then, did our hunters think of climbing up to their eyrie. what, then, were they to do? the only thing they could think of was to cut down the tree. it would be a great undertaking: for the trunk was several feet in diameter; and as they had only one axe, and that not a very sharp one, it would be a work of time. they might be days in felling that gigantic pine; and even when down, the bear might still escape from them--for it did not follow that the fall of the tree would result in the consummation of his capture. it might swing over gradually and easily, or, striking against others, let the bear down without doing him the slightest damage; and in the confusion consequent on its fall, he would have a good chance of getting off. these considerations caused them to hesitate about cutting down the tree, and reflect whether there might not be some easier and more effective method for securing the skin of the bear. chapter twenty seven. firing the eyrie. after beating their brains, for some time to no purpose, an exclamation from the izzard-hunter at length announced that some happy idea had occurred to him. all eyes were at once turned towards him; while the voice of ivan was quickly heard, interrogating him as to the object of his exclamation. "i've got a plan, young monsieur!" replied the hunter, "by which i'll either force the bear to come down, or roast him up yonder where he lies. _parbleu_! i've got an excellent idea!" "what is it? what is it?" eagerly inquired ivan; though from what the izzard-hunter had said, he already half comprehended the design. "patience, young monsieur! in a minute you shall see!" all three now gathered around the chasseur, and watched his movements. they saw him pour a quantity of gunpowder into the palm of his hand; and then tear a strip of cotton rag from a large piece which he had drawn out of his pouch. this he saturated with saliva and then coated it over with the powder. he next proceeded to rub both rag and powder together--until, after a considerable friction between the palms of his hands, the cotton became once more dry, and was now thoroughly saturated with the powder, and quite blackened with it. the next proceeding on the part of the chasseur was to procure a small quantity of dead moss, which was easily obtained from the trunks of the surrounding trees; and this, mixed with a handful or two of dry grass, he rolled up into a sort of irregular clew. the man now felt in his pouch; and, after a little fumbling there, brought forth a small box that was seen to contain lucifer-matches. seemingly satisfied with their inspection, he returned the box to its place, and then made known the object for which all these preliminary manoeuvres had been practised. our young hunters had already more than half divined it, and it only confirmed their anticipations when the hunter declared his intention to climb the tree and _set fire to the nest_. it is needless to say that one and all of them approved of the scheme, while they admired its originality and cunning. its boldness, too, did not escape their admiration, for it was clearly a feat of daring and danger. the bottom of the nest might be reached easily enough; for though a tall tree, it was by no means a difficult one to climb. there were branches all along its trunk from bottom to top; and to a pyrenean hunter, who, when a boy, as he told them, had played pigeon vidette in one of the "crows' nests" they had seen, the climbing of such a tree was nothing. it was not in this that the danger lay, but in something very different. it was in the contingency, that, while up in the branches, and before he could effect his purpose, the bear might take a fancy to come down. should he do so, then, indeed, would the life of the venturesome hunter be in deadly peril. he made light of the matter, however, and, warning the others to get their guns ready and stand upon their guard, he sprang forward to the trunk, and commenced "swarming" upward. almost as rapidly as a bear itself could have ascended, the izzard-hunter glided up the tree, swinging himself from branch to branch, and resting his naked feet--for he had thrown off his shoes--on knots and other inequalities, where no branch offered. in this way he at length got so close to the nest, that he could without difficulty thrust his hand into the bottom of it. he was now seen drawing forth a number of the dry sticks, and forming a cavity near the lower part of the huge mass. he operated with great silence and circumspection--taking all the care he could not to make his presence known to the bear, nor in any way disturb whatever dreams or reflections bruin might then be indulging in. in a short time he had hollowed out a little chamber among the sticks-just large enough for his purpose,--and, taking the ball of dry grass out of his pouch, he loosened it a little, and then placed it within the cavity. it was but the work of another minute to light a lucifer-match, and set fire to the long strips of tinder rag that hung downwards from the grass. this done, the izzard-hunter swung himself to the next branch below; and, even faster than he had gone up, he came scrambling down the trunk. just as he reached the ground, the grass was seen catching; and amidst the blue smoke that was oozing thickly out of the little chamber, and slowly curling up around the edges of the nest, a red blaze could be distinguished--accompanied with that crackling noise that announces the kindling of a fire. the four hunters stood ready, watching the progress of the little flame--at the same time directing their glances around the rim of the nest. they had not long to wait for the _denouement_. the smoke had already caught the attention of the bear; and the snapping of the dry faggots, as they came in contact with the blazing grass, had awakened him to a sense of his dangerous situation. long before the blaze had mounted near him, he was seen craning his neck over the edge of the nest; first on one side, then on another, and evidently not liking what he saw. once or twice he came very near having a bullet sent at his head; but his restlessness hindered them from getting a good aim, and for the time he was left alone. not for long, however: for he did not much longer remain upon his elevated perch. whether it was the smoke that he was unable longer to endure, or whether he knew that the conflagration was at hand, does not clearly appear; but from his movements it was evident the nest was getting too hot to hold him. and no doubt it was too hot at that crisis. had he remained in it but two minutes longer, an event would have occurred that would have ruined everything. the bear would either have been roasted to a cinder; or, at all events, his skin would have been singed, and, of course, completely spoilt for the purpose for which it was required! up to this moment that thought had never occurred to the young hunters; and now that it did occur, they stood watching the movements of the bear with feelings of keen apprehension. a shout of joy was heard both from alexis and ivan as the great quadruped was seen springing out from the smoke, and clutching to a thick branch that traversed upward near the nest. embracing the branch with his paws, he commenced descending stern foremost along the limb; but a more rapid descent was in store for him. out of the four bullets fired into his body, one at least must have reached a mortal part; for his forearms were seen to relax their hold, his limbs slipped from the bark, and his huge body came "bump" to the ground, where it lay motionless as a log and just as lifeless. meanwhile the flames enveloped the nest, and in five minutes more the whole mass was on fire, blazing upward like a beacon. the dry sticks snapped and crackled--the pitchy branches of the pine hissed and spurted--the red cinders shot out like stars, and came showering down to the earth--while high overhead could be heard the vengeful cries of the vultures, as they saw the destruction of their aerial habitation. but the hunters took no heed of all this. their task was accomplished, or nearly so. it only remained to divest bruin of his much-coveted skin; and, having done this in a skilful and proper manner, they mounted their roadsters, and once more took their route across the mountains. on reaching the first village on the spanish side, they parted with the expert izzard-hunter and his hired charge--having well remunerated him for his threefold service, each branch of which he had performed to their entire satisfaction. chapter twenty eight. south american bears. our travellers passed southward to madrid, where they only remained long enough to witness that exciting but not very gentle spectacle, a bull-fight. thence proceeding to lisbon, they took passage direct for para, or "gran para," as it is called--a thriving brazilian settlement at the mouth of the amazon river, and destined at no very distant day to become a great city. the design of our hunters was to ascend the amazon, and reach, by one of its numerous head waters, the eastern slope of the andes mountains-which they knew to be the habitat of the "spectacled bear." on arriving at para, they were not only surprised, but delighted, to find that the amazon river was actually navigated by steamboats; and that, instead of having to spend six months in ascending to the upper part of this mighty river--as in the olden time--they could now accomplish the journey in less than a score of days! these steamers are the property of the brazilian government, that owns the greater part of the amazon valley, and that has shown considerable enterprise in developing its resources--much more than any of the spano-american states, which possess the regions lying upon the upper tributaries of the amazon. it is but fair to state, however, that the peruvians have also made an attempt to introduce steam upon the amazon river; and that they have been unsuccessful, from causes over which they could scarce be expected to have control. the chief of these causes appears to have been the dishonesty of certain american contractors, who provided them with the steamers--three of them--which, on being taken to the head of steam navigation on the amazon, were found to be utterly worthless, and had to be laid up! this bit of jobbery is to be regretted the more, since its bad effects do not alone concern the people of peru, but the whole civilised world: for there is not a country on the globe that would not receive benefit by a development of the resources of this mighty river. our young russians had been under the belief, as most people are, that the banks of the amazon were entirely without civilised settlements-that the great river had scarcely been explored--that only a few travellers had descended this mighty stream; and that altogether it was still as much of a _terra incognita_ as in the days of orellana. they found that these notions were quite incorrect; that not only is there the large town of para near the mouth of the amazon, but there are other considerable settlements upon its banks, at different distances from each other, all the way up to peru. even upon some of its tributaries-as the rio negro and madeira--there are villages and plantations of some importance. barra, on the former stream, is of itself a town of 2,000 inhabitants. in that part of the amazonian territory which lies within the boundaries of brazil, the settlements are, of course, brazilian--the settlers being a mixture of portuguese negroes and christianised indians. the portion of the great valley higher up towards the cordilleras of the andes, belongs to the spanish-american governments--chiefly to peru. there are also settlements of a missionary character, the population of which consists almost entirely of indians, who have submitted themselves to the rule of the spanish priests. years ago many of these missionary settlements were in a flourishing condition; but at present they are in a complete state of decay. our young russians found, then, that the great south american river was by no means unknown or unexplored--though as yet no great observer has given an account of it. the different travellers who have descended the amazon, and written books about it, have all been men of slight capacity, and lacking powers of scientific observation; and one cannot help feeling regret, that humboldt did not choose the amazon, instead of the orinoco, as the medium of his valuable researches into the cosmography of south america. such a grand subject was worthy of such a man. in ascending the amazon--which our party did by the brazilian steamer-they were fortunate in finding on board a very intelligent travelling companion; who gave them much information of the great valley and its resources. this man was an old portuguese trader, who had spent nearly a lifetime in navigating not only the amazon itself, but many of its larger tributaries. his business was to collect from the different indian tribes the indigenous products of the forest--or _montana_, as it is called--which stretches almost without interruption from the andes to the atlantic. in this vast tropical forest there are many productions that have found their way into the channels of commerce; and many others yet unknown or unregarded. the principal articles obtained by the traders are sarsaparilla, peruvian bark, annatto, and other dyes, vanilla, brazil nuts, tonka beans, hammocks, palm fibre, and several other kinds of spontaneous vegetable productions. monkeys, toucans, macaws, parrots, and other beautiful birds, also enter into the list of amazonian exports; while the imports consist of such manufactured articles as may tempt the cupidity of the savage, or the weapons necessary to him either in war or for the chase. in this trade their travelling companion had spent thirty years of his life; and being a man of intelligence he had not only acquired a consider able fortune, but laid in a stock of geographical knowledge, of which the young russians were not slow to take advantage. in the natural history of the _montana_ he was well versed; and knew the different animals and their habits from actual observation--for which thirty years of adventure had given him a splendid opportunity. it was a rich store, and our travellers, especially the naturalist alexis, did not fail to draw largely from it. from the information given by this intelligent trader, alexis was enabled to determine several facts about the bears of south america, that had hitherto been doubtful. he learnt that there are at least two very distinct varieties of them--one, the "spectacled bear" (_ursus ornatus_)--so called, on account of the whitish rings around his eyes, suggesting the idea of spectacles; and another without these white eye markings, and which has been lately named by a distinguished german naturalist _ursus frugilegus_. the former kind is known throughout the peruvian countries as the "hucumari," and although it inhabits the cordilleras, it does not ascend to the very cold elevations known as the "paramos" and "puna." on the contrary, it affects a warmer climate, and is not unfrequently found straying into the cultivated valleys termed generally the "sierra." the _ursus frugilegus_ chiefly frequents the tangled woods that cover the eastern spurs of the andes, ranging often as far down as the montana, and never so high as the declivities that border on the region of snow. both of these species are black bears, and termed "oso negro" by the spanish-americans; but the hucumari is distinguished by a white list under the throat, a white breast, a muzzle of a greyish buff colour, and the crescent-like eye markings already mentioned. it is also of a gentler disposition than its congener, smaller in size, and never preys upon other animals. the other does so--frequently making havoc among the flocks of sheep, and even attacking the cattle and horses of the _haciendas_. the _ursus frugilegus_ will give battle even to man himself--when baited, or rendered furious by being chased. both these species are supposed to be confined to the chilian and peruvian andes. this is an erroneous supposition. they are equally common in bolivia, and in the sierras of new grenada and venezuela. they are found on both sides of lake maracaibo--in the sierras perija and merida. one of them, at least, has also been observed in the mountains of guiana--though naturalists have not met with it there. humboldt, it is true, saw the tracks of what the natives told him was a bear on the upper orinoco; and, reasoning from their size, he drew the inference that it must have been a much smaller species than the _ursus americanus_; but in this matter the great philosopher was led into an error by a misapplied name. he was informed that the animal was the "oso carnero," or flesh-eating bear--a title given by the mission indians to distinguish it from two other animals, which they also erroneously term bears--the "oso palmero," or great ant-eater (_tamanoir_), and the "oso hormiguero" (_tamandua_). the animal by whose tracks humboldt was misled, was, no doubt, one of the smaller plantigrade animals (_coatis_ or _grisons_), of which there are several species in the forests of south america. our hunters learnt enough from their travelling acquaintance to convince them that, in whatever latitude they might approach the andes from the east, they would be certain to find both varieties of the south american black bear; but that the best route they could take would be up the great napo river, which rises not very far from the old peruvian capital of quito. in the wild provinces of quixos and macas, lying to the east of quito--and to which the napo river would conduct them--they would be certain to meet with the animals they were in search of. they would have been equally sure of meeting bears in the territory of jean de bracamoros; and this would have been more easily reached; but alexis knew that by taking that route across the cordilleras, they would be thrown too far to the west for the isthmus of panama--which it was necessary they should cross on their way to the northern division of the american continent. by keeping up the napo to its source, and then crossing the cordilleras of new granada, they would still be enabled to make westerly as far as panama--to which port they could get passage in one of the grenadian coasting-vessels. on arriving at the mouth of the napo, therefore, they engaged a _periagua_, with its indian crew, and continued their journey up this stream towards the still-distant cordilleras of quito. chapter twenty nine. the amazonian forest. the river napo is one of the largest of the head waters of the amazon, and one of the most interesting--since, by it, most of the early expeditionists descended in search of the country of the gilded kings, and the gold-roofed temples of manoa. though these proved to be fabulous, yet the existence of gold dust among the indians of the napo was true enough, and is true to the present hour. on this river, and its numerous branches, gold washings, or _placers_, are quite common; and occasionally the savages, who roam over this region, collect the dust, and exchange it with the traders who venture among them. the indians, however, are of too idle a habit to follow this industry with any degree of energy; and whenever they have obtained a quill full of the metallic sand--just enough to purchase them some coveted nick-knack of civilised manufacture--they leave off work, and the precious ingots are permitted to sleep undiscovered in their beds. notwithstanding the length of their journey up the napo, our travellers did not deem it tedious. the lovely tropical scenery, ever under their eyes, together with the numerous little incidents which were constantly occurring, relieved the monotony of their daily life, and kept them in a constant state of interested excitement. at every bend of the river appeared some object, new and worthy of admiration--some grand tropical plant or tree, some strange quadruped, or some bird of glorious plumage. the craft in which they travelled was that in general use on the upper tributaries of the amazon: a large canoe--hollowed out from the gigantic _bombax ceiba_, or silk-cotton tree--and usually known as a _periagua_. over the stern part, or quarter-deck, a little "round house" is erected, resembling the tilt of a wagon; but, instead of ash hoops and canvas, it is constructed of bamboos and leaves of trees. the leaves form a thatch to shade the sun from the little cabin inside, and they are generally the large leaves of the _vihai_, a species of _heliconia_, which grows abundantly in the tropical forests of south america. leaves of the _musacaae_ (_plantains_ and _bananas_) serve for a similar purpose; and both kinds are equally employed in thatching the huts in which the natives dwell. the little cabin thus constructed is called a _toldo_. inside it is high enough for a man to sit upright, though not to stand; and generally it is only used for sleeping in, or as a shelter during rain. at other times the traveller prefers the open air; and sits or reclines upon the roof of the toldo, which is constructed of sufficient strength to bear his weight. the forward part of the periagua is left quite open; and here the rowers take their stations, so that their movements do not interfere with the comfort of the travellers. through the influence of the portuguese trader, our party had the good fortune to obtain a proper periagua and crew. they were christianised indians, belonging to one of the spanish missions situated far up the napo. they had descended this river with a cargo of the products of the mission; and were just about starting to go back, as our travellers arrived at the river's mouth. an agreement was easily entered into with the _capataz_, or chief of the periagua; and as our travellers always paid liberally for such service, and kept the crew well fed, they received as good attendance and accommodation as circumstances would admit of. here and there on the banks of the river--though at very long intervals apart--were settlements of the wild indians of the forest; and as nearly all the tribes of amazonia do less or more in the way of cultivation and commerce, our travellers were enabled from time to time to replenish their larder. their guns, too, helped materially to keep up the supply: since almost every day game of one kind or another was procured along the banks. for bread they had _farinha_, a good stock of which they had brought with them on the steamer from paru. this is the grated root of the manioc plant (_jatropha manihot_), and forms the staple food of all classes throughout the countries of amazonia. alexis was particularly interested in what they saw. never had naturalist a finer field for observation. here was nature presented to the eye in its most normal condition. here could be observed the tropical forest in all its primeval virginity, unbroken by the axe of the lumberer, and in many places untrodden even by the foot of the hunter. here its denizens--quadrupeds, _quadrumana_, birds, reptiles, and insects--might be seen following out their various habits of life, obedient only to the passions or instincts that had been implanted in them by nature herself, but little modified by the presence of man. now would appear a flock of _capivaras_--or _chiguires_, as they are also called--the largest of rodent animals, basking upon some sunny bank, raising their great rabbit-like heads, and gazing curiously at the passing _periagua_. perhaps before the travellers had lost sight of them, the whole gang would be seen suddenly starting from their attitudes of repose, and in desperate rush making for the water. behind them would appear the yellow-spotted body of the jaguar--the true tyrant of the amazonian forest, who, with a single blow of his powerful paw would stretch a _chiguire_ upon the grass, and then, couching over his fallen victim, would tear its body to pieces, drink its warm blood, and devour its flesh at his leisure. if by good fortune the flock might all escape, and reach the water, the jaguar, conscious of their superior adroitness in that element, would at once abandon the pursuit; and returning to his ambush, lie waiting for a fresh opportunity. but for all that, the poor chiguires would not be certain of safety; for even in the water they might encounter another enemy, equally formidable and cruel, in the gigantic _jacare_--the crocodile of the amazonian waters. thus assailed in either element, the poor innocent rodents are driven from land to water, and from the water back again to the land; and so kept in a state of continual fear and trembling. the puma, too, assails them, and the _jaguarundi_, and the fierce _coatimundi_; and not unfrequently the enormous _anaconda_ enfolds them in its deadly embrace; for the innocuous creatures can make no defence against their numerous enemies; and but for that fecundity which characterises the family to which they belong--the so called "guinea pigs"--their race would be in danger of total extirpation. the chiguires were not the only gregarious animals observed by our travellers in their ascent of the napo. others of a very different order appeared in the _peccaries_, or wild pigs of the _montana_. these are true pachyderms, and in reality pigs; though naturalists have seen fit to separate them from the genus _sus_, and constitute for them a genus of their own. it is hardly necessary to say that this is a very useless proceeding--since the peccaries are neither more nor less than true wild hogs, the indigenous representatives of the _suidae_, on the american continent. their classification into a separate genus has been productive of no good purpose, but the very contrary: since it has added to the number of zoological names, thereby rendering still more difficult the study of that interesting science. for such an endless vocabulary, we are chiefly indebted to the speculations of anatomic naturalists, who, lacking opportunities of actual observation, endeavour to make up for it by guesses and conjectures, founded upon some little tubercle upon a tooth! notwithstanding their learned treatises, it often proves--and very often too--that these tubercles tell most abominable stories; in plainer terms, that the animals "lie in their teeth." the peccary--which the old writers were content to regard as a wild pig, and very properly placed under the genus _sus_--is now termed _dicotyles_. two species only are yet known to naturalists--the "white-lipped" and "collared" (_dicotyles labritus_ and _dicotyles collaris_); and although they are rarely found frequenting the same district of country, either one or the other kind can be encountered in all the wilder parts of america--from california on the north, to the latitude of the la plata on the south. both are nearly of one form and colour--a sort of speckled greyish-brown; the collared species being so named from a whitish list running up in front of its shoulders, and forming the semblance of a collar; while the white-lipped derives its specific title from having lips of a greyish-white colour. in size, however, there is a great difference between the two: the white-lipped peccary weighing 100 pounds, or nearly twice the weight of the collared species. the former, too, is proportionably stouter in build, and altogether a stronger and fiercer animal; for although fierceness is not a characteristic of their nature, like other animals of the hog family, when, roused, they exhibit a ferocity and fearlessness equalling that of the true _carnivora_. both kinds of peccary are preyed upon by the jaguar; but this tyrant of the wilds approaches them with more caution and far less confidence, than when he makes his onslaught on the helpless chiguires; and not unfrequently in conflicts with the peccary, the jaguar comes off only second best. of this fact our travellers had ample proofs--having frequently witnessed, while ascending the napo, encounters between the peccaries and the jaguars. one of these encounters they had watched with an interest more than common: for in its result their own safety was concerned; and the very position of peril in which they were placed, enabled them to have a full and perfect view of the whole spectacle; an account of which we find recorded in the journal of alexis. chapter thirty. the peruvian cinnamon-tree. they had reacted a district which lies between two great branches of the napo river, and which bears the name of _canelos_, or the "cinnamon country." the name was given to it by the spanish discoverers of peru-from the fact of their finding trees in this region, the bark of which bears a considerable resemblance to the celebrated spice of the east indies. _canela_ is the spanish name for cinnamon; and the rude adventurers pineda and gonzalez pizarro, fancying it was the real cinnamon-tree itself, so called it; and the district in which they found it most abundant thenceforward took the name of canelos. the tree, afterwards identified and described by the spanish botanist mutis, is not the _laurus cinnamomum_ of ceylon; but a species of _laurus_ peculiar to the american continent--to which this botanist has given the name _laurus cinnamomoides_. it is not, however, confined to the region around the rio napo, but grows in many parts of the great _montana_, as well as in other countries of tropical america. bonpland identified it on the upper orinoco, and again in the county of caraccas; though nowhere does it appear to be in such plenty as to the east of the cordilleras of ecuador and peru--throughout the provinces of quixos, macas, and jean de bracamoros. in these provinces it is found forming extensive woods, and filling the air with the delicious aroma of its flowers. the bark of the _laurus cinnamomoides_ is not considered equal in delicate flavour to that of the oriental cinnamon. it is hotter and more pungent to the taste--otherwise the resemblance between the two trees is very considerable, their foliage being much alike, and the bark peeling off of nearly equal thickness. the american, however, becomes more brownish when dried; and, though it is not equal to the cinnamon bark of ceylon, large quantities of it are collected, both for use in the spanish-american countries and for export to europe--where it is often passed off for the true cinnamon. were it not that the province of anelos is rather inaccessible to commerce, no doubt a great deal more of it would find its way into the european markets; but there are perils and hardships in the collecting of this bark, which make it unprofitable to deal in, even at the full price of the true cinnamon. the peruvians believe that, were the tree cultivated in a proper manner, as the oriental cinnamon is, its bark would prove equal in quality to the latter; and perhaps this may be true, since occasionally specimens of it have been procured, having all the rich aroma of the spice of ceylon. these have been taken from trees that grew in favourable situations-that is, standing alone, and where the sun had free access to the leaves and flowers. the leaves themselves have the peculiar cinnamon flavour, and the flowers also; but in a much stronger degree. indeed, the flowers are even more aromatic than those of the _laurus cinnamomum_. it is said that the wild pigs (_peccaries_) are very fond of these flowers, as well as the seeds, when ripe; and a singular habit of these animals is related by some of the early peruvian travellers--the jesuit ovalle for one. the old father states that when a flock of the peccaries go in search of the flowers of the canela-tree, they separate into two divisions, of about nearly equal numbers. the individuals of one division place their shoulders to the different trees; and, by shaking them violently, cause the flowers to fall down to the earth. while thus employed, the peccaries of the other party stand under the shower, and eat undisturbedly until they have quite filled their bellies, or otherwise satisfied themselves. these last then take the place of the hungry hogs; and reciprocating the service by shaking the trees, leave the former to enjoy themselves in their turn! it is not easy to swallow this story of the jesuit, though he was himself a native of the country where the scene is laid. that part of it which relates to the hogs shaking the trees for one another, is not likely to be true, though it is possible all the other particulars are correct. it may be true enough that the animals shake the trees to bring down the flowers: for this would exhibit a sagacity not greater than hogs of other species are capable of; but it is not according to the laws of their moral nature to perform the service for one another. that they roam in great flocks through the canela forests, and devour with avidity the blossoms of these trees, is undoubtedly a fact--of which our travellers had the evidence of their own eyes while on their journey up the river napo. they were passing a place where these wild cinnamon-trees lined the banks of the stream; and, in order to make a closer examination of such an interesting species, alexis landed from the _periagua_, ivan went along with him--taking his double-barrelled gun, in hopes of getting a shot at something. in one barrel he had a bullet, while the other was loaded with shot--so that he was prepared for any sort of game that might turn up, either beasts or birds. alexis, as usual, carried his rifle. it was their intention to walk for some distance up the bank. there was a sandy strip between the water and the trees--which would enable them to make way without difficulty--and it is only where this occurs that the banks of the amazonian rivers can be followed on foot. generally, the thick forest comes down to the very water's edge; and there is no pathway except an occasional track followed by the chiguires, tapirs, and other animals; but, as these creatures only open the underwood to the height of their own bodies, all above that is a matted labyrinth of leaves and llanos, that form an impenetrable barrier to the passage of anything so tall as a man. the indians themselves rarely follow these paths, but keep to their canoes or periaguas. seeing this fine open sand-bar, which appeared to stretch for miles above them, our young travellers, tired of sitting upon the _toldo_, determined to stretch their legs in a walk; and, directing the capataz to keep up the river and take them in above, they set out along the bank--now and then dipping into the woods, wherever an opening showed itself, and examining such rare natural objects as attracted their attention. pouchskin did not go with them; and the reason was that, some days before, pouchskin had encountered a mishap, by which he was laid up lame. the cause of his lameness was simply that some _chigas_ had got between his toes; and not having been extracted in time, had there laid their eggs, and caused a terrible inflammation to his feet. a misfortune that frequently happens in tropical countries. the wound caused by the _chiga_, though not absolutely of fatal consequences, is very dangerous to be trifled with--often leading to the necessity of amputating the part attacked by these diminutive insects. pouchskin, sneering at the insignificance of the enemy, had neglected taking proper precautions--notwithstanding that the indian canoe-men had warned him of the danger. the consequence was a swelling of the parts and an inflammation, that lamed the old grenadier as completely as if his leg had been carried off by a bomb-shell; and he was now reclining along the top of the toldo, unable to stand upon his feet. for this reason, being in no condition to join his young masters on their pedestrian excursions, he was necessarily left behind. it was, perhaps, just as well for him: since it was the means of keeping him clear of a scrape into which both of the young hunters chanced to fall very soon after; and which, perhaps, had pouchskin been with them, might have ended worse than it did: since it could not have ended much better. chapter thirty one. a skurry over a sand-bar. journeying along the bank, as we have described, alexis and ivan had gone some two or three miles up the river. they were beginning to get tired of their walk: as the sand was rather soft, and sank under their feet at every step. just then they descried, a little ahead of them, a long bar, or "spit" of the bank, running out nearly to the middle of the river. they made up their minds to go on until they should reach this bar. at its end appeared a proper place for the periagua to come to, and take them aboard. the craft was still working up stream, and had got nearly opposite them, so that they could hail it. they did so--desiring the _popero_, or steersman, to put in at the extremity of the sand-bar. this matter having been arranged, they continued on up the bank, going at their leisure. on arriving at that part of the bank where the sand-spit projected into the river, they were about stepping out upon it, when the quick ear of ivan caught the sound of some animals moving among the underwood. all was game that came to ivan's gun; and as he had seen nothing worth wasting a charge upon, during their long walk, he was very desirous to have a shot at something before returning to the periagua. what he heard was a rustling of leaves. it did not appear to proceed from any particular spot, but rather from all parts of the forest. now and then the sound was varied by a sort of half-squeaking, half-grunting noise, that indicated the presence of animals, and a great many of them too: since at times, several scores of these squeaks and grunts could be heard uttered simultaneously. alexis heard the sounds too; but being less of a keen sportsman than his brother, cared less to go after the creatures that were making them. he had no objection to ivan straying a little out of his way; and promised to wait for him on the open bank. had he known what sort of game it was that his brother was going after-that is, had he been acquainted with the habits of the animals that were making themselves heard, he would either have gone along with ivan, or, what is more likely, would have hindered him from going at all. alexis, however, was under the impression that monkeys of some kind were making the strange noises--for not only are there many species of these in the forests of the napo, but some that can imitate the voices of other animals. of course, with monkeys, there could be no danger: since none of the american quadrumana are large enough or strong enough to attempt an attack upon man. ivan had not left the spot more than five minutes, when a loud report, reverberating among the trees, announced that he had fired his gun; and, almost in the same instant, a second crack told that both barrels were now empty. alexis was about proceeding to the place to see what his brother had shot, when all at once his ears were assailed by a loud chorus of noises--a screaming, and snorting, and grunting,--that seemed to come from all parts of the wood; while the cracking of sticks, and the "swishing" of branches, announced a singular commotion--as if some hundreds of creatures were rushing to and fro through the jungle. at the same instant was heard the voice of ivan, crying out in accents of alarm; while the boy was himself seen breaking his way through the bushes, and running with all his might in the direction of his brother. his looks betokened terror, as if some dreaded pursuer was behind him. "run! brother--run!" cried he, as he got clear of the underwood; "run for your life!--they're after me--they're after me!" it was no time to inquire what pursuers were after him. evidently, they were of a sort to be shunned: since they had caused to the courageous ivan such serious alarm; and alexis, without staying for an explanation, turned, and joined in his brother's flight. both directed themselves towards the open sand-spit, in hopes of being able to reach the periagua--which could be seen just drawing up to its point of the bar. they had not made a dozen steps into the open ground, when the bushes from which they had just parted were seen to vibrate, and from out their trembling cover rushed a host of strange creatures: literally a host, for, in a few seconds' time, not less than two hundred of them made their appearance. they were quadrupeds of a greyish-brown colour, not larger than half-grown pigs; and pigs they were--that is to say, they were _peccaries_. they were those of the species _labiatus_--as could be seen by their white lips. these lips were especially conspicuous, for each individual was rushing on open-mouthed, with snout raised aloft-all of them cracking their teeth like castanets, uttering, as they ran, a confused chorus of short, sharp grunts and squeaks expressive of anger. as soon as alexis saw them, he recognised the peril of the situation in which he and his brother were placed. he had read, and heard moreover from the portuguese trader--as well as from the indian canoe-men--of the danger to be apprehended from an attack of these fierce little animals; and how the hunter, to escape from them, is often compelled to take to a tree. had he and ivan reflected for a moment, they would probably have made for the woods, instead of running out on the open sand-bar as they had done. it was now too late, however. the peccaries covered the whole line of beach behind them; and no tree could have been reached, without passing back again through the midst of the drove. their retreat in the direction of the woods was completely cut off; and there appeared no alternative, but to make the best use they could of their heels, and if possible get on board the periagua. with this determination they rushed on over the sandbank, closely pursued by the peccaries. chapter thirty two. pursued by peccaries. it is needless to say that our young hunters took as long strides as the nature of the ground would permit; but, unfortunately, they were not long enough. the sand was soft and heavy, and in places so full of holes, where the turtles had had their eggs--now empty--that the fugitives could make but slow progress, though fear was urging them to do their utmost. the pursuers themselves did not make as good speed as they would have made on firmer ground, but they were going faster than the pursued; and the boys were beginning to fear that they would never be able to reach the periagua in time. to be overtaken meant the same as to be dragged down upon the sand, and torn to pieces by the sharp tusks of the peccaries. the periagua was still three hundred yards distant. the indians saw the chase, and knew the danger--knew it so well, that it was not likely they would venture ashore to the rescue; and as for pouchskin, he was unable to budge an inch--even had there been no other means of saving his young masters. it was a moment of fearful apprehension for the faithful pouchskin. he had seized his fusil, and wriggled his body into an erect attitude; but he felt powerless to do more. in this moment of peril an object came under the eyes of alexis that promised safety. at least it held out the prospect of a temporary retreat from the danger--though whether they might succeed in reaching this retreat was not certain. this object was a tree--not standing and growing, but a fallen tree-dead, and divested of its leaves, its bark, and most of its branches. it lay upon the sand-spit--where it had, no doubt, been deposited during the season of floods--not exactly in the line of their flight, but some paces to the right of the track they would have followed in keeping on to the periagua. it was nearer them than the boat, by full two hundred yards; and alexis observing this, suddenly conceived a hope that they might yet reach the tree, and find shelter, either upon its trunk or among its branches. of these the larger ones still remained--rising many feet above the surface of the sand, and shrouded under masses of weeds and withered grass, which had been there deposited at the falling of the flood. indeed, alexis scarce looked to the capabilities the tree afforded for giving them a secure retreat. there was no alternative. it was like the drowning man catching at straws. he only cast a look behind him, to see what time they might have to spare; and by a quick glance calculating their distance from the pursuers, he shouted to ivan to follow him, and turned obliquely towards the tree. they had noticed the tree when first starting to run, but had not thought of it as a place of retreat. indeed, they had thought of nothing except getting back to the boat; and it was only now, when this had proved clearly impossible, that they determined on taking to the tree. as they faced full towards it, they were able to note the chances it offered for their safety. they saw that they were not so bad; and, encouraged by hope, they made efforts more energetic than ever--both of them straining every nerve and muscle in their legs and bodies. the effort was needed; but fortunately it proved sufficient to save them. just sufficient: for scarce had they succeeded in getting upon the log, and drawing their limbs up after them, when the infuriated host arrived upon the ground, and in a few seconds surrounded them on all sides. lucky it was that the log was a large one. it was the dead-wood of a gigantic silk-cotton--the _bombax ceiba_ of the tropical forests; and its trunk, being full five feet in diameter, gave them that elevation above the surface of the sand. notwithstanding this, they saw that their safety was not yet quite assured: for the spiteful peccaries, instead of desisting in their attacks, commenced leaping up against the log, endeavouring to reach its top, and there assail them. now and then one more active than the rest actually succeeded in getting its fore feet over the ridge of the dead-wood: and, had it not been for the quick use which our hunters made of the butts of their guns, undoubtedly they would have been reached. both stood with their barrels grasped firmly-now threatening the assailing host, and now punching in the head such of them as sprang within reach--the peccaries all the while uttering their angry grunts, and chattering their teeth, as if a hundred strings of christmas crackers were being let off at the same time! in this way the conflict was carried on--the hunters bit by bit working themselves along the log towards the top branches, which, projecting higher, appeared to offer a more secure place of retreat. but at intervals as they advanced, they were compelled to make halt, and deal a fresh shower of blows to their assailants, who still kept leaping up from below. at length the boys succeeded in reaching the projecting limbs of the tree; and each choosing one strong enough to carry him, they scrambled up towards their tops. this placed them in a position where they could set the peccaries at defiance; for although the creatures could now spring up on the main trunk--which several of them had already done--the more slender limbs baffled all their efforts at climbing; and such of them as attempted it were seen to roll off and tumble back upon the sandbank. the hunters, now feeling secure, could not refrain from a shout of joy, which was answered by a cheer from the periagua, in which the baritone of pouchskin bore a conspicuous part. our heroes now believing themselves in for a siege, began to consider the best means of raising it; when all at once a spectacle came under their eyes, that guided their thoughts into a far different channel. chapter thirty three. scylla and charybdis. their retreat upward upon the slanting limbs of the tree had brought a large band of their assailants round to that side; and, just as they raised their triumphant cry, they saw the peccaries dancing among the branches that lay extended along the sand-bar. many of these were hidden by the flakes of hanging grass already mentioned; but another fearful creature chanced to have been hidden there also; who now displayed himself in all his shining majesty--not only to the eyes of the besieged, but likewise to those of the besiegers. the creature was a quadruped--one of fearful mien, and dimensions far exceeding that of the lilliputian peccaries. it was their natural enemy--the jaguar! whether it was the shout that had startled him, or the peccaries had trodden him out of his lair, or both, certain it was that he now sprang suddenly out, and with one bound launched himself upon the log. for a moment he stood cowering on its top, turning his eyes first upon the branches where the boys had taken refuge, and then in the opposite direction, towards the woods. he seemed irresolute as to which course he would take; and this irresolution, so long as it lasted, produced an unpleasant effect upon our young hunters. should the jaguar also attack them, their destruction might be accounted as certain; for the great cat would either strike them down from their unstable porch, or claw them to death if they continued to cling to it. of course, to fall down among the peccaries would be death, equally certain and terrible. by good fortune, however, the jaguar at the moment of showing himself was eagerly assailed by the wild pigs; and it was to escape from their assault, that he had sprung upward to the log. thither the peccaries had pursued him, and were now endeavouring to reach the top of the dead-wood, just as they had done while after the hunters. the jaguar no longer stood silent and irresolute; but, uttering loud screams, he commenced defending himself against the assailing host, striking them with his broad ungulated paws, and flinging one after another back to the ground, where they lay kicking in the throes of death. perhaps it was the presence of mind exhibited by alexis that brought matters to a climax, and saved the lives of himself and his brother. his rifle was still loaded--for it had appeared useless firing into the midst of two hundred assailants. he knew he could kill only one or two; and this, instead of frightening them off, would but render the others more implacable in their resentment. partly for this reason, and partly that he had all along held the piece "clubbed" in his hands, he had reserved his fire. now was the time to deliver it. the jaguar was even more to be dreaded than the peccaries--for they were now secure from the attacks of the latter, whereas they were not only within reach of the former, but in the very place to which the brute might fancy retreating. to prevent this contingency, alexis resolved to give the jaguar his bullet. it was but a moment's work to turn the gun in his hand and take aim. the crack followed quickly; and, on the instant, the hunters had the gratification to see the great tawny quadruped spring out from the log, and alight upon the sand--where, in a second's time, he was surrounded by the dark drove, that from all sides rushed screaming towards him. it was a bit of good fortune that the bullet of alexis had only wounded the jaguar, instead of killing him on the spot. had he been shot dead, the peccaries would have torn his beautiful skin to ribbons, and reduced his quivering flesh to mincemeat, and that within the space of a score of seconds; but luckily it chanced that the jaguar was only wounded--had only received a broken leg; and, availing himself of the three that remained sound, he commenced retreating towards the timber. thither he was followed by his thick-skinned assailants; who, transferring their spite to this new enemy, seemed to forget all about their original adversaries, who remained quietly perched upon the limbs of the tree! for some time nothing could be seen but a confused crowd, writhing over the sand--a dark mass, in the midst of which now and then a bright yellow object appeared conspicuous, and was then for a time out of sight; and thus, like a rolling wave, the great drove went surging on, amidst grunting and screaming, and growling, and chattering of teeth, till it swept up to the edge of the underwood, and then suddenly disappeared from the eyes of the spectators! whether the peccaries eventually succeeded in destroying the jaguar, or whether the wounded tyrant of the forest escaped from their terrible teeth, could never be told. our young hunters had no curiosity to follow and witness the _denouement_ of this strange encounter. neither cared they to take up the bodies of the slain. ivan was completely cured of any _penchant_ he might have had for peccary pork; and, as soon as their late assailants were fairly out of sight, both leaped down from the limbs of the tree, and made all haste towards the boat. this they reached without further molestation; and the canoe-men, rapidly plying their paddles, soon shot the craft out upon the bosom of the broad river--where they were safe from the attack either of wild pigs or wild cats. it was likely the jaguar betook himself to a tree--his usual mode of escape when surrounded by a herd of infuriated peccaries--and, as a proof that he had done so, our travellers could hear the wild hogs still uttering their fierce grunts long after the boat had rounded the sand-spit, and was passing up the bend of the river. chapter thirty four. the old missions. passing many scenes of interest, and meeting with several other strange incidents, our travellers at length arrived at archidona--a small town at the head of boat navigation upon the napo, and the usual port of embarkation for persons proceeding from the country around quito to the regions upon the amazon. up to this place they had been journeying through a complete wilderness--the only exceptions being some missionary stations, in each of which a monkish priest holds a sort of control over two or three hundred half christianised indians. it would be absurd to call these missions civilised settlements: since they are in no degree more advanced, either in civilisation or prosperity, than the _maloccas_, or villages of the wild indians--the "infidels," as it pleases the monks to call those tribes who have not submitted to their puerile teachings. whatever difference exists between the two kinds of indians, is decidedly in favour of the unconverted tribes, who display at least the virtues of valour and a love of liberty, while the poor neophytes of the missions have suffered a positive debasement, by their conversion to this so called "christian religion." all these monkish settlements--not only on the napo, but on the other tributaries of the amazon--were at one time in a state of considerable prosperity. the missionary padres, backed by a little soldier help from the spanish government, were more able to control their indian converts, and compel them to work--so that a certain amount of prosperity was visible in the mission settlements, and some of them had even attained to a degree of wealth. this, however, was but an apparent civilisation; and its benefits only extended to the monks themselves. the indian neophytes were in no way bettered by the wealth they created. their condition was one of pure slavery--the monks being their masters, and very often hard taskmasters they proved themselves--living in fine conventual style upon the sweat and labour of their brown-skinned converts. the only return made by them to the indians was to teach the latter those trades, by the practice of which they themselves might be benefited, and that was their sole motive for civilising them. on the other hand, instead of endeavouring to cultivate their intellectual nature, they strove in every way to restrain it--inculcating those doctrines of duty and obedience, so popular among the priests and princes of the world. they taught them a religion of the lips, and not of the heart--a religion of mere idle ceremonies, of the most showy kind; and above all a religion, whose every observance required to be paid for by toll and tithe. in this manner they continued to filch from the poor aboriginal every hour of his work--and keep him to all intents and purposes an abject slave. no wonder, that when the spanish power declined, and the soldier could no longer be spared to secure the authority of the priest--no wonder that the whole system gave way, and the missions of spanish america-from california to the patagonian plains--sank into decay. hundreds of these establishments have been altogether abandoned--their pseudo converts having returned once more to the savage state--and the ruins of convents and churches alone remain to attest that they ever existed. those still in existence exhibit the mere remnants of their former prosperity, and are only kept together by the exertions of the monks themselves--backed by a slight thread of authority, which they derive from the superstitions they have been able to inculcate. in fact, in the missions now existing, the monks have no other power than that which they wield through the terrors of the church; and in most cases, these _padres_ constitute a sort of hierarch chieftaincy, which has supplanted the old system of the _curacas_, or caciques. at one period the missions of the napo were both numerous and powerful. that was while they were under the superintendence of those active apostles, the jesuit fathers; but most of their settlements have long ago disappeared; and now only a few sparse stations exist along the borders of the great _montana_. in ascending the napo, our travellers had an opportunity of visiting some of these old missionary establishments; and observing the odd rigmarole of superstitions there practised under the guise, and in the name of religion--a queer commingling of pagan rites with christian ceremonies--not unlike those buddhistic forms from which these same ceremonies have been borrowed. one advantage our travellers derived from the existence of these stations: they were enabled to obtain from them the provisions required upon their long riverine voyage; and without this assistance they would have found it much more difficult to accomplish such a journey. beyond archidona the rest of the journey to quito would have to be performed on horseback, or rather muleback; but they were not going direct to quito. between them and the old peruvian capital lay the eastern cordillera of the andes, and it was along its declivities, and in the valleys between its transverse spurs, facing the montana, they would have to search for the haunts of the bear. on the napo itself, still higher up than archidona--where the stream, fed by the snows of the grand volcano of cotopaxi, issues from the spurs of the andes--there were they most likely to accomplish the object of their expedition, and thither determined they to go. having procured mules and a guide, they proceeded onward; and after a journey of three days--in which, from the difficulty of the roads, they had travelled less than fifty miles--they found themselves among the foot-hills of the andes--the giant cotopaxi with his snowy cone towering stupendous above their heads. here they were in the proper range of the bears--a part of the country famous for the great numbers of these animals--and it only remained for them to fix their headquarters in some village, and make arrangements for prosecuting the chase. the little town of napo, called after the river, and situated as it is in the midst of a forest wilderness, offered all the advantages they required; and, choosing it as their temporary residence, they were soon engaged in searching for the black bear of the cordilleras. chapter thirty five. eating a negro's head. according to their usual practice, they had hired one of the native hunters of the district to act as a guide, and assist them in finding the haunts of bruin. in napo they were fortunate in meeting with the very man in the person of a _mestizo_, or half-blood indian, who followed hunting for his sole calling. he was what is termed a "tigrero," or tiger-hunter--which title he derived from the fact that the jaguar was the principal object of his pursuit. among all spanish-americans--mexicans included--the beautiful spotted jaguar is erroneously termed _tigre_ (tiger), as the puma or couguar is called _leon_ (lion). a hunter of the jaguar is therefore denominated a "tiger-hunter," or _tigrero_. there are no puma or lion-hunters by profession--as there is nothing about this brute to make it worth while--but hunting the jaguar is, in many parts of spanish america, a specific calling; and men make their living solely by following this occupation. one inducement is to obtain the skin, which, in common with those of the great spotted cats of the old world, is an article of commerce, and from its superior beauty commands a good price. but the _tigrero_ could scarce make out to live upon the sale of the skins alone; for although a london furrier will charge from two to three guineas for a jaguar's robe, the poor hunter in his remote wilderness market can obtain little more than a tenth part of this price--notwithstanding that he has to risk his life, before he can strip the fair mantle from the shoulders of its original wearer. it is evident, therefore, that jaguar-hunting would not pay, if there was only the pelt to depend upon; but the _tigrero_ looks to another source of profit--the _bounty_. in the hotter regions of spanish america,--the brazils as well--there are many settlements to which the jaguar is not only a pest, but a terror. cattle in hundreds are destroyed by these great predatory animals; even full-grown horses are killed and dragged away by them! but is this all? are the people themselves left unmolested? no. on the contrary, great numbers of human beings every year fall victims to the rapacity of the jaguars. settlements attempted on the edge of the great montana--in the very country where our young hunters had now arrived--have, after a time, been abandoned from this cause alone. it is a well-known fact, that where a settlement has been formed, the jaguars soon become more plentiful in that neighbourhood: the increased facility of obtaining food--by preying on the cattle of the settlers, or upon the owners themselves--accounting for this augmentation in their numbers. it is precisely the same with the royal tiger of india, as is instanced in the history of the modern settlement of singapore. to prevent the increase of the jaguars then, a bounty is offered for their destruction. this bounty is sometimes the gift of the government of the country, and sometimes of the municipal authorities of the district. not unfrequently private individuals, who own large herds of cattle, give a bounty out of their private purses for every jaguar killed within the limits of their estates. indeed, it is not an uncommon thing for the wealthy proprietor of a cattle-estate (_hacienda de ganados_) to maintain one or more "tigreros" in his service--just as gamekeepers are kept by european grandees--whose sole business consists in hunting and destroying the jaguar. these men are sometimes pure indians, but, as a general thing, they are of the mixed, or _mestizo_ race. it need hardly be said that they are hunters of the greatest courage. they require to be so: since an encounter with a full-grown jaguar is but little less dangerous than with his striped congener of the indian jungles. in these conflicts, the tigreros often receive severe wounds from the teeth and claws of their terrible adversary; and, not unfrequently, the hunter himself becomes the victim. you may wonder that men are found to follow such a perilous calling, and with such slight inducement--for even the bounty is only a trifle of a dollar or two--differing in amount in different districts, and according to the liberality of the bestower. but it is in this matter as with all others of a like kind--where the very danger itself seems to be the lure. the tigrero usually depends upon fire-arms for destroying his noble game; but where his shot fails, and it is necessary to come to close quarters, he will even attack the jaguar with his _machete_--a species of half-knife half-sword, to be found in every spanish-american cottage from california to chili. very often the jaguar is hunted without the gun. the tigrero, in this case, arms himself with a short spear, the shaft of which is made of a strong hard wood, either a _guaiacum_, or a piece of the split trunk of one of the hardwood palms. the point of this spear is frequently without iron--only sharpened and hardened by being held in the fire--and with this in his left hand, and his short sword in the right, the hunter advances with confidence upon his formidable adversary. this confidence has been fortified by a contrivance which he has had the precaution to adopt--that is, of enveloping his left arm in the ample folds of his blanket--_serape, roana_, or _poncho_, according to the country to which he belongs--and using this as a shield. the left arm is held well forward, so that the woollen mass may cover his body against the bound of the animal, and thus is the attack received. the jaguar, like all feline quadrupeds, springs directly forward upon his prey. the tigrero prepared for this, and, with every nerve braced, receives the assailant upon the point of his short spear. should the jaguar strike with its claws it only clutches the woollen cloth; and while tearing at this--which it believes to be the body of its intended victim--the right arm of the hunter is left free, and with the sharp blade of his _machete_ he can either make cut or thrust at his pleasure. it is not always that the tigrero succeeds in destroying his enemy without receiving a scratch or two in return; but a daring hunter makes light of such wounds--for these scars become badges of distinction, and give him _eclat_ among the villages of the montana. just such a man was the guide whom our young hunters had engaged, and who, though a tiger-hunter by profession, was equally expert at the capturing of a bear--when one of these animals chanced to stray down from the higher slopes of the mountains, into the warmer country frequented by the jaguars. it was not always that bears could be found in these lower regions; but there is a particular season of the year when the black bear (_ursus frugilegus_) descends far below his usual range, and even wanders far out into the forests of the montana. of course there must be some inducement for his making this annual migration from his mountain home; for the _ursus frugilegus_, though here dwelling within the tropics, does not affect a tropical climate. neither is he a denizen of the very cold plains--the _paramos_--that extend among the summits of eternal snow. a medium temperature is his choice; and this, as we have already stated, he finds among the foot-hills, forming the lower zone of the eastern andes. it is there he spends most of his life, and that is his place of birth, and consequently his true home. at a particular season of the year, corresponding to the summer of our own country, he makes a roving expedition to the lower regions; and for what purpose? this was the very question which alexis put to the tigrero. the answer was as curious as laconic: "_comer la cabeza del negro_." (to eat the negro's head!) "ha, ha! to eat the negro's head!" repeated ivan, with an incredulous laugh. "just so, senorito!" rejoined the man; "that is what brings him down here." "why, the voracious brute!" said ivan; "you don't mean to say that he makes food of the heads of the poor negroes?" "oh no!" replied the tigrero, smiling in his turn; "it is not that." "what then?" impatiently inquired ivan. "i've heard of negro-head tobacco. he's not a tobacco chewer, is he?" "_carrambo_! no, senorito," replied the tiger-hunter, now laughing outright; "that's not the sort of food the fellow is fond of. you'll see it presently. by good luck, it's just in season now--just as the bears fancy it--or else we needn't look to start them here. we should have to go further up the mountains: where they are more difficult both to find and follow. but no doubt we'll soon stir one up, when we get among the _cabezas del negro_. the nuts are just now full of their sweet milky paste, of which the bears are so fond, and about a mile from here there are whole acres of the trees. i warrant we find a bear among them." though still puzzled with this half-explanation, our young hunters followed the guide--confident that they would soon come in sight of the "negro's head." chapter thirty six. the tagua tree. after going about a mile further, as their guide had forewarned them, they came within sight of a level valley, or rather a plain, covered with a singular vegetation. it looked as if it had been a forest of palms--the trunks of which had sunk down into the earth, and left only the heads, with their great radiating fronds above the ground! some of them stood a foot or two above the surface; but most appeared as if their stems had been completely buried! they were growing all the same, however; and, at the bottom of each great bunch of pinnate leaves, could be seen a number of large, roundish objects--which were evidently the fruits of the plant. there was no mystery about the stems being buried underground. there were no stems, and never had been any--except those that were seen rising a yard or so above the surface. neither was there any longer a mystery about the "negro's head;" for the rounded fruit, with its wrinkled coriaceous pericarp--suggesting a resemblance to the little curly knots of wool on the head of an african--was evidently the object to which the tigrero had applied the ambiguous appellation. what our hunters saw was neither more nor less than a grove of _tagua_ trees--better known as the "vegetable ivory." this singular tree was for a long time regarded as a plant of the _oycas_ family; and by some botanists it has been classed among the _pandanaceae_, or screw-pines. growing, as its leaves do, almost out of the earth, or with only a short trunk, it bears a very marked resemblance to the cycads; but for all this, it is a true palm. its not having a tall trunk is no reason why it should not be a palm, since many other species of _palmaceae_ are equally destitute of a visible stem. it is now, however, acknowledged by the most expert botanists, that the "tagua"--or "cabeza del negro," as the peruvians style it--is a palm; and it has been honoured as the representative of a genus (_phytelephas_), of which there are but two species known--the great fruited and little fruited (_macrocarpa_ and _microcarpa_). both are natives of the hot valleys of the andes, and differ very little from each other; but it is the species with the larger fruit that is distinguished by the figurative title of "negro's head." the peruvian indians use the pinnate fronds of both species for thatching their huts; but it is the nuts of the larger one that have given its great celebrity to the tree. these are of an oblong triangular shape; and a great number of them are enclosed in the pericarp, already described. when young, they are filled with a watery liquid that has no particular taste; though regarded by the indians as a most refreshing beverage. a little older, this crystal-like fluid turns of a milky colour and consistence; and still later it becomes a white paste. when fully ripe, it congeals to the whiteness and hardness of ivory itself; and, if kept out of water, is even more beautiful in texture than, the tusks of the elephant. it has been employed by the indians from time immemorial in the construction of buttons, heads for their pipes, and many other purposes. of late years it has found its way into the hands of civilised artisans; and, since it can be procured at a cheaper rate, and is quite equal to the real ivory for many useful and ornamental articles, it has become an important item of commerce. but however much the vegetable ivory may be esteemed by the indians, or by bipeds of any kind, there is one quadruped who thinks quite as much of it as they, and that is the black bear of the andes (_ursus frugilegus_). it is not, however, when it has reached the condition of ivory that bruin cares for it. then the nut would be too hard, even for his powerful jaws to crack. it is when it is in the milky state--or rather after it has become coagulated to a paste--that he relishes it; and with so much avidity does he devour the sweet pulp, that at this season he is easily discovered in the midst of his depredations, and will scarce move away from his meal even upon the appearance of the hunter! while engaged in devouring his favourite negro-head, he appears indifferent to any danger that may threaten him. of this our hunters had proof, and very shortly after entering among the tagua trees. as the tigrero had predicted, they soon came upon the "sign" of a bear, and almost in the same instant discovered bruin himself browsing upon the fruit. the young hunters, and pouchskin too, were about getting ready to fire upon him; when, to their surprise, they saw the tigrero, who was mounted on a prancing little horse, spur out in front of them, and gallop towards the bear. they knew that the killing of the animal should have been left to them; but, as they had given their guide no notice of this, they said nothing, but looked on--leaving the tigrero to manage matters after his own way. it was evident that he intended to attack the bear, and in a peculiar fashion. they knew this by seeing that he carried a coil of raw-hide rope over his arm, on one end of which there was a ring and loop. they knew, moreover, that this was a celebrated weapon of the south americans--the _lazo_, in short; but never having witnessed an exhibition of its use, they were curious to do so; and this also influenced them to keep their places. in a few minutes the horseman had galloped within some twenty paces of the bear. the latter took the alarm, and commenced trotting off; but with a sullen reluctance, which showed that he had no great disposition to shun the encounter. the ground was tolerably clear, the taguas standing far apart, and many of them not rising higher than the bear's back. this gave the spectators an opportunity of witnessing the chase. it was not a long one. the bear perceiving that the horseman was gaining upon him, turned suddenly in his tracks, and, with an angry growl, rose erect upon his hind legs, and stood facing his pursuer in an attitude of defiance. as the horseman drew near, however, he appeared to become cowed, and once more turning tail, shambled off through the bushes. this time he only ran a few lengths: for the shouts of the hunter provoking him to a fresh fit of fury, caused him to halt again, and raise himself erect as before. this was just the opportunity of which the hunter was in expectation; and before the bear could lower himself on all-fours--to charge forward upon the horse, the long rope went spinning through the air, and its noose was seen settling over the shoulders of the bear. the huge quadruped, puzzled by this mode of attack, endeavoured to seize hold of the rope; but so thin was the raw-hide thong, that he could not clutch it with his great unwieldy paws; and by his efforts he only drew the noose tighter around his neck. meanwhile, the hunter, on projecting the lazo, had wheeled, with the quickness of thought; and, driving his sharp spurs into the ribs of his horse, caused the latter to gallop in the opposite direction. one might have supposed that he had taken fright at the bear, and was endeavouring to get out of the way. not so. his object was very different. the lazo still formed a link of connection between the hunter and his game. one end of it was fast to a staple firmly imbedded in the wood of the saddle-tree, while the other, as we have seen, was noosed around the bear. as the horse stretched off, the rope was seen to tighten with a sudden jerk; and bruin was not only floored from his erect attitude, but plucked clear off his feet, and laid sprawling along the earth. in that position he was not permitted to remain: for the horse continuing his gallop, he was dragged along the ground at the end of the lazo--his huge body now bounding several feet from the earth, and now breaking through the bushes with a crackling, crashing noise, such as he had himself never made in his most impetuous charges. in this way went horse and bear for half a mile over the plain; the spectators following after to witness the ending of the affair. about that there was nothing particular: for when the tigrero at length halted, and the party got up to the ground, they saw only an immobile mass of shaggy hair--so coated with dust as to resemble a heap of earth. it was the bear without a particle of breath in his body; but, lest he might recover it again, the tigrero leaped from his horse, stepped up to the prostrate bear, and buried his _machete_ between the ribs of the unconscious animal. that, he said, was the way they captured bears in his part of the country. they did not employ the same plan with the jaguars: because these animals, crouching, as they do, offered no opportunity for casting the noose over them; and, besides, the jaguars haunt only among thick woods, where the lazo could not be used to advantage. of course, the skin of this particular bear was not suitable for the purpose for which one was required; and the tigrero kept it for his own profit. but that did not signify: another bear was soon discovered among the tagua trees; and this being despatched by a shot from the rifle of alexis,--supplemented, perhaps, by a bullet from the fusil of the ex-guardsman,--supplied them with a skin according to contract; and so far as the _ursus frugilegus_ was concerned, their bear-hunting in that neighbourhood was at an end. to find his cousin with the "goggle eyes," they would have to journey onward and upward; and adopting for their motto the spirit-stirring symbol "excelsior!" they proceeded to climb the stupendous cordilleras of the andes. in one of the higher valleys, known among peruvians as the "sierra," they obtained a specimen of the "hucumari." they chanced upon this creature while he was engaged in plundering a field of indian corn-quite close to a "tambo," or traveller's shed, where they had put up for the night. it was very early in the morning when the corn-stealer was discovered; but being caught in the act, and his whole attention taken up with the sweet milky ears of maize, his "spectacled" eyes did not avail him. our hunters, approaching with due caution, were able to get so near, that the first shot tumbled him over among the stalks. having secured his skin, they mounted their mules, and by the great cordillera road proceeded onward to the ancient capital of northern peru. chapter thirty seven. northward! after resting some days in the old capital of quito, our travellers proceeded to the small port of barbacoas, on the west coast of equador; and thence took passage for panama. crossing the famous isthmus to porto bello, they shipped again for new orleans, on the mississippi. of course, their next aim was to procure the north american bears-including the polar, which is equally an inhabitant of northern asia, but which, by the conditions of their route, would be more conveniently reached on the continent of north america. alexis knew that the black bear (_ursus americanus_) might be met with anywhere on that continent from the shores of hudson's bay to the isthmus of panama, and from the seaboard of the atlantic to the coast of the pacific ocean. no other has so wide a range as this species--with the exception, perhaps, of the brown bear of europe--which, as we have said, is also an asiatic animal. throughout the whole extent of country above defined, the black bear may be encountered, not specially confining himself to mountain-ranges. true, in the more settled districts he has been driven to these--as affording him a refuge from the hunter; but in his normal condition he is by no means a mountain-dwelling animal. on the contrary, he affects equally the low-wooded bottoms of ravines, and is as much at home in a climate of tropical or sub-tropical character, as in the cold forests of the canadas. mr spencer baird--the naturalist intrusted by the american government to describe the _fauna_ of their territory, and furnished for his text with one of the most splendid collections ever made--in speaking of the genus _ursus_, makes the following remarks:-"the species of bears are not numerous, nor are they to be found except in the temperate regions of the northern hemisphere. north america possesses more species than any other part of the world, having at least four, and perhaps five." with the exception of the very idle assertion that "the species of bears are not numerous," every idea put forth in the above categorical declaration is the very reverse of what is true. is the polar bear found only in the temperate regions of the northern hemisphere? is the _ursus arctos_ of europe confined to these limits? are the bears of south america?--the sloth bear of india and ceylon?-the bruang of borneo?--and his near congener, the bruang of java and sumatra? why, these last are actually dwellers among palm-trees--as the cocoa-planters know to their cost! even mr baird's own american black bear is not so "temperate" in his habits; but loves the half-tropical climate of florida and texas quite as much as the cold declivities of the alleghanies. and how does north america possess more species than any other part of the world? even admitting the doubtful fifth, on the continent of asia there are six species at the very least; and, if we are allowed to include the oriental islands, we make eight asiatic. there are three species in the himalaya mountains alone--unquestionably distinct, dwelling in separate zones of altitude, but with the territory of all three visible at a single _coup d'oeil_. mr baird is a naturalist of great celebrity in america. he is a secretary of the smithsonian institution: he should make better use of the books which its fine library can afford him. the united states' government is extremely unfortunate in the selection of its scientific _employes_--more especially in the departments of natural history. perhaps the most liberal appropriation ever made for ethnological purposes--that for collecting a complete account of the north american indians--has been spent without purpose, the "job" having fallen into the hands of a "placeman," or "old hunker," as the americans term it--a man neither learned nor intellectual. with the exception of the statistics furnished by indian agents, the voluminous work of schoolcraft is absolutely worthless; and students of ethnology cannot contemplate such a misappropriation without feelings of regret. fortunately, the american aboriginal had already found a true portrayer and historian. private enterprise, as is not unfrequently the case, has outstripped government patronage in the performance of its task. in the unpretending volumes of george catlin we find the most complete ethnological monograph ever given to the world; but just for that reason, catlin, not schoolcraft, should have been chosen for the "job." knowing the range of the black bear to be thus grandly extended, our young hunters had a choice of places in which to look for one; but, as there is no place where these animals are more common than in louisiana itself, they concluded that they could not do better than there choose their hunting-ground. in the great forests, which still cover a large portion of louisiana, and especially upon the banks of the sluggish _bayous_, where the marshy soil and the huge cypress trees, festooned with spanish moss, bid defiance to all attempts at cultivation, the black bear still roams at will. there he is found in sufficient numbers to ensure the procuring of a specimen without much difficulty. the hunters of these parts have various modes of capturing him. the log-trap is a common plan; but the planters enjoy the sport of running him down with dogs; or rather should it be termed running him up; since the chase usually ends by bruin taking to a tree, and thus unconsciously putting himself within reach of the unerring rifle. it was by this means that our young hunters determined to try their luck; and they had no difficulty in procuring the necessary adjuncts to ensure success. the great czar, powerful everywhere, was not without his agent at new orleans. from him a letter of introduction was obtained to a planter living on one of the interior _bayous_; and our heroes, having repaired thither, were at once set in train for the sport--the planter placing himself, his house, his hounds, and his horses at their disposal. chapter thirty eight. the northern forests. on their arrival, the hospitable planter sent to his neighbours, and arranged a grand hunt, to come off at an early day specified in the invitation. each was to bring with him such hounds as he was possessed of--and in this way a large pack might be got together, so that a wide extent of forest could be driven. among the planters of the southern states this is a very common practice: only a few of them keeping what might be called a regular kennel of hounds, but many of them having five or six couples. in a neighbourhood favourable to the chase, by uniting a number of these little bands together, a pack may be got up large enough for any purpose. the usual game hunted in the southern states is the american fallow-deer (_cervus virginianus_), which is still found in considerable plenty in the more solitary tracts of forest all over the united states. it is the only species of deer indigenous to louisiana: since, the noble stag or "elk," as he is erroneously called (_cervus canadensis_), does not range so far to the south. on the pacific coast this animal is found in much lower latitudes than on that of the atlantic. besides the fallow-deer, the fox gives sport to the louisiana hunter. this is the grey fox (_vulpes virginianus_). the bay lynx also--or wild cat, as it is called (_lynx rufus_)--and now and then, but more rarely, the cougar (_felis concolor_), give the hounds a run before taking to the tree. racoons, opossums, and skunks are common enough in the forests of louisiana; but these are regarded as "vermin," and are not permitted to lead the dogs astray. with regard to the other animals mentioned, they all rank as noble game--especially the cougar, called "panther" by the backwoodsman--and the pack may follow whichever is first "scared up." the grand game, however, is the bear; and the capture of bruin is not a feat of everyday occurrence. to find his haunts it is necessary to make an excursion into the more unfrequented and inaccessible solitudes of the forest--in places often many miles from a settlement. not unfrequently, however, the old gentleman wanders abroad from his unknown retreat, and seeks the plantations--where in the night-time he skulks round the edges of the fields, and commits serious depredations on the young maize plants, or the succulent stalks of the sugar-cane, of which he is immoderately fond. like his brown congener of europe he has a sweet tooth, and is greatly given to honey. to get at it he climbs the bee-trees, and robs the hive of its stores. in all these respects he is like the brown bear; but otherwise he differs greatly from the latter species, so much indeed, that it is matter of surprise how any naturalist should have been led to regard them as the same. not only in colour, but in shape and other respects, are they totally unlike. while the fur of the brown bear is tossed and tufty--having that appearance usually termed _shaggy_--that of the american black bear is of uniform length, and all lying, or rather standing, in one direction, presenting a smooth surface corresponding to the contour of his body. in this respect he is far more akin to the bears of the asiatic islands, than to the _ursus arctos_. in shape, too, he differs essentially from the latter. his body is more slender, his muzzle longer and sharper, and his profile is a curve with its convexity upward. this last characteristic, which is constant, proclaims him indubitably a distinct species from the brown bear of europe; and he is altogether a smaller and more mild-tempered animal. as the grand "chasse" had been arranged to come off on the third day after their arrival, our young hunters determined to employ the interval in ranging the neighbouring woods; not with any expectation of finding a bear--as their host did not believe there was any so near--but rather for the purpose of becoming acquainted with the character of the north american _sylva_. that of south america alexis had carefully observed and studied in their long journey across that continent. he had noted the grand tropical trees--the palms and _pothos_ plants--the _mimosas_ and _musaceae_--the magnificent forms of the _lombax_ and _bertholletia_--the curious _cecropias_ and fig-trees--the giant _cedrelas_ and the gum-yielding _siphonias_. on the andes he had observed the agaves, the cycads, and cactaceae--all strange to the eye of a russian. he was now desirous of making himself familiar with the forests of north america; which, though of a sub-tropical character in louisiana, contained forms altogether different from those of the amazonian regions. here he would meet with the famed magnolia, and its relative the tulip-tree; the catalpa and flowering cornel, the giant cypress and sycamore, the evergreen oak, the water-loving tupelo, and the curious fan-like palmetto. of these, and many other beautiful trees belonging to the north american _sylva_, alexis had read--in fact, knew them botanically; but he wished to cultivate a still pleasanter acquaintance with them, by visiting them in their own native home. for this purpose he and ivan set out alone, with only a negro for their guide; the planter being engaged, visiting his different friends, and warning them for the grand hunt. pouchskin remained behind. he had been left at the house--to do some necessary repairs to the travelling traps both of himself and his young masters, which, after their long south american expedition, needed looking to. at this work had pouchskin been left, surrounded by a circle of grinning darkies, in whose company the old grenadier would find material to interest and amuse him. it was only for a stroll that our young hunters had sallied forth, and without any design of entering upon the chase; but they had become so accustomed to carrying their guns everywhere, that these were taken along with them. some curious bird or quadruped might be started--whose fur or feathers they might fancy to make an examination of. for that reason, both shouldered their guns. chapter thirty nine. the lone lagoon. they were soon beyond the bounds of the plantation, and walking under the dark majestic woods--the darkey guiding them on their way. they had heard of a curious lake or lagoon, that lay about a mile from the plantation. there they would be likely to witness a spectacle characteristic of the swamps of louisiana; and thither they directed their steps. sure enough, on arriving at the borders of the lagoon, a singular scene was presented to their eyes. the whole surface of the lake appeared alive with various forms of birds and reptiles. hundreds of alligators were seen, lying like dead trees upon the water, their corrugated backs appearing above the surface. most of them, however, were in motion, swimming to and fro, or darting rapidly from point to point, as if in pursuit of prey. now and then their huge tails could be seen curling high up in air, and then striking down upon the water, causing a concussion that echoed far through the forest. at intervals a shining object, flung upward by their tails, could be seen for a moment in the air, amidst the showery spray that was raised along with it. it was easy to see that the glittering forms thus projected were fishes, and that it was the pursuit of these that was causing the commotion among the huge reptiles. aquatic birds, of a great number of kinds, were equally busy in the pursuit of the fish. huge pelicans stood up to their tibia in the water--now and then immersing their long mandibles and tossing their finny victims high into the air. cranes and herons too were there--among others the tall louisiana crane--conspicuous among the smaller species--snow-white egrets, the wood ibis, and others of white and roseate hue--the snake-darter, with long pointed beak and crouching serpent-like neck--the qua-bird, of lugubrious note and melancholy aspect--and, fairest of all, the scarlet flamingo. other birds besides those of aquatic habits took part in the odd spectacle. hovering in the air were black vultures--the carrion crow and the turkey-buzzard--and upon the tops of tall dead trees could be seen the king of the feathered multitude, the great white-headed eagle. his congener, the osprey, soared craftily above--at intervals swooping down, and striking his talons into the fish, which the alligators had tossed into the air--thus robbing the reptiles of their prey, to be robbed in turn by his watchful cousin-german upon the tree. the spectacle was far from being a silent one: on the contrary, the confused chorus of sounds was deafening to the ears of the spectators. the hoarse bellowing of the alligators--the concussions made by their great tails striking the water--the croaking of the pelicans, and the clattering of their huge mandibles--the doleful screaming of the herons, cranes, and qua-birds--the shrieks of the osprey--and the shrill maniac laughter of the white-headed eagle, piercing through all other sounds-formed a medley of voices as unearthly as inharmonious. a shot from the gun of ivan, that brought down a splendid specimen of the white-headed eagle--together with the appearance of the hunters by the edge of the water--put a sudden termination to this grand drama of the wilderness. the birds flew up into the air, and went soaring off in different directions over the tops of the tall trees; while the huge reptiles, that had been taught by the alligator hunters to fear the presence of man, desisted for a while from their predatory prey, and retreated to the reeds upon the opposite shore. the spectacle was one well worthy of being seen, and one that cannot be witnessed every day--even in the swamps of louisiana. its occurrence at that time was accounted for by the drying up of the lake, which left the fish at the mercy of their numerous enemies. having taken up the eagle which ivan had shot, the young hunters continued their excursion along the edge of the lagoon. they had not gone far when they came upon a bank of mud, that had formerly been covered with water. so recently had the water dried from it, that, in spite of the hot sun shining down upon it, the mud was still soft. they had not gone many steps further, when they perceived upon its surface, what at first they supposed to be the tracks of a man. on getting a little closer, however, they doubted this; and, now recollecting the resemblance which they had noticed in the snows of lapland--between the footsteps of a human being and those of a bear--it occurred to them that these might also be bear-tracks--though they knew that the tracks of the american bear would be slightly different from those of his european cousin. to satisfy themselves, they hastened forward to examine the tracks; but their negro guide had anticipated them, and now called out, with the whites of his eyes considerably enlarged-"golly, young mass'rs! dat be de tracks ob um ba!" "a bear!" "ya, ya, mass'rs! a big ba--dis child know um track--see'd um many de time--de ole coon he be arter de fish too--all ob dem a-doin' a bit ob fishin' dis mornin'--yaw, yaw, yaw!" and the darkey laughed at what he appeared to consider an excellent joke. on closely scrutinising the tracks, alexis and ivan saw that they were in reality the tracks of a bear--though much smaller than those they had followed in lapland. they were quite fresh--in fact, so recently did they appear to have been made, that both at the same time, and by an involuntary impulse, raised their eyes from the ground and glanced around them; as if they expected to see the bear himself. no such animal was in sight, however. it was quite probable he had been on the ground, at their first coming up to the lake; but the report of ivan's gun had alarmed him, and he had made off into the woods. this was quite probable. "what a pity," reflected ivan, "that i didn't leave the eagle alone! we might have got sight of master bruin, and given him the shot instead. and now," added he, "what's to be done? there's no snow,--therefore we can't track the brute. the mud bank ends here, and he's gone off it, the way he came? of course he wouldn't be out yonder among those logs? he wouldn't have taken shelter there, would he?" as ivan spoke, he pointed to a little peninsula that jutted out into the lake, some twenty or thirty yards beyond the spot where they were standing. it was joined to the mainland by a narrow neck or isthmus of mud; but at the end towards the water there was a space of several yards covered with dead trees--that had been floated thither in the floods, and now lay high and dry, piled irregularly upon one another. alexis looked in the direction of this pile as ivan pointed it out. "i'm not so sure of that," he answered, after scrutinising the logs. "it's a likely enough place for an animal to lurk. he might be there?" "let us go and see, then!" said ivan. "if he's there he can't escape us, without our having a shot at him; and you say that these american bears are much easier killed than ours. the south americans were so, certainly. i hope their northern brothers may die as easy." "not all," rejoined alexis. "we may expect some tough struggles when we come to the great grizzly, and to him of the polar regions; but the black bears are, as you conjecture, not so difficult to deal with. if wounded, however, they will show fight; and, though their teeth and claws are less dangerous than the others, they can give a man a most uncomfortable hug, i have heard. but let us go, as you say. if not yonder, he must have taken to the woods. in that case there is no way of following him up, except by dogs; and for these we must go back to the house." as they continued talking, they advanced towards the narrow isthmus that connected the little peninsula with the mainland. "what a pity," remarked ivan, "that that great log is there! but for it we might have seen his track in the mud crossing over." ivan referred to a prostrate trunk that traversed the isthmus longitudinally--extending from the mainland to the higher ground of the peninsula, to which it formed a kind of bridge or causeway. certainly, had it not been there, either the bear's tracks would have been seen in the mud or not; and if not, then no bear could have passed over to the peninsula, and their exploration would have been unnecessary. but, although they saw no tracks, they had started to examine the wood pile; and they continued on, climbing up to the log, and walking along its top. all at once, alexis was seen to pause and bend his body forward and downward. "what is it?" inquired ivan, who was behind, on seeing his brother in the bent attitude, as if he looked at something on the log. "the bear's tracks!" answered alexis, in a low but earnest tone. "ha! you think so? where?" alexis pointed to the dead-wood under his eyes--upon the bark of which were visible, not the tracks of a bear, but dabs of mud, that must have been recently deposited there, either by the feet of a bear, or some other animal. "by the great peter!" said ivan, speaking cautiously, notwithstanding his innocent adjuration; "that must be his tracks? it's the same sort of mud as that in which we've just been tracing him--black as ink nearly. it has come off his great paws--not a doubt of it, brother?" "i think it is likely," assented alexis, at the same time that both looked to the locks of their guns, and saw that the caps were on the nipples. a little further along the log, the bark was smoother, and there the track was still more conspicuous. the print was better denned, and answered well for the footmark of a bear. there was the naked paw, and the balls of the five toes, all complete. they no longer doubted that it was the track of a bear. it was just a question whether the animal had gone over the log and returned again. but this was set at rest, or nearly so, by a closer scrutiny. there was no sign of a return track. true, he might have washed his paws in the interval, or cleaned them on the dead-wood; but that was scarce probable, and our hunters did not think so. they felt perfectly sure that the bear was before them; and, acting upon this belief, they cocked their guns, and continued their approach towards the wood pile. chapter forty. a darkey on bear-back. both the young hunters succeeded in passing over the log, and had set foot on the peninsula; while the negro, who was following a little behind, was still upon the prostrate trunk. just at that moment a noise was heard--very similar to that made by a pig when suddenly started from its bed of straw--a sort of half snort, half grunt; and along with the noise a huge black body was seen springing up from under the loose pile of dead trees, causing several of them to shake and rattle under its weight. our hunters saw at a glance that it was the bear; and levelled their guns upon it with the intention of firing. the animal had reared itself on its hind legs--as if to reconnoitre the ground--and while in this attitude both the hunters had sighted it, and were on the eve of pulling their triggers. before they could do so, however, the bear dropped back on all-fours. so sudden was the movement, that the aim of both was quite disconcerted, and they both lowered their guns to get a fresh one. the delay, however, proved fatal to their intention. before either had got a satisfactory sight upon the body of the bear, the latter sprang forward with a fierce growl, and rushed right between the two, so near that it was impossible for either of them to fire otherwise than at random. ivan did fire, but to no purpose; for his bullet went quite wide of the bear, striking the log behind it, and causing the bark to splinter out in all directions. the bear made no attempt to charge towards them, but rushed straight on-evidently with no other design than to make his escape to the woods. alexis wheeled round to fire after him; but, as he was raising his gun, his eye fell upon the negro, who was coming on over the log, and who had just got about halfway across it. the bear had by this time leaped up on the other end, and in a hurried gallop--that had been quickened by the report of ivan's piece--was going right in the opposite direction. the negro, who saw the huge shaggy quadruped coming straight towards him, at once set up a loud "hulla-balloo," and, with his eyes almost starting from their sockets, was endeavouring to retreat backwards, and get out of the way. his efforts proved fruitless: for before he had made three steps to the rear, the bear--more frightened at the two adversaries behind him than the one in front--rushed right on, and in the next instant pushed his snout, head, and neck between the darkey's legs! long before this the negro had lost his senses, but now came the loss of his legs: for as the thick body of the bear passed between them, both were lifted clear up from the log, and hung dangling in the air. for several feet along the log was the negro carried upon the bear's back, his face turned to the tail; and no doubt, had he preserved his equilibrium, he might have continued his ride for some distance further. but as the darkey had no desire for such a feat of equestrianism, he kept struggling to clear himself from his involuntary mount. his body was at length thrown heavily to one side, and its weight acting like a lever upon the bear, caused the latter to lose his balance, and tumbling off the log, both man and bear fell "slap-dash" into the mud. for a moment there was a confused scrambling, and spattering, and splashing, through the soft mire--a growling on the part of the bear, and the wildest screeching from the throat of the affrighted negro--all of which came to an end by bruin--whose body was now bedaubed all over with black mud--once more regaining his feet, and shuffling off up the bank, as fast as his legs could carry him. alexis now fired, and hit the bear behind; but the shot, so far from staying his flight, only quickened his pace; and before the darkey had got to his feet, the shaggy brute had loped off among the trees, and disappeared from the sight of everybody upon the ground. the grotesque appearance of the negro, as he rose out of the mire in which he had been wallowing, coated all over with black mud--which was a shade lighter than his natural hue--was too ludicrous for ivan to resist laughing at; and even the more serious alexis was compelled to give way to mirth. so overcome were both, that it was some minutes before they thought of reloading their guns, and giving chase to the bear. after a time, however, they charged again; and crossing back over the log, proceeded in the direction in which bruin had made his retreat. they had no idea of being able to follow him without dogs; and it was their intention to send for one or two to the house, when they perceived that the bear's trace could be made out--at least, for some distance-without them. the inky water, that had copiously saturated his long fur, had been constantly dripping as he trotted onward in his flight; and this could easily be seen upon the herbage over which he had passed. they determined, therefore, to follow this trail as far as they could; and when it should give out, it would be time enough to send for the dogs. they had not proceeded more than a hundred yards; when all at once the trail trended up to the bottom of a big tree. they might have examined the ground further, but there was no need; for, on looking up to the trunk, they perceived large blotches of mud, and several scratches upon the bark, evidently made by the claws of a bear. these scratches were, most of them, of old date; but there were one or two of them quite freshly done; besides, the wet mud was of itself sufficient proof that the bear had gone up the tree, and must still be somewhere in its top. the tree was a sycamore, and therefore only sparsely covered with leaves; but from its branches hung long festoons of spanish moss (_tillandsia usneoides_), that grew in large bunches in the forks--in several of which it was possible even for a bear to have stowed himself away in concealment. after going round the tree, however, and viewing it from all sides, our hunters perceived that the bear was not anywhere among the moss; but must have taken refuge in a hollow in the trunk--the mouth of which could be seen only from one particular place; since it was hidden on all other sides by two great limbs that led out from it, and between which the cavity had been formed by the decaying of the heart-wood. there could be no doubt that bruin had entered this tree-cave; for all around the aperture the bark was scraped and worn; and the wet mud, lately deposited there, was visible from below. chapter forty one. cutting out the bear. the question was, how he was to be got out? perhaps by making a noise he might issue forth? this plan was at once tried, but without success. while the negro rasped the bark with a pole, and struck the stick at intervals against the trunk, the hunters stood, with guns cocked, watching the hole, and ready to give the bear a reception, the moment he should show himself outside. it was all to no purpose. bruin was too cunning for them, and did not protrude even the tip of his snout out of his secure cavity. after continuing the rasping, and repeating the blows, till the woods echoed the sonorous concussions, they became convinced that this plan would not serve their purpose, and desisted from it. on examining the track more closely, they now perceived spots of blood mixed among the mud which the bear had rubbed off upon the bark. this convinced them that the animal was wounded, and therefore there would be no chance of starting him out from his hole. it was no doubt the wound that had led him to retreat to this tree, so near the place where he had been attacked, otherwise he would have led them a longer chase through the woods before attempting to hide himself. when, severely wounded, the black bear betakes himself to the first hollow log or tree he can find; and taking refuge in it, will there remain--even to die in his den, if the wound has been a fatal one. knowing this habit of the animal, our hunters perceived that they had no chance of again setting their eyes upon the bear, except by cutting down the tree; and they resolved to adopt this method, and fell the great sycamore to the ground. the darkey was despatched to the plantation; and soon returned with half a dozen of his brethren, armed with axes--pouchskin heading the sable band. without further delay the chopping began; and the white chips flew out from the great trunk in all directions. in about an hour's time the sycamore came crashing down, carrying a number of smaller trees along with it. the hunters, who expected that the bear would at once spring forth, had taken their position to cover the mouth of the cavity with their guns; but, to their surprise, the tree fell, and lay as it had fallen, without any signs of bruin. this was strange enough; for, as the negroes alleged, in all similar cases the bear is certain to charge out upon the fall of a tree that contains him! a sapling was now obtained, and inserted into the cavity--at first with caution, but after a time it was punched in with all the force that pouchskin could put into his arm. he could feel the bear quite distinctly; but poke the animal as he might, it would not stir. it was suggested that they should cut into the trunk--at a place opposite to where the bear was encased--and then they could drag him out at will; and, although this would cost a good deal of trouble, it appeared to be the only mode of reaching the obstinate animal. this course was followed, therefore; and a cross section being made of the hollow trunk, the shaggy hair was at length reached, and then the body of bruin, who was found to be dead as a nail! they no longer wondered that he had paid no heed to the punching of the pole. the bullet of alexis had traversed his huge body in a longitudinal direction, until it had lodged in a vital part, and, of course, it was this that had deprived him of life. he would, therefore, have died all the same, and in his tree-den, too, whether they had pursued him or not. our hunters learnt from their negro assistants a singular fact in relation to the black bear: and that is, that the tree-cavity in which the animal often takes shelter, or goes to sleep, is rarely of greater width than his own body! in most cases it is so narrow, that he cannot turn round in it, nor has it any lair at the bottom wide enough for him to lie down upon. it follows, therefore, that he must sleep in a standing position, or squatted upon his hams. it is in this attitude he makes his descent into the cavity, and in the same way comes down the trunk of the tree, when at any time making his departure from his den. from this it would appear that the upright attitude is as natural to this animal, as that of resting on all-fours, or even lying prostrate on the ground; for it is well-known that, farther to the north--where the winters are more severe, and where the black bear hybernates for a short season--he often takes his nap in a tree-cavity, which his body completely fills, without the possibility of his turning round in it! one precaution he takes, and that is, to scrape off all the rotten wood around the sides of the cavity; but for what purpose he exercises this curious instinct, neither hunter nor naturalist can tell. perhaps it is that the projections may not press against his body, and thus render his couch uncomfortable? our young hunters found this bear one of the largest of his species, and his skin, after the mud had been washed off, proved to be an excellent specimen. of course, they coveted no other; but for all that, they had the pleasure of being present at the death of several bears, killed in the great hunt that came off on the appointed day. a deer-chase was also got up for their special entertainment--during which a cougar was "treed" and killed--an event of rarer occurrence than even the death of a bear; for the cougar is now one of the scarcest quadrupeds to be met with in the forests of north america. another entertainment which the planter provided for his guests was a "_barbecue_"--a species of festival peculiar to the backwoods of america, and which, on account of its peculiarity, deserves a word or two of description. chapter forty two. the squatter's bargain. as we have just said, the barbecue is a festival which especially belongs to the backwoods settlements, although it has now become known even in the older states, and often forms a feature in the great political meetings of an election campaign--losing, however, much of its true character in the elaborate adornments and improvements sometimes bestowed upon it. when alexis and ivan strolled down in the early morning to the quiet glade which had been selected as the scene of this rural festivity, they found there a noisy and bustling crowd. a monstrous fire of logs, enough to roast not only a single ox, but a hecatomb of oxen, was blazing near the edge of the glade, while a half-dozen chattering negroes were busy digging a great pit close by. this pit, when entirely excavated, measured some ten or twelve feet in length, by five or six in width, and perhaps three in depth; and was lined with smooth flat stones. as soon as the logs had ceased to flame and smoke, and were fast falling into a mighty heap of glowing ruddy coals, they were shovelled hastily into the pit. another party of negroes had been busy in the woods, searching out the tall slender saplings of the pawpaw (_asimina triloba_), and now returned, bringing their spoil with them. the saplings were laid across the top of the pit, thus extemporising over it a huge gridiron. the ox, which was to form the staple of the day's feast, had been killed and dressed; and, having been split in halves after the fashion of the barbecue, was laid upon the bars to roast. proudly presiding over the operation was the major-domo of the planter's household, assisted by several celebrated cooks of the neighbourhood, and a score of chosen farm-hands, whose strength was ever and anon invoked to turn the beef; while the _chef_ ordered a fresh basting, or himself sprinkled the browning surface with the savoury dressing of pepper, salt, and fine herbs, for the composition of which he had attained a grand reputation. the morning wore swiftly on in the observation of these novel manoeuvres; and with the noon came the guests in numbers from the neighbouring plantations and settlements. even the determined resistance of the toughest beef must have failed before the hot attack of such an army of live coals, as had lain intrenched in the deep fireplace; and the tender joints of the enormous _boeuf roti_ were ready to bear their share in the festivities almost as soon as the invited company. separated with great cleavers, and laid into white button-wood trays hollowed out for the purpose, they were borne rapidly to the shady nook selected for the dining-place, followed by vast supplies of sweet potatoes, roasted in the ashes, and of rich, golden maize bread. a barrel of rare cider was broached; while good old-fashioned puddings, and the luscious fruits of the region completed the bill of fare in honour of the day. of course "joy was unconfined." everybody pronounced the roast a grand success; and the young russians thought that they had never tasted so appetising a meal. with the exhilaration of the fresh, clear air, the encouragement of hearty appetite, and the full flavour of the meat--for it is well-known that the sap which exudes from the pawpaw, when thus exposed to fire, adds a new relish to whatever is cooked upon it--combined to make a dinner fit for the czar himself; and they determined to attempt, at some time, an imitation of the southern barbecue under the colder sky of russia. merriment was unbounded; healths were drunk, songs sung, odd speeches made, and stories told. one of the last in particular made an impression upon our heroes; partly, because it was a bear story, and partly because it illustrated a very characteristic phase of squatter life and practical humour. in fact, alexis made a sketch of it in his journal, and from his notes we now reconstruct it. two squatters had occupied lands not far from each other, and within some eight or ten miles of a small town. busied in clearing off the woodland, each bethought himself of a source of revenue beyond the produce of his tilled ground. he would occupy an occasional leisure day in hauling to the town, the logs which he cut from time to time, and then selling them as firewood. this unity of purpose naturally brought the two men into competition with one another for the limited custom of the settlement; and a rivalry sprang up between them, which was fast ripening into jealousy and ill-will, when a curious coincidence occurred. each owned a single yoke of oxen, which he used regularly in his farm labour, and also in dragging his wood to market. within a week each lost an ox; one dying of some bovine distemper,--the other being so injured by the fall of a tree, that his owner had been obliged to kill him. as one ox could not draw a wood-wagon, the occupation of both squatters as wood merchants was gone--and even farm operations were likely to suffer. each soon heard of his neighbour's predicament; and proposed to himself to make a bargain for the remaining ox, that he might be the possessor of the pair, continue his clearing prosperously, and command the wood-hauling business. but, as one might suppose, where both parties were so fully bent upon accomplishing their own ends, the trade was no nearer a conclusion when a dozen negotiations had taken place than at first. so matters stood in _statu quo_, the days rolled by, and our two squatters found their condition waxing desperate. one fine morning, squatter the first started off to make a last attempt--determined to close the bargain peaceably if he could, forcibly if he must. revolving project upon project in his mind, he had traversed the two or three miles of woodland which lay between him and his neighbour's clearing, and was just entering it, when a sudden rustle and significant growl coming from behind broke in upon his reverie. turning hastily, he saw almost at his heels a bear of the most unprepossessing aspect. to reach the cabin before bruin could overtake him was impossible; and to turn upon the creature would be folly: for, in the depth of his deliberation, he had forgotten on leaving home to take any kind of weapon with him. some dead trees had been left standing in the field, and to one of these he sped with flying steps, hoping to find shelter behind it till help could come. he did not hope in vain for this protection. he found that by pretty active dodging, he could keep the trunk of the tree between himself and the bear--whose brain could hardly follow the numerous shifts made by the squatter to escape the frequent clutches of his claws. rising indignantly upon his hind legs, the bear made a fierce rush at the squatter, but hugged only the tough old tree, in whose bark he buried deep his pointed claws. an inspiration flashed through the squatter's mind, as he saw the bear slowly and with some difficulty dragging out his nails; and seizing bruin's shanks just above the paws, he braced himself against the tree, resolved to try and hold the claws into their woody sockets until his neighbour could respond to his halloos for help. the other squatter heard his cries; but instead of hastening to the rescue, he came slowly along, carelessly shouldering his axe. perceiving his neighbour's difficulty, a new solution of the ox question had entered his mind; and to the redoubled appeals for assistance, he calmly replied-"on one condition, neighbour!" "what is it?" anxiously inquired the other. "if i let you loose from the bar, you'll gi' me up your odd steer." there was no help for it, and with a heavy sigh, the prisoner consented. "stop!" cried he, ere the axe could fall; "this old brute has half plagued the life out o' me, and i'd like nothing better'n the satisfaction o' killin' him myself. jest you ketch hold here, and let me give him his death-blow." the second squatter, rejoicing beyond measure at having accomplished his long-desired purpose, unsuspiciously agreed, dropped the axe, cautiously grasped the sinewy shanks, and bent his strength to the momentary struggle. to his utter dismay, he beheld his neighbour quietly shoulder the axe, and walk away from the ground! "hold on!" he shouted; "ain't ye goin' to kill the bar?" "wal, not jest now, i fancy; i thought you might like to hang on a while?" the tables thus turned, the deluded squatter had no resource but to make terms with his grimly gleeful neighbour, who at last consented to put an end to the wild beast's life, if he might not only be released from the bargain he had just made, but, in addition, be himself the recipient of the odd ox. sorely chagrined, the second squatter consented. but he was a little comforted at the idea of a slight _revanche_ that had just entered his head. watching his chance, as the other approached to deal the fatal blow, with a desperate effort he tore out the bear's claws from the bark--setting the infuriated animal free--and then fled at full speed to his cabin, leaving the two original combatants to fight it out between themselves. the particulars of the contest even tradition has not preserved--the sequel to the narrative only telling that half an hour later the first squatter, scratched and bloody, hobbled slowly up to the cabin, remarking satirically as he threw down the broken axe:-"thar, neighbour; i'm afraid i've spiled yer axe, but i'm sure i've spiled the bar. prehaps you'd let one o' your leetle boys drive that ere ox over to my house?" -----------------------------------------------------------------------after enjoying the hospitality of their planter friend for a few days longer, our travellers once more resumed their journey; and proceeded up the great mississippi, towards the cold countries of the north. chapter forty three. the polar bear. a few weeks after leaving the louisiana planter, our hunters were receiving hospitality from a very different kind of host, a "fur-trader." their headquarters was fort churchill, on the western shore of hudson's bay, and once the chief entrepot of the famous company who have so long directed the destinies of that extensive region-sometimes styled prince rupert's land, but more generally known as the "hudson's bay territory." to fort churchill they had travelled almost due north--first up the mississippi, then across land to lake superior, and direct over the lake to one of the company's posts on its northern shore. thence by a chain of lakes, rivers, and "portages" to york factory, and on northward to fort churchill. of course, at fort churchill they had arrived within the range of the great white or polar bear (_ursus maritimus_), who was to be the _next_ object of their "chasse." in the neighbourhood of york factory, and even further to the south, they might have found bears of this species: for the _ursus maritimus_ extends his wanderings all round the shores of hudson's bay--though not to those of james' bay further south. the latitude of 55 degrees is his southern limit upon the continent of america; but this only refers to the shores of labrador and those of hudson's bay. on the western coast behring's straits appears to form his boundary southward; and even within these, for some distance along both the asiatic and american shores, he is one of the rarest of wanderers. his favourite range is among the vast conglomeration of islands and peninsulas that extend around hudson's and baffin's bays-including the icebound coasts of greenland and labrador--while going westward to behring's straits, although the great quadruped is occasionally met with, he is much more rare. somewhat in a similar manner, are the white bears distributed in the eastern hemisphere. while found in great plenty in the frozen ocean, in its central and eastern parts, towards the west, on the northern coasts of russia and lapland, they are never seen--except when by chance they have strayed thither, or been drifted upon masses of floating ice. it is unnecessary to remark that this species of bear lives almost exclusively near the sea, and _by_ the sea. he may be almost said to dwell upon it: since out of the twelve months in the year, ten of them at least are passed by him upon the fields of ice. during the short summer of the arctic regions, he makes a trip inland--rarely extending it above fifty miles, and never over a hundred--guided in his excursions by the courses of rivers that fall into the sea. his purpose in making these inland expeditions, is to pick up the freshwater fish; which he finds it convenient to catch in the numerous falls or shallows of the streams. he also varies his fish diet at this season, by making an occasional meal on such roots and berries as he may find growing along the banks. at other times of the year, when all inland water is frozen up, and even the sea to a great distance from land, he then keeps along the extreme edge of the frozen surface, and finds his food in the open water of the sea. sea-fish of different species, seals, the young walrus, and even at times the young of the great whale itself, become his prevail of which he hunts and captures with a skill and cunning, that appears more the result of a reasoning process than a mere instinct. his natatory powers appear to have no limit: at all events, he has been met with swimming about in open water full twenty miles from either ice or land. he has been often seen much further from shore, drifting upon masses of ice; but it is doubtful whether he cared much for the footing thus afforded him. it is quite possible he can swim as long as it pleases him, or until his strength may become exhausted by hunger. while going through the water, it does not appear necessary for him to make the slightest effort; and he can even spring up above the surface, and bound forward after the manner of porpoises or other _cetaceae_. if any quadruped has ever reached the pole, it is the polar bear; and it is quite probable that his range extends to this remarkable point on the earth's surface. most certainly it may, if we suppose that there is open water around the pole--a supposition that, by analogical reasoning, may be proved to be correct. the daring parry found white bears at 82 degrees; and there is no reason why they should not traverse the intervening zone of 500 odd miles, almost as easily as the fowls of the air or the fish of the sea. no doubt there are polar bears around the pole; though it may be assumed for certain that none of them ever attempts to "swarm" up it, as the white bear is not the best climber of his kind. the female of the polar bear is not so much addicted to a maritime life as her liege lord. the former, unless when barren, keeps upon the land; and it is upon the land that she brings forth her young. when pregnant, she wanders off to some distance from the shore; and choosing her bed, she lies down, goes to sleep, and there remains until spring. she does not, like other hybernating bears, seek out a cave or hollow tree; for in the desolate land she inhabits, ofttimes neither one nor the other could be found. she merely waits for the setting-in of a great snow-storm--which her instinct warns her of--and then, stretching herself under the lee of a rock--or other inequality, where the snow will be likely to form a deep drift--she remains motionless till it has "smoored" her quite up, often covering her body to the depth of several feet. there she remains throughout the winter, completely motionless, and apparently in a state of torpor. the heat of her body thawing the snow that comes immediately in contact with it, together with some warmth from her limited breathing, in time enlarges the space around her, so that she reclines inside a sort of icy shell. it is fortunate that circumstances provide her with this extra room: since in due course of time she will stand in need of it for the company she expects. and in process of time it is called into use. when the spring sun begins to melt the snow outside, the bear becomes a mother, and a brace of little white cubs make their appearance, each about as big as a rabbit. the mother does not immediately lead them forth from their snowy chamber; but continues to suckle them there until they are of the size of arctic foxes, and ready to take the road. then she makes an effort, breaks through the icy crust that forms the dome of her dwelling, and commences her journey towards the sea. there are times when the snow around her has become so firmly caked, that, with her strength exhausted by the suckling of her cubs, the bear is unable to break through it. in a case of this kind, she is compelled to remain in an involuntary durance--until the sun gradually melts the ice around her and sets her free. then she issues from her prolonged imprisonment, only the shadow of her former self, and scarce able to keep her feet. the northern indians and eskimos capture hundreds of these hybernating bears every season--taking both them and their cubs at the same time. they find the retreat in various ways: sometimes by their dogs scraping to get into it, and sometimes by observing the white hoar that hangs over a little hole which the warmth of the bear's breath has kept open in the snow. the hunters, having ascertained the exact position of the animal's body, either dig from above, and spear the old she in her bed; or they make a tunnel in a horizontal direction, and, getting a noose around the head or one of the paws of the bear, drag her forth in that way. to give an account of the many interesting habits peculiar to the polar bear--with others which this species shares in common with the bruin family--would require a volume to itself. these habits are well described by many writers of veracity,--such as lyon, hearne, richardson, and a long array of other arctic explorers. it is therefore unnecessary to dwell on them here--where we have only space to narrate an adventure which occurred to our young bear-hunters, while procuring the skin of this interesting quadruped. chapter forty four. the old she surrounded. they had been for some days on the lookout for a white bear; and had made several excursions from the port--going as far as the mouth of the seal river, which runs into hudson's bay a little farther to the north. on all these excursions they had been unsuccessful; for, although they had several times come upon the track of the bears, and had even seen them at a distance, they were unable in a single instance to get within shot. the difficulty arose from the level nature of the ground, and its being quite destitute of trees or other cover, under which they might approach the animals. the country around fort churchill is of this character--and indeed along the whole western shore of hudson's bay, where the soil is a low alluviom, without either rocks or hills. this formation runs landward for about a hundred miles--constituting a strip of marshy soil, which separates the sea from a parallel limestone formation further inward. then succeed the primitive rocks, which cover a large interior tract of country, known as the "barren grounds." it is only on the low belt adjoining the coast that the polar bear is found; but the females range quite across to the skirts of the woods which cover the limestone formation. our hunters therefore knew that either upon the shore itself, or upon the low alluvial tract adjoining it, they would have to search for their game; and to this district they confined their search. on the fifth day they made a more extended excursion towards the interior. it was now the season of midsummer, when the old males range up the banks of the streams: partly with the design of catching a few freshwater fish, partly to nibble at the sweet berries, but above all to meet the females, who just then, with their half-grown cubs, come coyly seaward to meet their old friends of the previous year, and introduce their offspring to their fathers, who up to this hour have not set eyes on them. on the present excursion our hunters were more fortunate than before: since they not only witnessed a reunion of this sort, but succeeded in making a capture of the whole family,--father, mother, and cubs. they had on this occasion gone up the churchill river, and were ascending a branch stream that runs into the latter, some miles above the fort. their mode of travelling was in a birch-bark canoe: for horses are almost unknown in the territory of the hudson's bay company, excepting in those parts of it that consist of prairie. throughout most of this region the only means of travelling is by canoes and boats, which are managed by men who follow it as a calling, and who are styled "voyageurs." they are nearly all of canadian origin--many of them half-breeds, and extremely skilful in the navigation of the lakes and rivers of this untrodden wilderness. of course most of them are in the employ of the hudson's bay company; and when not actually engaged in "voyaging" do a little hunting and trapping on their own account. two of these voyageurs--kindly furnished by the chief factor at the fort--propelled the canoe which carried our young hunters; so that with pouchskin there were five men in the little craft. this was nothing, however, as birch-bark canoes are used in the territory of a much larger kind--some that will even carry tons of merchandise and a great many men. along the bank of the stream into which they had now entered grew a selvage of willows--here and there forming leafy thickets that were impenetrable to the eye; but in other places standing so thinly, that the plains beyond them could be seen out of the canoe. it was a likely enough place for white bears to be found in--especially at this season, when, as already stated, the old males go inland to meet the females, as well as to indulge in a little vegetable diet, after having confined themselves all the rest of the year to fish and seal-flesh. the voyageurs said that there were many bulbous roots growing in those low meadows of which the bears are very fond; and also _larvae_ of certain insects, found in heaps, like anthills--which by bruin are esteemed a delicacy of the rarest kind. for this reason our hunters were regarding the land on both sides of the stream, occasionally standing up in the canoe to reconnoitre over the tops of the willows, or peering through them where they grew thinly. while passing opposite one of the breaks in the willow-grove, a spectacle came before their eyes that caused them to order the canoe to be stopped, and the voyageurs to rest on their oars. alexis, who had been upon the lookout, at first did not know what to make of the spectacle: so odd was the grouping of the figures that composed it. he could see a large number of animals of _quadrupedal_ form, but of different colours. some were nearly white, others brown or reddish-brown, and several were quite black. all appeared to have long shaggy hair, cocked ears, and large bushy tails. they were not standing at rest, but moving about--now running rapidly from point to point, now leaping up in the air, while some were rushing round in circles! in all there appeared to be thirty or forty of them; and they covered a space of ground about as large as a drawing-room floor. there was a slight haze or mist hanging over the meadow, which hindered alexis from having a clear view of these animals; and, through the magnifying influence of this sort of atmosphere, they appeared as large as young oxen. their form, however, was very different from these; and from their pointed ears, long muzzles, and full bunching tails, alexis could think of nothing else to compare them to but wolves. their varied colours signified nothing: since in these northern lands there are wolves of many varieties from white to black; and wolves they really were--only magnified by the mist into gigantic proportions. alexis had not viewed them long before perceiving that they were not _all_ wolves. in their midst was an animal of a very different kind-much larger than any of them; but what sort of a creature it was the young hunter could not make out. ivan, who had risen to his feet, was equally puzzled to tell. it appeared as large as half a dozen of the wolves rolled up into one, and was whiter than the whitest of them; but it looked as if it had a hunch upon its back; and altogether more like a shapeless mass of white bristly hair than a regularly-formed quadruped. it must be an animal, however, as its motions testified; for it was seen to be turning round and round, and at intervals darting forward a pace or two, as if working its way in the direction of the river. whatever the animal was, it soon became clear that it was battling with the wolves that surrounded it; and this accounted for the singular movements that these last were making, as well as for their fierce barking and growling that, in confused chorus, filled the air. at intervals, and still louder, could be heard a different sort of cry-shrill and plaintive, like the hinny of a mule--and evidently proceeding not from the wolves, but from the huge white animal which they were assailing. the voyageurs at once recognised the cry. "a bear!--a sea bear!" exclaimed both together. one of them stood up, and looked over the plain. "yes," said he, confirming his first assertion. "an old she it is, surrounded by wolves. ha! it's her cubs they're after! _voila, messieurs_! she's got one of them on her back. _enfant de garce_, how the old beldam keeps them at bay! she's fighting her way to the water!" guided by the words of the voyageur, our hunters now perceived clearly enough that the white object appearing over the backs of the wolves was neither more nor less than a large bear; and that which they had taken for a hunch upon its shoulders was another bear--a young one, stretched out at full length along the back of its mother, and clinging there, with its forearms clasped around her neck. it was evident, also, as the voyageur had said, that the old she was endeavouring to work her way towards the river--in hopes, no doubt, of retreating to the water, where she knew the wolves would not dare to follow her. this was evidently her design: for, while they stood watching, she advanced several yards of ground in the direction of the stream. notwithstanding the fierce eagerness with which the wolves kept up the attack, they were observing considerable caution in the conflict. they had good reason: since before their eyes was an example of what they might expect, if they came to _very_ close quarters. upon the ground over which the fight had been raging, three or four of their number were seen lying apparently dead--while others were limping around, or sneaked off with whining cries, licking the wounds they had received from the long claws of their powerful adversary. it was rather an odd circumstance for the wolves to have thus attacked a polar bear--an antagonist of which they stand in the utmost dread. the thing, however, was explained by one of the voyageurs; who said that the bear in question was a weak one--half-famished, perhaps, and feeble from having suckled her young; and it was the cubs, and not the old bear herself, that the wolves were after--thinking to separate these from their mother, and so destroy and devour them. perhaps one of them had been eaten up already: since only one could be seen; and there are always two cubs in a litter. our young hunters did not think of staying longer to watch the strange encounter. their sole idea was to get possession of the bear and her cub; and with this intent they ordered the voyageurs to paddle close up to the shore and land them. as soon as the canoe touched the bank, both leaped out; and, followed by pouchskin, proceeded towards the scene of the conflict,--the voyageurs remaining in the canoe. chapter forty five. a whole family captured. the party had not gone more than a dozen steps from the water's edge, when a new object coming under their eyes caused them to halt. this was another quadruped that at that moment was seen dashing out from the willows, and rushing onward towards the scene of the strife. there was no mistaking the character of the creature. our hunters saw at a glance that it was a large white bear--much larger than the one surrounded by the wolves. it was, in fact, the male; who, wandering in the thicket of willows--or, more likely, lying there asleep--had not till that moment been aware of what was going on, or that his wife and children were in such deadly danger. perhaps it was the noise that had awaked him; and he was just in the act of hastening forward to the rescue. with a shuffling gallop he glided over the plain--as fast as a horse could have gone; and in a few seconds he was close up to the scene of the conflict--to which his presence put an end right on the instant. the wolves, seeing him rush open-mouthed towards them, one and all bolted off; and ran at full speed over the plain, their long tails streaming out behind them. those that were wounded, however, could not get clear so easily; and the enraged bear, charging upon these, rushed from one to the other, knocking the breath out of each as he came up to it, with a single "pat" of his heavy paws. in less than ten seconds the ground was quite cleared of the ravenous wolves. only the dead ones remained on it; while the others, having got off to a safe distance, halted in straggling groups; and, with their tails drooping upon the grass, stood gazing back with looks of melancholy disappointment. bruin, meanwhile, having settled his affair with the wounded wolves, ran up to his mate; and, throwing his paws around her neck, appeared to congratulate her upon her escape! and now did our hunters perceive that there were two cubs instead of one--that which still clung fast upon the mother's back, and another which was seen under her belly, and which she had been equally protecting against the crowd of assailants that surrounded her. both the little fellows--about as large as foxes they were--now perceived that they were out of a danger--which, no doubt, they had perfectly comprehended. that upon the shoulders of the dam leaped down to the earth; while the other crawled out "from under;" and both coming together began tumbling about over the grass, and rolling over one another in play, the parents watching with interest their uncouth gambols. notwithstanding the well-known ferocity of these animals, there was something so tender in the spectacle, that our hunters hesitated about advancing. alexis, in particular, whose disposition was a shade more gentle than that of his companions, felt certain qualms of compassion, as he looked upon this exhibition of feelings and affections that appeared almost human. ivan was even touched; and certainly neither he nor his brother would have slain these creatures out of mere wanton sport. they would not have thought of such a thing under ordinary circumstances; and it was only from the necessity they were under of procuring the skin that they thought of it at all. perhaps they would even have passed this group; and taken their chances of finding another, that might make a less powerful appeal to their compassion; but in this they were overruled by pouchskin. the old grenadier was afflicted by no such tender sentiments; and throwing aside all scruple, before his young masters could interfere to prevent him, he advanced a few paces forward, and discharged his fusil, broadside at the biggest of the bears. whether he hit the bear or not, was not then known. certain it was that he in no way crippled the animal; for, as soon as the smoke had cleared out of his eyes, he saw the huge quadruped part from the side of his mate, and come charging down upon him. pouchskin hesitated for a moment whether to withstand the attack, and had drawn his knife to be ready; but the formidable appearance of the antagonist, his immense size, and fierce aspect, admonished pouchskin that in this case discretion might be the better part of valour, and he yielded to the suggestion. indeed, the two voyageurs in the canoe were already shouting to all three to run for it--warning them of the danger they were in by the most earnest speech and gesture. ivan and alexis stood their ground till pouchskin had returned to where they were, and then both fired upon the bear. they may have hit him or not; but the huge monster showed no sign, and only appeared to charge forward the faster. all three together now ran for the boat. it was their only refuge; for had it been a trial of speed, and much ground to go over, the bear would certainly have overtaken them; and a few wipes from his paw would have ended the life of one or the other--perhaps of the whole trio. it was fortunate they had the boat to flee to: else pouchskin's imprudence, in provoking the bear, might have led to a fatal termination. quick as their legs could carry them they made for the canoe; and one after the other leaped into it. without even waiting for them to seat themselves, the two voyageurs pushed off from the bank, suddenly shooting the craft out into the middle of the stream. but this did not stay the pursuit of the infuriated bear, nor even delay him for a moment. on reaching the bank, he did not make halt; but, launching out, sprang down with a plunge upon the water. then, stretching his body at full length, he swam direct after the canoe. the craft had been turned head down the stream; and, what with the help of the current and the impulse of the oars, it swept onward with arrow-like rapidity. but for all that it soon became apparent that the bear was gaining upon it--his broad paws enabling him to swim with the velocity of a fish--while every now and then he rose above the surface, and bounded forward to a distance of several feet through the air! the voyageurs plied their paddles with all their skill and energy; there was the dread of death to stimulate them to the utmost exertion of their strength. they knew well, that, if the bear should succeed in coming up with the canoe, he would either mount into it, and drive all of them into the water; or, what was more probable, he would upset the craft, and spill the whole party out of it. in either case, there would be the danger of coming in contact with his claws; and that, they knew, was the danger of death itself. the hunters were all three busy reloading their guns; and getting ready to fire before the enemy should be up to them. they were not in time, however. with the motion of the boat, and the constrained attitudes in which it placed them, the loading was a slow process; and, before any of the three had a bullet down, the bear was close astern. only ivan had a barrel loaded; and this, unfortunately, was with small shot, which he had been keeping for waterfowl. he fired it, nevertheless, right into the teeth of the pursuer; but, instead of stopping him, it only increased his rage, and roused him to make still greater efforts to overtake the canoe. pouchskin, in despair, threw down his gun, and seized upon an axe, that by good luck had been brought in the boat. with this firmly grasped in his hands, and kneeling in the stern, he waited the approach of the infuriated swimmer. the bear had got close up to the boat--in fact was within the length of his own body of touching it. believing himself now near enough, he made one of his prodigious bounds, and launched himself forward. his sharp claws rattled against the birch-bark, tearing a large flake from the craft. had this not given way, his hold would have been complete; and the boat would, in all likelihood, have been dragged, stern foremost, under water. but the failure of his clutch brought the head of the monster once more on a level with the surface; and before he could raise it to make a second spring, the great wedge of steel descended upon his crown, and went crashing through his skull. almost in the same instant, he was seen to turn over in the water; his limbs moved only with a spasmodic action; he gave a feeble kick or two with his long hind legs; and then his carcass floated along the surface, like a mass of white foam. it was soon secured, and drawn out upon the bank--for the purpose of being stripped of its snow-white robe. our young hunters would have been contented to have left the others alone--neither the female nor her cubs being required by them. but the voyageurs--who were desirous of obtaining the skins of all three on their own account--proposed returning to effect their destruction; and in this proposal they were backed by pouchskin, who had a natural antipathy to all bears. it ended in the killing of the dam, and the capturing of her cubs alive; for, encumbered as the old she was with her offspring, she was soon overtaken, and fell an easy victim to the volley of bullets that were poured into her from all sides at once. with the skins of the old bears, and the cubs tied in the bottom of the canoe, our hunters started back down stream; but they had scarce parted from the place, before the ravenous wolves returned--not only to devour the carcases of the bears, but also those of their own comrades that had fallen in the encounter! chapter forty six. the barren grounds. the "barren ground bear" was next to be sought for; but to reach the haunts of this animal, a long and toilsome journey must be made. that tract of the hudson's bay territory known as the "barren grounds," extends from the shores of the arctic sea as far south as the latitude of the churchill river; bounded eastward by hudson's bay itself, and westward by a chain of lakes, of which the great slave and athapescow are the principal. this immense territory is almost unexplored to the present hour. even the hudson's bay trappers have a very imperfect knowledge of it. it has been crossed in one or two places, and skirted by exploring parties, but it is still almost a _terra ignota_, except to the four or five tribes of indians who dwell around its borders, and the esquimaux, who venture a little way into it along the coast of the arctic sea. before proceeding to hunt the barren ground bear, let us say a word about his species. by writers, both old and modern, he has been variously classed. even the ablest naturalist who has written about him is puzzled as to his species. we speak of sir john richardson, the companion of the lamented franklin, and himself one of the great men of the earth. sir john first regarded this bear, though very doubtfully, as a variety of the _ursus americanus_, or american black bear. later observations influenced him to change this opinion; and again with modest doubtfulness--characteristic of the man--he suggests his being a variety of the _ursus arctos_. we shall make bold to affirm that he is a variety of neither; but a distinct species of bear. we shall give our reasons--and first, as to his distinctness from the _ursus americanus_. he is not like the latter, either in colour, shape of body, bulk, profile, physiognomy, length of feet or tail. in all these respects he bears a greater resemblance to the _ursus arctos_, or even to his nearer neighbour, the grizzly (_ursus ferox_). he differs from both these, however, in other points--as will presently be seen. again, he is of a fiercer disposition than the black bear, and more dangerous to the hunter--almost as much so as the grizzly, and quite as much as the brown. moreover, he dwells in a country in which the black bear could not make his home. to the existence of the latter, the forest is essential; and he is never found far out of it. it is not the higher latitude that keeps him out of the barren grounds, but the absence of timber. this is proved by the fact of his being found quits as far northward as any part of the barren grounds, but where the limestone formation favours the growth of trees; whereas, among the primitive rocks to the north of nelson river, the black bear does not exist--the very region that appears most favourable to the existence of the barren ground species--who cares not for trees, and cannot climb them. still another material difference may be pointed out. the black bear, in his normal state, is altogether frugivorous--a true vegetable feeder. the other is carnivorous and piscivorous--at one season killing and eating marmots and mice, at another frequenting the sea coast and subsisting upon fish. in a word, the two bears are as unlike as may be--they are distinct species. to compare the barren ground bear with the _ursus arctos_. the former is certainly much more like this species, than he is to the _ursus americanus_; but again we _encounter_ notable points of difference; and were it not for a certain resemblance in colour, it is possible the two kinds would never have been brought into comparison. it is easy, however, to prove them also distinct species--by simply observing that their habits are altogether unlike. the _ursus arctos_ is a _tree-climbing wood bear_: the barren ground species is not. the former prefers a vegetable diet--the latter likes better fish, flesh, and insects--though he will also fill his stomach with a farrago of vegetable matters. but to say nothing of the very different habits of the two animals, there is a yellowish tinge over the fur of the american species, that is not observed in the brown bears of european countries--except, perhaps, in those of the pyrenees--and at certain seasons this tinge turns so pale, as to give a whitish appearance to the animal: hence, by the indians, they are often termed "white bears." it is, besides, altogether improbable, that the brown bear of europe should turn up in the "barren grounds" of the hudson's bay territory--an isolated, treeless tract--quite unlike his habitat in the old world; and to which no line of migration could be traced with much probability. we might suppose such a migration through siberia and russian america; and certainly there is some probability in this view: for although it has been hitherto stated that the barren ground bear is only found within the limits of the peculiar district so called, it is very certain that his range extends beyond these boundaries. the brown bear of russian america and the aleutian islands appears to be identical with this species; and there is a suspicion, that the brown species of kamschatka is no other than the barren ground bear of the hudson's bay. the fishing habits of the former go some ways towards an identification of the two species--at the same time separating both from the _ursus arctos_ of scandinavia. it needs hardly to be argued, that the barren ground bear is quite a distinct animal from the grizzly though writers have often confounded them. they are different in size and colour. though the grizzly is sometimes brown, it is always with a mixture of white tipped hairs; but the most essential distinction is to be found in the greater ferocity of the latter, and his far longer and more curving claws. many other points might be mentioned--showing them to be animals of two separate species--besides, their range is altogether distinct. the barren ground bear, then, is not the _ursus arctos, americanus_, or _ferox_. what then? has he received no specific name from the naturalists? not yet. alexis, however, bestowed one upon him. he named him after the man who has given the clearest account of his country and his habits; and whom alexis deemed most worthy of the honour. in his journal we find the record. there it is written, that the barren ground bear is the _ursus richardsonii_. chapter forty seven. bruin taking a bath. to seek the haunts of this new species of bear, i have said that our hunters would have a long journey to make--even so far as the great slave lake--for although the barren grounds extend many degrees to the south of this water, the _ursus richardsonii_; rarely wanders to a lower latitude. upon the shores of the slave lake, however, they would be certain to encounter him; and thither they repaired. they were fortunate in the time of the year. the annual "brigade" of boats belonging to the great fur company was just setting out from york factory, for norway house on lake winnipeg; and thence a division of it would proceed to the posts still further northward--on lake athapescow and the waters of the mackenzie river--passing through the slave lake itself. their object, of course, in their annual journey is to distribute at the fur stations, the goods, brought from england by the company's ships, and in return bring back the peltries collected throughout the winter. with the brigade, then, went our hunters; and after enduring, in common with the others, the hardships and perils incidental to such a long inland voyage, they at length found themselves at the point of their destination--fort resolution, on the great slave lake, near the mouth of the river bearing the same appellation. the canoe of an indian fisherman--of which there are many dwelling around the shores of this great inland sea--was soon pressed into service; and with the fisherman (who of course was a hunter also) for their guide and companion, they could make convenient excursions along the shores of the lake, land whenever they pleased, and search for bruin in the localities where he was most likely to be encountered. in this they were assisted by their hired guide; who was not long in putting them upon the trail of a bear. in fact, in the very first excursion which they made, one of the true breed was discovered and captured. the circumstances attending his capture were of no very particular interest; but as they illustrate one of the habits of this species, we shall give them as recorded in the journal of alexis. they were paddling gently along the shore--through water that was as calm as a pond--when, at a great distance ahead of them, the indian observed a slight rippling upon the surface, and pointed it out. it was not caused by the wind; for there was not a breath stirring at the time; and it was not like the whitish curl which a breeze casts upon the surface of water. it resembled more a series of little wavelets, such as proceed from a stone plunged into a deep pool, or from a disturbance of the water caused by the movements of some animal. the indian said that it was a bear: though there was no bear, nor any living thing in sight! as the canoe moved nearer, our hunters perceived that there was an indentation on the shore--a little creek or bay out of which the ripples were proceeding. the guide knew that there was such a bay; and believed that the bear would be found somewhere within it, swimming about in the water. the hunters did not stay to inquire the reason why bruin should be thus bathing himself? there was no time: for just at that instant the indian beached his canoe; and desired them all to disembark and follow such further instructions as he might give them. without hesitation they accepted his invitation; resolved to act according to his counsel. the indian, after making his boat fast, took the route inland, followed by the other three. after going some three or four hundred yards, he turned to the left, and conducted the party around the shore of the bay--which trended in a semicircular or horse-shoe shape. he did not take all of them around; but only one, whom he stationed on the opposite side. this was pouchskin. ivan he had already placed on the nearer side, and alexis at the bottom--so that they were thus set at the three angles of a triangle, nearly equilateral. on assigning to each of them his station, the indian further instructed them to creep forward among the bushes--which still separated them from the water--and to do so without making any noise, till they should hear a "whoop" from himself. this would be the signal for them to show themselves around the edge of the bay--in the water of which the indian hunter was confident a bear was bathing himself. he himself returned to his canoe. agreeably to his instructions, the three hunters crawled forward--each on his own line of approach, and all observing the greatest caution and silence. as soon as their eyes rested upon the water, they perceived the correctness of the indian's conjecture. a bear there was, sure enough! they saw only his head; but this was sufficient for bruin's identification: since no similar cranium could have been encountered in such a place. as the indian had apprised them, the bear was swimming about in the bay; but for what purpose it was at first difficult to make out. to their astonishment, he swam with his mouth wide open--so that they could see the interior of his great encarmined palate, while his long tongue flapped out at intervals, and appeared to sweep the surface of the water. at intervals, too, he was seen to close his mouth--the huge jaws coming together with a "clap-clap," the noise of which could be heard echoing far over the lake! he did not go long in one course; but ever and anon kept turning himself, and quartering the bay in every direction. it was a long time before the spectators could find any explanation of these odd manoeuvres on the part of the bear. they might have fancied he was merely taking a cool bath to refresh himself: for the day was exceedingly hot, and the air was filled with mosquitoes--as our hunters had already learnt to their great discomfort. it might have been to get rid of these tormentors that bruin had submerged his body in the water; and so pouchskin concluded, and also ivan--though both were puzzled by the odd behaviour of the bear, in swimming open-mouthed, and at intervals snapping his jaws as he did. alexis, however, was a better reasoner; and soon discovered the why and the wherefore of these mysterious demonstrations. alexis saw that the surface of the water was thickly coated with something; and, on scrutinising it more closely, he made out this something to be a swarm of insects. there appeared to be more than one species of them--two indeed there were--both about the size of ordinary gadflies; but altogether different from each other in colour and habits. one was a sort of water-beetle that swam near the surface; while the other was a winged insect that occasionally rose into the air, but more generally crawled along the water--making short runs from place to place, then stopping a moment, and then darting on again. the whole surface of the bay--and even out for some distance into the lake--fairly swarmed with these creatures; and it was in pursuit of them that bruin was whisking his tongue so rapidly about, and bringing his jaws together in such sonorous concussion. the animal was simply indulging in a favourite meal--which in summer is furnished him not only on the shores of the great slave lake, but most of the smaller lakes throughout the barren grounds. alexis had scarce finished making the observation, when a loud "whoop" was heard from the direction of the lake; and almost at the same instant the canoe of the indian was seen shooting through the water, right for the entrance of the bay! obedient to the signal, the three hunters rushed out from their cover, and ran forward upon the beech--each holding his gun in readiness to fire. the bear, seeing himself thus suddenly and unexpectedly surrounded, at once gave over his fly-trapping; but, irresolute in which direction to retreat, he turned round and round in the water, first swimming a bit one way and then another. at length, rearing himself high above the surface, and showing his sharp teeth, he uttered a deep growl of rage, and dashed recklessly towards the shore. it was to ivan's side he first directed himself; but ivan was upon the watch; and, advancing close to the edge of the water, he took aim and fired. his bullet struck the bear right upon the snout, and it appeared to have spun him round--so quickly was he seen heading in the opposite direction. it was now pouchskin's turn; and in a second after the loud report of the grenadier's gun went booming over the lake, while the ball splashed the water right into the eyes of the bear. though it did not hit any part of his body, it had the effect of half-turning him--so that he now swam towards alexis, stationed at the bottom of the bay. alexis took the matter more coolly. there was a convenient tree behind--to which he intended to retreat in case of missing--and this influenced him to hold his ground, till the bear should come near enough to ensure a certain aim. the bear swam straight on, until within some ten yards of where alexis was standing; when all at once he appeared to take the rue, and was turning off to one side. this was just what alexis desired: it brought the head of the animal broadside towards him, and, taking steady aim, he planted his bullet a little under the left ear. it was a dead shot. the huge creature, loaded with fat, sank instantly to the bottom; but fortunately the water was shallow; and the indian now coming in with his canoe, soon fished up the carcass, and towed it out upon the beach--where its fur coat was stripped off in a trice. chapter forty eight. the great grizzly. the grizzly bear (_ursus ferox_), the fiercest and most formidable of the ursine family, was the next to be captured and skinned. the range of the grizzly, though wider than that of the barren ground bear, is still not so extensive as that of the _ursus americanus_. the great chain or cordillera of the rocky mountains may be taken as the _axis_ of his range--since he is found throughout its whole extent, from mexico to its declension near the shores of the arctic sea. some writers have asserted that he is confined to these mountains, but that is an error. to the west of them he is encountered throughout all the countries lying between the rocky mountains and the pacific coast-wherever circumstances are favourable to his existence; and to the east he extends his wanderings for a considerable distance into the great plains--though nowhere so far as to the wooded countries near the meridian of the mississippi. in these the black bear is the only forest-ranger of the family. woods are not the favourite haunt of the grizzly bear; and although in youth he can make a sort of scramble up a tree, when full-grown his enormous claws--always blunted at the tips--hinder him from climbing. low bushy thickets, with open glades intervening--and especially where the underwood consists of berry-bearing bushes--are his chosen retreats. he often sallies out into the open ground; and on those prairies where grows the _pomme blanche_, or "indian turnip" (_psoralea esculenta_), he may be seen tearing up the earth with his claws, and leaving it turned into furrows--as if a drove of hogs had been "rooting" the ground. on the bottoms of the streams he also digs up the "kamas" root (_camassia esculenta_), the "yampah," (_anethum graveolens_), the "kooyah" (_valeriana edulis_), and the root of a species of thistle (_circium virginianum_). many species of fruits and berries furnish him with an occasional meal; and the sweet pods of the mesquites (species of _acacia_), and the cones of the pinon tree (_pinus edulis_) form portions of his varied larder. he does not, however, confine himself to a vegetable diet. like most of his kind, he is also carnivorous, and will dine off the carcass of a horse or buffalo. the latter animal, notwithstanding its enormous bulk and strength, frequently falls a prey to the grizzly bear. the long masses of hair that hang over the eyes of the buffalo, hinder it from perceiving the presence of an enemy; and, unless warned by the scent, it is easily approached. the bear, knowing this, steals up against the wind; and, when within safe distance, springs upon the hind quarters of the ruminant, and cramping it in his great claws, succeeds in dragging it to the ground. he is even able to transport the huge carcass to a considerable distance--for the purpose of concealing it in some thicket, and devouring it at his leisure. the grizzly bear is more like to the brown bear of europe than to any other species of the genus. his fur is long and shaggy--not presenting the even surface which characterises the coat of the black bear. it is generally of a dark-brown colour--the hair being whitish at the tips, more especially during the summer season, when it becomes lighter-coloured. the head is always of a grizzled grey; and it is this appearance that has obtained for the animal its specific name. there are brown, reddish-brown, bay or cinnamon--coloured, and white-breasted varieties of the black bear; but the indians can distinguish all these from the true grizzly at a glance. in all of the latter, where there are white hairs intermingled with the fur, it is always observable that these odd hairs are white to the roots; whereas the hoary appearance of the grizzly is caused by only the tips of the hair being white. this characteristic is constant; and would of itself justify a distinction being made between the species; but there are many other points of greater importance. the ears of the grizzly are shorter, more conical, and set wider apart than in either the _ursus americanus_ or _arctos_. his claws are white, arched, far longer, and broader than those of the other bears--their greatest breadth being across their upper surface. underneath they are chamfered away to a sharp edge; and projecting far beyond the hair of the foot, they cut like chisels when the animal strikes a blow with them. his huge paw is both broader and longer than that of other bears; while his tail, on the other hand, is short and inconspicuous--being completely buried under the fur of his buttocks. so characteristic is this appendage for its extreme shortness, that it is a standing joke among the indians--when they have killed a grizzly bear--to desire any one unacquainted with the animal, to take hold of its tail! this appendage in the _ursus americanus_ and _ursus arctos_ is conspicuous enough; and in the barren ground bear is still longer than in either. there could be no possibility of mistaking an old or full-grown grizzly for any of the kindred species. both in size and aspect he is different. it is only in the case of young or half-grown specimens where a mistake of this kind is likely to be made. the enormous size of the old males--often weighing 1,000 pounds, and quite equalling the largest individuals of the _ursus maritimus_--renders them easy of identification; though it is certain that under favourable circumstances the _ursus arctos_ often attains to a similar bulk. in ferocity of disposition, however, in carnivorous inclination, and in strength and power to carry out his mischievous propensities, no bear, not even the _ursus maritimus_, appears to be a match for this monster of the rocky mountains. the hunter never thinks of attacking him, unless when assisted by a number of his comrades; and even then it may be a fatal encounter for one or more of them. were it not for the advantage obtained by their being mounted on horseback, the grizzly would always have a wide berth given him: but fortunately this fierce quadruped is unable to overtake the mounted hunter--although he can easily come up with a man on foot. as to fearing or running away from a human antagonist, the younger grizzlies may sometimes do so; but when an old male has been attacked the case is quite different. a full-grown individual will stand his ground against a crowd of assailants--charging from one to the other, and showing fight so long as there is breath in his body. the number of indian and white hunters, who have either been killed or badly mutilated by grizzly bears, is almost incredible. were it not that these men are usually mounted on good horses the list would have been still greater; and his intended victims often find another means of escaping from his claws--by taking to a tree. fortunate it is that nature has not bestowed upon the grizzly the power of tree-climbing; else many a pursued hunter, who has succeeded in gaining the branches of a friendly cottonwood, might have found his refuge anything but a secure one. in fact, climbing into a tree--when one can be reached--is the common resource of all persons pursued by the grizzly bear; and by this means did our hunters themselves escape from a brace of infuriated grizzlies, while engaged in hunting these formidable animals. chapter forty nine. a fur-trader's fort. having settled their accounts with bruin of the barren grounds, our travellers proceeded down the mackenzie river to the hudson's bay post of fort simpson. thence they ascended a large tributary of the mackenzie, known as the "river of the mountains,"--or as the canadian voyagers call it, _riviere aux liards_. this large stream has its sources far beyond the highest peaks of the rocky mountains: thus exhibiting the curious phenomenon of a river, breaking through a chain of mountains in a transverse direction; though the same occurs in several other parts of the rocky mountain range, and also in the andes of south america. on the _riviere aux liards_ the hudson's bay company have several posts--as forts simpson, liard, and halkett--the last-mentioned being far up among the mountains. westward again, upon the pacific side, they have other trading stations--the most important of which is that of pellyss banks, situated at the junction of lewis and pelly rivers. these rivers, after joining, run into the pacific, not far from mount saint elios--long noted as a landmark to the navigators of the north pacific ocean. from fort halkett, a route has been established to the post at pelly's banks by means of dease's river--which is one of the effluents of the _riviere aux liards_--and partly by canoe navigation and partly by "portage;" the continent can be crossed in this northern latitude. from pelly's banks to the pacific coast the route is still easier--for not only do the russians visit these parts, but there are native indian traders who go twice every year from pelly's banks to sitka--the entrepot of the russian fur company--and the lynn channel, a little to the north of sitka, is also visited by the steamers of the hudson's bay company itself. our travellers would therefore have no difficulty in reaching sitka; and thence crossing to the peninsula of kamschatka, on the asiatic coast. on their way over the rocky mountains, they would be certain to fall in with the grizzly; and in the countries lying along the pacific, they could obtain that variety of the _ursus americanus_, known as the "cinnamon bear"--for it is to the west of the rocky mountains--in california, oregon, british columbia, and russian america--that this spice-coloured species is most frequently met with. a party of fur-traders and trappers were just starting from fort simpson to carry supplies up to the posts of liard and halkett; and along with them our travellers went. on reaching the last-named station, they came to a halt, for the purpose of hunting the grizzly. they were not long in starting their game--for this fierce monster of the mountains is far from being a scarce animal. in fact, in those districts which they choose for their "beat," the grizzly bears are more numerous than most other quadrupeds; and not unfrequently half a dozen or more of them may be seen together. it is not that they are _gregarious_; but simply, that, being in considerable numbers in a particular neighbourhood, accident thus brings them together. to see troops of four associating together is very common; but these are merely the members of one family--male, female, and yearling cubs--for two is the number of the progeny--the grizzly bear in this respect resembling his congener of the _ursus maritimus_, and differing as essentially from the black and brown bears--with whom three is the usual number of cubs at a birth. there are good reasons why the grizzly bears are not in much danger of being exterminated. in the first place, their flesh is of inferior quality. even the indians will not eat it; while they relish that of the black species. secondly, their robe is of scarce any value, and fetches but a trifling price in the fur-market. thirdly--and perhaps the most powerful reason of all--is that the hunter cares not to risk his life in an encounter with these animals, knowing that there is no adequate reward for such risk. for this reason "old ephraim"--as the trappers jocosely style the grizzly--is usually permitted to go his way without molestation, and, therefore, instead of being thinned off by an exterminating chase--such as is pursued against the buffalo, or even the black bear, whose robe is marketable--the grizzly maintains his numerical strength in most places where he is found. at fort halkett--in consequence of a scarcity of hands, and the great pressure of business, in forwarding the brigade onward to the pelly station--our young hunters were unable to obtain a guide; and therefore started out for the chase alone--pouchskin, of course, being one of the party. the trading post of fort halkett being situated in the midst of the wildest region--without any cultivated ground or other settlement around it--they would not have far to go before finding a grizzly. indeed, they were as likely to meet with one within sight of the port as anywhere else; and from the moment of passing through the gate of the stockade they were on the lookout. they had not the good fortune, however, to meet with one so very easily, for although they came upon the traces of bears, and saw numerous signs of them, they could not set eyes upon them; and returned from their first excursion rather disheartened with their day's work. in one thing, however, they had their reward. they had succeeded in shooting one of the rarest animals of america, a creature only met with in the more northern districts of the rocky mountains--that is, the "rocky mountain goat" (_capra americana_). this rare quadruped--whose long, snow-white, silky hair renders it one of the most attractive of animals--is a true wild goat; and the only species of the genus indigenous to america. it is about the size of the common domestic breeds, and horned as they; but the shining hair over its flanks and body is frequently so long as to hang down almost to its hoofs--giving the animal the appearance of having a much heavier body and much shorter legs than it really has. like the ibex of europe, it is only met with on the loftiest summits of the mountains, upon peaks and cliffs inaccessible to almost every other quadruped--the mountain sheep alone excepted. it is much shyer than the latter, and far more difficult of approach--the consequence being, that its beautiful skin, though highly prized, and commanding a good price, is but rarely obtained, even by the most expert hunters. having succeeded in bringing down one of these precious animals, our young hunters were satisfied with their day's work--almost as well as if it had been a grizzly they had killed. on their second day's excursion, however, this feat was also accomplished--as we shall now proceed to relate. chapter fifty. treed by old ephraim. they had got about a mile from the fort; and were proceeding cautiously along through a hilly country, where thicket-like groves grew interspersed with patches of open ground, forming park-like scenery. there are many scenes of this character in the valleys of the rocky mountains; and in the more northern latitudes these groves often consist of berry-bearing bushes--such as wild currants, bird and choke cherries, the _amelanchier_ and _hippophae canadensis_. of all these fruits the grizzly bear is known to be exceedingly fond; and as the thickets among which our hunters had entered contained many trees of the above kinds-at that season drooping under their ripe fruit--it was but reasonable to expect they might find some of the grizzlies engaged in gathering them. they had been told at the fort that this was a favourite browsing-place of the bear; and, as they passed along they had evidence of the correctness of the information by seeing the cherry-trees with their branches broken--and some of the stems pulled down into a slanting position,--evidently done by the bears to enable them to get conveniently at the fruit. from the trees that had been treated in this rough manner all the fruit had been stripped off as clean as if a party of "cherry-pickers" had passed that way. the ravages exhibited a very recent sign. most of them must have been done within a week; and one tree looked as freshly torn, as if it had been pulled about that very morning. of course, with such indications before their eyes, our hunters were advancing on the _qui vive_.--not knowing the instant that bruin might break out. it would not be correct to say that they were proceeding with caution. had they been sufficiently cautious, they would not have been there _afoot_. of course they were on foot--since no horses could be procured in these parts. to go afoot in pursuit of such game as grizzly bears was the height of indiscretion; and the traders had told them so; but they made light of what they had been told, for two reasons,--first, because it was absolutely necessary they should kill a grizzly and strip him of his skin; and secondly, because our young hunters, pouchskin as well, had but a very indefinite idea of the risk they were running. they had heard that the grizzly was one of the fiercest of its kind; but because it was called a bear, and they had now hunted and killed so many other bears, they fancied this one might be as easily conquered as any of its congeners. they had heard that these animals often turn tail and run away at sight of man; but these stories are deceptive. the bears that do so are either juvenile grizzlies or brown individuals of the _versus americanus_--which are often mistaken for the grizzly. with "old ephraim" himself the case is quite different, as we have already said. on sight of a human enemy, instead of running away, the grizzly more frequently runs towards him, charging forward with open mouth, and often without having received the slightest provocation. of this fact our hunters had proof almost upon the instant. they had entered a wide tract, sparsely covered with trees; but such small trees, and so thinly standing over the ground, that the hunters might have fancied them to have been planted; and that they were entering within the boundaries of some old orchard. the tract thus characterised was about five or six acres in superficial extent; and surrounded by the same kind of coppice that covered most of the face of the country. under the thin trees there was neither underwood, nor long grass; and they could see between their trunks in every direction, to the edge of the jungle that grew around. while walking quietly along, a singular noise reached their ears, that caused them suddenly to halt in their tracks. it caused them to turn also: for the noise appeared to come from behind them. it resembled the hurried breathing of a person badly afflicted with asthma; but so much louder, that if it had proceeded from human lungs, they could only have been those of an asthmatic giant! it was, in reality, a gigantic creature that produced the noise: since it was neither more nor less than a grizzly bear. not one alone, but a brace of these monstrous animals--a male and female, no doubt--were seen at that moment by the edge of the thicket, out of which the hunters had just emerged. both were standing on their hind limbs, and both uttering the strange snuffing noise that had attracted attention to them. other noises were now mingled with these--sharp querulous grunts--and, by the gestures which the bears were making, it was evident they not only saw the three hunters in the open ground, but were reconnoitring them perhaps with an intention to make an attack upon them! our hunters were quite taken aback. they had expected, at least, to have been allowed the initiative in any conflict that might occur; but they now saw that, instead of being the assailing party, they were likely to be the assailed! they had no time for deliberation; for the brace of bears, apparently having satisfied themselves with their threatening demonstrations, dropped down on all-fours, and came galloping onward--almost as fast as horses could have done! the three hunters fired at once; and not with out effect: for one of the bears fell to their shots. it was the smaller one, and that which had been foremost. acting without concert, they had all aimed at the same animal--choosing that which was nearest; and this was unfortunate, for had some one of them sighted the other and bigger bear, they might have given him a wound that would have, at least, crippled him. as it was, he had neither been shot at, nor touched; and the fall of his mate--for it was the male who survived--now so completely exasperated him, that he rushed on with the full determination to deal death among the enemies who had bereaved him. it was fortunate that he stopped a moment over his fallen companion. he did so as if to convince himself that she was dead. it was only for an instant; but a precious instant that was to all three of the hunters. it gave them sufficient time to take to a tree--each springing up to the one that was most convenient. alexis and ivan being young and nimble, easily accomplished this feat; but it cost pouchskin an effort; and he came very near making it in vain. he had got his arms over a branch, and was drawing his great booted legs after him; but, before he could raise them to a sufficient height, the bear had arrived upon the ground, and reared upward to seize him. ivan and alexis uttered a simultaneous shout of alarm. they saw the shaggy forearms of the quadruped doubled around the legs of their faithful follower; and were looking to see pouchskin in another moment pulled down from the tree. what was their delight, as well as astonishment, on seeing the bear fall "slap" back to the earth--with one of the ex-grenadier's great boots fast clutched between his paws--while pouchskin himself was seen gliding upward to the top branches of the tree! a shout of joy followed the cry of alarm, to which they had just given utterance; and without another word all three hastened to reload their guns. meanwhile the disappointed bear appeared determined to revenge himself on the boot; and for some seconds continued to tear it--both with teeth and claws--till nothing of its original shape remained. then, scattering the fragments over the ground, he desisted from this idle employment; and rushed back to the trunk of the tree up which pouchskin had climbed. he knew--from having often made the experiment--that he could not climb it; nor did he attempt to do so; but seizing the slender trunk in his powerful grasp, he shook the tree backward and forward, as if endeavouring to drag it up by the roots or throw it to the ground. for some time our hunters were not without apprehensions that he might succeed. the tree was not bigger than an ordinary pear-tree; and its trunk vibrated from side to side, and bent over to such an extent, that its roots could be heard cracking beneath the ground. pouchskin, far up in the top, was tossed backward and forward--as if he had been a shuttlecock between two battledores--and it was just as much as he could do to keep his hold among the branches, much less finish the loading of his fusil, which he had only half accomplished when the rocking began. had he been alone, his position would have been one of great danger: for no doubt, in process of time, the bear would have torn down the tree. but the efforts of bruin were brought to a sudden termination; for ivan and alexis, having now reloaded, took careful aim, and sent both their bullets into the body of the beast. one of the shots must have hit him in a mortal part: since, on receiving it, the bear let go his hold, dropped down from his erect attitude, and doubling himself up at the bottom of the tree, looked as if he had suddenly gone to sleep! but the red stream, pouring out from his still distended jaws, told that it was the sleep of death that had overtaken him. our hunters, assured that both bears were dead, now descended from their respective perches; but the sight of pouchskin, with one leg in stocking, and the other buried up to the thigh in a great horse-skin boot, would have been too much for the gravity of a judge, and his young masters were once more merry at his expense. having skinned the bears, they returned to the fort with their spoils-to the no slight astonishment of some of the old trappers stationed there. they could scarce believe that these young strangers were capable of accomplishing such a feat as the conquest of a couple of full-grown grizzlies. the thing had been done, however--as the trophies testified--and it is needless to say that our hunters, by this gallant action, gained golden opinions from the "mountain men." they had no desire, however, to try another contest of the kind. they had become perfectly satisfied of the great peril to be expected in an encounter with "old ephraim;" and were only too well pleased of having it in their power, on all future occasions, to imitate the example of other travellers, and give the grizzly a "wide berth." indeed, they would have had no opportunity, had they desired it, to hunt the bear any longer in that neighbourhood: for the "boat" brigade, with which they were travelling, started the next day for fort pelly; and it was necessary for them to accompany it, as the journey could not otherwise be accomplished. they arrived at this last-named place in safety; and, with some native traders, that chanced to be at the fort, they were enabled to proceed onward to the russian settlement of sitka--where the magic cipher which alexis carried in his pocket procured them the most hospitable treatment that such a wild, out-of-the-way place could afford. they had been fortunate, upon their route, to procure a skin of the "cinnamon" bear--as well as one of black colour with a white breast, both of which alexis was able to identify as mere varieties of the _ursus americanus_. these varieties are sometimes seen to the east of the rocky mountains; but they are far more common throughout the countries along the pacific--and especially in russian america, where the cinnamon-coloured kind is usually termed the "red bear." they occur, moreover, in the aleutian islands; and very probably in japan and kamschatka--in which country bears are exceedingly numerous--evidently of several species, confusedly described and ill identified. unfortunately, the russian naturalists--whose special duty it has been to make known the natural history of the countries lying around the north pacific--have done their work in a slovenly and childlike manner. bruin--by captain mayne reid chapter fifty one. the kamschatdales. the bear of kamschatka had to be skinned next. but it was necessary to catch one before he could be skinned; and also necessary to go to kamschatka before he could be caught. to get to kamschatka was not so difficult as it may sound to the ear. our travellers were just in the place, from which it was possible to, proceed direct to this asiatic peninsula. vessels belonging to the russian fur company every year collect the furs along the north-west coast of america, and among the fox and aleutian islands--sitka being their port of rendezvous. thence proceeding to the harbour of saint peter and saint paul (petropaulouski), on the coast of kamschatka, they complete their cargoes with the "skin crop" that during the winter has been collected throughout the peninsula. thence to china a portion of these furs are taken--especially skins of the sable, which the chinese mandarins use extensively for trimming their costly robes; and for which, teas, silk, lacquer-ware, and other articles of chinese manufacture are given in exchange. the japanese also, and other wealthy oriental nations, buy up quantities of costly furs; but by far the greater portion of this produce is consumed by the russians themselves--in whose cold climate some sort of a fur coat is almost a necessity. even most of the furs collected by the hudson's bay company find their way into russia: for the consumption of these goods in great britain is extremely limited, compared with that of many other articles _de luxe_. in the fur ship our travellers proceeded from sitka to the port of petropaulouski, which is situated on avatcha bay, near the southern end of the peninsula. as avatcha bay is nearly land-locked, it forms one of the most sheltered harbours on that side of the pacific; but unfortunately during winter the bay freezes over; and then ships can neither get into nor out of it. the vessel which carried our adventurers arrived at petropaulouski late in the spring; but, as the winter had been unusually prolonged, the bay was still blocked up with ice, and the ship could not get up to the little town. this did not hinder them from landing. dog-sledges were brought out upon the ice by the inhabitants; and upon these our travellers were carried to the town, or "ostrog" as it is called--such being the name given to the villages of kamschatka. in petropaulouski, many curious objects and customs came under the observation of our travellers. they saw no less than three kinds of houses--first, the "isbas," built of logs, and not unlike the log-cabins of america. these are the best sort of dwellings; and belong to the russian merchants and officials, who reside there--as well as to the cossack soldiers, who are kept by the russian government in kamschatka. the native kamschatdales have two kinds of houses of indigenous architecture--one for summer, the "balagan," and another to which they retire during the winter, called the "jourt." the balagan is constructed of poles and thatch upon a raised platform--to which the kamschatdale climbs up by means of a notched trunk of a tree. there is only one story of the house itself--which is merely the sloping thatched roof--with a hole in the top to give passage to the smoke--and resembles a rough tent or hayrick set upon an elevated stand. the space under the platform is left open; and serves as a store-house for the dried fish, that forms the staple food of all sorts of people in kamschatka. here, too, the sledges and sledge harness are kept; and the dogs, of which every family owns a large pack, use this lower story as a sleeping place. the winter-house or "jourt," is constructed very differently. it is a great hole sunk in the ground to the depth of eight or ten feet, lined round the sides with pieces of timber, and roofed over above the surface of the ground--so as to look like the rounded dome of a large bake-oven. a hole at the apex is intended for the chimney, but it is also the door: since there is no other mode of entrance into the jourt, and the interior is reached by descending a notched tree trunk--similar to that used in climbing up to the balagan. the curious fur dresses of the kamschatdales; their thin yellowish white dogs, resembling the pomeranian breed; their dog-sledges, which they use for travelling in winter; the customs and habits of these singular people; all formed an interesting study to our travellers, and enriched their journal with notes and observations. we find it recorded there, how these people spend their time and obtain their subsistence. very little agriculture is practised by them--the climate being unfavourable to the growth of the cereals. in some parts barley and rye are cultivated; but only to a _very_ limited extent. cattle are scarce--a few only being kept by the russian and cossack settlers; and horses are equally rare, such as there are belonging to the officials of the government, and used for government purposes. the common or "native" people subsist almost entirely on a fish diet--their lakes and rivers furnishing them with abundance of fish; and the whole of the summer is spent in catching and drying these for their winter provision. several wild vegetable productions are added--roots and berries, and even the bark of trees--all of which are eaten along with the dried fish. wild animals also furnish part of their subsistence; and it is by the skins of these--especially the sable--that the people pay their annual tax, or tribute, to the russian government. from animals, too, their clothing is chiefly manufactured; and many other articles used in their domestic economy. the peninsula is rich in the fur-bearing quadrupeds, and some of these furnish the very best quality of furs that are known to commerce. the sable of kamschatka is of a superior kind as also the many varieties of the fox. they have, besides, the wolverine and wolf, the ermine and arctic fox, the marmot and polar hare, and several smaller animals that yield furs of commercial value. the sea otter is common upon the coasts of kamschatka; and this is also an object of the chase--its skin being among the costliest of "peltries." the great _argali_, or wild sheep, and the reindeer, furnish them both with flesh and skins; but one of the chief objects of the chase is that great quadruped for which our young hunters had come all the way to kamschatka, the bear. into his presence they would find no difficulty in introducing themselves: for perhaps in no country in the world does master bruin's family muster so strongly as in this very peninsula. chapter fifty two. fishing-bears. previous to starting forth in search of the kamschatkan bear, our hunters collected all the particulars they could in regard to the haunts and habits of this animal. they learnt that there were at least two varieties known to the kurilski and koriac hunters. one of them was the more common kind--a brown bear, closely resembling the _ursus arctos_; and the other also a brown bear; but with a whitish list running up from the under part of his throat, and meeting like a collar over the tops of his shoulders. this latter kind was undoubtedly the species known as the "siberian bear" (_ursus collaris_); and which has an extensive range throughout most of the countries of northern asia. the native hunters alleged that the two kinds were of nearly similar habits. both went to sleep during the winter--concealing themselves cunningly in caves and crevices among rocks, or among fallen timber, where such could be found in sufficient quantity to afford them shelter. one remarkable habit of these bears indicates a very marked difference between them and the _ursus arctos_, with which they have been usually classed; and that is, that they are _fishing-bears_--subsisting almost exclusively on fish, which they catch for themselves. during their winter sleep, of course they eat nothing; but in spring, as soon as they emerge from their retreats, they at once betake themselves to the numerous streams and lakes, with which the country abounds; and roaming along the banks of these, or wading in the water itself, they spend the whole of their time in angling about after trout and salmon. there, fish, thanks to their immense numbers, and the shallowness of the water in most of the lakes and streams, the bears are enabled to catch almost at discretion. they wade into the water, and getting among the shoals of the fish as they are passing to and fro, strike them dead with their paws. the fish are killed as instantaneously as if impaled upon a fishing spear; and in such numbers do the bears capture them, at certain seasons, that the captors grow dainty, and only eat a portion of each fish! they show a strange preference for that part, which is usually considered refuse, the head,--leaving the tail, with a considerable portion of the body, untouched. the rejected portions, however, are not lost; for another animal, still hungrier than the bears, and less skilful in the piscatory art, is at this time also in search of a meal of fish. this creature is the kamschatkan dog--not a wild species, as you may suppose, but the trained sledge-dogs of the kamschatdales themselves; which at this season forsake the "ostrogs," or villages, and betake themselves to the borders of the lakes and rivers. there they remain during the whole period of summer, feeding upon fish--which they also know how to capture--and eating up such portions as have been refused by the bears. in fact, this is the only food which these poor dogs can get; and, as they are not needed during the summer season, they do not think of returning home until frost sets in. then, strange to say, one and all of them go voluntarily back, and surrender themselves up to their old masters--hard taskmasters too, who not only work them like slaves, but half starve them throughout the whole winter. this voluntary submission to their "yoke" has been quoted as an illustration of the high training and faithful disposition of the kamschatkan dogs; but it has its origin in a fur different motive than that of mere fidelity. their return to the snug shelter of the _balagan_ is simply an instinct of self-preservation: for the sagacious animals well know, that in winter the lakes and streams will be completely frozen over, and were they to remain abroad, they would absolutely perish either from hunger or cold. even the wretched winter allowance of heads and entrails of fish--the only crumbs that fall to their share--is better than nothing at all; which would be their portion were they to remain abroad among the bare snow-clad hills and valleys of kamschatka. the kamschatdales have various modes of taking the bear. in early winter they sometimes find his track in the snow; and then pursue him with a gun and a bear-spear, killing him as they best can. later still, when he has gone to sleep in his den, he is often found--by similar indications as those which guide the laplanders, north american indians, and esquimaux--such as the hoar caused by his breath showing over the spot, or by their hunting-dogs scenting him out, and barking at the entrance. the log-trap, or dead-fall, is also in use among the kamschatkan hunters; and the penn formed around the mouth of the bear's cave, shutting him up, until an entrance can be dug into it from above. in the summer time the mode is different. then the hunter lies in ambush, with his loaded rifle--for the kamschatdale carries this weapon--in such places as he expects the bear to pass. these are on the banks of the streams and lakes that abound in fish; and as the bears ramble along the edge of the water, or are even seen swimming or wading into it, the patient hunter is pretty sure of getting a shot. should he fail to bring down bruin at the first fire, the game becomes uncertain; and sometimes dangerous: since the animal often charges upon the hunter. even though the latter may be concealed among the long reeds and bushes, the sagacious bear, guided by the smoke and blaze of the powder easily finds out his assailant. the hunter, however, never fires without taking a deliberate aim. he carries a forked stick, over which he rests his piece, and never fires off-hand. to miss would not only endanger his life and the loss of his game, but what is also of consequence to a kamschatdale, the loss of his powder and bullet--costly articles in this remote corner of the earth. in case of missing, he has still his bear-spear and a long-bladed knife to fall back upon; and with these he defends himself as well as he can--though not unfrequently bruin proves the victor, and the hunter the victim. there are certain times when the siberian bears become exceedingly dangerous to approach. the season of rut--which occurs in the latter part of the summer--is one of those; but there is another period of danger--which, however, does not happen every year. when the spring chances to be late--on account of a prolonged winter--and when the lakes and streams remain frozen over, after the bears have come forth from their hiding-places, then "ware bruin" is a caution which it is prudent to observe. the fierce animals, half-famished for want of their usual diet of fish, roam over the country in all directions; and fearlessly approach the "ostrogs," roaming around the balagans and jourts in search of something to eat. woe to the kamschatdale that gets in their tray at such a time--for the bear, instead of waiting to be attached, becomes himself the assailant; and, as great numbers of these quadrupeds often troop about together, of course the encounter is all the more perilous. it was just in such a spring that our young hunters had arrived at petropaulouski; and stories of numerous bear conflicts, that had recently occurred in the neighbourhood, were rife in the village; while the number of fresh skies every day brought in by the kurilski hunters, showed that bears could not be otherwise than plentiful in the country adjacent. guided by one of these hunters, our party set forth upon a search. the snow still covered the ground; and, of course, they travelled in sledges--each having one to himself, drawn by five dogs, as is the custom of the country. the dogs are harnessed two and two abreast, with the odd one in front. each has his collar of bearskin, with a leather thong for a trace; and five of them are sufficient to draw the little sledge with a man in it. the sledge, called _saunka_, is less than four feet long; and, being made of the lightest birch wood, is of very little weight. a curved stick, called the _oschtol_--with an iron point, and little bells at the other end--is used to direct the dogs; and, urged on by this and by well-known exclamations of their driver, they will go at a speed of many miles an hour. in this slight vehicle, hills, valleys, lakes, and rivers are crossed, without such a thing as a road being thought of; and when the dogs are good, and have been well cared for, an immense distance may be passed over in a day. in less than an hour after their departure from petropaulouski, our hunters had entered amid the wildest scenery--where not the slightest sign of either cultivation or human habitation was to be seen, and where at any moment they might expect to come in sight of their great game. chapter fifty three. dog-driving. the guide was conducting them to a stream that ran into the bay some ten or twelve miles from the "ostrog." on that stream, he said, they would be pretty certain to find a bear, if not several: since at a place he knew of the water was not frozen, and the bears might be there trying to catch fish. when questioned as to why this particular stream was not frozen like the others, he said that some distance up it there were warm springs--a phenomenon of frequent occurrence in the peninsula of kamschatka--that these springs supplied most of the water of the stream; and that for several hundred yards below where they gushed forth, the river was kept open by their warmth during the severest winters. not throughout its whole course, however. farther down, where the water became cool, it froze like in other streams; and that this was the case, was evident to our hunters, who had entered the mouth of the rivers from the icy surface of the bay, and were gliding in their sledges up its frozen channel. after having gone three or four miles up this icebound stream, which ran through a narrow valley with steep sloping sides, the guide warned our hunters that they were close to the place where the water would be found open. at this point a low ridge ran transversely across the valley-through which the stream had, in process of time, cut a channel; but the ridge occasioned a dam or lake of some half-dozen acres in superficial extent, which lay just above it. the dam itself was rarely frozen over; and it was by the water remaining in it, or flowing sluggishly through it--and thus giving it time to cool--that the stream immediately below got frozen over. the lake lay just on the other side of the ridge, and was now only hidden from their view by the rise of the ground. if not frozen over, as the guide conjectured, there was likely to be a bear roaming around its edge; and therefore they resolved to observe caution in approaching it. the sledges were to be taken no further. our hunters had learnt how to manage both dog-sledges and dogs. their experience in finland, as well as in the countries of the hudson's bay territory, had taught them that; and made them skilful in the handling of these animals--else they would have made but poor work in travelling as they did now. in fact, they could not have managed at all: since it requires a great deal of training to be able to drive a dog-sledge. this, however, they had received--both the boys and pouchskin--and fortunate it had been so; for very shortly after they were placed in a predicament, in which their lives depended on their skill as sledge drivers. the dogs were left under cover of the ridge, near the bottom of the little slope; a sign was given to them to keep their places--which these well-trained creatures perfectly comprehended; and the hunters--the kurilski with the rest--holding their guns in readiness, ascended towards the summit of the slope. there was no cover, except what was afforded by the inequality of the ground. there were no trees in the valley--only stunted bushes, not half the height of a man's body, and these nearly buried to their tops in the snow. a few, however, appeared growing along the crest of the ridge. the hunters crawled up to these on all-fours, and peeped cautiously through their branches. it was the impatient ivan that looked first; and what he saw so surprised him, as almost to deprive him of the power of speech! indeed, he was not able to explain what he saw--till the other three had got forward, and became equally eye-witnesses of the spectacle that had astonished him. as the guide had conjectured, the lake was not frozen. there was some loose snow floating over its surface; but most of the water was open; and the stream that flowed slowly in on the opposite side was quite clear of either ice or snow. the guide had also predicted hypothetically that they might see a bear-perhaps two. it had not occurred to this man of moderate pretensions that they might see _twelve_--and yet no less than twelve bears were in sight! yes, twelve bears--they were as easily counted as oxen--were around the shores of this secluded lake, and on the banks of the little stream that ran into it--all within five hundred yards of each other. indeed, it would have been easy to have mistaken them for a herd of brown heifers or oxen; had it not been for the various attitudes in which they were seen: some upon all-fours--some standing erect, like human beings, or squatted on their hams like gigantic squirrels--others in the water, their bodies half submerged--others swimming about, their backs and heads only visible above the surface; and still others, prowling leisurely along the banks, or over the strip of level meadow-land that bordered the lake. such a sight our bear-hunters had never witnessed before, and might never witness again, in any other country, save kamschatka itself. there it is by no means uncommon; and twenty bears instead of twelve have been often seen in a single drove--at that season when they descend from their mountain retreats to their favourite fishing-grounds upon the lakes and streams. our hunters were perplexed by so unexpected a sight; and for some moments unresolved as to how they should act. fortunately, the bushes already mentioned served to conceal them from the bears; and the wind was blowing towards the hunters--otherwise the bears, who are keen of scent, would soon have discovered their presence. as it was, not one of them--though several were close to the ridge--seemed to have any suspicion that an enemy was so near. the huge quadrupeds appeared to be too busy about their own affairs--endeavouring to capture the fish--some of them greedily devouring those they had already taken, and others wandering restlessly about, or eagerly observing the movements of the fish in the water. one and all of them looked fierce and famished, their bodies showing gaunt and flaky, and their enormous limbs having a lank angular appearance, that gave them a still greater resemblance to heifers--only heifers that had been half starved! chapter fifty four. a sledge-chase. i have said that our hunters were for some time irresolute about how to act. the kurilski was inclined to withdraw from the spot and leave the bears alone; and this of course was his advice to the others. he said there might be danger in disturbing them--so many clustered together, and in such a mood as they appeared to be. he had known them to attack a large party of men under such circumstances, and give chase to them. they might do the same now? our hunters, however, did not give full credit to this story of their guide--thinking it might have its origin in the fears of the kurilski, whom they knew to be of a timid race; and therefore they determined not to back out. the chance was too tempting to be surrendered for so slight a reason, and without a struggle. there were several bears within easy shot of the ground where they were kneeling! it would never do to let such an opportunity pass. they might not meet with so good a chance again; or, at all events, they might be delayed a good long time before another would turn up; and a residence in petropaulouski, even in the "isba" of the governor--who was himself only a sergeant of cossacks, and his dwelling a mere hut--was not so pleasant as that they should wish to prolong it. they had now been a great while journeying through countries covered with frost and snow; and they were longing to reach those tropical isles--famed for their spices and their loveliness--which were to be the next stage in their grand tour round the globe. influenced by these thoughts, then, they resolved to run all hazard, and try a shot at the bears. the kurilski, seeing them determined, gave in; and, joining his gun to theirs, a volley of four shots was simultaneously discharged through the bushes. two bears were seen to drop over and lie kicking upon the snow; but whether they continued their kicking for any considerable length of time, was a question about which our hunters could give no definite information. they did not stay to see: for the moment the smoke had cleared off, they saw the whole gang of bears in motion, and rushing towards them from all sides of the lake. the shrill fierce screaming of the animals, and the hurried pace in which they were making towards the ridge, declared their intentions. they were charging forward to the attack. the hunters saw this at a glance; and thought only of retreating. but whither could they fly? there were no trees; and if there had been, the bears could have climbed them even better than themselves. there were steep rocky cliffs on both sides of the ravine; but these would afford them no security--even had their ice-coated slope permitted of their being scaled. but it did not, and if it had, the bears could have scaled the rocks too! our russian hunters were in a complete state of perplexity, and perhaps would not have known how to save themselves, had it not been for their kurilski comrade. he, however, had conceived an idea--or, rather, had drawn it from old experience; and just at this moment he rushed down the slope, as he did so calling to the others to take to their sledges, and warning them that it was their only chance of escape. of course none of them thought of disputing his advice, or even calling it in question; but one and all of them yielded obedience on the instant. without saying a word, each rushed to his sledge, leaped upon the runners, seated himself in double quick time upon the little crescent-like cradle, seized the "ribbons," and straightened his team to the road. had the dogs not been well-trained, and their drivers equally well used to the management of a sledge, their peril would have been extreme. as it was--though all came into their places in good style, and without confusion--they had not a second to spare. the bears were already galloping down the slope; and as the last sledge--which was pouchskin's--moved off from the bottom of the ridge, the foremost of the roaring pursuers had got within less than six yards of it! it was now a trial of speed between bears and sledge-dogs--for the latter knew that they were in as much danger as their masters; and needed neither the exclamation _ah_! nor the _oschtol_ to urge them forward. on swept they over the frozen crust, as fast as they could go--handling their limbs and claws with the nimbleness peculiar to their race. the bears followed in a sort of lumbering gallop; yet, notwithstanding their uncouth movements, they kept for a long time close in the rear of the fugitives. fortunately they did not possess the speed of the canine race; and at length--seeing that they were being distanced--one after another gave up the chase, and commenced returning towards the lake, slowly, and with apparent reluctance. just at this crisis an accident occurred to pouchskin--or rather pouchskin committed a mistake--which, had it been made five minutes sooner, would most assuredly have cost him his life. the mistake which pouchskin made, was to drop the iron end of his "_oschtol_" on the snowy crust between his sledge and the two dogs nearest to it--the "wheelers" as we may call them. the effect of this, with kamschatkan sledge-dogs, is to cause the whole team to halt; and so acted the dogs that pouchskin was driving--all five suddenly coming to a dead stop! pouchskin endeavoured to urge them forward--crying out the usual signal, _ha_; but, in his anxious eagerness, pouchskin placed the accent after the vowel, instead of before it; and instead of _ha_! his exclamation sounded _ah_! the latter being the command for the dogs to halt, of course only kept them steady in their places; and they stood without offering to move a leg. by good fortune, the bears had already given up the pursuit, and were not witnesses of this interruption: otherwise it would have gone ill with the ex-grenadier. in due time the dogs were once more started; and pouchskin--putting them to their highest rate of speed--soon overtook the sledge-train; which did not come to a halt until a good mile of snow-covered country was between it and the bears. the hunters only paused then, for a short while, to breathe their panting dogs; and this done, they resumed their seats on the sledges, and continued on to the ostrog--without a thought of going back after the bears. they had no intention, however, of giving them up entirely. they only drove home to the village--in order to get assistance; and, as soon as their report was delivered, all the men of the settlement--cossacks, kurilskis, and half-breeds--turned out armed to the teeth for a grand battue, and proceeded towards the lake with the governor himself at their head. the bears were still upon the ground--both the living and the dead--for it was now seen that two of their number had fallen to the shots of our hunters--and upon the former a general fusillade was at once opened, which ended in their complete discomfiture. five more of them were killed upon the spot; and several others that took to flight were tracked through the snow, and destroyed in their hiding-places. for a week after, there was very little fish eaten in the ostrog of petropaulouski--which for a long period previous to that time had not witnessed such a carnival. of course our russian hunters came in for their share of the trophies; and, choosing the skin of one of the bears they had themselves shot, they left it with the governor, to be forwarded _via_ okhotsk and yakoutsk, to the distant capital of saint petersburg. shortly after the fur ship carried them to canton,--whence they might expect to find a passage in a chinese trading vessel to the grand island of borneo. chapter fifty five. the sun-bears. there are colonies of chinese settled in different parts of borneo-whose principal business there is the working of gold and antimony mines. these chinese colonial settlements--along with numerous others throughout the oriental islands--are under the protection and direction of a great mercantile company called _kung li_--somewhat resembling our own east india company. in borneo, the headquarters of this commercial association of the chinese, is the port and river of sambos, on the western coast; though they have many other settlements in different parts of the island. of course, between these colonies and canton there is a regular traffic; and our travellers found no difficulty in proceeding to borneo in a chinese junk which traded direct from canton to sambos. at sambos there is also a dutch settlement, or "factory," belonging to the dutch east india company; and this company has also two other stations in the island--all, however, occupying a territory of limited extent, compared with the large surface of the island itself. no other european settlements exist in borneo, if we except an english "agency" lately established at the little island of labuan; and a settlement at sarawak, under an english adventurer, who styles himself "rajah brooke." the "rajah" rests his claim to the title and territory of sarawak on a grant from the sultan of borneo (bruni); and the _quid pro quo_ which he professes to have given, was the having assisted the said sultan in putting down the "dyak pirates!" this is the pretence hitherto put forth to the british public; but on a closer inquiry into the facts of this transaction, the story assumes quite a different colour; and it would rather appear, that, instead of assisting to put down piracy in the bornean waters, the first act of the philanthropic englishman was to assist the malay sultan in enslaving several tribes of inoffensive dyaks, and forcing them to work without pay in the mines of antimony! this appears to have been the nature of the services that purchased sarawak. it was, in fact, aiding the pirates, instead of putting them down: since the bornean sultan was himself the actual patron and protector of these sea robbers, instead of being their enemy! the patriot and statesman hume endeavoured to procure an inquiry into these acts of oriental _filibusterism_; but the underhand influence of an unprincipled administration, backed by an interested commercial clamour, was too strong for him; and the shameful usurpation has been justified. notwithstanding that europeans have been settled for hundreds of years in the islands of the indian archipelago--ruling them, as we may almost say--it is astonishing how little is yet known of the great island of borneo. only its coasts have been traced, and these very imperfectly. the dutch have made one or two expeditions into the interior; but much knowledge need not be expected from such trading hucksters as they. their energies in the east have been expended throughout a period of two centuries, with no other apparent object than to promote dissension, wherever it was possible; and to annihilate every spark of freedom or nobility among the races who have had the misfortune to come in contact with them. notwithstanding their opportunities, they have done little to add to our knowledge of borneo--which was about as well-known a hundred years ago as it is at the present hour.--never was a subject more ripe for illustration than this magnificent island. it courts a monograph--such as has been given to sumatra by marsden, by tennant to ceylon, and to java by sir stamford raffles. perhaps some one of my young readers may become the author of that monograph? teeming with the most gorgeous forms of tropical life--so rich in _fauna_ and _flora_, that it might be almost regarded as a great zoological and botanical garden combined--it will well repay the scientific explorer, who may scarce find such another field on the face of the earth. our young hunters, in contemplating the grand tropical scenery of borneo, were filled with admiration. the _sylva_ was quite equal to anything they had witnessed on the amazon; while the _fauna_--especially in quadrupeds and _quadrumana_--was far richer. to one quadruped was their attention more especially directed; and i need hardly say that this was the bornean bear--by far the most beautiful animal of the whole bruin family. the bornean bear is also the smallest of the family--in size, being even less than his near congener, the malayan bear; though resembling the latter in many particulars. his fur is a jet black, with a muzzle of an orange-yellow colour, and a disc of still deeper orange upon the breast, bearing a certain resemblance to the figure of a heart. the hair is thickly and evenly set over his whole body--presenting the same uniform surface which characterises the black bear of north america, the two species of south america, and also his malayan cousin--who inhabits the neighbouring islands of sumatra and java. for the latter, indeed, he is often taken; and many naturalists consider them as one species--though this is certainly an error. the bornean bear is not only much less in bulk; but the deep orange-colour on his breast offers a permanent mark of distinction. in the malayan bear there is also a marking on the breast; but it is of half-moon shape and whitish colour. besides, the colour of the muzzle in the latter species is only _yellowish_, not _yellow_; and the animal altogether is far from being so handsome as the bear of borneo. dr horsfield, who had good opportunities of observing them both, has pointed out other essential characteristics, which prove conclusively that they are separate species; but the doctor, guided by his love for generic distinctions, could not rest satisfied, without further ornamenting his task--by constituting for them a new genus, under the title of _helarctos_. there is no reason whatever for this inundation of generic names. it has served no good purpose; but, on the contrary, renders the study of natural history more complicated and obscure; and to no family of animals do these remarks more pointedly apply, than to that of the bears. so similar are all these quadrupeds to one another-so perfect is the _family likeness_ between them--that to separate them into different genera is a mere pedantic conceit of the anatomists. there are about a dozen species in all; and the systematic naturalists-who do not even admit that number--have formed for the bears nearly as many genera as there are species,--among which may be mentioned the ridiculous titles of _prochilus, melursus, helarctos_, and the like. the bornean bear is as much a true species of _ursus_ as either the brown bear of europe, the black bear of north america, or the black bears of the cordilleras; and, indeed, to these last his habits assimilate him very closely--being, like them, a vegetarian in his diet, and a great lover of sweets. of his _penchant_ for honey our young hunters had proof: for, it was while actually engaged in plundering a hive they first saw the bornean bear. they were at the same time successful in effecting his capture-which is now to be described. chapter fifty six. the tall tapang. on their arrival at sambos, our young hunters according to their usual custom, procured a native guide to direct them to the haunts of their game. in this case it was a dyak who became their conductor--one of those who follow the business of bee-hunters; and who, from the very nature of their calling, are often brought into contact with the bears as well as the bees. under the direction of the dyak, our hunters made an excursion to a range of wooded hills, not far from sambos, where the sun-bear was known to exist in great numbers; and where one was likely to be found almost at any time. as they were passing through the woods, they observed a very singular species of tree--indeed many species, that might be styled singular; but one pre-eminently so, that strongly arrested their attention. these trees did not grow in any great numbers together; but only two or three in one place; and more generally they stood singly--apart from any of their own kind, and surrounded by other trees of the forest. but though surrounded by other sorts, they were overtopped by none. on the contrary, their own tops rose above all the others to a vast height; and, what was most singular, they did not put forth a branch from their trunks until the latter had shot up to some feet above the "spray" of the surrounding forest. it was this peculiarity that had drawn the attention of our hunters. they might not have noticed it, had they kept on under the trees; but, on crossing a slight eminence--where the ground was open--they chanced to get a view of a number of these tall trees, and saw that they towered to a vast height, above all the others. even their tops had the appearance of tall trees, standing thinly over the ground--the ground itself being neither more nor less than the contiguous heads of the other trees, that formed the forest. had this forest been a law jungle, there would have been nothing extraordinary in what they saw; but our hunters had already observed that it was a true forest of grand trees--most of them a hundred feet in height. as the trees which had attracted their admiration rose full fifty feet above the tops of the others, it may be imagined what tall individuals they were. they were slender, too, in proportion to their height; and these stems rising two hundred feet, without a single offshoot or branch upon them, gave the trees the appearance of being still taller than they actually were--just as a thin clean spar, set upright, looks much taller than a hill or a house of the same elevation. we have said that there were no branches for the first hundred feet or so up the stem. beyond that there were many and large limbs; which, diverging only slightly, and in a fastigiate manner, carried the tree nearly as much higher. these branches were regularly set; and covered with small, light, green leaves, forming a beautiful round head. the bark of this tree was white, and by piercing it with a knife, our hunters perceived that it was soft and milky. the wood, too, for some inches below the periphery was so spongy, that the blade of the knife penetrated into it almost as easily as into the stalk of a cabbage. the wood near the bark was of a white colour. inwards it became harder; and had they been able to reach the heart, they would have found it very hard, and of a dark chocolate colour. on exposure to the air, this heart-wood turns black as ebony; and is used for similar purposes by the native dyaks and malays, who manufacture from it bracelets and other _bijouterie_. on asking their dyak guide the name of this remarkable tree, he said it was called the _tapang_. this, however, gave no information regarding its species; but alexis, shortly after, in passing under one, observed some flowers that had fallen from its top; and having examined one of these, pronounced the tree a species of _ficus_--a very common genus in the islands of the indian archipelago. if our young hunters were filled with admiration at sight of this beautiful tree itself, they shortly after observed something that changed their admiration into wonder. on advancing towards one of the tapangs, they were struck with a singular serrated appearance that showed along the edge of its trunk--from the ground up to the base of its branching head. it looked as if a tall ladder was laid edgeways along the trunk of the tree--one side of it bidden under the bark! on drawing nearer, this appearance was explained. a ladder in reality it was; but one of rare construction; and which could not have been removed from the tree, without taking it entirely to pieces. on closer examination, this ladder proved to be a series of bamboo spikes--driven into the soft trunk in a slightly slanting direction, and about two feet apart, one above the other. the spikes themselves forming the rounds, were each about a foot in length; and held firmly in their places by a bamboo rail--to which their outer ends were attached by means of thin strips of rattan. this rail extended the whole way from the ground to the commencement of the branches. it was evident that this extemporised ladder had been constructed for the purpose of climbing the tree, but with what object? upon this head their dyak guide was the very man to enlighten them: since it was he himself who had made the ladder. the construction of such ladders, and afterwards the climbing of them, were the most essential branches of his calling--which, as already stated, was that of a bee-hunter. his account of the matter was as follows. a large wasp-like bee, which is called _lanyeh_, builds its nests upon these tall tapangs. the nest consists of an accumulation of pale yellowish wax--which the bees attach to the under-side of the thick branches, so that these may shelter the hive from the rain. to reach these nests, the bamboo ladder is constructed, and the ascent is made--not for the purpose of obtaining the honey alone--but more on account of the wax, out of which the combs are formed. the lanyeh being as much _wasp_ as _bee_, produces a very small quantity of honey; and that, too, of inferior quality; but the wax is a valuable article, and of this several dollars' worth may be procured from a single hive. it is dearly earned money--very dearly earned, indeed; but the poor dyak bee-hunter follows the calling from motives not easily understood--since almost any other would afford him a living, with less labour and certainly with less _pain_. pain, indeed! he never succeeds in plundering the store of the _lanyeh_, without being severely stung by the insects; and though their sting is quite as painful as that of the common wasp, experience seems to have rendered the dyak almost indifferent to it. he ascends the flimsy ladder without fear--carrying a blazing torch in his hand, and a cane basket on his back. by means of the torch, he ejects the bees from their aerial domiciles; and, then having torn their combs from the branches, he deposits them in his basket--the incensed insects all the while buzzing around his ears, and inflicting numerous wounds over his face and throat, as well as upon his naked arms! very often he returns to the ground with his head swollen to twice the size it was previous to his going up! not a very pleasant profession is that of a bornean bee-hunter! chapter fifty seven. the bruang. as the party proceeded onward, they observed several other tapang-trees, with ladders attached to them; and at the bottom of one of these--which was the tallest they had yet seen--the guide made a halt. taking off his _kris_, and throwing to the ground an axe, which he had brought along, he commenced ascending the tree. our hunters inquired his object. they knew it could not be either honey or wax. there had been a bees' nest upon this tree--as the ladder told--but that had been removed long ago; and there now appeared nothing among the branches that should make it worth while to climb up to them. the answer of the bee-hunter explained his purpose. he was merely ascending to have a lookout over the forest--which in that neighbourhood could not be obtained by any other means than by the climbing of a _tapang_. it was fearful to watch the man ascending to such a dizzy height, and with such a flimsy, uncertain support beneath his feet. it reminded them of what they had seen at the palombiere of the pyrenees. the dyak soon reached the top of the ladder; and for some ten minutes or more clung there--screwing his head around, and appearing to examine the forest on all sides. at length his head rested steadily upon his shoulders; and his gaze appeared to be fixed in one particular direction. he was too distant for the party at the bottom of the tree to note the expression upon his countenance; but his attitude told them that he had made some discovery. shortly after he came down; and reported this discovery in laconic phrase, simply saying:-"_bruang_--see him!" the hunters knew that "bruang" was the malayan name for bear; and the coincidence of this word with the _sobriquet_ "bruin" had already led them to indulge in the speculation, as to whether the latter might not have originally come from the east? they did not stay to think of it then: for the guide, on regaining _terra firma_, at once started off--telling them to follow him. after going rapidly about a quarter of a mile through the woods, the dyak began to advance more cautiously--carefully examining each of the trunks of the _tapangs_ that stood thinly scattered among the other trees. at one of these he was seen to make an abrupt halt, at the same instant turning his face upward. the young hunters, who were close behind him, could see that there were scratches upon the soft succulent bark, as if caused by the claws of some animal; but, almost as soon as they had made the observation, their eyes were directed to the animal itself. away up on the tall tapang--just where its lowest limbs parted from the main stem--a black body could be distinguished. at such a distance it appeared not bigger than a squirrel; but, for all that, it was a bornean bear; and the spot of vivid orange upon its breast could be seen shining like a coal of fire. close by its snout a whitish mass appeared attached under the branches. this was the waxen domicile of the _lanyeh_ bees; and a slight mist-like cloud, which hung over the place, was the swarm itself--no doubt engaged in angry conflict with the plunderer of their hive. the little bear was too busy in the enjoyment of his luscious meal--that is, if the stings of the _lanyehs_ allowed him to enjoy it--to look below; and for some minutes the hunters stood regarding him, without making a movement. satisfied with their inspection, they were at length preparing to fire at him; when they were hindered by the dyak--who, making signs to them to be silent, drew them all back from the tree. when out of sight of the bear, he counselled them to adopt a different plan. he said--what was true enough--that at such a height they might miss the bear; or, even if they should hit him, a bullet would scarce bring him down--unless it should strike him in a vital part. in the contingency of their missing, or only slightly wounding him, the animal would at once ascend further up into the tapang; and, hidden behind the leaves and branches, might defy them. he would there remain till hunger should force him down; and, since he was just in the act of having his meal, and had, no doubt, been eating from the time he was first espied-or longer, perhaps--he would be in a condition to stay in the tree, until their patience should be more than exhausted. true, they might fell the tree: they had an axe, and could soon cut the tree down--as the wood was soft; but the dyak alleged that the bruang in such cases usually contrives to escape. the tapang rarely falls all the way, but only upon the tops of the trees that stand thickly round; and as the bornean bear can climb and cling like a monkey, he is never shaken out of the branches, but springs from them into some other tree-among the thick leaves of which he may conceal himself; or, by getting to the ground, manage to steal off. his advice, therefore, was, that the hunters should conceal themselves behind the trunks of the surrounding trees; and, observing silence, wait till the bruang had finished his mellifluous repast, and feel inclined to come down. the dyak said he would make his descent stern foremost; and, if they acted cautiously, they might have him at their mercy, and almost at the muzzles of their guns. there was only one of the three who was not agreeable to this plan; and that was the impatient ivan; but, overruled by the advice of his brother, he also gave his consent to it. the three now took their respective stands behind three trees--that formed a sort of triangle around the tapang; and the guide, who had no gun, placed himself apart--holding his kris in readiness to finish off the bear, should the animal be only wounded. there was no danger to be dreaded from the encounter. the little bear of borneo is only dangerous to the bees and white ants--or other insects--which he is accustomed to lick up with his long tongue. the human hunter has nothing to fear from him, any more than from a timid deer--though he will scratch, and growl, and bite, if too closely approached. it was just as the dyak had predicted. the bruang, having finished his meal, was seen coming down the tree tail foremost; and in this way would no doubt have continued on to the ground; but, before he had got halfway down the trunk, ivan's impatience got the better of him; and the loud bang of his fowling-piece filled the forest with its echoes. of course it was a bullet that ivan had fired; and it appeared that he had missed. it was of little use firing also his shot barrel, though he did so immediately after. the effect of his shots was to frighten the bruang back up the tree; and at the first report he commenced ascending. almost as rapidly as a cat he swarmed upward; and for a moment the chances of losing him appeared as two to one. but alexis, who had been watching the restless movements of his brother, had prepared himself for such an issue; and, waiting till the bruang made a pause just under the branches, he fired his rifle with deadlier aim. the bear, in clutching to one of the limbs, had extended his body outward, and this gave the rifleman the chance of aiming at his head. the bullet must have told: for the bear, instead of ascending higher, was seen hanging down from the limb, as if he was clinging to it with enfeebled strength. at this moment the cannon-like report of pouchskin's fusil filled the woods with its booming echoes; and bruin, suddenly relaxing his grasp, came bump down among the hunters--missing pouchskin by about the eighth part of an inch! lucky for the old grenadier there was even this much of a miss. it was as good as a mile to him. had the bear's body descended upon his shoulders, falling from such a height, it would have flattened him out as dead as the bear was himself; and pouchskin, perceiving the danger from which he had so narrowly escaped, looked as perplexed and miserable as if some great misfortune had actually befallen him! chapter fifty eight. the cabbage-eater. our heroes now, having accomplished their mission to borneo, were about to cross over to the island of sumatra; in which--as well as in java, or upon the mainland of malacca--they would find the other sun-bear, known as the _ursus malayanus_; but previous to their departure from sambos, they obtained information that led them to believe that this species also inhabited the island of borneo. it was more rarely met with than the orange-breasted variety; but the natives, generally better guides than the anatomists in the matter of specific distinctions, stoutly maintained that there were two kinds; and the dyak bee-hunter--whose interest had been secured by the ample reward already bestowed upon him--promised them, that if they would go with him to a certain district of country, he would show them the larger species of bruang. from the man's description of it alexis easily recognised the _ursus malayanus_-the species they had killed being the _ursus euryspilus_. indeed, had there been any doubt about this matter, it would have been set at rest, by what our travellers saw in the streets of sambos. there both species were exhibited by the itinerant jugglers--for both the sun-bears can be easily tamed and trained--and these men stated that they had procured the "big bruang," in the woods of borneo. since, then, he was there to be found, why go to sumatra in search of him? they had still travelling enough before them; and they were beginning to get tired of it. it was natural that--after so long an absence and the endurance of so many perils and hardships--they should be longing for home, and the comforts of that fine palace on the banks of the neva. they resolved, therefore, to accompany the dyak guide on a new expedition. they were a whole day upon the journey; and just before nightfall reached the place, where the man expected to fall in with the big bruangs. of course, they could not commence their search before morning. they baited, therefore, and formed camp--their dyak guide erecting a bamboo hut in less than an hour, and thatching it over with the huge leaves of the wild _musaceae_. the place where they had halted was in the midst of a magnificent grove, or rather a forest, of palms; of that kind called _nibong_ by the natives, which is a species of the genus _arenga_. it is one of the "cabbage" palms; that is, its young leaves before expanding are eaten by the natives as a vegetable after the manner in which europeans use cabbage. they are of a delicate whiteness, with a sweet nutty flavour; and, in point of excellence, are even superior to those of the cocoa-nut, or even the west india cabbage palm (_areca oleracea_). but the nibong is put by the borneans and other natives of the indian archipelago to a great variety of uses. its round stem is employed as uprights and rafters for their houses. split into lathes, it serves for the flooring. sugar can be obtained from the saccharine juice of its spadix, which also ferments into an intoxicating beverage; and sago exists in abundance within the trunk. pens and arrows for blow-guns are also made from the midribs of the side leaves; and, in fact, the _arenga saccharifera_, like many other palms, serves for an endless variety of purposes. alexis was greatly interested by the appearance of this beautiful tree; but it was too late when they arrived on the ground for him to have an opportunity of examining it. the half-hour before darkness had been occupied in the construction of the hut--in which all hands had borne part. early in the morning, alexis--still curious about the arenga-trees--and desirous of ascertaining to what genus of palms they belonged--strayed off among them, in hopes of procuring a flower. the others remained by the hut, preparing breakfast. alexis saw none of the trees in flower, their great spathes being yet unfolded; but, toping to find some one more forward than the rest, he kept on for a considerable distance through the forest. as he was walking leisurely along, his eyes at intervals turned upward to the fronds of the palms, he saw that one of the trunks directly in front of him was in motion. he stopped and listened. he heard a sound as of something in the act of being rent, just as if some one was plucking leaves from the trees. the sound proceeded from the one that was in motion; but it was only its trunk that he saw; and whatever was causing the noise and the movement appeared to be up among the great fronds at its crown. alexis regretted that he had left his gun behind him. he had no other weapon with him but his knife. not that he was afraid: for the animal could not be an elephant in the top of a palm-tree, nor a rhinoceros; and these were the only quadrupeds that need be greatly dreaded in a bornean forest: since the royal tiger, though common enough both in java and sumatra, is not an inhabitant of borneo. it was not fear that caused him to regret having left his gun behind him; but simply that he should lose the chance of shooting some animal-perhaps a rare one. that it was a large one he could tell by the movement of the tree: since no squirrel or small quadruped could have caused the stout trunk of the palm to vibrate in such a violent manner. i need not say how the regret of the young hunter was increased, when he approached the tree, and looking up, saw what the animal really was--a bear, and that bear the true _ursus malayanus_! yes, there was he, with his black body, yellowish muzzle, and white half-moon upon his breast-busy gorging himself upon the tender leaflets of the arenga--whose white fragments, constantly dropping from his jaws, strewed the ground at the bottom of the tree. alexis now remembered that this was a well-known habit of the malayan bear--whose favourite food is the "cabbage" of palm-trees, and who often extends his depredations to the cocoa plantations, destroying hundreds of trees before he can be detected and destroyed himself. of course this wild arenga wood--furnishing the bear with as much "cabbage" as he might require--was just the place for him; and alexis now understood the reason why the dyak had conducted them thither. as the naturalist knew that this kind of bear was more rare than the other species--that is, in borneo--he now more than ever felt chagrin at not having his gun with him. to attempt attacking the animal with his knife would have been absurd, as well as dangerous--for the malayan bear can maintain a better fight than his bornean brother. but, indeed, even had alexis desired it, there would have been no chance to reach the animal with his knife--unless the hunter should himself climb up the palm; and that was more than he either dared or could. of course the bear had long ere this perceived his enemy at the foot of the tree; and, uttering a series of low querulous cries, had desisted from his cabbage eating, and placed himself in an attitude of defence. it was evident from the position he had assumed, that he had no design of coming down, so long as the hunter remained at the bottom of the tree; nor did the latter desire him to do so. on the contrary, he struck the tree with a stick, and made several other demonstrations, with the design to hinder the bear from attempting a descent. but the animal did not even meditate such a thing. though the palm was not one of the highest, it was tall enough to keep him out of the reach of any weapon the hunter could lay hands upon; and the bear, seemingly conscious of this fact, kept his perch with a confident air--that showed he had no intention of changing his secure position. alexis now began to reflect about what he should do. if he could make the others hear him, that would answer every purpose. of course they would come up, bringing with them their guns. this was the most promising plan; and alexis hastened to put it into execution, by hallooing at the top of his voice. but, after he had shouted for nearly ten minutes, and waited for ten more, no response was given; nor did any one make an appearance upon the ground. once more alexis raised his voice, and shouted till the woods rang with echoes. but these echoes were all the reply he could get to his calls. it was evident he had unconsciously strayed far from the camp, and quite out of earshot of his companions! what was to be done? if he should go back to the others, to bring them and also his gun, the bear would in all probability seize the opportunity to descend from the tree and take himself off. in that case he would most certainly escape: since there would be no chance of tracking him through such a wood. on the other hand, alexis need not remain where he was. he might stay there till doomsday, before bruin would condescend to come down; and even should he do so, what chance would there be of effecting his capture? while reflecting thus, a happy idea occurred to the young hunter; and he was seen all at once to step a pace or two back, and place himself behind the broad leaves of a wild _pisang_, where he was hidden from the eyes of the bear. as the morning was a little raw he had his cloak around him; and this he instantly stripped off. he had already in his hands the stout long stick--with which he had been hammering upon the palm--and this he now sharpened at one end with his knife. on the other end he placed his cap, and beneath it his cloak, folding the latter around the stick, and tying it on in such a fashion as to make of it a rude representation of the human form. when he had got the "dummy" rigged out to his satisfaction, he reached cautiously forward--still keeping the fronds of the pisang between himself and the bear. in this position, he held the "scarecrow" out at the full length of his arm; and, giving the stick a punch, set it erect in the ground. the bruang, from his elevated perch on the tree, could not fail to see the object--though the hunter himself was still concealed by the huge leaves that drooped over his head. alexis, now cautiously, and without making the slightest noise, stole away from the spot. when he believed himself well out of hearing of the bear, he quickened his pace, and retraced his steps to the camp. it was but the work of a minute for all hands to arm themselves and set out; and in ten minutes' time they arrived at the bottom of the _arenga_, and had the gratification of finding that the _ruse_ of alexis had proved successful. the bruang was still crouching upon the crown of the palm; but he did not stay there much longer, for a volley fired at his white breast toppled him over from his perch; and he fell to the bottom of the tree as dead as a stone. the dyak was rather chagrined that he had not himself discovered the game; but, on ascertaining that he would receive the promised bounty all the same, he soon got the better of his regrets. our hunters being on the ground, were determined to make a day of it; and after breakfast continued their hunt--which resulted in their finding and killing, not only another _bruang_, but a _rimau dahan_, or "clouded tiger" (_felis macrocelus_): the most beautiful of all feline animals, and whose skin they intended should be one of the trophies to be mounted in the museum of the palace grodonoff. this hunt ended their adventures in the oriental archipelago; and from sambos they proceeded direct through the straits of malacca, and up the bay of bengal to the great city of calcutta. chapter fifty nine. the sloth bear. _en route_ for the grand mountains of imaus--the stupendous chain of the himalayas! there our hunters expected to find no less than three species of bears-each distinct from the others in outline of form, in aspect, in certain habits, and even in _habitat_; for although all three exist in the himalayas, each has its own zone of altitude, in which it ranges almost exclusively. these three bears are, the "sloth bear" (_ursus labatus_), the "thibet bear" (_ursus thibetanus_), and the "snow bear" (_ursus isabellinus_). the first-mentioned is the one which has received most notice--both from naturalists and travellers. it is that species which by certain wiseacres of the closet school was for a long time regarded as a sloth (_bradypus_). in redeeming it from this character, other systematists were not content to leave it where it really belongs--in the genus _ursus_--but must, forsooth, create a new one for its special accommodation; and it now figures in zoological catalogues as a _prochilus_--the _prochilus labiatus_! we shall reject this absurd title, and call it by its real one--_ursus labiatus_, which, literally translated, would mean the "lipped bear"--not a very specific appellation neither. the name has been given in reference to a peculiar characteristic of the animal--that is, its power of protruding or extending the lips to seize its food--in which peculiarity it resembles the tapir, giraffe, and some other animals. its trivial name of "sloth bear" is more expressive: for certainly its peculiar aspect--caused by the long shaggy masses of hair which cover its neck and body--gives it a very striking resemblance to the sloth. its long crescent-shaped claws strengthen this resemblance. a less distinctive name is that by which it is known to the french naturalists, "ours de jongleurs," or "juggler's bear." its grotesque appearance makes it a great favourite with the indian mountebanks; but, as many other species are also trained to dancing and monkey-tricks, the name is not characteristic. this bear is not quite so large as the _ursus arctos_; though individuals are sometimes met with approaching the bulk of the latter. the fur is longer and "shaggier" than in any other species--being upon the back of the neck full twelve inches in length. in this mass of long hair there is a curious line of separation running transversely across the back of the neck. the front division falls forward over the crown, so as to overhang the eyes--thus imparting to the physiognomy of the animal a heavy, stupid appearance. the other portion flaps back, forming a thick mane or hunch upon the shoulders. in old individuals the hair becomes greatly elongated; and hanging down almost to the ground on both flanks, and along the neck, imparts to the animal the strange appearance of being without legs! the general colour of the coat is black, with here and there a dash of brown over it. upon the breast there is a white list of a triangular shape; and the muzzle is also a dirty yellowish white. there is no danger of mistaking this species for any other of the black asiatic bears, or even any black bears. the long shaggy hair, hanging loosely, presents an appearance altogether different from the uniform brush-like surface, which characterises the coats of _ursus malayanus, euryspilus, americanus, ornatus_, and _frugilegus_. perhaps the most peculiar characteristic of the sloth bear is the capability it possesses of protruding the lips, which it can do to a length of several inches from its jaws--shooting them out in the form of a tube, evidently designed for suction. this, together with the long extensile tongue--which is flat shaped and square at the extremity-shows a peculiar design, answering to the habits of the animal. no doubt the extraordinary development of tongue is given to it for the same purpose as to the _edentata_ of the ant-eating tribe--to enable it to "lick up" the _termites_. its great curved claws, which bear a very striking resemblance to those of the ant-eaters--especially the large _tamanoir_ of south america--are used for the same purpose: that of breaking up the glutinous compost with which the termites construct their curious dwellings. these insects constitute a portion of the sloth bear's "commissariat of subsistence;" but he will also eat fruits, and sweet succulent vegetables; and, it is scarce necessary to add, that he is "wild after" honey, and a regular robber of bee-hives. notwithstanding the comic _role_, which he is often taught to play in the hands of the jugglers, he not unfrequently enacts a little bit of tragedy. this occurs when in his wild or natural state. he is not disposed wantonly to make an attack upon human beings; and if left unmolested, he will go his way; but, when wounded or otherwise provoked, he can show fight to about the same degree as the black bear of america. the natives of india hold him in dread: but chiefly on account of the damage he occasions to their crops--especially to the plantations of sugar-cane. we have stated that the sloth bear is not exclusively confined to the himalayas. on the contrary, these mountains are only the northern limit of his range--which extends over the whole peninsula of hindostan, and even beyond it, to the island of ceylon. he is common in the deccan, the country of the mahrattas, sylhet, and most probably throughout transgangetic india. in the mountains that bound the province of bengal to the east and west, and also along the foot-hills of the himalayas of nepaul on its north, the sloth bear is the most common representative of the bruin family; but up into the higher ranges he does not extend his wanderings. his _habitat_ proves that he affects a hot, rather than a cold climate--notwithstanding the great length of the fur upon his coat. one peculiarity remains to be mentioned. instead of hiding himself away in solitudes, remote from human habitations, he rather seeks the society of man: not that he is fond of the latter; but simply that he may avail himself of the results of human industry. for this purpose he always seeks his haunt near to some settlement--whence he may conveniently make his depredations upon the crops. he is not, strictly speaking, a forest animal. the low jungle is his abode; and his lair is a hole under some overhanging bank--either a natural cavity, or one which has been hollowed out by some burrowing animal. knowing that the sloth bear might be met with in any part of the country, to the northward of calcutta, our hunters determined to keep a lookout for him while on their way to the himalayas--which mountains they intended ascending, either through the little state of sikkim, or the kingdom of nepaul. their route from calcutta to the hills lay a little to the west of north; and at many places on their journey they not only heard of the sloth bear, but were witnesses of the ravages which this destructive creature had committed on the crops of the farmers. there were sugar plantations, on which they saw tall wooden towers raised in the middle of the field, and carried to a considerable height above the surrounding vegetation. on inquiring the purpose of these singular structures, they were informed that they were intended as watch-towers; and that, during the season, when the crops were approaching to ripeness, _videttes_ were stationed upon these towers, both by night and by day, to keep a lookout for the bears, and frighten them off whenever these plunderers made their appearance within the boundaries of the fields! notwithstanding the many evidences of the sloth bear's presence met with throughout the province of bengal, our hunters failed in falling in with this grotesque gentleman, till they were close up to the foot of the himalaya mountains, in that peculiar district known as the _terai_. this is a belt of jungle and forest land--of an average width of about twenty miles, and stretching along the southern base of the himalaya range throughout its whole length, from afghanistan to china. in all places the terai is of so unhealthy a character, that it can scarcely be said to be inhabited--its only human denizens being a few sparse tribes of native people (mechs); who, acclimated to its miasmatic atmosphere, have nothing to fear from it. woe to the european who makes any lengthened sojourn in the terai! he who does will there find his grave. for all its unhealthiness, it is the favourite haunt of many of the largest quadrupeds: the elephant, the huge indian rhinoceros, the lion and tiger, the jungly ghau or wild ox, the sambur stag, panthers, leopards, and cheetahs. the sloth bear roams through its thickets and glades--where his favourite food, the white ants, abounds; and it was upon reaching this district that our hunters more particularly bent themselves to search for a specimen of this uncouth creature. fortunately they were not long till they found one--else the climate of the terai would soon have so enfeebled them, that they might never have been able to climb the stupendous mountains beyond. almost upon entering within the confines of this deadly wilderness, they encountered the sloth bear; and although the interview was purely accidental, it ended in bruin being deprived of his life and his long-haired robe. the sloth bear did not submit tamely to this double robbery, for he was himself the assailant--having been the first to cry "stand and deliver!" nor was his conquest accomplished without a perilous struggle--that came very near reducing the number of our heroes from odd to even. but we shall give the account of the affair, as we find it detailed in the journal of alexis. chapter sixty. bruin taken by the tongue. the travellers had halted for lunch, and tied their horses to the trees. while pouchskin was spreading out the comestibles, and alexis engaged in noting down in his journal the events of the day, ivan--attracted by a beautiful bird--had taken up his fowling-piece, and followed the bird through the jungle--in hopes of getting a shot at it. we go along with ivan, for it was he who started the "mountebank" bear, that came near mounting him on the moment of their meeting it. ivan was walking cautiously along a bank, that rose to about the height of his head; but which in places was undermined, as if by the action of running water--though there was no water to be seen. the ground, however, upon which he trod was covered with pebbles and coarse gravel-showing that at some period water must have flowed over it; and, indeed, it was evidently the bed of a stream that had been full during the rainy season, but was now completely dried up. ivan was not thinking of this; but of the beautiful bird which was flitting about among the trees--still keeping out of the range of his gun. he was in a bent attitude, crouching along under the bank--which he was using as a cover, to enable him to approach the tantalising game. all at once, a singular noise fell upon his ear. it was a sort of monotonous purring, like that made by a spinning-machine, or a very large tom-cat; and like the latter, it was prolonged and continuous. the sound was not exactly pleasant to ivan's ear, for it denoted the proximity of some animal; and, although it was not loud, there was something about the tone that told him the animal giving utterance to it was a creature to be feared. in fact, it fell upon ivan's ear in the character of a warning; and caused him to desist from his pursuit of the bird, come suddenly to a stand, and listen with great attention. for some moments he was unable to make out whence the sound proceeded. it seemed to fill the space all around him--as if it came out of the air itself--for the purring sound kept the atmosphere constantly vibrating; and, as there was no definite concussion, it was all the more difficult to trace it to its source. the thought that had entered into ivan's mind was that it might be the purring of a tiger he heard; and yet it seemed scarcely so harsh as that--for he knew the peculiar rattle which frequently proceeds from the thorax of the royal bengalese cat. he quickly reflected, however, that whether it was tiger or not, it would neither be safe for him to raise an alarm, nor start to rush back to the bivouac--though this was not twenty yards from the spot. by making an attempt to retreat, he might draw the animal after him, or stumble upon it--not knowing its direction. it was to ascertain its whereabouts that he had stopped and stood listening. that once known, he might keep his place, or lake to flight--as circumstances should dictate. nearly a minute remained he in this irresolute attitude--looking around on every side, and over the bank into the contiguous jungle; but he could see no living thing of any kind--for even the bird had long since taken its departure from the place. still the purring continued; and once or twice the sound increased in volume--till it almost assumed the character of a "growl." all at once, however, it came to an end; and was succeeded by a quick sharp "sniff," several times repeated. this was a more definite sound; and guided ivan's eyes in a direction in which he had not before thought of looking. he had hitherto been reconnoitring around him and _over_ the bank. he had not thought of looking _under_ it. in this direction were his eyes now turned; and, stooping his body, he peered into the dark subterraneous excavation which the water had caused in the alluvial earth. there, to his surprise, he beheld the author of the baritone performance that had been puzzling him. at first he saw only a countenance of a dirty-whitish colour, with a pair of ugly glancing eyes; but, in looking more attentively, this countenance was seen to protrude out of an immense surrounding of black shaggy hair, which could be the covering of no other animal than a bear--and a sloth bear at that? on making this discovery, ivan did not know whether to be merry or sad. he would have been glad enough, had he seen the bear at a distance; but, situated as he was--with the great brute near enough to reach him at a single spring,--in fact, almost between his legs--he had little cause to congratulate himself upon the "find." nor did he. on the contrary, he was seized with a quick perception of danger, and only thought of making his escape. he would have turned upon the instant and fled; but it occurred to him, that by doing so he would draw the bear after him; and he knew that, notwithstanding the uncouth shuffle which a bear makes in running,--and the sloth bear is the greatest "shuffler" of the family,-he can still go too fast for a man. should he turn his face, the bear might spring upon his back, and thus have him at his mercy. instead of facing away, therefore, ivan kept his front to the bank; and with his eyes fixed upon the animal, commenced gliding backward, slowly but silently. at the same time he had cautiously raised his gun to the level--with no intention, however, of firing, but merely to be ready in case the bear should become the assailant. otherwise, ivan was perfectly agreeable to making it a "draw" between them. bruin, however, had no idea of thus giving up the game; for the fierce growl which just at that moment escaped him, signified anything but assent. on the contrary, it was the prelude to the play; and declared his intention of beginning it. almost simultaneous with the growl, he was seen starting to his feet; and before ivan could pull trigger, or even raise his gun to a proper elevation, a huge mass of black shaggy hair, like a bundle of sooty rags, came whisking through the air directly towards him. men talk of the sudden spring of the tiger, and the quick, rushing charge of the lion; but strange as it may seem, neither one nor other of these animals can charge forward on their intended victim with more celerity than a bear--clumsy and uncouth as bruin may appear. his capacity of raising himself erect gives him this advantage; and from his great plantigrade posterior paws, combined with his powerful muscular legs, he can pitch forward with a velocity surprising as it is unexpected. this the regular bear-hunter well knows; and the knowledge renders him cautious about coming too close to a _couchant_ bear. ivan himself knew it; and it was for this very reason he was endeavouring to widen the distance between himself and bruin, before he should turn to run. unfortunately he had not succeeded in gaining sufficient ground. he was still within charging distance of the animal as it rose to its feet; but another step backward as the bear launched forth, carried him clear of the spring; and bruin leaped short. in another instant, however, he erected himself, and again sprang forward; but this time the impetus given to his body was not so great; and, although he succeeded in closing with the young hunter, the latter was enabled to keep his feet and grapple with him in an erect attitude. had he fallen to the ground, the bear would have made short work with him. ivan had dropped his gun: for, not having time to raise it or take aim, the weapon was of no use. his hands were therefore free; and as the bear pitched up against him, he stretched out his arms, grasped the long hair that hung over the frontlet of the animal, and with all his might held back the monster's head with his threatening jaws. the bear had thrown both his paws around the body of the young hunter; but a broad thick belt which the latter chanced to have on, protected his skin from the animal's claws. so long as he could hold back that open mouth, with its double rows of white sharp teeth, he had not so much to fear; but his strength could not last long against such a powerful wrestler. his only hope was that the cries which he was raising would bring the others to his assistance; and of this he had no doubt: as he already heard both pouchskin and alexis hurrying up towards the spot. it was a perilous moment. the extended jaws of the bear were within twelve inches of the young hunter's face; he could feel the hot breath steaming against his cheeks, and the long extensile tongue almost touched his forehead, vibrating about in rapid sweeps, as if the animal by that means hoped to bring his head within reach! the struggle was not protracted. it lasted till alexis and pouchskin came upon the ground; but not six seconds longer. the first thing that pouchskin did was to grasp the protruding tongue of the bear in his left hand--making a half curl of it round his fingers--while with his right he plunged his long knife right between the ribs of the animal. alexis, on the other side, dealt a blow in similar fashion; and, before either of them could draw his blade out of its hair-covered sheath, the huge mountebank relaxed his hold, and rolled over among the pebbles. there, after a few grotesque contortions his limbs lay extended and motionless, making it evident beyond a doubt, that _his_ "dancing days were over." chapter sixty one. an extra skin. our hunters did not remain at their bivouac longer than was absolutely necessary to swallow a hasty meal. they had been warned of the dangerous climate of the _terai_, and hurrying on through it, reached the more elevated hill region before night. journeying on, they entered the kingdom of nepaul, among whose hills they expected to find the thibet bear (_ursus thibetanus_). this animal has been usually regarded as a mere variety of the _ursus arctos_; but without the slightest reason. it is an animal of more gentle habits, and exclusively a vegetarian in its diet: in colour it is black, but having a white mark on its breast shaped like a y, the branches of the letter coming up in front of its shoulders, while the limb extends between the fore legs and halfway along the belly. the claws of the animal are small and weak; and its profile forms almost a straight line, thus essentially differing from the _ursus arctos_. it is also a much smaller animal--rarely attaining to more than half the size of the latter species, and scarce bigger than the _ursus malayanus_, to which it bears a far greater resemblance. it is found in the mountains of sylhet, and throughout that portion of the himalayas enclosed within the great bend of the brahmapootra, in thibet, whence it derives its specific appellation. it is equally an inhabitant of the hill-country of nepaul; and there our hunters proceeded in search of their specimen. by the help of a "ghoorka" guide, which they had hired, they were not long in finding one; but as there was no curious or particular incident connected with its capture, the journal of alexis is silent upon the affair: it is only recorded that the animal was started from a thicket of _rhododendron_ bushes, and shot down while endeavouring to make its escape. having settled their business with the thibet bear, our hunters might have also procured another species within the territory of nepaul--that is, the brown, or isabella bear (_ursus isabellinus_). this they could have found by ascending to the higher ranges of the great snowy mountains that overlook nepaul; but as they knew they should also encounter this species near the sources of the ganges, and as they were desirous of visiting that remarkable locality, they continued on westward through nepaul and delhi, arriving at the health station of mussoorie, in the beautiful valley of the dehra doon. after resting here for some days, they proceeded to ascend the mountains, the lower and middle zone of which they found covered with forests of magnificent oaks, of several distinct species. in these oak-forests, greatly to the surprise of alexis, they heard of the existence of a large black bear, altogether different from the _ursus thibetanus_, and equally so from the _ursus isabellinus_--a distinct species, in fact, which, though well-known to anglo-indian hunters, appears to have escaped the attention of naturalists. they ascertained, moreover, that he was far from being a scarce animal, or an insignificant member of the bruin family; in point of size, formidable strength, and ferocity of disposition, being only inferior to _ursus ferox_ and _maritimus_, and in all these qualities quite a match for the _ursus arctos_. of his fierce nature, and the capability to do mischief, our travellers had evidence in almost every village through which they passed. numerous instances were brought before their notice of men who had been scratched and torn by these black bears, and some most fearfully mutilated. they saw men with their whole skin stripped from their skulls and faces; their features presenting a most hideous aspect. this singular habit of inflicting punishment on their human enemy appears to be common to the whole bear tribe--i mean, the habit of scalping their victims, and endeavouring to disfigure the face. not only do both the black and brown bears of the himalayas follow this habit, but also the _ursus arctos_, the grizzly, and the white. they always aim at the head, but more especially the face; and with a single "rake" of their spread claws, usually strip off both skin and flesh. having accomplished this, a bear will often desist from further ill-treatment of his victims; and if the latter will but lie still and feign dead, the monster will give up mauling him, and shamble off from the ground, apparently satisfied with having taken the scalp. this savage habit on the part of the bears our young hunters had long since noted; and that the black bear of the himalayas followed the fashion of his kindred, they had now ample evidence. in his other habits--which they learnt from the shikkaries, or village hunters--this bear strongly resembles the _ursus arctos_ of northern europe. on ordinary occasions his food consists of fruits, roots, and insects of _every_ kind he can catch--even scorpions and beetles--and where the primeval forest does not afford him full rations, he will enter the cultivated grounds and make havoc among the crops. strange enough, he does not meddle with the wheat; though he will ravage the fields of buckwheat and barley! at night he enters the gardens contiguous to the houses, and plunders them of all kinds of fruits and vegetables. he even approaches still nearer--abstracting their honey from the tame bees--the hives of which, according to a curious custom of the hill people, are set in little indentations in the walls of their dwelling-houses. the black bear occasionally cools his chops by munching melons and cucumbers; but he is particularly fond of a dessert of apricots--which is the most common fruit cultivated throughout the middle ranges of the himalayas. the bear enters the apricot orchard at night; and climbing the trees, will make more havoc in a single visit than a score of schoolboys. in all the orchards, elevated crows' nests or sentry boxes are set up, specially intended for watching the bears; and at this season many of them are killed in the act of robbing. the himalayan black bear will eat flesh--either fresh or putrid--and when once he has got into this habit he never forsakes it, but remains a carnivorous creature for the rest of his life. he will attack the goats and sheep on the mountain pastures; and will even make inroads to the village enclosures, and destroy the animals in their very sheds! when a flock of sheep falls in his way, unless he is driven off by the shepherds, he does not content himself by killing only one, but sometimes converts a score of them into mutton. those bears, however, that exhibit an extreme carnivorous propensity, are certain to bring about their own destruction: as the attention of the villagers being drawn upon them, snares and baited traps are set everywhere, and they are also followed by the shikkaries armed with their matchlock guns. these bears often attain to an immense size--in this respect nearly equalling the _ursus arctos_, of which they cannot, however, be supposed to be a variety. eight feet is the usual length of a full-grown specimen; and, when in a good condition, it requires a whole crowd of men to raise the carcass of one of them from the ground. autumn is their season of greatest fatness; and especially when the acorns are getting ripe, but previous to their falling from the tree. then the black bears are met with in the greatest numbers, coming from all parts into the oak-forests, and climbing the trees to procure their favourite food. they do not nibble off the acorns one by one; but first break the branches which are loaded, and carry them all into one place-generally into some fork--where, seated like squirrels, on their great hams, they can discuss the meal at their leisure. in passing through these oak-forests, large piles of branches may be seen thus collected together on the tops of the trees--resembling the nests of rooks or magpies--which have been brought together by the bears for the purpose above stated. when the forest lies in a district, where these bears are much hunted, they usually retire by day; and conceal themselves in their hiding-places in the thickets; but even in such forests the animals may be seen prowling about before sunset, and long after daylight in the morning. in the higher hills and forests of the _khurso_ oak, remote from the villages, they do not even take the precaution to hide themselves, but remain all day "acorn-gathering" among the trees. it is at this season that they can be hunted with most success: since the hunter is under no necessity of tracking them, but can find his great game by simply walking quietly through the woods, and keeping a lookout overhead, just as if he were searching for squirrels. it chanced to be the months of october when our hunters arrived at this part of the himalayas; and having reached the region of the larger oak-forests, they commenced their search accordingly. they were extremely desirous of success; knowing how much their father would be gratified at obtaining the skin of this black bear, which being an undescribed variety, might be considered an "extra" one. chapter sixty two. an unhappy horse. our young hunters commenced their search in a forest of _khurso_ oaks, which, interspersed with cedars and other trees, covered a high round-topped ridge, that rose above the little village where they had made their headquarters. on reaching the flat summit of the ridge, they found they could manage better without their horses: as seated in the saddle they could not so well reconnoitre the tops of the trees, where they expected to see their game. they dismounted, therefore, and leaving their animals tied to the branches of a large spreading cedar-tree (the _deodor_), they proceeded onward on foot. on this day the luck seemed to be against them; for although they met with plenty of "sign"--where the bears had broken the branches of the oaks--and also saw numbers of freshly-made "rooks' nests," they could not get their eyes upon bruin himself, who had left these tokens of his presence. it might be that this forest was frequently hunted by the native shikkaries; and that would account for the absence of the bears during the day-time. they had gone, no doubt, to their hiding-places. this was the conclusion at which our hunters arrived--after tramping about until they were tired; and not having met with a single bear. it was now the hour of noon; and, as they had been told that the evening would be the likelier time to find bruin upon the prowl, they resolved returning to where they had left their horses, and remaining there until evening should arrive. they had grown hungry; and, having walked many miles, were pretty well done up. a bit of dinner, and a few hours' rest under the great cedar, would recruit their strength; and enable them to take the field again before sunset with a better prospect of success. following their backtrack through the forest, therefore, they proceeded towards the place where they had left their horses. before coming in sight of these animals, they were admonished of their proximity by hearing them neighing at short intervals; but, what surprised them still more, they heard a constant pounding--as if the horses were striking the ground repeatedly and continuously with their hoofs! arriving within view of them, their astonishment was not diminished, on perceiving that the three horses were rearing and dancing over the ground, as if endeavouring to break loose from their fastenings! each had been tied to a separate branch of the tree--their bridles being simply noosed over the twigs at the extremities of the branches; and allowing them to play to the full length of the rein. consequently, the three horses were many yards apart from each other; but all were equally in motion--all neighing and pitching about, as if something had set them mad! could it be horse-flies? thought the hunters. they knew there was a species of horse-fly in the himalayas--greatly dreaded by all animals, and even by man himself. they knew this: for they had already suffered from its persecuting bite. but this was in the lower valleys; and it was not likely it should be found at the elevation of this _khurso_ forests--quite 10,000 feet above sea level. perhaps bees? there might be a nest of wild bees somewhere near--why not in the cedar itself--and if so, the horses might be attacked by them? that would account for the capers they were cutting! they had almost settled it in their mind that this was the true explanation; when an object came before their eyes that gave a very different solution to the mystery. one of the horses appeared more frightened than the other two--at least he was squealing and curveting in a much more violent manner. as he danced around, his eyes appeared to be directed upwards--the great eye-balls sparkling, and protruded as if about to start from their sockets. this guided the glances of the hunters; and, looking among the branches of the cedar, they now perceived a large black mass, of an oblong shape--extended along one of the lower limbs, and just over the spot where the horse was tied. they had hardly time to make out the shape of this dark object, and become convinced that it was the body of a bear, when the huge creature was seen to launch itself down from the limb; and then drop like a cat, all-fours, upon the back of the horse! the latter uttered a scream of affright; and as if terror had added to his strength, he now succeeded in breaking the branch--around which the rein was looped--and bounded off through the forest, the bear still squatted upon his back! the trees that stood around were nearly all of slender growth; but, as their stems grew thickly together, the horse, with his strange rider, could make but slow way among them; and every now and then the former, half blind with affright, dashed his sides against the trunks, causing them to crackle and shiver at each concussion. all at once the horse was seen coming to a halt, as if brought up by the power of a mameluke bit! the spectators saw this with wondering eyes-enable for the moment to explain it. as they were very near the spot where the halt had been made, they soon perceived the nature of the interruption. the bear had thrown one of his great forearms around a tree; while, with the other, he still clutched the horse, holding him fast! the design of bruin was perfectly clear: he had seized the tree in order to bring the steed to a stand! in this for a time he was successful. with one arm he was enabled to retain the tree in his powerful hug; while with the other he held the horse--his huge paw, with its retentive claws, being firmly fixed under the pommel of the saddle. a singular struggle now ensued, which lasted for some seconds of time; the horse making the meet energetic efforts to escape; while the bear was equally eager in endeavouring to retain him. lucky was it for the steed that his master was not more particular about the girth of his saddle, and that either the strap or buckle was a bad one. whichever of the two it was, one of them gave way; and the horse, thus freed, was not slow to profit by the fortunate accident. uttering a neigh of joy, he sprang onward--leaving both bear and saddle behind him. so far as the horse was concerned, his danger was over. not so with the bear, whose troubles were just now to begin. while holding the horse in his muscular arm--and clutching the pine with the other--the tree had got bent until its top almost touched the saddle. when the girth broke, therefore, the elastic sapling sprang back like a piece of whalebone; and with such an impetus as not only to shake bruin from his hold, but to pitch him several yards to the opposite side--where he lay stunned, or at all events so astonished, as, for a moment, to appear as if he had taken leave of his life! this moment of the bear's embarrassment was not lost upon the hunters, who ran rapidly up--till within ten paces of the prostrate animal--and discharging their guns into his body, prevented him from ever again getting to his feet. his hide was the only part of him that afterwards attained the erect attitude; and that was when it was mounted in the museum of the palace grodonoff. chapter sixty three. the snow bear. higher up the himalayas dwells the "snow bear." this species has received from naturalists the very fanciful appellation of the "isabella bear" (_ursus isabellinus_)--a title suggested by its colour being that known as "isabella colour,"--the type of which was the very dirty gown worn by queen isabella at the siege of grenada. it is doubtful whether any living man could exactly tell what is an isabella colour; and the use of such a phrase in describing the hue of an animal's skin is altogether indefinite and, to say the least, absurd. the "isabella bears," moreover, are not always of the so called isabella colour. on the contrary, there are some of dark-brown, some of a hoary brown, and others nearly white; and to himalayan hunters they are known by the various appellations of brown, red, yellow, white, grey, silver, and snow, stowing the numerous varieties of colour met with in the species. some of these varieties are to be attributed to the different seasons of the year, and the age of the animal. of all these designations, that of "snow bear" appears the most characteristic, since it avoids the risk of a confusion of names--the other titles being equally bestowed upon certain varieties of the _ursus americanus_ and _ursus ferox_. it is also appropriate to the himalayan animal: since his favourite haunt is along the line of perpetual snow; or in the grassy treeless tracts that intervene between the snow-line and the forest-covered declivities--to which they descend only at particular times of the year. in identifying this species, but little reliance can be placed on colour. in spring their fur is long and shaggy--of various shades of yellowish brown, sometimes reddish-brown, and not unfrequently of a grey or silvery hue. in summer this long yellowish fur falls off; and is replaced by a shorter and darker coat, which gradually grows longer and lighter as the winter approaches. the females are a shade lighter-coloured than the males; and the cubs have a broad circle of white around the neck, which gradually disappears as they grow to their full size. the snow bear _hybernates_, hiding himself away in a cave; and he is only seen abroad when the spring sun begins to melt the snow upon the grass-covered tracts near the borders of the forest. on these he may be found throughout the summer--feeding upon grass and roots, with such reptiles and insects as come in his way. in the autumn he enters the forests in search of berries and nuts, and at this season--like his congener, the black bear--he even extends his depredations to the cultivated grounds and gardens of the villagers, in search of fruit and grain, buckwheat being a favourite food with him. though naturally a vegetarian in his diet, he will eat flesh-meat upon occasions; and frequently makes havoc among the flocks of sheep and goats, that in summer are taken up to pasture on the grassy tracts above mentioned. while thus engaged, he does not regard the presence of man; but will attack the shepherds who may attempt to drive him off. among the many strange items that compose the larder of the snow bear, grubs and scorpions have a prominent place. he spends much of his time in searching for these--scratching them out of their holes, and turning over stones to get at them. great boulders of rock, that a man could not move, he will roll over with his muscular arms; and large tracts of ground may be seen with the stones thus displaced. it was while engaged in this curious occupation, that our hunters came upon one of the snow bears; which they succeeded in killing. he was not the first they had encountered: they had started several, and wounded two; but both had got off from them. this one, however, fell to their "bag," and in rather an unexpected fashion. they were working their toilsome way up a narrow ravine--which, although the season was autumn, was still filled with snow, that lay in the bottom of the gorge to a great depth. it was snow that had lain all the year; and although not frozen, the surface was firm and stiff; and it was with difficulty they could get support for their feet on it. here and there they were compelled to stop and cut steps in the snow--as the surface sloped upward at an angle of full 50 degrees, and, in fact, they were rather climbing than walking. their object, in undertaking this toilsome ascent, was simply because they had seen a bear going up the same way but a few minutes before; and the scratches of his claws were visible on the snow just before their faces. making as little noise as possible, they kept onward; and at length reached the head of the gorge. on peeping cautiously over, they saw a little table-like tract of level ground, several acres in extent. it was quite clear of snow; and covered with green herbage. a number of large boulder stones lay scattered over it--which had evidently rolled down from the mountain-side that rose still higher above the table. but the sight that most gratified them was the bear himself--no doubt, the same they had seen going up the ravine. they now discovered him upon the level ground, not twenty yards from the spot where they stood. in a strange attitude they saw him--grasping between his fore paws a huge boulder stone, almost as large as his own body, and evidently in the act of rolling it out of its bed! they were the less astonished at what they saw: for, being already acquainted with this singular habit of the snow bear, they knew what he was about. they did not stay, therefore, to watch his herculean labours; but all three, levelling their guns, pulled trigger simultaneously. the bullets--some of them, at least--evidently struck the bear; but, although, he dropped the great boulder--which at once fell back into its place--he did not himself drop. on the contrary, he turned suddenly round; and, giving utterance to a savage growl, rushed direct towards the hunters. the latter, not having time to reload, had no choice but to run for it. there was no other way of escape open to them, except by the gorge up which they had come; as, to attempt ascending to the level ground would have brought them face to face with the bear. they turned, therefore; and commenced retreating down the ravine. but now came the difficulty. they had not made three strides, before perceiving that they could not keep their feet upon the hard sloping surface of the snow. they had no time to cut fresh steps, nor pick out their old ones: as by doing either they would go too slowly, while the bear could scramble down the snow as rapidly as on bare ground. there was no alternative, therefore, but to fling themselves on their posteriors, and slide down the slope. quick as came the thought, all three of them dropped down upon their hams; and using their guns to prevent them from going with too great velocity, they shot downward to the bottom of the ravine. on reaching the lower end of the slope, and regaining their feet, they turned and looked back up the gorge. the bear had arrived at the upper end; and was standing with his fore feet projected over the edge, and resting upon the snow. he appeared to be undecided, as to whether he should come down after them, or give up the pursuit. he was within easy range of a bullet; and they bethought them of reloading and giving him a fresh volley; when, to their chagrin, they discovered that the barrels of their guns were filled with snow--which had got into them during the descent. while lamenting this unfortunate accident--in the full belief that they would now lose the bear--they saw the animal make a strange movement. it was forward, and towards them--as if he had made up his mind to charge down the slope; but they soon perceived that this could not be his intention: for as he came gliding on, sometimes his head, and sometimes his stern, was foremost; and it was evident that instead of the movement being a voluntary act on his part, it was quite the contrary. the fact was, that the bullets which they had fired into him had drawn the life's blood out of his veins; and having stood too long on the sloping edge of the snow, he had fallen through feebleness; and was now tumbling down the ravine, without strength enough to stay his descent. in another instant he lay stretched almost at the feet of the hunters; for the impetus imparted to his huge carcass in the descent, had brought it with such a "whack" against a large rock, as to deprive him of whatever either of blood or breath there had been left in his body. the hunters, however, made sure of this, by drawing their long knives, and making an additional vent or two between his ribs--thus securing themselves against all risk of his resuscitation. they had now finished with the himalayan bears of known and unknown kinds; but alexis learnt enough from hunters, whom they had encountered during their sojourn in these mountains, to convince him that great confusion exists among naturalists as to the different species and varieties that inhabit the himalayan range. of the "snow bear" itself, a variety exists in the mountains of cashmere; which, as far as alexis could learn, was very different from the kind they had killed. the cashmirian variety is of a deep reddish-brown colour, much longer in the muzzle than the "snow bear," and also a more dangerous antagonist to man--being a brute of eminently carnivorous propensity and savage disposition. "it is quite probable," remarks alexis, in his journal, "that instead of three kinds of bears inhabiting the himalayan range, twice that number of `species'--or at all events, of permanent varieties--may be found within the extensive area covered by these stupendous mountains." chapter sixty four. the last chase. our travellers descended once more to the plains of hindostan, and crossed the peninsula by _dak_ to bombay. from bombay they sailed through the indian ocean, and up the persian gulf to the port of bussora, on the euphrates. ascending the tigris branch of this asiatic river, they reached the famed city of bagdad. they were now _en route_ for the haunts of the syrian bear among the snowy summits of mount lebanon. with a turkish caravan, therefore, they started from bagdad; and after much toil and many hardships, arrived in the city of damascus--the scene of so many troubles and massacres caused by the fanaticism of a false religion. with these questions our travellers had nothing to do; nor did they stay any length of time within the walls of the unhappy city. soon after their arrival in the place, they obtained all the information they required of the whereabouts of the syrian bear; and their steps were now directed towards the snowy summits of libanus--better known to christians by its scriptural name of mount lebanon. in these mountains the syrian bear (_ursus syriacus_) is found; and it is only a few years since the animal was discovered there. every naturalist had doubted the existence of bears in any part of syria--as they now deny that there are any in africa. those who acknowledge it, are inclined to regard the syrian bear as a mere variety of the _ursus arctos_; but this theory is altogether incorrect. in shape, colour, and many of his habits, the syrian bear differs essentially from his brown congener; and his dwelling-place--instead of being in forest-covered tracts--is more generally in open ground or among rocks. in fact, his range upon the syrian mountains is very similar to that of the "snow bear" on the himalayas--near the line of perpetual snow. the colour of the _ursus syriacus_ is a light ash or fulvous brown, often--with a hoary or silvery tinge--but the colour varies at times to lighter and deeper shades. the hair lies close against the skin--in this respect differing from most of the species, in which the fur stands erect or perpendicular to the outlines of the body. this gives the syrian bear the appearance of being a thinner and smaller animal, than many bears of upright fur that are no bigger than he. by one characteristic mark he may be easily identified; and that is, by his having an erect ridge of fur running from his neck along the spine of his back, and looking not unlike the mane of a donkey. but, indeed, the syrian bear may be easily distinguished from any other member of this family; and to regard him as a mere variety of the _ursus arctos_, is only going back to the old system that considers all the bears as one and the same species. the syrian bear does not inhabit the whole range of the mountains that pass under the general name of lebanon. only on the loftier summits is he found--particularly on that known as mount makmel. this summit is covered with snow; and it is under the snow-line he usually makes his haunt. sometimes, however, he descends to a lower elevation; and in the village gardens--just as does the snow bear in the himalayas--he makes sad havoc among fruits and vegetables. he will also kill sheep, goats, and even larger animals, that come in his way; and when provoked will attack the hunter without fear. he is most dreaded in the night: for it is during the darkness he generally makes his plundering expeditions. both shepherds and hunters have been killed by him--proving that he still retains the savage character given to him in the scriptures; where several of his kind--she-bears they were--are represented as having torn "forty and two of the mockers of elisha." he appears to have been equally characterised by a ferocity of disposition in the crusading ages--since it is related that the great leader godfrey slew one of these bears, whom he found assaulting a poor woodcutter of antioch; and the affair was considered a feat of great prowess, by those eccentric champions of the cross. that the syrian bear is still as ferocious and savage, as he ever could have been, our hunters proved by their own experience: for although they did not get into the power of one, they would certainly have done so-some one of them at least--had they not been fortunate enough to kill the bear before he could lay his claws upon them. but we shall briefly describe the adventure; which was the last our hunters were engaged in-at least, the last we find recorded in the journal of alexis. bischerre, a little mountain village, situated near the snow-line on mount makmel, had become their temporary headquarters. its neighbourhood was celebrated for the great number of bears that frequent it. these animals descending from the higher ridges surrounding it, frequently enter the gardens of the villagers, and rob them of their vegetables and chick peas (_cicer arietinus_)--the latter being a favourite food of the syrian bear. from bischerre the hunters extended their excursions on foot: since the nature of the ground would not admit of their using horses; and they had succeeded in getting several good "bear-chases," and in killing a brace of these animals. both, however, were very young ones--cubs, in fact-and their skins would not do. a better specimen must be procured. this came into their hands in the following manner:-they had succeeded in tracing a bear up into a rocky ravine--the entrance into which was not over ten or twelve feet in width. the ravine itself was a steep descent leading up to the mountains; and its bottom, or bed, was covered with a conglomeration of large rounded boulders, that looked as if they had been rolled into this shape by water. they resembled the round stones sometimes seen in rivers; and no doubt there was a torrent there at times; but just then the channel was dry, and not a drop of water appeared anywhere. there was no snow either; as the place was below the line of snow; and they had only traced the bear into it on information given them by some shepherds, who had seen the animal recently enter it. belying upon this information, they kept up the defile, making their way with difficulty over the loose pebbles. they had a hope that the bear was still somewhere within the gorge; and that they might find him in some crevice or cave. on each side rose high cliffs that almost met over head; and our hunters, as they scrambled up the steep, examined these cliffs carefully--expecting to perceive the mouth of a cavern. the place was likely enough, for at every few yards they saw crevices and deep cavities; but in none of them could they find any traces of bruin. they had got about halfway through the ravine--and were still scrambling upward--when a loud sniff drew their attention; and, looking in the direction whence it appeared to have proceeded, there, sure enough, was the identical animal they were after--master bruin himself. they saw only his snout; which was projected out from the face of the cliff, about twenty feet above the bed of the ravine. his whole head was shortly after poked forth, and seen _en profile_ from below, it looked as if there was a bear's head glued against the flat surface of the rock, just as stags' heads are seen ornamenting the halls of grand country mansions. our hunters, however, knew there must be a cave behind--in which was the body of the bear, though it was concealed from their eyes. the bear, after glancing at the intruders who had disturbed him, drew back his head so suddenly, that not a shot could be fired in time. the hunters, in order to get into a better position, hurried past under the cave; and took stand several paces above it--where they were able to command a better view of the entrance. they were now on a level with the hole out of which the head had shown itself; and without speaking a word, only in whispers, they waited for the reappearance of the snout. it was not long before they had the satisfaction of seeing it. whether from curiosity to know if they were gone--or with the design of sallying forth in pursuit of them--the bear once more protruded his muzzle from the hole. fearing that he might draw it back again, and not give them another chance, all three fired, and in such haste that two of them quite missed the object. only the bullet of alexis had been properly aimed; and this was seen striking the bear right in the teeth--several of which were shot clean out of his jaws! as the smoke cleared out of their eyes, the great yellow body of the bear was observed out upon the little ledge that projected in front of the cave; and uttering loud screams--expressive both of rage and pain-the angry animal bounded down among the boulders. instead of making down the ravine--as our hunters expected--he turned upwards, and rushed directly towards them. again there was no alternative but flight; and up the steep gorge they must go. to make downward would be to run right upon the claws of the infuriated animal; and upward was the only way left open to them. all three started and ran as fast as they were able; and for a while were in hopes of distancing their pursuer. but further up, the slope grew steeper; and the loose stones became more difficult to clamber over. their breath, too, was by this time quite gone; and all three were panting like "winded" horses. it was impossible for them to go a step farther. in despair, they halted; and turned to face the pursuer--all of them at the same instant drawing their knives; and bracing their bodies for the expected struggle. the bear, still growling and screaming, came on-making way over the stones much faster than they had done. he would have been certain of overtaking them, had they continued their race: for he was scarce six paces behind them when they stopped. no doubt it would have been a dangerous conflict, had it come off; and, indeed, breathless as they were, they could never have sustained the attack. of course, they had no time to reload their guns, and did not think of such a thing. their determination was to defend themselves with their knives; and perhaps they might have succeeded in doing so, had there been an occasion. but there was not. before the bear could get up to them, a better idea had flashed across the brain of pouchskin; which he lost not a moment in carrying into execution. stooping suddenly, and flinging his knife out of his hands, he laid hold of a large boulder--big enough to weigh at least half a hundred--and, raising this to the height of his shoulder, he hurled it down upon the bear! the huge stone struck the animal right upon the breast; and what with the force by which it had been launched from pouchskin's powerful arm, and the impetus it had gained in its descent, it acted on bruin like a thunderbolt--not only knocking him over on his back, but carrying his body along with it full ten paces down the gorge! when the hunters at length reloaded their guns, and went down to where bruin lay among the rocks, they found him lying doubled up as dead as mutton! having stripped him of his fulvous skin, they returned to bischerre; and next day packing up their _impedimenta_, they crossed through the passes of mount libanus, and proceeded onward to the shores of the mediterranean sea. home was now thy word; and right pleasant was the sound of it in their ears. the grand bear-hunt was ended. they had accomplished the task imposed upon them--having kept every condition of their covenant. of course they expected a grand welcome upon their return; and in this expectation they were not disappointed; for many days and nights after the baronial halls of the palace grodonoff echoed the sounds of mirth and revelry. in the museum our young hunters met their old acquaintances, from, all parts of the world. they encountered them standing in different attitudes--all mounted in the most approved fashion. the syrian bear was the only one not among them: as they had themselves brought his skin--all the others having been sent home by "parcels delivery." in a few days, however, the _ursus syriacus_ was set upon his legs; and the collection was complete. the news of the "grand bear-hunt," with its curious conditions, soon got abroad; and travelled all round the social circle of saint petersburgh. figuratively speaking, our young hunters were transformed into animals themselves--they became "lions,"--and remained so for that season; but even at this hour in the _salons_ of the great russian capital, you may often hear introduced, as a favourite topic of conversation-"the baron and his bears." the end. the golden dream, by r.m. ballantyne ________________________________________________________________________ robert michael ballantyne was born in 1825 and died in 1894. he was educated at the edinburgh academy, and in 1841 he became a clerk with the hudson bay company, working at the red river settlement in northen canada until 1847, arriving back in edinburgh in 1848. the letters he had written home were very amusing in their description of backwoods life, and his family publishing connections suggested that he should construct a book based on these letters. three of his most enduring books were written over the next decade, "the young fur traders", "ungava", "the hudson bay company", and were based on his experiences with the h.b.c. in this period he also wrote "the coral island" and "martin rattler", both of these taking place in places never visited by ballantyne. having been chided for small mistakes he made in these books, he resolved always to visit the places he wrote about. with these books he became known as a great master of literature intended for teenagers. he researched the cornish mines, the london fire brigade, the postal service, the railways, the laying down of submarine telegraph cables, the construction of light-houses, the light-ship service, the life-boat service, south africa, norway, the north sea fishing fleet, ballooning, deep-sea diving, algiers, and many more, experiencing the lives of the men and women in these settings by living with them for weeks and months at a time, and he lived as they lived. he was a very true-to-life author, depicting the often squalid scenes he encountered with great care and attention to detail. his young readers looked forward eagerly to his next books, and through the 1860s and 1870s there was a flow of books from his pen, sometimes four in a year, all very good reading. the rate of production diminished in the last ten or fifteen years of his life, but the quality never failed. he published over ninety books under his own name, and a few books for very young children under the pseudonym "comus". for today's taste his books are perhaps a little too religious, and what we would nowadays call "pi". in part that was the way people wrote in those days, but more important was the fact that in his days at the red river settlement, in the wilds of canada, he had been a little dissolute, and he did not want his young readers to be unmindful of how they ought to behave, as he felt he had been. some of his books were quite short, little over 100 pages. these books formed a series intended for the children of poorer parents, having less pocket-money. these books are particularly well-written and researched, because he wanted that readership to get the very best possible for their money. they were published as six series, three books in each series. re-created as an e-text by nick hodson, august 2003. ________________________________________________________________________ the golden dream, by r.m. ballantyne. chapter one. adventures in the far west. the cause of the whole affair. ned sinton gazed at the scene before him with indescribable amazement! he had often witnessed strange things in the course of his short though chequered life, but he had never seen anything like this. many a dream of the most extravagant nature had surrounded his pillow with creatures of curious form and scenes of magic beauty, but never before, either by actual observation or in nightly vision, had ned sinton beheld a scene so wonderful as that which now lay spread out before him. ned stood in the centre of a cavern of vast dimensions--so vast, and so full of intense light, that instead of looking on it as a huge cave, he felt disposed to regard it as a small world. the sides of this cavern were made of pure gold, and the roof--far above his head--was spangled all over with glittering points, like a starry sky. the ground, too, and, in short, everything within the cave, was made of the same precious metal. thousands of stalactites hung from the roof like golden icicles. millions of delicate threads of the same material also depended from the star-spangled vault, each thread having a golden ball at the end of it, which, strange to say, was transparent, and permitted a bright flame within to shine through, and shed a yellow lustre over surrounding objects. all the edges, and angles, and points of the irregularly-formed walls were of burnished gold, which reflected the rays of these pendant lamps with dazzling brilliancy, while the broad masses of the frosted walls shone with a subdued light. magnificent curtains of golden filigree fell in rich voluminous folds on the pavement, half concealing several archways which led into smaller caverns, similar to the large one. altogether it was a scene of luxurious richness and splendour that is utterly indescribable. but the thing that amazed ned sinton most was, that the company of well-dressed ladies and gentlemen who moved about in these splendid halls, and ate golden ices, or listened to the exquisite strains of music that floated on the atmosphere, were all as yellow as guineas! ned could by no means understand this. in order to convince himself that there was no deception in the matter, he shook hands with several of the people nearest to him, and found that they were cold and hard as iron; although, to all appearance, they were soft and pliable, and could evidently move about with perfect freedom. ned was very much puzzled indeed. one would have thought he must have believed himself to be dreaming. not a bit of it. he knew perfectly well that he was wide-awake. in fact, a doubt upon that point never crossed his mind for a moment. at length he resolved to ask the meaning of it all, and, observing a stout old gentleman, with a bland smile on his yellow countenance, in the act of taking a pinch of golden snuff from a gold snuff-box, he advanced and accosted him. "pray, sir," began ned, modestly, "may i take the liberty of asking you what is the meaning of all this?" "all what, sir?" inquired the old gentleman, in a deep metallic voice. "this golden cave, with its wonderful lamps, and especially these golden people; and--excuse me, sir, for remarking on the circumstance--you seem to be _made of gold_ yourself. i have often heard the term applied to extremely rich persons, but i really never expected to see a man who was literally `worth his weight in gold.'" the old gentleman laughed sarcastically at this sally, and took an enormous pinch of gold-dust. as he did not seem inclined to be communicative, however, ned said again, "what is the meaning of it all? can you explain what has done it?" smiling blandly at his interrogator, this gentleman of precious metal placed his head a little on one side, and tapped the lid of his snuff-box, but said nothing. then he suddenly exclaimed, at the full pitch of his voice, "california, my boy! that's what's done it, edward! _california for ever_! ned, hurrah!" as the deep tones of his voice rang through the star-spangled vault, the company took up the shout, and with "california for ever!" made the cavern ring again. in the excess of their glee the gentlemen took off their hats, and the ladies their wreaths and turbans, and threw them in the air. as many of them failed to catch these portions of costume in their descent, the clatter caused by their fall on the golden pavement was very striking indeed. "come here, my lad," said the old gentleman, seizing ned sinton by the arm, and laughing heartily as he dragged him towards an immense mirror of burnished gold; "look at yourself there." ned looked, and started back with horror on observing that he himself had been converted into gold. there could be no mistake whatever about it. there he stood, staring at himself like a yellow statue. his shooting-jacket was richly chased with alternate stripes of burnished and frosted work; the buttons on his vest shone like stars; his pantaloons were striped like the coat; his hair was a mass of dishevelled filigree; and his hands, when, in the height of his horror, he clasped them together, rang like a brass-founder's anvil. for a few moments he stood before the mirror speechless. then a feeling of intense indignation unaccountably took possession of him, and he turned fiercely on the old gentleman, exclaiming-"_you_ have done this, sir! what do you mean by it? eh!" "you're quite mistaken, ned. i didn't do it. california has done it. ha! ha! my boy, you're done for! smitten with the yellow fever, neddy? california for ever! see here--" as he spoke, the old gentleman threw out one leg and both arms, and began to twirl round, after the fashion of a peg-top, on one toe. at first he revolved slowly, but gradually increased his speed, until no part of him could be distinctly observed. ned sinton stood aghast. suddenly the old gentleman shot upwards like a rocket, but he did not quit the ground; he merely elongated his body until his head stuck against the roof of the cave. then he ceased to revolve, and remained in the form of a golden stalactite--his head surrounded by stars and his toe resting on the ground! while ned stood rooted to the spot, turning the subject over in his mind, and trying to find out by what process of chemical or mechanical action so remarkable a transformation could have been accomplished, he became aware that his uncle, old mr shirley, was standing in the middle of the cave regarding him with a look of mingled sarcasm and pity. he observed, too, that his uncle was not made of gold, like the people around him, but was habited in a yeomanry uniform. mr shirley had been a yeoman twenty years before his nephew was born. since that time his proportions had steadily increased, and he was now a man of very considerable rotundity--so much so, that his old uniform fitted him with excessive tightness; the coat would by no means button across his capacious chest, and, being much too short, shewed a very undignified amount of braces below it. "uncle!" exclaimed ned sinton, rushing up to his relative, "what _can_ be the meaning of all this? everybody seems to be mad. i think you must be mad yourself, to come here such a figure as that; and i'm quite sure _i_ shall go mad if you don't explain it to me. what _does_ it all mean?" "california," replied mr shirley, becoming more sarcastic in expression and less pitiful. "why, that's what everybody cries," exclaimed ned, who was now driven almost to desperation. "my dear uncle, do look like yourself and exercise some of your wonted sagacity. just glance round at the cave and the company, all made of gold, and look at me--gold too, if not pinchbeck, but i'm not a good-enough judge of metals to tell which. what _has_ done it, uncle? _do_ look in a better humour, and tell me how it has happened." "california," replied mr shirley. "yes, yes; i know that. california seems to be everything here. but how has it come about? why are _you_ here, and what has brought me here?" "california," repeated mr shirley. "uncle, i'll go deranged if you don't answer me. what do you mean?" "california," reiterated mr shirley. at the same moment a stout golden lady with a filigree turban shouted, "for ever!" at the top of a very shrill voice, and immediately the company took up the cry again, filling the cave with deafening sounds. ned sinton gave one look of despair at his relative--then turned and fled. "put him out," shouted the company. "down with the intruder!" ned cast a single glance backward, and beheld the people pushing and buffeting his uncle in a most unceremonious manner. his helmet was knocked down over his eyes, and the coat--so much too small for him--was rendered an easy fit by being ripped up behind to the neck. ned could not stand this. he was stout of limb and bold as a lion, although not naturally addicted to fighting, so he turned suddenly round and flew to the rescue. plunging into the midst of the struggling mass of golden creatures, ned hit out right and left like a young hercules, and his blows rang upon their metal chests and noses like the sound of sledge-hammers, but without any other effect. suddenly he experienced an acute sensation of pain, and--awoke to find himself hammering the bed-post with bleeding knuckles, and his uncle standing beside his bed chuckling immensely. "o uncle," cried ned, sitting up in his bed, and regarding his knuckles with a perplexed expression of countenance, "i've had _such_ an extraordinary dream!" "ay, ned," interrupted his uncle, "and all about california, i'll be bound." "why, how did you guess that?" "it needs not a wizard to guess that, lad. i've observed that you have read nothing in the newspapers for the last three months but the news from the gold-diggings of california. your mind has of late been constantly running on that subject, and it is well-known that day-dreams are often reproduced at night. besides, i heard you shouting the word in your sleep as i entered your room. were you fighting with gold-diggers, eh! or indians?" "neither, uncle; but i was fighting with very strange beings, i assure you, and--" "well, well," interrupted mr shirley, "never mind the dream just now; we shall have it at some other time. i have important matters to talk over with you, my boy. morton has written to me. get up and come down as quickly as you can, and we'll discuss the matter over our breakfast." as the door closed after the retreating form of his uncle, edward sinton leaped out of bed and into his trousers. during his toilet he wondered what matters of importance mr shirley could intend to discuss with him, and felt half inclined to fear, from the grave expression of his uncle's face when he spoke of it, that something of a disagreeable nature awaited him. but these thoughts were intermingled with reminiscences of the past night. his knuckles, too, kept constantly reminding him of his strange encounter, and, do what he would, he could not banish from his mind the curious incidents of that remarkable golden dream. chapter two. our hero. we have entered thus minutely into the details of our hero's dream, because it was the climax to a long series of day-dreams, in which he had indulged ever since the discovery of gold in california. edward sinton was a youth of eighteen at the time of which we write, and an orphan. he was tall, strong, broad-shouldered, fair-haired, blue-eyed, roman-nosed, and gentle as a lamb. this last statement may perhaps appear inconsistent with the fact that, during the whole course of his school-life, he had a pitched battle every week--sometimes two or three in the week. ned never began a fight, and, indeed, did not like fighting. but some big boys _will_ domineer over little ones, and ned would not be domineered over; consequently he had to be thrashed. he was possessed, even in boyhood, of an amount of physical courage that would have sufficed for any two ordinary men. he did not boast. he did not quarrel. he never struck the first blow, but, if twenty boys had attacked him, he would have tried to fight them all. he never tyrannised over small boys. it was not his nature to do so; but he was not perfect, any more than you are, dear reader. he sometimes punched small boys' heads when they worried him, though he never did so without repenting of it, and doing them a kindness afterwards in order to make up. he was very thoughtless, too, and very careless; nevertheless he was fond of books--specially of books of adventure--and studied these like a hero--as he was. boys of his own size, or even a good deal bigger, never fought with ned sinton. they knew better than that; but they adored him, in some cases envied him, and in all cases trusted and followed him. it was only _very_ big boys who fought with him, and all they got by it was a good deal of hard pummelling before they floored their little adversary, and a good deal of jeering from their comrades for fighting a small boy. from one cause or another, ned's visage was generally scratched, often cut, frequently swelled, and almost always black and blue. but as ned grew older, the occasions for fighting became less frequent; his naturally amiable disposition improved, (partly owing, no doubt, to the care of his uncle, who was, in every sense of the term, a good old man,) and when he attained the age of fifteen and went to college, and was called "sinton," instead of "ned," his fighting days were over. no man in his senses would have ventured to attack that strapping youth with the soft blue eyes, the fair hair, the prominent nose, and the firm but smiling lips, or, if he had, he would have had to count on an hour's extremely hard work, whether the fortune of war went for or against him. when ned had been three years at college, his uncle hinted that it was time to think of a profession, and suggested that as he was a first-rate mathematician, and had been fond of mechanics from his childhood, he should turn an engineer. ned would probably have agreed to this cheerfully, had not a thirst for adventure been created by the stirring accounts which had begun to arrive at this time from the recently-discovered gold-fields of california. his enthusiastic spirit was stirred, not so much by the prospect of making a large fortune suddenly by the finding of a huge nugget--although that was a very pleasant idea--as by the hope of meeting with wild adventures in that imperfectly-known and distant land. and the effect of such dreams was to render the idea of sitting down to an engineer's desk, or in a mercantile counting-room, extremely distasteful. thus it came to pass that edward sinton felt indisposed to business, and disposed to indulge in golden visions. when he entered the breakfast-parlour, his mind was still full of his curious dream. "come along, my lad," cried mr shirley, laying down the bible, and removing his spectacles from a pair of eyes that usually twinkled with a sort of grave humour, but in which there was now an expression of perplexity; "set to work and get the edge off your appetite, and then i'll read moxton's letter." when mr shirley had finished breakfast, ned was about half done, having just commenced his third slice of toast. so the old gentleman complimented his nephew on the strength of his appetite, put on his spectacles, drew a letter from his pocket, and leaned back in his chair. "now, lad, open your ears and consider what i am about to read." "go on, uncle, i'm all attention," said ned, attacking slice number four. "this is moxton's letter. it runs thus-"`dear sir,--i beg to acknowledge receipt of yours of the 5th inst. i shall be happy to take your nephew on trial, and, if i find him steady, shall enter into an engagement with him, i need not add that unremitting application to business is the only road to distinction in the profession he is desirous of adopting. let him call at my office to-morrow between ten and twelve.--yours very truly, daniel moxton.'" "is that all?" inquired ned, drawing his chair towards the fire, into which he gazed contemplatively. mr shirley looked at his nephew over the top of his spectacles, and said-"that's all." "it's very short," remarked ned. "but to the point," rejoined his uncle. "now, boy, i see that you don't relish the idea, and i must say that i would rather that you became an engineer than a lawyer; but then, lad, situations are difficult to get now-a-days, and, after all, you might do worse than become a lawyer. to be sure, i have no great love for the cloth, ned; but the ladder reaches very high. the foot is crowded with a struggling mass of aspirants, many of whom are of very questionable character, but the top reaches to one of the highest positions in the empire. you might become the lord high chancellor at last, who knows! but seriously, i think you should accept this offer. moxton is a grave, stern man, but a sterling fellow for all that, and in good practice. now, what do you think!" "well, uncle," replied ned, "i've never concealed my thoughts from you since the day you took me by the hand, eleven years ago, and brought me to live under your roof; and i'll not begin to dissemble now. the plain truth is, that i don't like it at all." "stop, now," cried mr shirley, with a grieved expression of countenance; "don't be hasty in forming your opinion. besides, my boy, you ought to be more ready to take my advice, even although it be not altogether palatable." "my dear uncle, you quite misunderstand me. i only tell you what i _think_ about the proposal. as to taking your advice, i fully intend to do that whether i like it or not; but i think, if you will listen to me for a few minutes, you will change your mind in regard to this matter. you know that i am very fond of travelling, and that i dislike the idea of taking up my abode on the top of a three-legged stool, either as a lawyer's or a merchant's clerk. well, unless a man likes his profession, and goes at it with a will, he cannot hope to succeed, so that i have no prospect of getting on, i fear, in the line you wish me to adopt. besides, there are plenty of poor fellows out of work, who love sitting still from nine a.m. to ten p.m., and whose bread i would be taking out of their mouths by devoting myself to the legal profession, and--" at this point ned hesitated for a moment, and his uncle broke in with-"tell me, now, if every one thought about business as you do, how would the world get on, think you?" "badly, i fear," replied the youth, with a smile; "but everybody doesn't think of it as i do; and, tell me, uncle, if everybody thought of business as you would wish me to do, what would come of the soldiers and sailors who defend our empire, and extend our foreign trade, and achieve the grand geographical discoveries that have of late added so much lustre to the british name?" ned flushed and became quite eloquent at this point. "now, look at california," he continued; "there's a magnificent region, full of gold; not a mere myth, or an exaggeration, but a veritable fact, attested by the arrival of letters and gold-dust every month. surely that land was made to be peopled; and the poor savages who dwell there need to be converted to christianity, and delivered from their degraded condition; and the country must be worked, and its resources be developed; and who's to do it, if enterprising clergymen, and schoolmasters, and miners do not go to live there, and push their fortunes?" "and which of the three callings do you propose adopting?" inquired mr shirley, with a peculiar smile. "well uncle, i--a--the fact is, i have not thought much about that as yet. of course, i never thought of the first. i do not forget your own remark, that the calling of a minister of the gospel of christ is not, like other professions, to be adopted merely as a means of livelihood. then, as to the second, i might perhaps manage that; but i don't think it would suit me." "do you think, then, that you would make a good digger?" "well, perhaps i would," replied ned, modestly. mr shirley gravely regarded the powerful frame that reclined in the easy-chair before him, and was compelled to admit that the supposition was by no means outrageous. "besides," continued the youth, "i might turn my hand to many things in a new country. you know i have studied surveying, and i can sketch a little, and know something of architecture. i suppose that latin and greek would not be of much use, but the little i have picked up of medicine and surgery among the medical students would be useful. then i could take notes, and sketch the scenery, and bring back a mass of material that might interest the public, and do good to the country." "oh," said the old gentleman, shortly; "come back and turn author, in fact, and write a book that nobody would publish, or which, in the event of its being published, nobody would read!" "come, now, my dear uncle, don't laugh at me. i assure you it seems very reasonable to me to think that what others have done, and are doing every day, i am able to do." "well, i won't laugh at you; but, to be serious, you are wise enough to know that an old man's experience is worth more than a youth's fancies. much of what you have said is true, i admit, but i assure you that the bright prospects you have cut out for yourself are very delusive. they will never be realised, at least in the shape in which you have depicted them on your imagination. they will dissolve, my boy, on a nearer approach, and, as shakespeare has it, `like the baseless fabric of a vision, leave not a wrack behind,' or, at least, not much more than a wrack." ned reverted to the golden dream, and felt uneasy under his uncle's kind but earnest gaze. "most men," continued mr shirley, "enjoy themselves at first, when they go to wild countries in search of adventure, but they generally regret the loss of their best years afterwards. in my opinion men should never emigrate unless they purpose making the foreign land they go to their _home_. but i won't oppose you, if you are determined to go; i will do all i can to help you, and give you my blessing; but before you make up your mind, i would recommend you to call on mr moxton, and hear what prospects he holds out to you. then take a week to think seriously over it; and if at the end of that time, you are as anxious to go as ever, i'll not stand in your way." "you are kind to me, uncle; more so than i deserve," said ned earnestly. "i'll do as you desire, and you may depend upon it that the generous way in which you have left me to make my own choice will influence me against going abroad more than anything else." ned sighed as he rose to quit the room, for he felt that his hopes at that moment were sinking. "and before you take a step in the matter, my boy," said old mr shirley, "go to your room and ask counsel of him who alone has the power to direct your steps in this life." ned replied briefly, "i will, uncle," and hastily left the room. mr shirley poked the fire, put on his spectacles, smoothed out the wrinkles on his bald forehead with his hand, took up the _times_, and settled himself down in his easy-chair to read; but his nephew's prospects could not be banished from his mind. he went over the whole argument again, mentally, with copious additions, ere he became aware of the fact, that for three-quarters of an hour he had been, (apparently), reading the newspaper upside down. chapter three. hopes and fears--mr. shirley receives a visit and a wild proposal. when edward sinton left his chamber, an hour after the conversation related in the last chapter, his brow was unruffled and his step light. he had made up his mind that, come what might, he would not resist the wishes of his only near relative and his best friend. there was a day in the period of early boyhood that remained as fresh on the memory of young sinton as if it had been yesterday--the day on which his mother died. the desolation of his early home on that day was like the rising of a dark thunder-cloud on a bright sky. his young heart was crushed, his mind stunned, and the first ray of light that broke upon him--the first gush of relief--was when his uncle arrived and took him on his knee, and, seated beside the bed where that cold, still form lay, wept upon the child's neck as if his heart would break. mr shirley buried the sister whom he had been too late to see alive. then he and his little nephew left the quiet country village and went to dwell in the great city of london. from that time forward mr shirley was a father to ned, who loved him more than any one else on earth, and through his influence he was early led to love and reverence his heavenly father and his blessed redeemer. the subject of going abroad was the first in regard to which ned and his uncle had seriously disagreed, and the effect on the feelings of both was very strong. ned's mind wandered as he put on his hat, and buttoned his great-coat up to the chin, and drew on his gloves slowly. he was not vain of his personal appearance; neither was he reckless of it. he always struck you as being a particularly well-dressed man, and he had naturally a dashing look about him. poor fellow! he felt anything but dashing or reckless as he hurried through the crowded streets in the direction of the city that day. moxton's door was a green one, with a brass knocker and a brass plate, both of which ornaments, owing to verdigris, were anything but ornamental. the plate was almost useless, being nearly illegible, but the knocker was still fit for duty. the street was narrow--as ned observed with a feeling of deep depression--and the house to which the green door belonged, besides being dirty, retreated a little, as if it were ashamed of itself. on the knocker being applied, the green door was opened by a disagreeable-looking old woman, who answered to the question, "is mr moxton in?" with a short "yes," and, without farther remark, ushered our hero into a very dingy and particularly small office, which, owing to the insufficient quantity of daylight that struggled through the dirty little windows, required to be lighted with gas. ned felt, so to speak, like a thermometer which was falling rapidly. "can i see mr moxton?" he inquired of a small dishevelled clerk, who sat on a tall stool behind a high desk, engaged in writing his name in every imaginable form on a sheet of note paper. the dishevelled clerk pointed to a door which opened into an inner apartment, and resumed his occupation. ned tapped at the door indicated. "come in," cried a stern voice. ned, (as a thermometer), fell considerably lower. on entering, he beheld a tall, gaunt man, with a sour cast of countenance, standing with his back to the fire. ned advanced with a cheerful expression of face. thermometrically speaking, he fell to the freezing-point. "you are young sinton, i suppose. you've come later than i expected." ned apologised, and explained that he had had some difficulty in finding the house. "umph! your uncle tells me that you're a sharp fellow, and write a good hand. have you ever been in an office before?" "no, sir. up till now i have been at college. my uncle is rather partial, i fear, and may have spoken too highly of me. i think, however, that my hand is not a bad one. at least it is legible." "at least!" said mr moxton, with a sarcastic expression that was meant for smile, perhaps for a grin. "why, that's the _most_ you could say of it. no hand is good, sir, if it is not legible, and no hand can possibly be bad that _is_ legible. have you studied law?" "no, sir, i have not." "umph! you're too old to begin. have you been used to sit at the desk?" "yes; i have been accustomed to study the greater part of the day." "well, you may come here on monday, and i'll speak to you again, and see what you can do. i'm too busy just now. good-morning." ned turned to go, but paused on the threshold, and stood holding the door-handle. "excuse me, sir," he said, hesitatingly, "may i ask what room i shall occupy, if--if--i come to work here?" mr moxton looked a little surprised at the question, but pointed to the outer office where the dishevelled clerk sat, and said, "there." ned fell to twenty below the freezing-point. "and pray, sir," he continued, "may i ask what are office-hours?" "from nine a.m. till nine p.m., with an interval for meals," said mr moxton, sharply; "but we usually continue at work till eleven at night, sometimes later. good-morning." ned fell to zero, and found himself in the street, with an indistinct impression of having heard the dishevelled clerk chuckling vociferously as he passed through the office. it was a hard struggle, a very hard struggle, but he recalled to mind all that his uncle had ever done for him, and the love he bore him, and manfully resolved to cast california behind his back for ever, and become a lawyer. meanwhile mr shirley received a visit from a very peculiar personage. he was still seated in his arm-chair pondering his nephew's prospects when this personage entered the room, hat in hand--the hat was a round straw one--and cried heartily, "good day, kinsman." "ha! captain bunting, how are ye? glad to see you, old fellow," exclaimed mr shirley, rising and seizing the sailor by the hand. "sit down, sit down, and let's hear your news. why, i believe it's six months since i saw you." "longer, shirley, longer than that," replied the captain, seating himself in the chair which ned sinton had vacated a short time before. "i hope your memory is not giving way. i have been half round the world, and it's a year and six months to-day since i sat here last." "is it?" cried mr shirley, in surprise. "now, that is very remarkable. but do you know, captain, i have often thought upon that subject, and wondered why it is that, as we get older, time seems to fly faster, and events which happened a month ago seem as if they only occurred yesterday. but let me hear all about it. where have you been, and where are you going next?" "i've been," replied the captain, who was a big, broad man with a rough over-all coat, rough pilot-cloth trousers, rough red whiskers, a shaggy head of hair, and a rough-skinned face; the only part of him, in fact, which wasn't rough was his heart; that was soft and warm-"i've been, as i remarked before, half round the world, and i'm goin' next to america. that's a short but comprehensive answer to your question. if you have time and patience, kinsman, i'll open the log-book of my memory and give you some details of my doings since we last met. but first tell me, how is my young friend, ned?" "oh, he's well--excellently well--besides being tall and strong. you would hardly know him, captain. he's full six feet high, i believe, and the scamp has something like a white wreath of smoke over his upper lip already! i wish him to become an engineer or a lawyer, but the boy is in love with california just now, and dreams about nothing but wild adventures and gold-dust." the captain gave a grunt, and a peculiar smile crossed his rugged visage as he gazed earnestly and contemplatively into the fire. captain bunting was a philosopher, and was deeply impressed with the belief that the smallest possible hint upon any subject whatever was sufficient to enable him to dive into the marrow of it, and prognosticate the probable issue of it, with much greater certainty than any one else. on the present occasion, however, the grunt above referred to was all he said. it is not necessary to trouble the reader with the lengthened discourse that the captain delivered to his kinsman. when he concluded, mr shirley pushed his spectacles up on his bald head, gazed at the fire, and said, "odd, very odd; and interesting too--very interesting." after a short pause, he pulled his spectacles down on his nose, and looking over them at the captain, said, "and what part of america are you bound for now?" "california," answered the captain, slowly. mr shirley started, as if some prophetic vision had been called up by the word and the tone, in which it was uttered. "and that," continued the captain, "brings me to the point. i came here chiefly for the purpose of asking you to let your nephew go with me, as i am in want of a youth to assist me, as a sort of supercargo and jack-of-all-trades. in fact, i like your nephew much, and have long had my eye on him. i think him the very man for my purpose. i want a companion, too, in my business--one who is good at the pen and can turn his hand to anything. in short, it would be difficult to explain all the outs and ins of why i want him. but he's a tight, clever fellow, as i know, and i _do_ want him, and if you'll let him go, i promise to bring him safe back again in the course of two years--if we are all spared. from what you've told me, i've no doubt the lad will be delighted to go. and, believe me, his golden dreams will be all washed out by the time he comes back. now, what say you!" for the space of five minutes mr shirley gazed at the captain over his spectacles in amazement, and said nothing. then he threw himself back on his chair, pushed his spectacles up on his forehead, and gazed at him from underneath these assistants to vision. the alteration did not seem to improve matters, for he still continued to gaze in silent surprise. at last his lips moved, and he said, slowly but emphatically-"now, that is the most remarkable coincidence i ever heard of." "how so?" inquired the captain. "why, that my nephew should be raving about going to california, and that you should be raving about getting him to go, and that these things should suddenly come to a climax on the same forenoon. it's absolutely incredible. if i had read it in a tale, now, or a romance, i would not have been surprised, for authors are such blockheads, generally, that they always make things of this kind fit in with the exactness of a dove-tail; but that it should _really_ come to pass in my own experience, is quite incomprehensible. and so suddenly, too!" "as to that," remarked the captain, with a serious, philosophical expression of countenance, "most things come to a climax suddenly, and coincidences invariably happen together; but, after all, it doesn't seem so strange to me, for vessels are setting sail for california every other day, and--" "well," interrupted mr shirley, starting up with energy, as if he had suddenly formed a great resolve, "i _will_ let the boy go. perhaps it will do him good. besides, i have my own reasons for not caring much about his losing a year or two in regard to business. come with me to the city, captain, and we'll talk over it as we go along." so saying, mr shirley took his kinsman by the arm, and they left the house together. chapter four. the end of the beginning--farewell to old england. as captain bunting sagaciously remarked, "most things come to a climax suddenly." on the evening of the day in which our tale begins, edward sinton--still standing at zero--walked into his uncle's parlour. the old gentleman was looking earnestly, though unintentionally, at the cat, which sat on the rug; and the cat was looking attentively at the kettle, which sat on the fire, hissing furiously, as if it were disgusted at being kept so long from tea. ned's face was very long and sad as he entered the room. "dear uncle," said he, taking mr shirley by the hand, "i'm not going to take a week to think over it. i have made up my mind to remain at home, and become a lawyer." "ned," replied mr shirley, returning his nephew's grasp, "i'm not going to take a week to think over it either. i have made up my mind that you are to go to california, and become a--a--whatever you like, my dear boy; so sit down to tea, and i'll tell you all about it." ned was incredulous at first, but as his uncle went on to explain how matters stood, and gradually diverged from that subject to the details of his outfit, he recovered from his surprise, and sprang suddenly up to 100 degrees of fahrenheit, even in the shade of the prospect of parting for a time from old mr shirley. need we be surprised, reader, that our hero on that night dreamed the golden dream over again, with many wonderful additions, and sundry remarkable variations. thus it came to pass that, two weeks afterwards, ned and his uncle found themselves steaming down the thames to gravesend, where the good ship _roving bess_ lay riding at anchor, with a short cable, and top-sails loose, ready for sea. "ned," said mr shirley, as they watched the receding banks of the noble river, "you may never see _home_ again, my boy. will you be sure not to forget me! will you write often, ned!" "forget you, uncle!" exclaimed ned, in a reproachful voice, while a tear sprang to his eye. "how can you suggest such a--" "well, well, my boy, i know it--i know it; but i like to hear the assurance repeated by your own lips. i'm an old man now, and if i should not live to see you again, i would like to have some earnest, loving words to think upon while you are away." the old man paused a few moments, and then resumed-"ned, remember when far from home, that there is another home--eternal in the heavens--to which, if you be the lord's child, you are hastening. you will think of that home, ned, won't you! if i do not meet you again here at any rate i shall hope to meet you _there_." ned would have spoken, but his heart was too full. he merely pressed old mr shirley's arm. "perhaps," continued his uncle, "it is not necessary to make you promise to read god's blessed word. you'll be surrounded by temptations of no ordinary kind in the gold-regions; and depend upon it that the bible, read with prayer, will be the best chart and compass to guide you safely through them all." "my dear uncle," replied ned, with emotion, "perhaps the best promise i can make is to assure you that i will endeavour to do, in all things and at all times, as you have taught me, ever since i was a little boy. if i succeed, i feel assured that i shall do well." a long and earnest conversation ensued between the uncle and nephew, which was interrupted at last, by the arrival of the boat at gravesend. jumping into a wherry, they pushed off, and were soon alongside of the _roving bess_, a barque of about eight hundred tons burden, and, according to captain bunting, "an excellent sea-boat." "catch hold o' the man-ropes," cried the last-named worthy, looking over the side; "that's it; now then, jump! all right! how are ye, kinsman? glad to see you, ned. i was afraid you were goin' to give me the slip." "i have not kept you waiting, have i?" inquired ned. "yes, you have, youngster," replied the captain, with a facetious wink, as he ushered his friends into the cabin, and set a tray of broken biscuit and a decanter of wine before them. "the wind has been blowin' off shore the whole morning, and the good ship has been straining at a short cable like a hound chained up. but we'll be off now in another half-hour." "so soon?" said mr shirley, with an anxious expression on his kind old face. "all ready to heave up the anchor, sir," shouted the first mate down the companion. the captain sprang on deck, and soon after the metallic clatter of the windlass rang a cheerful accompaniment to the chorus of the sailors. one by one the white sails spread out to the breeze, and the noble ship began to glide through the water. in a few minutes more the last words were spoken, the last farewell uttered, and mr shirley stood alone in the stern-sheet of the little boat, watching the departing vessel as she gathered way before the freshening breeze. as long as the boat was visible ned sinton stood on the ship's bulwarks, holding on to the mizzen shrouds, and waving his handkerchief from time to time. the old man stood with his head uncovered, and his thin locks waving in the wind. soon the boat was lost to view. our hero brushed away a tear, and leaped upon the deck, where the little world, of which for many days to come he was to form a part, busied itself in making preparation for a long, long voyage. the british channel was passed; the atlantic ocean was entered; england sank beneath the horizon; and, for the first time in his life, ned sinton found himself--at sea. chapter five. the sea--dangers of the deep, and uncertainty of human affairs--a disastrous night and a bright morning--california at last. only those who have dwelt upon the ocean for many months together can comprehend the feelings of delight, with which the long-imprisoned voyager draws near to his desired haven. for six long months did the _roving bess_ do battle with the surging billows of the great deep. during that time she steered towards the gulf of mexico--carefully avoiding that huge reservoir of sea-weed, termed the saragossa sea, in which the unscientific but enterprising mariners of old used to get becalmed oftentimes for days and weeks together--she coasted down the eastern shores of south america; fired at, and "shewed her heels" to, a pirate; doubled cape horn; fought with the tempests that take special delight in revelling there; and, finally, spreading her sails to the genial breezes of the pacific ocean, drew near to her voyage-end. all this the good ship _roving bess_ did with credit to herself and comfort to her crew; but a few weeks after she entered the pacific, she was met, contrary to all expectation, by the bitterest gale that had ever compelled her to scud under bare poles. it was a beautiful afternoon when the first symptoms of the coming storm were observed. captain bunting had just gone down below, and our hero was standing at the weather gangway, observing the sudden dart of a shoal of flying-fish, which sprang out of the sea, whizzed through the air a few hundred feet, and fell with a splash into the water, in their frantic efforts to escape from their bitter enemy, the dolphin. while ned gazed contemplatively at the spot where the winged fish had disappeared, the captain sprang on deck. "we're goin' to catch it," he said, hurriedly, as he passed forward; "tumble up, there; tumble up; all hands to shorten sails. hand down the royals, and furl the t'gallant sails, mr williams, (to the first mate,) and look alive." "ay, ay, sir," was answered in that prompt tone of voice which indicates thorough discipline and unquestioning obedience, while the men scrambled up the fore-hatch, and sprang up the ratlines hand over hand. a moment before, the vessel had lain quietly on the bosom of the unruffled deep, as if she were asleep, now she was all uproar and apparent confusion; sails slewed round, ropes rattled, and blocks creaked, while the sonorous voice of the first mate sounded commands like a trumpet from the quarter-deck. "i see no indication of a storm," remarked young sinton, as the captain walked aft. "possibly not, lad; but _i_ do. the barometer has fallen lower, all of a sadden, than i ever saw it fall before. you may depend upon it, we shall have to look out for squalls before long. just cast your eyes on the horizon over the weather bows there; it's not much of a cloud, and, to say truth, i would not have thought much of it had the glass remained steady, but that faithful servant never--" "better close-reef the top-sails, sir," said the mate, touching his cap, and pointing to the cloud just referred to. "do so, mr williams, and let the watch below remain on deck, and stand by to man the halyards." in less than an hour the _roving bess_ was running at the rate of twelve knots, under close-reefed top-sails, before a steady gale, which in half-an-hour later increased to a hurricane, compelling them to take in all sail and "lay to." the sun set in a blaze of mingled black and lurid clouds, as if the heavens were on fire; the billows rose to their utmost height as the shrieking winds heaved them upwards, and then, cutting off their crests, hurled the spray along like driving clouds of snow, and dashed it against the labouring ship, as if impatient to engulf her in that ravening maw which has already swallowed up so many human victims. but the little vessel faced the tempest nobly, and rose like a sea-mew on the white crest of each wave, while the steersmen--for there were two lashed to the wheel--kept her to the wind. suddenly the sheet of the fore trysail parted, the ship came up to the wind, and a billow at that moment broke over her, pouring tons of water on her deck, and carrying away the foremast, main-top-masts, and the jib-boom. "clear the wreck--down the helm, and let her scud," shouted the captain, who stood by the mizzen-mast, holding on to a belaying-pin. but the captain's voice was drowned by the whistling winds, and, seeing that the men were uncertain what to do, he seized one of the axes which were lashed to the foot of the mast, and began to cut away the ropes which dragged the wreck of the foremast under the lee of the ship. williams, the mate, and the second mate, followed his example, while ned sprang to the wheel to see the orders to the steersmen obeyed. in half-an-hour all was clear, and the ship was scudding before the gale under bare poles. "we've not seen the worst of it," remarked the captain, as he resumed his post on the quarter-deck, and brushed the brine from his whiskers; "i fear, too, that she has received some bad thumps from the wreck of the foremast. you'd better go below, sinton, and put on a topcoat; its no use gettin' wetter than you can help." "i'm as wet as i can be, captain; besides, i can work better as i am, if there's anything for me to do." "well, there ain't much: you'll have enough to do to keep yourself from being washed overboard. how's her head, larry?" "nor' east an' by east," replied one of the men at the wheel, larry o'neil by name--a genuine son of erin, whose jovial smile of rollicking good humour was modified, but by no means quenched, by the serious circumstances in which he found himself placed. his comrade, william jones, who stood on the larboard side of the wheel, was a short, thick-set, stern seaman, whose facial muscles were scarcely capable of breaking into a smile, and certainly failed to betray any of the owner's thoughts or feelings, excepting astonishment. such passions as anger, pity, disgust, fear, and the like, whatever place they might have in jones's breast, had no visible index on his visage. both men were sailor-like and powerful, but they were striking contrasts to each other, as they stood--the one sternly, the other smilingly--steering the _roving bess_ before that howling storm. "is not `nor' east and by east' our direct course for the harbour of san francisco?" inquired ned sinton. "it is," replied the captain, "as near as i can guess; but we've been blown about so much that i can't tell exactly. moreover, it's my opinion we can't be far off the coast now; and if this gale holds on i'll have to bring to, at the risk of bein' capsized. them plaguey coral-reefs, too, are always springin' up in these seas where you least expect 'em. if we go bump against one as we are goin' now, its all up with us." "not a pleasant idea," remarked ned, somewhat gravely. "do these storms usually last long?" before the captain could reply, the first mate came up and whispered in his ear. "eh! how much d'ye say?" he asked quickly. "five feet, sir; she surged heavily once or twice on the foremast, and i think must have started a plank." "call all hands to work the pumps; and don't let the men know how much water there is in the hold. come below, ned. i want you. keep her head steady as she goes." "ay, ay, sir," sang out o'neil, as the captain descended the companion-hatch to the cabin, followed by his young friend. the dim light in the swinging lamp flickered fitfully when the ship plunged into the troughs of the seas, and rose again with a violent surge, as each wave passed under her, while every plank and spar on board seemed to groan under the strain. darkness now added to the terrors of the wild storm. sitting down on a locker, captain bunting placed his elbows on the table, and covering his face with his hands, remained silent for several minutes, while ned sat down beside him, but forbore to interrupt his thoughts. "boy," he said, at length, looking up anxiously, "we've sprung a leak, and a few minutes will shew what our fate is to be. five feet of water in the hold in so short a time implies a bad one." "five feet two, sir," said the mate, looking in at the cabin door; "and the carpenter can't get at the leak." "i feared as much," muttered the captain. "keep the men hard at the pumps, mr williams, and let me hear how it stands again in ten minutes." "captain," said ned, "it does not become a landsman to suggest, perhaps, but i can't help reminding you, that leaks of this kind have been stopped by putting a sail below the ship's bottom." "i know it, boy, i know it; but we could never get a sail down in such a night." "can nothing be done, then?" "yes, lad; it's hard to do it, but it must be done; life is more precious than gold--we must heave the cargo overboard. i have invested every farthing i have in the world in this venture," continued captain bunting, sadly, "but there's no help for it. now, you were at the shifting of the cargo when we opened the hatches during the calms off the brazilian coast, and as you know the position of the bales and boxes, i want you to direct the men so as to get it hove out quickly. luckily, bein' a general cargo, most o' the bales are small and easily handled. here comes the mate again--well, mr williams?" "up another inch, sir." "go, ned, over with it. i'll superintend above; so good-bye to our golden dreams." there was a slight tone of bitterness in the captain's voice as he spoke, but it passed away quickly, and the next instant he was on deck encouraging his men to throw the valuable cargo over the side. bale after bale and box after box were tossed ruthlessly out upon the raging sea until little was left in the ship, save the bulky and less valuable portion of the cargo. then a cry arose that the leak was discovered! the carpenter had succeeded in partially stopping it with part of a sail, and soon the pumps began to reduce the quantity of water in the hold. at last the leak was gained and effectually stopped, and before daybreak the storm began to subside. while part of the crew, being relieved from the harassing work at the pumps, busied themselves in repairing damages, ned went to his cabin to put on dry clothes and take a little rest, of which he stood much in need. next day the bright sun rose in a cloudless sky, and a gentle breeze now wafted the _roving bess_ over the pacific, whose bosom still heaved deeply from the effects of the recent storm. a sense of fervent thankfulness to god for deliverance filled the heart of our hero as he awoke and beheld the warm sunbeams streaming in at the little window of his cabin. suddenly he was roused from a deep reverie by the shout of "land, ho!" on deck. words cannot convey an adequate idea of the effect of such a shout upon all on board. "land, ho!" was repeated by every one, as he sprang in dishabille up the hatchway. "where away?" inquired captain bunting. "right ahead, sir," answered the look-out. "ay, there it is," said the captain, as ned, without coat or vest, rushed to his side, and gazed eagerly over the bow, "there it is, ned,-california, at last! yonder rise the golden mountains that have so suddenly become the world's magnet; and yonder, too, is the `golden gate' of the harbour of san francisco. humph! much good it'll do us." again there was a slight tone of bitterness in the captain's voice. "don't let down your spirits, captain," said ned, in a cheering tone; "there is still enough of the cargo left to enable us to make a start for the gold-fields. perhaps we may make more money there than we would have made had we sold the cargo at a large profit by trafficking on the coast." captain bunting hooked his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat, and shook his head. it was evident that he had no faith in gold-digging. meanwhile the crew had assembled on the forecastle, and were looking out ahead with wistful and excited glances; for the fame of the golden land to which they were approaching had spread far and wide, and they longed to see the gold-dust and nuggets with their own eyes. "it's a beautiful land, intirely," exclaimed larry o'neil, with an irrepressible shout of enthusiasm, which called forth a general cheer from the men. "arrah, now," remarked another patlander, "don't ye wish ye wos up to the knees and elbows in the goolden sands already? faix i'd give a month's pay to have wan day at the diggin's." "i don't believe a word about it--i don't," remarked jones, with the dogged air of a man who shouldn't, wouldn't, and didn't believe, and yet felt, somehow, that he couldn't help it. "nother do i," said another, "it's all a sham; come, now, ain't it, bill?" he added, turning to a bronzed veteran who had visited california two years before. "a sham!" exclaimed bill. "i tell 'e wot it is, messmate, when you comes for to see the miners in san francisco drinkin' _sham_pain like water, an' payin' a dollar for a glass o' six-water grog, you'll--" "how much is a dollar?" inquired a soft-looking youth, interrupting him. bill said it was "'bout four shillin's," and turned away with a look of contempt at such a display of ignorance. "_four shillin's_!" exclaimed the soft youth, in amazement. "clear the anchor, and clew up the main-topsail," shouted the mate. in another moment the crew were scattered, some aloft to "lay out" on the topsail yard, some to the clew-lines, and some to clear the anchor, which latter had not been disturbed since the _roving bess_ left the shores of old england. chapter six. san francisco--an unexpected desertion--captain bunting takes a gloomy view of things in general--new friends and new plans--singular facts and curious fancies. the "golden gates," as they are called, of san francisco, are two rocky headlands, about a mile apart, which form the entrance to one of the finest harbours, or rather land-locked seas, in the world. this harbour is upwards of forty miles long, by about twelve miles broad at its widest point, and receives at its northern end the waters of the noble sacramento river, into which all the other rivers in california flow. nearly opposite to the mouth of the sacramento, on the southern shores of the bay, stands the famous city of san francisco, close to which the _roving bess_ let go her anchor and clasped the golden strand. the old adage that, "truth is strange, stranger than fiction," was never more forcibly verified than in the growth and career of this wonderful city. no dreams of arabian romance ever surpassed the inconceivable wonders that were matters of every-day occurrence there during the first years of the gold-fever; and many of the results attributed to aladdin's wonderful lamp were almost literally accomplished--in some cases actually surpassed--in and around the cities of california. before the discovery of gold, san francisco was a mere hamlet. it consisted of a few rude cottages, built of sun-dried bricks, which were tenanted by native californians; there were also a few merchants who trafficked in hides and horns. cruisers and whalers occasionally put into the harbour to obtain fresh supplies of water, but beyond these and the vessels engaged in the hide-trade few ships ever visited the port, and the name of san francisco was almost unknown. but the instant the rumour got abroad that gold had been discovered there, the eyes of the world were turned towards it. in a few months men and ships began to pour into the capacious harbour; a city of tents overspread the sand-hills on which the hamlet stood; thousands upon thousands of gold-hunters rushed to the mines; the golden treasures of the land were laid bare, and immense fortunes were made, literally in the course of a few weeks. in many cases these were squandered or gambled away almost as soon as made; but hundreds of men retired from the gold-fields after a few months' labour, and returned home possessed of ample fortunes. thousands, too, failed--some from physical inability to stand the fatiguing labour of the mines, and some from what they termed "want of luck," though want of perseverance was, in nine cases out of ten, the real cause; while many hundreds perished from exposure and from the diseases that were prevalent in the country. well would it have been for these last had they remembered god's word, "make not haste to be rich;" but the thirst for gold, and the prospect of the sudden acquisition of enormous wealth, had blinded them to the fact that their frames were not equal to the rough life at the mines. the excitement was at its height when the _roving bess_ anchored off the shores of this land of gold. the sun was just setting as the anchor dropped, and the crippled ship swung round towards the shore, for the tide had just begun to rise. "faix, it's a quare town," said larry o'neil to ned, who was gazing in wrapt, astonishment and admiration ever the stern. it was indeed "quare." the entire city was made up of the most flimsy and make-shift materials that can be conceived. many of the shops were mere tents with an open framework of wood in front; some were made of sheet-iron nailed to wooden posts; some were made of zinc; others, (imported from the states), of wood, painted white, and edged with green; a few were built of sun-dried bricks, still fewer of corrugated iron, and many of all these materials pieced together in a sort of fancy patchwork. even boats were used as dwellings, turned keel up, with a hole cut in their sides for the egress of a tin smoke-pipe, and two others of larger size to serve as door and window. finding space scarce, owing to the abrupt rise of the hills from the shore, many enterprising individuals had encroached upon the sea, and built houses on piles driven into the sand nearly half-a-mile below the original high water mark. almost every nation under the sun had representatives there, and the consequent confusion of tongues was equal to that of babel. the hills overhanging the lower part of the town were also well covered with tents, temporary houses, and cottages that had some appearance of comfort about them. such was the city on which the sun went down that night, and many were the quaint, sagacious, and comic remarks made by the men as they sat round their various mess-tables in the forecastle of the _roving bess_, speculating noisily and half-seriously on the possibility of getting a run into the interior for a day or two. but there was a party of men in the ship whose conversation that night was neither so light-hearted nor so loud. they sat in a dark corner of the forecastle talking earnestly in subdued tones after the watch for the night was set. their chief spokesman was a rough, ill-looking fellow, named elliot. "ye see, lads," said this man to the half-dozen comrades around him, "we must do it to-night, if we're to do it at all. there's the captain's small boat layin' out astarn, which comes quite handy, an', as we lose all our pay by the dodge, i don't see why we shouldn't take it." the man struck his fist into his left palm, and looked round the circle for opinions. "i don't half like it," said one; "it seems to me a sneaking way of doin' it." "bah!" ejaculated another, "wot gammon you do talk. if _he_ lose the boat, don't _we_ lose the tin? besides, are we agoin' to let sich a trifle stand in the way o' us an' our fortins?" "have ye spoken to the other men, elliot?" inquired one of the group. "ay, in coorse i have; an' they're all agreeable. young spense stood out pretty stiff at first; but i talked him over. only i said nothing to larry o'neil or bill jones. i know it's of no use. they'll never agree; and if we wos to speak of it to either on 'em, he'd go right away aft an' tell the captain. their watch below 'll come on in an hour, an' then the watch on deck'll be on our side. so, lads, go and git ready-an' sharp's the word." the party broke up, and went quietly below to prepare for flight, leaving no one on deck except o'neil and jones, and two of their comrades, who formed part of the watch. as elliot had said, the watch was changed in about an hour. the mate and captain came on deck, looked round to see that all was right, and then returned to the cabin, to consult about the preliminary arrangements for disposing of the remnant of the cargo. ned sinton had turned in to have a good sleep before the expected toil and bustle of the following day; o'neil and jones, being relieved from duty, were glad to jump into their hammocks; and the deck was left in charge of the conspirators. it was a clear, lovely night. not a zephyr stirred the surface of the sea, in whose depths the starry host and the images of a hundred ships of all shapes and tonnage were faithfully mirrored. bright lights illumined the city, those in the tents giving to them the appearance of cones and cubes of solid fire. the subdued din of thousands of human voices floated over the water, and mingled with the occasional shout or song that rose from the fleet and the splash of oars, as boats passed to and from the shore. over all, the young moon shed a pale, soft light, threw into deep shadow the hills towards the north, which rose abruptly to a height of 3000 feet, and tipped with a silver edge the peak of monte diavolo, whose lofty summit overlooks all the golden land between the great range of the sierra nevada and the ocean. it was a scene of peaceful beauty, well fitted to call forth the adoration of man to the great and good creator. doubtless there were some whose hearts rose that night above the sordid thoughts of gain and gold; but few such were recognisable by their fellow-men, compared with the numerous votaries of sin and so-called pleasure. towards midnight, captain bunting turned in, ordering the steward to call him at daybreak; and shortly afterwards the mate retired, having previously looked round the deck and spoken the watch. a few minutes after, elliot and his comrades appeared on deck, with their boots and small bundles in their hands. "is all right?" whispered elliot. "all right!" replied one of the watch. nothing more was said; the boat was hauled softly alongside, and held firmly there while two men descended and muffled the oars; then one by one the men slid down the side, and a bag of biscuit and a junk of beef were lowered into it by the second mate, who was one of the conspirators. at that moment the first mate came on deck, and went forward to inquire what was wrong. "it's something in the boat, sir," replied the second mate. the mate looked over the side, and the sailors felt that they must be discovered, and that their plans were about to be frustrated. but the second mate was a man of decision. he suddenly seized williams round the neck, and, covering his mouth with his hand, held him as if in a vice until he was secured and gagged. "shall we leave him!" whisperingly inquired one of the men. "no, he'd manage to kick up a row; take him with us." the helpless mate was immediately passed over the side, the rope was cast off; and the boat floated softly away. at first, the oars were dipped so lightly that no sound was heard, even by those on board, except the drops of brine that trickled from the blades as they rose from the water; then, as the distance increased, the strokes were given more vigorously, and, at last, the men bent to it "with a will;" and they were soon shooting over the vast bay in the direction of the sacramento river, up which they meant to proceed to the "diggings." with the exception of o'neil and jones, who had already reached the diggings in their dreams, the whole crew, sixteen in all, levanted, leaving captain bunting to navigate the ship back to old england as he best might. it is easier to conceive than to describe the feelings of the captain, when, on the following morning, he discovered that his crew had fled. he stamped, and danced, and tugged his hair, and pursed up his lips so tight that nothing but an occasional splutter escaped them! then he sat down on the cabin skylight, looked steadily at ned, who came hurriedly on deck in his shirt and drawers to see what was wrong, and burst into a prolonged fit of laughter. "hallo, captain! what's up!" "nothin', lad, ha! ha! oh yes, human flesh is up, ned; sailors is riz, an' we've been sold;--we have--uncommon!" hereupon the captain roared again; but there was a slight peculiarity in the tone, that indicated a strong infusion of rage with the seeming merriment. "they're all gone--every man, jack," said jones, with a face of deep solemnity, as he stood looking at the captain. "so they are, the blackguards; an' that without biddin' us good mornin', bad luck to them," added o'neil. at first, ned sinton felt little disposed to take a comic view of the affair, and urged the captain strongly to take the lightest boat and set off in pursuit; but the latter objected to this. "it's of no use," he said, "the ship can't be repaired here without heavy expense; so, as i don't mean to go to sea again for some time, the desertion of the men matters little after all." "not go to sea again!" exclaimed ned, in surprise. "what, then, do you mean to do?" "that's more than i can tell. i must see first how the cargo is to be disposed of; after that, it will be time enough to concoct plans for the future. it is quite clear that the tide of luck is out about as far as it can go just now; perhaps it may turn soon." "no doubt of it, captain," cried his young _protege_ with a degree of energy that shewed he had made up his mind as to what _his_ course should be, in the event of things coming to the worst. "i'll go down and put on a few more articles of clothing, and then we'll have a talk over matters." the "talk," which was held over the breakfast-table in the cabin, resulted in the captain resolving to go ashore, and call on a scotch merchant, named thompson, to whom he had a letter of introduction. half-an-hour later this resolve was carried out. jones rowed them ashore in the smallest boat they had, and sculled back to the ship, leaving o'neil with them to assist in carrying up two boxes which were consigned to mr thompson. the quay on which they stood was crowded with men of all nations, whose excited looks, and tones, and "go-ahead" movements, testified to the high-pressure speed with which business in san francisco was transacted. "it's more nor i can do to carry them two boxes at wance," said larry o'neil, regarding them with a puzzled look, "an' sorra a porter do i see nowhere." as he spoke, a tall, gentlemanly-looking young man, in a red-flannel shirt, round-crowned wide-awake, long boots, and corduroys, stepped forward, and said, "i'll help you, if you like." "d'ye think ye can lift it!" inquired larry, with a dubious look. the youth replied by seizing one of the boxes, and lifting it with ease on his shoulder, shewing that, though destitute of fat, he had more than the average allowance of bone and sinew. "i doubt if you could do it better than that yourself, larry," said ned, laughing. "come along, now, close at our heels, lest we get separated in the crowd." the young porter knew the residence of mr thompson well, and guided them swiftly through the crowded thoroughfares towards it. passing completely through the town, he led them over the brow of one of the sand-hills beyond it, and descended into a little valley, where several neat villas were scattered along the sides of a pleasant green slope, that descended towards another part of the bay. turning into the little garden in front of one of these villas, he placed the box on the wooden platform before the door, and said, "this is mr thompson's house." there was something striking in the appearance of this young porter; he seemed much above his station in life; and ned sinton regarded his bronzed and handsome, but somewhat haggard and dissipated countenance, with interest, as he drew out his purse, and asked what was to pay. "two dollars," answered the man. ned looked up in surprise. the idea of paying eight shillings for so slight a service had never entered his imagination. at that moment the door opened, and mr thompson appeared, and invited them to enter. he was a shrewd, business-like man, with stern, but kind expression of countenance. "come in, come in, and welcome to california," he said, on perusing the captain's letter of introduction. "glad to see you, gentlemen. you've not had breakfast, of course; we are just about to sit down. this way," he added, throwing open the door of a comfortable and elegantly-furnished parlour. "bring the boxes into the passage--that will do. here, lizette, pay the men, dear; two dollars a-piece, i fancy--" "excuse me," interrupted captain bunting, "only one bas to be paid, the other is one of my sailors." "ah! very good; which is he?" larry o'neil stepped forward, hat in hand. "go in there, my man, and cook will attend to you." larry passed through the doorway pointed out with a pleasant, fluttering sensation at the heart, which was quickly changed to a feeling of considerable disappointment on discovering that "cook" was a negro. meanwhile lizette took two dollars from her purse, and bowing modestly to the strangers as she passed out of the room, advanced with them towards the young porter. now, lizette was _not_ beautiful--few women are, in the highest sense of the term, and the few who are, are seldom interesting; but she was pretty, and sweet, and innocent, and just turned sixteen. fortunately for the male part of the world, there are many such. she had light-brown hair, which hung in dishevelled curls all round, a soft fair complexion, blue eyes, and a turned-up nose--a pert little nose that said plainly, "i _will_ have my own way; now see if i don't." but the heart that animated the body to which that nose belonged, was a good, kind, earnest one; therefore, the nose having its own way was rather a blessing than otherwise to those happy individuals who dwelt habitually in the sunshine of lizette's presence. at this particular time, ladies were scarce in california. the immense rush of men from all parts of the earth to the diggings had not been accompanied as yet by a corresponding rush of women, consequently the sight of a female face was, as it always ought to be, a source of comfort to mankind. we say "comfort" advisedly, because life at the gold-mines was a hard, riotous, mammon-seeking, rugged, and, we regret to say it, ungodly life; and men, in whom the soft memories of "other days" were not entirely quenched, had need, sometimes, of the comforting reflection that there still existed beings on the earth who didn't rant, and roar, and drink, and swear, and wear beards, and boots, and bowie-knives. there was double cause, then, for the gaze of respectful admiration with which the young porter regarded lizette, as she said, "here is your fare, porter," and put the money into his hand, which he did not even thank her for, but continued to hold extended as if he wished her to take it back again. lizette did not observe the gaze, for she turned away immediately after giving him the money, and re-entered the parlour, whereupon the youth thrust both hands into his breeches-pockets, left the house, and returned slowly to the city, with the expression on his countenance of one who had seen a ghost. meanwhile captain bunting and ned sinton sat down with their host and hostess to a second breakfast, over which the former related the circumstances of the double loss of his crew and cargo. "you are unfortunate," said mr thompson, when the captain paused; "but there are hundreds in nearly the same predicament. many of the fine-looking vessels you see in the harbour have lain helplessly there for months, the crews having taken french leave, and gone off to the diggings." "it's awkward," said the captain, with a troubled expression, as he slowly raised a square lump of pork to his mouth; "what would you advise me to do?" "sell off the remnant of the cargo, and set up a floating boarding-house." the square lump of pork disappeared, as the captain thrust it into his cheek in order to say, "what?" with a look of intense amazement. lizette laughed inadvertently, and, feeling that this was somewhat rude, she, in her effort to escape, plunged deeper into misfortune by turning to sinton, with a blushing countenance, and asking him to take another cup of tea--a proposal that was obviously absurd, seeing that she had a moment before filled up his second cup. thus suddenly appealed to, ned stammered, "thank you--if you--ah!--no, thank you, not any more." "set up a floating boarding establishment," reiterated the merchant, in a tone of decision that caused them all to laugh heartily. "it may sound strange," he continued, "but i assure you it's not a bad speculation. the captain of an american schooner, whose crew deserted the very day she arrived, turned his vessel into a floating boarding-house, about two months ago, and i believe he's making a fortune." "indeed," ejaculated the captain, helping himself to another mass of pork, and accepting lizette's proffer of a third cup of tea. "you have no idea," continued the merchant, as he handed the bread to ned, and pressed him to eat--"you have no idea of the strange state of things here just now, and the odd ways in which men make money. owing to the rush of immigrants everything is enormously dear, and house-room is not to be had for love or money, so that if you were to fit up your ship for the purpose you could fill it at once. at the various hotels in the city an ordinary meal at the _table d'hote_ costs from two to three dollars--eight and twelve shillings of our money--and there are some articles that bear fabulous prices. it's a fact that eggs at this moment sell at a shilling each, and onions and potatoes at the same price; but then wages are enormously high. how long this state of things will last no one can tell; in the meantime, hundreds of men are making fortunes. only the other day a ship arrived from new york, and one of the passengers, a `'cute' fellow, had brought out fifteen hundred copies of several newspapers, which he sold for a dollar each in less than two hours! then, rents are tremendous. you will scarcely believe me when i tell you that the rent paid by the landlord of one of the hotels here is 110,000 dollars--about 22,000 pounds--a year, and it is but a poor building too. my own warehouse, which is a building of only one storey, with a front of twenty feet, is rented to me at 40,000 dollars--8000 pounds a year--and rents are rising." ned and the captain leaned back in their chairs aghast at such statements, and began to entertain some doubts as to the sanity of their host; but the worthy merchant was a grave, quiet man, without a particle of romance in his composition, and he went on coolly telling them facts which ned afterwards said made his hair almost stand on end, when he thought of how little money he possessed, and how much he would have to pay for the bare necessaries of life. after some further converse on men and things in general, and on prospects at the mines, mr thompson said, "and now, captain bunting, i'll tell you what i'll do. i will go down to your ship, overhaul the cargo, and make you an offer for the whole in the lump, taking the saleable with the unsaleable. this will, at any rate, put you in funds at once, and enable you to follow what course seems best. will that suit you?" "it will," said the captain, "and thank 'ee. as for turning a boardin'-house keeper, i don't think i'm cut out for it. neither is my friend sinton, eh?" "certainly not," answered ned, laughing: "we might as well become washerwomen." "you'd make a pretty good thing of it if you did," retorted mr thompson; "would they not, lizette? you know more about these things than i do." "indeed, i cannot tell, papa, as i do not know the capabilities of our friends in that way; but i think the few washerwomen in the city must be making fortunes, for they charge two shillings a-piece for everything, large and small." "now, then, gentlemen," said the merchant, rising, "if you have quite finished, we will walk down to the harbour and inspect the goods." an arch smile played round lizette's lips as she shook hands with ned at parting, and she seemed on the point of speaking, but checked herself. "i beg pardon," said ned, pausing, "did you--" "oh, it was nothing!" said lizette; "i was only going to remark that-that if you set up in the washing line, i shall be happy to give you all the work i can." "ahem!" coughed ned gravely, "and if we should set up in the _other_ line, will you kindly come and board with us?" "hallo, ned, what's keeping you?" roared the captain. "coming," shouted ned, as he ran after him. "where has larry o'neil gone?" "he's away down before us to have a look at the town. we shall find him, i doubt not, cruising about the quay." in a few minutes the three friends were wending their way through the crowded streets back to the shore. chapter seven. the fate of the roving bess--gambling scenes--mr. sinton makes a new friend--larry o'neil makes money in strange ways--a murder, and a beggar's death--ned becomes a poor man's heir. the remnant of the cargo of the _roving bess_ proved to be worth comparatively little--less even than had been anticipated. after a careful inspection, mr thompson offered to purchase it "in the slump" for 1000 dollars--about 200 pounds sterling. this was a heavy blow to poor captain bunting, who had invested his all--the savings of many years--in the present unfortunate venture. however, his was not a nature to brood over misfortunes that could not be avoided, so he accepted the sum with the best grace he might, and busied himself during the next few days in assisting the merchant to remove the bales. during this period he did not converse much with any one, but meditated seriously on the steps he ought to take. from all that he heard, it seemed impossible to procure hands to man the ship at that time, so he began to entertain serious thoughts of "taking his chance" at the diggings after all. he was by nature averse to this, however; and had nearly made up his mind to try to beat up recruits for the ship, when an event occurred that settled the matter for him rather unexpectedly. this event was the bursting out of a hurricane, or brief but violent squall, which, before assistance could be procured, dragged the _roving bess_ from her moorings, and stranded her upon the beach, just below the town. here was an end to sea-faring prospects. the whole of his limited capital would not have paid for a tenth part of the labour necessary to refloat the ship, so he resolved to leave her on the beach, and go to the diggings. mr thompson advised him to sell the hull, as it would fetch a good price for the sake of the timber, which at that time was much wanted in the town, but the captain had still a lurking hope that he might get his old ship afloat at some future period, and would not hear of it. "what," said he, "sell the _roving bess_, which stands _a1_ at lloyd's, to be broken up to build gold-diggers houses? i trow not. no, no; let her lie where she is in peace." on the day after the squall, as ned and the captain were standing on the shore regarding their late floating, and now grounded, home in sad silence, a long-legged, lantern-jawed man, in dirty canvas trousers, long boots, a rough coat, and broad straw hat, with an enormous cigar in his mouth, and both hands in his trousers-pockets, walked up and accosted them. it did not require a second glance to know that he was a yankee. "guess that 'ere's pretty wall fixed up, stranger," he said, addressing the captain, and pointing with his nose to the stranded vessel. "it is," answered the captain, shortly. "fit for nothin' but firewood, i calculate." to this the captain made no reply. "i say, stranger," continued the yankee, "i wouldn't mind to give 'e 1000 dollars for her slick off." "i don't wish to sell her," replied the captain. "say 1500," replied the man. "i tell you, i _won't_ sell her." "no! now that _is_ kurous. will 'e loan her, then!" here ned whispered a few words to the captain, who nodded his head, and, turning to the yankee, said-"how much will you give?" "wall, i reckon, she's too far out to drive a screamin' trade, but i don't mind sayin' 100 dollars a month." after some consultation with ned, and a little more talk with the yankee, captain bunting agreed to this proposal, only stipulating that the bargain should hold good for a year, that the hull should not be cut or damaged in any way, and that the rent should be paid in advance into the hands of mr thompson, as he himself was about to proceed to the gold-fields. having sealed and settled this piece of business at a neighbouring tavern, where the yankee--major whitlaw--ordered a "brandy-smash" for himself and two "gin-slings" for his companions, (which they civilly declined, to his intense amazement,) the contracting parties separated. "that's rather a sudden transfer of our good ship," said ned, laughing, as they walked towards the plaza, or principal square of the town, where some of the chief hotels and gambling-houses were situated. "i feel half sorry for havin' done it," replied the captain; "however, it can't be helped now, so i'll away to our friend thompson's office, and tell him about it." "then i shall wander about here until you return. it will be dinner time at the hotels two hours hence. suppose we meet at the parker house, and talk over our future plans while we discuss a chop?" to this the captain agreed, and then hurried off to his friend's office, while ned entered the hotel. a large portion of this building was rented by gamblers, who paid the enormous sum of 60,000 dollars a year for it, and carried on their villainous and degrading occupation in it night and day. the chief games played were monte and faro, but no interest attached to the games _as such_, the winning or losing of money was that which lent fascination to the play. ned had intended to stroll through the hotel and observe the various visitors who thronged the bar, but the crash of a brass band in the gambling-saloons awakened his curiosity, and induced him to enter. the scene that met his eyes was, perhaps, the strangest and the saddest he had ever looked upon. the large saloon was crowded with representatives of almost every civilised nation under the sun. english, scotch, irish, yankees, french, russians, turks, chinese, mexicans, indians, malays, jews, and negroes--all were there in their national costumes, and all were, more or less, under the fascinating influence of the reigning vice of california, and especially of san francisco. the jargon of excited voices can neither be conceived nor described. crowds surrounded the monte tables, on which glittering piles of gold and silver coin were passing from hand to hand according to varying fortune. the characteristics--and we may add the worst passions--of the various nations were ever and anon brought strongly out. the german and spaniard laid down their money, and lost or won without a symptom of emotion; the turk stroked his beard as if with the view of keeping himself cool; the russian looked stolid and indifferent; the frenchman started, frowned, swore, and occasionally clutched his concealed pistol or bowie-knife; while the yankee stamped and swore. but, indeed, the men of all nations cursed and swore in that terrible place. those who dwelt in the city staked gold and silver coin, while the men just returned from the mines staked gold-dust and nuggets. these last were conspicuous from their rough clothing, rugged, bronzed, and weather-worn countenances. many of them played most recklessly. several successful diggers staked immense sums, and either doubled or lost, in two or three throws, the hard earnings of many months of toil, and left the rooms penniless. at one end of the saloon there was a counter, with a plentiful supply of stimulants to feed the excitement of the wretched gamblers; and the waiter here was kept in constant employment. ned had never been within the unhallowed precincts of a gambling-house before, and it was with a feeling of almost superstitious dread that he approached the table, and looked on. a tall, burly, bearded miner stepped forward at the moment and placed a huge purse of gold-dust on the table-"now, then," he cried, with a reckless air, "here goes--neck or nothin'." "nothin'!" he muttered with a fearful oath, as the president raked the purse into his coffers. the man rose and strode sullenly from the room, his fingers twitching nervously about the hilt of his bowie-knife; an action which the president observed, but heeded not, being prepared with a concealed revolver for whatever might occur. immediately another victim stepped forward, staked five hundred dollars--and won. he staked again a thousand dollars--and won; then he rose, apparently resolved to tempt fickle fortune no more, and left the saloon. as he retired his place was filled by a young man who laid down the small sum of two dollars. fortune favoured this man for a long time, and his pile of dollars gradually increased until he became over-confident and staked fully half of his gains--and lost. ned's attention was drawn particularly to this player, whom he thought he had seen before. on looking more fixedly at him, he recognised the young porter who had carried up the box to the merchant's house. his next stake was again made recklessly. he laid down all he possessed-and lost. then he rose suddenly, and drawing a pistol from his breast, rushed towards the door. none of the players who crowded the saloon paid him more than momentary attention. it mattered not to them whether he meditated suicide or murder. they made way for him to pass, and then, closing in, were deep again in the all-absorbing game. but our hero was not thus callous. a strong feeling of sympathy filled his breast, prompting him to spring through the doorway, and catch the youth by the shoulder just as he gained the street. he turned round instantly, and presented the revolver at ned's breast, but the latter caught his right arm in his powerful grasp and held it in the air. "be calm, my poor fellow," he said, "i mean you no harm; i only wish to have a word of conversation with you. you are an englishman, i perceive." the young man's head fell on his breast, and he groaned aloud. "come, come," said ned, releasing his arm, "don't give way like that." "i'm lost," said the youth, bitterly. "i have struggled against this passion for gaming, but it has overcome me again and again. it is vain to fight against it any longer." "not a bit of it, man," said ned, in a cheering tone, as he drew the arm of the young man within his own, and led him slowly along the street. "you are excited just now by your disappointments. let us walk together a while, for i have something to say to you. i am quite a stranger here, and it's a comfort to have a countryman to talk with." the kind words, and earnest, hearty manner of our hero, had the effect of soothing the agitated feelings of his new friend, and of winning his confidence. in the course of half-an-hour, he drew from him a brief account of his past history. his name, he said, was collins; he was the son of a clergyman, and had received a good education. five years before the period of which we now write, he had left his home in england, and gone to sea, being at that time sixteen years of age. for three years he served before the mast in a south-sea whale-ship, and then returned home to find his father and mother dead. having no near relations alive, and not a sixpence in the world, he turned once more towards the sea, with a heavy heart and an empty pocket, obtained a situation as second mate in a trading vessel which was about to proceed to the sandwich islands. encountering a heavy gale on the western coast of south america, his vessel was so much disabled as to be compelled to put into the harbour of san francisco for repairs. here the first violent attack of the gold-fever had set in. the rush of immigrants was so great, that goods of all kinds were selling at fabulous prices, and the few bales that happened to be on board the ship were disposed off for twenty times their value. the captain was in ecstasies, and purposed sailing immediately to the nearest civilised port for a cargo of miscellaneous goods; but the same fate befell him which afterwards befell captain bunting, and many hundreds of others--the crew deserted to the mines. thereupon the captain and young collins also betook themselves to the gold-fields, leaving the ship to swing idly at her anchor. like most of the first arrivals at the mines, collins was very successful, and would soon--in diggers' parlance--have "made his pile,"--i.e. his fortune, had not scurvy attacked and almost killed him; compelling him to return to san francisco in search of fresh vegetables and medicine, neither of which, at that time, could be obtained at the mines for love or money. he recovered slowly; but living in san francisco was so expensive that, ere his health was sufficiently recruited to enable him to return to the gold-fields, his funds were well-nigh exhausted. in order to recruit them he went, in an evil hour, to the gaming-saloons, and soon became an inveterate gambler. in the providence of god he had been led, some years before, to become an abstainer from all intoxicating drinks, and, remaining firm to his pledge throughout the course of his downward career, was thus saved from the rapid destruction which too frequently overtook those who to the exciting influences of gambling added the maddening stimulus of alcohol. but the constant mental fever under which he laboured was beginning to undermine a naturally-robust constitution, and to unstring the nerves of a well-made, powerful frame. sometimes, when fortune favoured him, he became suddenly possessor of a large sum of money, which he squandered in reckless gaiety, often, however, following the dictates of an amiable, sympathetic disposition, he gave the most of it away to companions and acquaintances in distress. at other times he had not wherewith to pay for his dinner, in which case he took the first job that offered in order to procure a few dollars. being strong and active, he frequently went down to the quays and offered his services as a porter to any of the gold-hunters who were arriving in shoals from all parts of the world. it was thus, as we have seen, that he first met with ned sinton and his friends. all this, and a great deal more, did ned worm out of his companion in the course of half-an-hour's stroll in the plaza. "now," said he, when collins had finished, "i'm going to make a proposal to you. i feel very much interested in all that you have told me; to be candid with you, i like your looks, and i like your voice--in fact, i like _yourself_, and--but what's your christian name?" "tom," replied the other. "very well; then i'll call you tom in future, and you'll call me ned. now, tom, you must come with me and captain bunting to the gold-fields, and try your fortune over again--nay, don't shake your head, i know what you would say, you have no money to equip yourself, and you won't be indebted to strangers, and all that sort of stuff; but that won't do, my boy. i'm not a stranger; don't i know all your history from first to last?" tom collins sighed. "well, perhaps i don't know it all, but i know the most of it, and besides, i feel as if i had known you all my life--" "ned," interrupted the other, in an earnest tone of voice, "i feel your kindness very much--no one has spoken to me as you have done since i came to the diggings--but i cannot agree to your proposal to-day. meet me at the parker house to-morrow, at this time, and i shall give you a final answer." "but why not give it now?" "because--because, i want to--to get paid for a job i expect to get--" "tom," said ned, stopping and laying his hand on the shoulder of his companion, while he looked earnestly into his face, "let us begin our friendship with mutual candour. do you not intend to make a few dollars, and then try to increase them by another throw at the gaming-table!" the youth's brow flushed slightly as he answered, "you are right, i had half an intention of trying my fortune for the last time--" "then," said ned firmly and emphatically, "you shall do nothing of the sort. gambling for money is a mean, pitiful, contemptible thing--don't frown, my dear fellow, i do not apply these terms to _you_, i apply them to the principle of gambling--a principle which you do not hold, as i know from your admission, made to me not many minutes ago, that you have often striven against the temptation. many men don't realise the full extent of the sinfulness of many of their practices, but although that renders them less culpable, it does not render them innocent, much less does it justify the evil practices. gambling is all that i have styled it, and a great deal worse; and you _must_ give it up--i insist on it. moreover, tom, i insist on your coming to dine with me at the parker house. i shall introduce you to my friend captain bunting, whom you already know by sight--so come along." "well, i will," said tom, smiling at his friend's energy, but still hanging back; "but you must permit me to go to my lodgings first. i shall be back immediately." "very good. remember, we dine in the course of an hour, so be punctual." while tom collins hurried away to his lodgings, ned sinton proceeded towards the shores of the bay in a remarkably happy frame of mind, intending to pass his leisure hour in watching the thousands of interesting and amusing incidents that were perpetually taking place on the crowded quays, where the passengers from a newly-arrived brig were looking in bewildered anxiety after their luggage, and calling for porters; where traffic, by means of boats, between the fleet and the land created constant confusion and hubbub; where men of all nations bargained for the goods of all climes in every known tongue. while he gazed in silence at the exciting and almost bewildering scene, his attention was attracted to a group of men, among whose vociferating tones he thought he distinguished familiar voices. "that's it; here's your man, sir," cried one, bursting from the crowd with a huge portmanteau on his shoulder. "now, then, where'll i steer to?" "right ahead to the best hotel," answered a slim yankee, whose black coat, patent-leather boots, and white kids, in such a place, told plainly enough that a superfine dandy had mistaken his calling. "ay, ay, sir!" shouted bill jones, as he brushed past ned, in his new capacity of porter. "faix, ye've cotched a live yankee!" exclaimed a voice there was no mistaking, as the owner slapped bill on the shoulder. "he'll make yer fortin', av ye only stick by him. he's just cut out for the diggin's, av his mother wos here to take care of him." larry o'neil gave a chuckle, slapped his pockets, and cut an elephantine caper, as he turned from contemplating the retreating figure of his shipmate's employer, and advanced towards the end of the quay. "now, thin, who's nixt?" cried he, holding out both arms, and looking excited, as if he were ready to carry off any individual bodily in his arms to any place, for mere love, without reference to money. "don't all spake at wance. tshoo dollars a mile for anythin' onder a ton, an' yerself on the top of it for four! horoo, mister sinton, darlint, is it yerself? och, but this is the place intirely--goold and silver for the axin' a'most! ah, ye needn't grin. look here!" larry plunged both hands into the pockets of his trousers, and pulled them forth full of half and quarter dollars, with a few shining little nuggets of gold interspersed among them. ned opened his eyes in amazement, and, taking his excited comrade apart from the crowd, asked how he had come by so much money. "come by it!" he exclaimed; "ye could come by twice the sum, av ye liked. sure, didn't i find that they wos chargin' tshoo dollars--aiqual to eight shillin's, i'm towld--for carryin' a box or portmanter the length o' me fut; so i turns porter all at wance, an' faix i made six dollars in less nor an hour. but as i was comin' back, i says to myself, says i, `larry, ye'll be the better of a small glass o' somethin'--eh!' so in i goes to a grog-shop, and faix i had to pay half-a-dollar for a thimbleful o' brandy, bad luck to them, as would turn the stomik o' a pig. i almost had a round wi' the landlord; but they towld me it wos the same iverywhere. so i wint and had another in the nixt shop i sees, jist to try; and it was thrue. then a yankee spies my knife,--the great pig-sticker that bob short swopped wi' me for my junk o' plum-duff off the cape. it seems they've run out o' sich articles just at this time, and would give handfuls o' goold for wan. so says i, `wot'll ye give?' "`three dollars, i guess,' says wan. "`four,' says another; `he's chaitin' ye.' "`four's bid,' says i, mountin' on a keg o' baccy, and howldin up the knife; `who says more? it's the rale steel, straight from manchester or connaught, i misremimber which. warranted to cut both ways, av ye only turn the idge round, and shove with a will.' "i begood in joke; but faix they took me up in arnest, an' run up the price to twinty dollars--four pounds, as sure as me name's larry--before i know'd where i wos. i belave i could ha' got forty for it, but i hadn't the heart to ax more, for it wasn't worth a brass button." "you've made a most successful beginning, larry. have you any more knives like that one?" "sorrow a wan--more's the pity. but that's only a small bit o' me speckilations. i found six owld newspapers in the bottom o' me chist, and, would ye belave it, i sowld 'em, ivery wan, for half-a-dollar the pace; and i don't rightly know how much clear goold i've got by standin' all mornin' at the post-office." "standing at the post-office! what do you mean?" "nother more or less nor what i say. i suppose ye know the mail's comed in yisterday morning; so says i to myself this mornin', `ye've got no livin' sowl in the owld country that's likely to write to ye, but ye better go, for all that, an' ax if there's letters. maybe there is; who knows?' so away i wint, and sure enough i found a row o' men waitin' for their letters; so i crushes for'ard--och! but i thought they'd ha' hung me on the spot,--and i found it was a rule that `first come first sarved--fair play and no favour.' they wos all standin' wan behind another in a line half-a-mile long av it wos a fut, as patient as could be; some readin' the noosepapers, and some drinkin' coffee and tay and grog, that wos sowld by men as went up an' down the line the whole mornin'. so away i goes to the end o' the line, an' took my place, detarmined to stand it out; and, in three minutes, i had a tail of a dozen men behind me. `faix, larry,' says i, `it's the first time ye iver comminced at the end of a thing in order to git to the beginnin'.' "well, when i wos gittin' pretty near the post-office windy, i hears the chap behind me a-sayin' to the fellow behind him that he expected no letters, but only took up his place in the line to sell it to them what did. an' sure enough i found that lots o' them were there on the same errand. just then up comes a miner, in big boots and a wide-awake. "`och,' says he, `who'll sell me a place?' and with that he offered a lot o' pure goold lumps. "`guess it's too little,' says the man next me. "`ah, ye thievin' blackguard!' says i. `here, yer honer, i'll sell ye my place for half the lot. i can wait for me letter, more be token i'm not sure there is wan.' for, ye see, i wos riled at the yankee's greed. so out i steps, and in steps the miner, and hands me the whole he'd offered at first. "`take them, my man,' says he; `you're an honest fellow, and it's a trate to meet wan here.'" "capital," cried ned, laughing heartily; "and you didn't try for a letter after all?" "porter there?" shouted a voice from the quay. "that's me, yer honer. here ye are," replied the irishman, bounding away with a yell, and shouldering a huge leathern trunk, with which he vanished from the scene, leaving ned to pursue the train of thought evoked by his account of his remarkable experiences. we deem it necessary here to assure the reader that the account given by larry o'neil of his doings was by no means exaggerated. the state of society, and the eccentricities of traffic displayed in san francisco and other californian cities during the first years of the gold-fever, beggars all description. writers on that place and period find difficulty in selecting words and inventing similes in order to convey anything like an adequate idea of their meaning. even eye-witnesses found it almost impossible, to believe the truth of what they heard and saw; and some have described the whole circle of life and manners there to have been more like to the wild, incongruous whirl of a pantomime than to the facts of real life. even in the close and abrupt juxtaposition of the ludicrous and the horrible this held good. ned sinton had scarcely parted from his hilarious shipmate, when he was attracted by shouts, as if of men quarrelling, in a gaming-house; and, a few moments later, the report of a pistol was heard, followed by a sharp cry of agony. rushing into the house, and forcing his way through the crowd, he reached the table in time to see the bloody corpse of a man carried out. this unfortunate had repeatedly lost large sums of money, and, growing desperate, staked his all on a final chance. he lost; and, drawing his bowie-knife, in the heat of despair, rushed at the president of the table. a dozen arms arrested him, and rendered his intended assault abortive; nevertheless, the president coolly drew a revolver from under the cloth, and shot him dead. for a few minutes there was some attempt at disturbance, and some condemned, while others justified the act. but the body was removed, and soon the game went on again as if nothing had occurred. sickened with the sight, ned hurried from the house, and walked rapidly towards the shores of the bay, beyond the limits of the canvas town, where he could breathe the free ocean air, and wander on the sands in comparative solitude. the last straggling tent in that quarter was soon behind bun, and he stopped by the side of an old upturned boat, against which he leaned, and gazed out upon the crowded bay with saddened feelings. as he stood in contemplation, he became aware of a sound, as if of heaving, plethoric breathing under the boat. starting up, he listened intently, and heard a faint groan. he now observed, what had escaped his notice before, that the boat against which he leaned was a human habitation. a small hole near the keel admitted light, and possibly, at times, emitted smoke. hastening round to the other side, he discovered a small aperture, which served as a doorway. it was covered with a rag of coarse canvas, which he lifted, and looked in. "who's there?" inquired a voice, as sharply as extreme weakness would allow. "have a care! there's a revolver pointing at your head. if you come in without leave, i'll blow out your brains." "i am a friend," said ned, looking towards the further end of the boat, where, on a couch of straw, lay the emaciated form of a middle-aged man. "put down your pistol, friend; my presence here is simply owing to the fact that i heard you groan, and i would relieve your distress, if it is in my power." "you are the first that has said so since i lay down here," sighed the man, falling back heavily. ned entered, and, advancing as well as he could in a stooping posture, sat down beside the sick man's pallet, and felt his pulse. then he looked anxiously in his face, on which the hand of death was visibly placed. "my poor fellow!" said ned, in a soothing tone, "you are very ill, i fear. have you no one to look after you?" "ill!" replied the sick man, almost fiercely, "i am dying. i have seen death too often, and know it too well, to be mistaken." his voice sank to a whisper as he added, "it is not far off now." for a few seconds ned could not make up his mind what to say. he felt unwilling to disturb the last moments of the man. at last he leaned forward, and repeated from memory several of the most consoling passages of scripture. twice over he said, "though thy sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as wool," and, "him that cometh unto me, (christ), i will in no wise cast out." the man appeared to listen, but made no reply. suddenly he started up, and, leaning on his elbow, looked with an awfully earnest stare into ned's face. "young man, gold is good--gold is good--remember that, _if you don't make it your god_." after a pause, he continued, "_i_ made it my god. i toiled for it night and day, in heat and cold, wet and dry. i gave up everything for it; i spent all my time in search of it--and i got it--and what good can it do me _now_? i have spent night and day here for weeks, threatening to shoot any one who should come near my gold--ha!" he added, sharply, observing that his visitor glanced round the apartment, "you'll not find it _here_. no, look, look round, peer into every corner, tear up every plank of my boat, and you'll find nothing but rotten wood, and dust, and rusty nails." "be calm, my friend," said ned, who now believed that the poor man's mind was wandering, "i don't want your gold; i wish to comfort you, if i can. would you like me to do anything for you after--" "after i'm dead," said the man, abruptly. "no, nothing. i have no relations--no friends--no enemies, even, _now_. yes," he added, quickly, "i have one friend. _you_ are my friend. you have spoken kindly to me--a beggar. you deserve the name of friend. listen, i want you to be my heir. see here, i have had my will drawn up long ago, with the place for the name left blank i had intended--but no matter--what is your name?" "edward sinton." "here, hand me that ink-horn, and the pen. there," continued the man, pushing the paper towards him, "i have made over to you the old boat, and the ground it lies on. both are mine. the piece of ground is marked off by four posts. take care of the--" the man's voice sank to a mere whisper; then it ceased suddenly. when ned looked at him again, he started, for the cold hand of death had sealed his lips for ever. a feeling of deep, intense pity filled the youth's heart, as he gazed on the emaciated form of this friendless man--yet he experienced a sensation approaching almost to gladness, when he remembered that the last words he had spoken to him were those of our blessed saviour to the chief of sinners. spreading the ragged piece of canvas that formed a quilt over the dead man's face, he rose, and left the strange dwelling, the entrance to which he secured, and then hastened to give information of the death to the proper authorities. ned was an hour too late for dinner when he arrived at the hotel, where he found captain bunting and his new friend awaiting him in some anxiety. hastily informing them of the cause of his detention, he introduced them to each other, and forgot for a time the scene of death he had just witnessed, in talking over plans for the future, and in making arrangements for a trip to the diggings. chapter eight. our hero and his friends start for the diggings--the captain's portrait--costumes, and scenery, and surprises--the ranche by the road-side--strange travellers--they meet with a new friend, and adopt him--the hunter's story--larry offers to fight a yankee--high prices and empty purses. ovid never accomplished a metamorphosis more striking or complete than that effected by captain bunting upon his own proper person. we have said, elsewhere, that the worthy captain was a big, broad man, with a shaggy head of hair, and red whiskers. moreover, when he landed in san francisco, he wore a blue coat, with clear brass buttons, blue vest, blue trousers, and a glazed straw hat; but in the course of a week he effected such a change in his outward man, that his most intimate friend would have failed to recognise him. no brigand of the pyrenees ever looked more savage--no robber of the stage ever appeared more outrageously fierce. we do not mean to say that captain bunting "got himself up" for the purpose of making himself conspicuous. he merely donned the usual habiliments of a miner; but these habiliments were curious, and the captain's figure in them was unusually remarkable. in order that the reader may have a satisfactory view of the captain, we will change the scene, and proceed at once to that part of the road to the gold-fields which has now been reached by our adventurers. it is a wide plain, or prairie, on which the grass waves like the waters of the sea. on one side it meets the horizon, on another it is bounded by the faint and far-distant range of the sierra nevada. thousands of millions of beautiful wild-flowers spangle and beautify the soft green carpet, over which spreads a cloudless sky, not a whit less blue and soft than the vaunted sky of italy. herds of deer are grazing over the vast plain, like tame cattle. wild geese and other water-fowl wing their way through the soft atmosphere, and little birds twitter joyously among the flowers. everything is bright, and green, and beautiful; for it is spring, and the sun has not yet scorched the grass to a russet-brown, and parched and cracked the thirsty ground, and banished animal and vegetable life away, as it will yet do, ere the hot summer of those regions is past and gone. there is but one tree in all that vast plain. it is a sturdy oak, and near it bubbles a cool, refreshing spring, over which, one could fancy, it had been appointed guardian. the spot is hundreds of miles from san francisco, on the road to the gold-mines of california. beneath that solitary oak a party of weary travellers have halted, to rest and refresh themselves and their animals; or, as the diggers have it, to take their "nooning." in the midst of that party sits our captain, on the back of a long-legged mule. on his head is, or, rather, was--for he has just removed it, in order to wipe the perspiration from his forehead--a brown felt wide-awake, very much battered in appearance, suggesting the idea that the captain had used it constantly as a night-cap, which, indeed, is the fact. nothing but a flannel shirt, of the brightest possible scarlet, clothes the upper portion of his burly frame, while brown corduroys adorn the lower. boots of the most ponderous dimensions engulf, not only his feet, but his entire legs, leaving only a small part of the corduroys visible. on his heels, or, rather, just above his heels, are strapped a pair of enormous mexican spurs, with the frightful prongs of which he so lacerated the sides of his unfortunate mule, during the first part of the journey, as to drive that animal frantic, and cause it to throw him off at least six times a day. dire necessity has now, however, taught the captain that most difficult and rarely-accomplished feat of horsemanship, to ride with the toes well in, and the heels well out. round captain bunting's waist is a belt, which is of itself quite a study. it is made of tough cow-hide, full two and a half inches broad, and is fastened by a brass buckle that would cause the mouth of a robber-chief to water. attached to it in various ways and places are the following articles:--a bowie-knife of the largest size--not far short of a small cutlass; a pair of revolving pistols, also large, and having six barrels each; a stout leathern purse; and a leathern bag of larger dimensions for miscellaneous articles. as the captain has given up shaving for many weeks past, little of his face is visible, except the nose, eyes, and forehead. all besides is a rugged mass of red hair, which rough travel has rendered an indescribable and irreclaimable waste. but the captain cares not: as long as he can clear a passage through the brushwood to his mouth, he says, his mind is easy. such is captain bunting, and such, with but trifling modifications, is every member of his party. on ned sinton and his almost equally stalwart and handsome friend, tom collins, the picturesque costume of the miner sits well; and it gives a truly wild, dashing look to the whole party, as they stand beneath the shade of that lovely oak, preparing to refresh themselves with biscuit and jerked beef, and pipes of esteemed tobacco. besides those we have mentioned, larry o'neil is there,--busy carrying water in a bucket to the horses, and as proud of his mexican spurs as if they were the golden spurs of the days of chivalry. bill jones is there, with a blue instead of a red-flannel shirt, and coarse canvas ducks in place of corduroys. bill affects the sailor in other respects, for he scorns heavy boots, and wears shoes and a straw hat; but he is compelled to wear the spurs, for reasons best known to his intensely obstinate mule. there is also among them a native californian,--a _vaquero_, or herd,--who has been hired to accompany the party to the diggings, to look after the pack-mules, of which there are two, and to assist them generally with advice and otherwise. he is a fine athletic fellow--spanish-like, both in appearance and costume; and, in addition to bad spanish, gives utterance to a few sounds, which _he_ calls "encleesh." the upper part of his person is covered by the _serape_, or mexican cloak, which is simply a blanket, with a hole in its centre, through which the head of the wearer is thrust, the rest being left to fall over the shoulders. our travellers had reached the spot on which we now find them by means of a boat voyage of more than a hundred miles, partly over the great bay of san francisco, and partly up the sacramento river, until they reached the city of sacramento. here they purchased mules and provisions for the overland journey to the mines--a further distance of about a hundred and fifty miles,--and also the picks, shovels, axes, pewter plates, spoons, pans, and pannikins, and other implements and utensils that were necessary for a campaign among the golden mountains of the sierra nevada. for these the prices demanded were so enormous, that when all was ready for a start they had only a few dollars left amongst them. but being on their way to dig for gold, they felt little concern on this head. as the indians of the interior had committed several murders a short time before, and had come at various times into collision with the gold-diggers, it was deemed prudent to expend a considerable sum on arms and ammunition. each man, therefore, was armed with a rifle or carbine, a pistol of some sort, and a large knife or short sword. captain bunting selected a huge old bell-mouthed blunderbuss, having, as he said, a strong partiality for the weapons of his forefathers. among other things, ned, by advice of tom collins, purchased a few simple medicines; he also laid in a stock of drawing-paper, pencils, and water-colours, for his own special use, for which he paid so large a sum that he was ashamed to tell it to his comrades; but he was resolved not to lose the opportunity of representing life and scenery at the diggings, for the sake of old mr shirley, as well as for his own satisfaction. thus equipped they set forth. before leaving san francisco, the captain, and ned, and tom collins had paid a final visit to their friend the merchant, mr thompson, and committed their property to his care--i.e. the hull of the good ship _roving bess_--the rent of which he promised to collect monthly--and ned's curious property, the old boat and the little patch of barren sand, on which it stood. the boat itself he made over, temporarily, to a poor irishman who had brought out his wife with him, and was unable to proceed to the diggings in consequence of the said wife having fallen into a delicate state of health. he gave the man a written paper empowering him to keep possession until his return, and refused to accept of any rent whereat the poor woman thanked him earnestly, with the tears running down her pale cheeks. it was the hottest part of an exceedingly hot day when the travellers found themselves, as we have described, under the grateful shade of what larry termed the "lone oak." "now our course of proceeding is as follows," said ned, at the conclusion of their meal--"we shall travel all this afternoon, and as far into the night as the mules can be made to go. by that time we shall be pretty well off the level ground, and be almost within hail of the diggings--" "i don't belave it," said larry o'neil, knocking the ashes out of his pipe in an emphatic manner; "sure av there _was_ goold in the country we might have seed it by this time." larry's feelings were a verification of the words, "hope deferred maketh the heart sick." he had started enthusiastically many days before on this journey to the gold regions, under the full conviction that on the first or second day he would be, as he expressed it, "riding through fields of goold dust;" instead of which, day after day passed, and night after night, during which he endured all the agonies inseparable from a _first_ journey on horseback, and still not a symptom of gold was to be seen, "no more nor in owld ireland itself." but larry bore his disappointments like an irishman, and defied "fortin' to put him out of timper by any manes wotiver." "patience," said bill jones, removing his pipe to make room for the remark, "is a wirtue--that's wot i says. if ye can't make things better, wot then? why, let 'em alone. w'en there's no wind, crowd all canvas and ketch wot there is. w'en there _is_ wind, why then, steer yer course; or, if ye can't, steer as near it as ye can. anyhow, never back yer fore-topsail without a cause--them's my sentiments." "and very good sentiments they are, bill," said tom collins, jumping up and examining the girth of his horse; "i strongly advise you to adopt them, larry." "wot a bottle o' wisdom it is," said o'neil, with a look of affected contempt at his messmate. "wos it yer grandmother, now, or yer great wan, that edicated ye?--arrah, there ye go! oh, morther, ye'll break me heart!" the latter part of this remark was addressed to his mule, which at that moment broke its laryat, and gambolled gaily away over the flowering plain. its owner followed, yelling like a madman. he might as well have chased the wind; and it is probable that he would never have mounted his steed again had not the vaquero come to his aid. this man, leaping on his own horse, which was a very fine one, dashed after the runaway, with which he came up in a few minutes; then grasping the long coil of line that hung at his saddle-bow, he swung it round once or twice, and threw the lasso, or noose, adroitly over the mule's head, and brought it up. "yer a cliver fellow," said larry, as he came up, panting; "sure ye did it be chance?" the man smiled, and without deigning a reply, rode back to the camp, where the party were already in the saddle. in a few minutes they were trotting rapidly over the prairie. before evening closed, the travellers arrived at one of the road-side inns, or, as they were named, ranches, which were beginning at this time to spring up in various parts of the country, for the accommodation of gold-hunters on their way to the mines. this ranche belonged to a man of the name of dawson, who had made a few hundred dollars by digging, and then set up a grog-shop and house of entertainment, being wise enough to perceive that he could gain twice as much gold by supplying the diggers with the necessaries of life than he could hope to procure by digging. his ranche was a mere hovel, built of sun-dried bricks, and he dealt more in drinks than in edibles. the accommodation and provisions were of the poorest description, but, as there was no other house of entertainment near, mine host charged the highest possible prices. there was but one apartment in this establishment, and little or no furniture. several kegs and barrels supported two long pine planks which constituted at different periods of the day the counter, the gaming-table, and the _table d'hote_. a large cooking stove stood in the centre of the house, but there were no chairs; guests were expected to sit on boxes and empty casks, or stand. beds there were none. when the hour for rest arrived, each guest chose the portion of the earthen floor that suited him best, and, spreading out his blankets, with his saddle for a pillow, lay down to dream of golden nuggets, or, perchance, of home, while innumerable rats--the bane of california-gambolled round and over him. the ranchero, as the owner of such an establishment is named, was said to be an escaped felon. certainly he might have been, as far as his looks went. he was surly and morose, but men minded this little, so long as he supplied their wants. there were five or six travellers in the ranche when our party arrived, all of whom were awaiting the preparation of supper. "here we are," cried the captain, as they trotted into the yard, "ready for supper, i trow; and, if my nose don't deceive me, supper's about ready for us." "i hope they've got enough for us all," said ned, glancing at the party inside, as he leaped from the saddle, and threw the bridle to his vaquero. "halloo, boniface! have ye room for a large party in there?" "come in an' see," growled dawson, whose duties at the cooking stove rendered him indifferent as to other matters. "ah, thin, ye've got a swate voice," said larry o'neil, sarcastically, as he led his mule towards a post, to which bill jones was already fastening his steed. "i say, bill," he added, pointing to a little tin bowl which stood on an inverted cask outside the door of the ranche, "wot can that be for?" "dunno," answered bill; "s'pose it's to wash in." at that moment a long, cadaverous miner came out of the hut, and rendered further speculation unnecessary, by turning up his shirt sleeves to the elbow, and commencing his ablutions in the little tin bowl, which was just large enough to admit both his hands at once. "faix, yer mouth and nose ought to be grateful," said larry, in an undertone, as he and jones stood with their arms crossed, admiring the proceedings of the man. this remark had reference to the fact that the washer applied the water to the favoured regions around his nose and mouth, but carefully avoided trespassing on any part of the territory lying beyond. "oh! morther, wot nixt?" exclaimed larry. well might he inquire, for this man, having combed his hair with a public comb, which was attached to the door-post by a string, and examined himself carefully in a bit of glass, about two inches in diameter, proceeded to cleanse his teeth with a _public tooth-brush_ which hung beside the comb. all these articles had been similarly used by a miner ten minutes previously; and while this one was engaged with his toilet, another man stood beside him awaiting his turn! "w'en yer in difficulties," remarked bill jones, slowly, as he entered the ranche, and proceeded to fill his pipe, "git out of 'em, if ye can. if ye can't, why wot then? circumstances is adwerse, an' it's o' no use a-tryin' to mend 'em. only my sentiments is, that i'll delay washin' till i comes to a river." "you've come from san francisco, stranger?" said a rough-looking man, in heavy boots, and a guernsey shirt, addressing captain bunting. "maybe i have," replied the captain, regarding his interrogator through the smoke of his pipe, which he was in the act of lighting. "goin' to the diggin's, i s'pose?" "yes." "bin there before?" "no." "nor none o' your party, i expect?" "none, except one." "you'll be goin' up to the bar at the american forks now, i calc'late?" "don't know that i am." "perhaps you'll try the northern diggin's?" "perhaps." how long this pertinacious questioner might have continued his attack on the captain is uncertain, had he not been suddenly interrupted by the announcement that supper was ready, so he swaggered off to the corner of the hut where an imposing row of bottles stood, demanded a "brandy-smash," which he drank, and then, seating himself at the table along with the rest of the party, proceeded to help himself largely to all that was within his reach. the fare was substantial, but not attractive. it consisted of a large junk of boiled salt beef, a mass of rancid pork, and a tray of broken ship-biscuit. but hungry men are not particular, so the viands were demolished in a remarkably short space of time. "i'm a'most out o' supplies," said the host, in a sort of apologetic tone, "an' the cart i sent down to sacramento some weeks ago for more's not come back." "better than nothin'," remarked a bronzed, weatherbeaten hunter, as he helped himself to another junk of pork. "if ye would send out yer boy into the hills with a rifle now an' again, ye'd git lots o' grizzly bars." "are grizzly-bears eaten here?" inquired ned sinton, pausing in the act of mastication, to ask the question. "eaten!" exclaimed the hunter, in surprise, "in coorse they is. they're uncommon good eatin' too, i guess. many a one i've killed an' eaten myself; an' i like 'em better than beef--i do. i shot one up in the hills there two days agone, an' supped off him; but bein' in a hurry, i left the carcase to the coyotes." (coyotes are small wolves.) the men assembled round the rude _table d'hote_ were fifteen in number, including our adventurers, and represented at least six different nations--english, scotch, irish, german, yankee, and chinese. most of them, however, were yankees, and all were gold-diggers; even the hunter just referred to, although he had not altogether forsaken his former calling, devoted much of his time to searching for gold. some, like our friends, were on their way to the diggings for the first time; others were returning with provisions, which they had travelled to sacramento city to purchase; and one or two were successful diggers who had made their "piles,"--in other words, their fortunes--and were returning home with heavy purses of gold-dust and nuggets. good humour was the prevailing characteristic of the party, for each man was either successful or sanguinely hopeful, and all seemed to be affected by a sort of undercurrent of excitement, as they listened to, or related, their adventures at the mines. there was only one serious drawback to the scene, and that was, the perpetual and terrible swearing that mingled with the conversation. the americans excelled in this wicked practice. they seemed to labour to invent oaths, not for the purpose of venting angry feelings, but apparently with the view of giving emphasis to their statements and assertions. the others swore from _habit_. they had evidently ceased to be aware that they were using oaths--so terribly had familiarity with sinful practices blunted the consciences of men who, in early life, would probably have trembled in this way to break the law of god. yes, by the way, there was one other drawback to the otherwise picturesque and interesting group, and this was the spitting propensity of the yankees. all over the floor--that floor, too, on which other men besides themselves were to repose--they discharged tobacco-juice and spittle. the _nation_ cannot be too severely blamed and pitied for this disgusting practice, yet we feel a tendency, not to excuse, but to deal gently with _individuals_, most of whom, having been trained to spitting from their infancy, cannot be expected even to understand the abhorrence with which the practice is regarded by men of other nations. nevertheless, brother jonathan, it is not too much to expect that you ought to respect the universal condemnation of your spitting propensities--by travellers from all lands--and endeavour to _believe_ that ejecting saliva promiscuously is a dirty practice, even although you cannot _feel_ it. we think that if you had the moral courage to pass a law in congress to render spitting on floors and carpets a capital offence, you would fill the world with admiration and your own bosoms with self-respect, not to mention the benefit that would accrue to your digestive powers in consequence thereof! all of the supper party were clad and armed in the rough-and-ready style already referred to, and most of them were men of the lower ranks, but there were one or two who, like ned sinton, had left a more polished class of mortals to mingle in the promiscuous crowd. these, in some cases, carried their manners with them, and exerted a modifying influence on all around. one young american, in particular, named maxton, soon attracted general attention by the immense fund of information he possessed, and the urbane, gentlemanly manner in which he conveyed it to those around him. he possessed in an eminent degree those qualities which attract men at once, and irresistibly good nature, frankness, manliness, considerable knowledge of almost every subject that can be broached in general conversation, united with genuine modesty. when he sat down to table he did not grasp everything within his reach; he began by offering to carve and help others, and when at length he did begin to eat, he did not gobble. he "guessed" a little, it is true, and "calculated" occasionally, but when he did so, it was in a tone that fell almost as pleasantly on the ear as the brogue of old ireland. ned happened to be seated beside maxton, and held a good deal of conversation with him. "forgive me, if i appear inquisitive," said the former, helping himself to a handful of broken biscuit, "but i cannot help expressing a hope that our routes may lie in the same direction--are you travelling towards sacramento city or the mines?" "towards the mines; and, as i observed that your party came from the southward, i suppose you are going in the same direction. if so, i shall be delighted to join you." "that's capital," replied ned, "we shall be the better of having our party strengthened, and i am quite certain we could not have a more agreeable addition to it." "thank you for the compliment. as to the advantage of a strong party, i feel it a safeguard as well as a privilege to join yours, for, to say truth, the roads are not safe just now. several lawless scoundrels have been roving about in this part of the country committing robberies and even murder. the indians, too, are not so friendly as one could wish. they have been treated badly by some of the unprincipled miners; and their custom is to kill two whites for every red-man that falls. they are not particular as to whom they kill, consequently the innocent are frequently punished for the guilty." "this is sad," replied ned. "are, then, all the indian tribes at enmity with the white men?" "by no means. many tribes are friendly, but some have been so severely handled, that they have vowed revenge, and take it whenever they can with safety. their only weapons, however, are bows and arrows, so that a few resolute white men, with rifles, can stand against a hundred of them, and they know this well. i spent the whole of last winter on the yuba river; and, although large bands were in my neighbourhood, they never ventured to attack us openly, but they succeeded in murdering one or two miners who strayed into the woods alone." "and are these murders passed over without any attempt to bring the murderers to justice?" "i guess they are not," replied maxton, smiling; "but justice is strangely administered in these parts. judge lynch usually presides, and he is a stern fellow to deal with. if you listen to what the hunter, there, is saying just now, you will hear a case in point, if i mistake not." as maxton spoke, a loud laugh burst from the men at the other end of the table. "how did it happen?" cried several. "out wi' the yarn, old boy." "ay, an' don't spin it too tight, or, faix, ye'll burst the strands," cried larry o'neil, who, during the last half-hour, had been listening, open-mouthed, to the marvellous anecdotes of grizzlies and red-skins, with which the hunter entertained his audience. "wall, boys, it happened this ways," began the man, tossing off a gin-sling, and setting down the glass with a violence that nearly smashed it. "ye see i wos up in the mountains, near the head waters o' the sacramento, lookin' out for deer, and gittin' a bit o' gold now an' again, when, one day, as i was a-comin' down a gully in the hills, i comes all of a suddint on two men. one wos an injun, as ugly a sinner as iver i seed; t'other wos a yankee lad, in a hole diggin' gold. before my two eyes were well on them, the red villain lets fly an arrow, and the man fell down with a loud yell into the hole. up goes my rifle like wink, and the red-skin would ha' gone onder in another second, but my piece snapped--cause why? the primin' had got damp; an' afore i could prime agin, he was gone. "i went up to the poor critter, and sure enough it wos all up with him. the arrow went in at the back o' his neck. he niver spoke again. so i laid him in the grave he had dug for himself, and sot off to tell the camp. an' a most tremendous row the news made. they got fifty volunteers in no time, and went off, hot-fut, to scalp the whole nation. as i had other business to look after, and there seemed more than enough o' fightin' men, i left them, and went my way. two days after, i had occasion to go back to the same place, an' when i comed in sight o' the camp, i guess there was a mighty stir. "`wot's to do?' says i to a miner in a hole, who wos diggin' away for gold, and carin' nothin' about it. "`only scraggin' an injun,' he said, lookin' up. "`oh,' says i, `i'll go and see.' "so off i sot, and there wos a crowd o' about two hundred miners round a tree; and, jest as i come up, they wos puttin' the rope round the neck of a poor wretch of an old grey-haired red-skin, whose limbs trembled so that they wos scarce able to hold him up. "`heave away now, bill,' cried the man as tied the noose. "but somethin' was wrong with the hitch o' the rope round the branch o' the tree, an' it wouldn't draw, and some time wos spent in puttin' it right. i felt sorter sorry for the old man, for his grave face was bold enough, and age more than fear had to do with the tremblin' o' his legs. before they got it right again, my eye fell on a small band o' red-skins, who were lookin' quietly on; and foremost among them the very blackguard as shot the man in the galley. i knew him at once by his ugly face. without sayin' a word, i steps for'ard to the old injun, and takes the noose off his neck. "`halloo!' cried a dozen men, jumpin' at me. `wot's that for?' `scrag the hunter,' cries one. `howld yer long tongues, an' hear what he's got to say,' shouts an irishman. "`keep your minds easy,' says i, mountin' a stump, `an' seize that injun, or i'll have to put a ball into him before he gits off'--for, ye see, i obsarved the black villain took fright, and was sneakin' away through the crowd. they had no doubt who i meant, for i pinted straight at him; and, before ye could wink, he was gripped, and led under the tree, with a face paler than ever i saw the face o' a red-skin before. "`now,' says i, `wot for are ye scraggin' this old man?' so they told me how the party that went off to git the murderer met a band o' injuns comin' to deliver him up to be killed, they said, for murderin' the white man. an' they gave up this old injun, sayin' he wos the murderer. the diggers believed it, and returned with the old boy and two or three others that came to see him fixed off. "`very good,' says i, `ye don't seem to remimber that i'm the man what saw the murder, and told ye of it. by good luck, i've come in time to point him out--an' _this is him_.' an' with that i put the noose round the villain's neck and drawed it tight. at that he made a great start to shake it off, and clear away; but before you could wink, he was swingin' at the branch o' the tree, twinty feet in the air. "sarved him right," cried several of the men, emphatically, as the hunter concluded his anecdote. "ay," he continued, "an' they strung up his six friends beside him." "sarved 'em right too," remarked the tall man, whose partiality for the tin wash-hand basin and the tooth-brush we have already noticed. "if i had my way, i'd shoot 'em all off the face o' the 'arth, i would, right away." "i'm sorry to hear they did that," remarked larry o'neil looking pointedly at the last speaker, "for it only shewed they was greater mortherers nor the injuns--the red-skins morthered wan man, but the diggers morthered six. "an' who are _you_ that finds fault wi' the diggers?" inquired the tall man, turning full round upon the irishman, with a tremendous oath. "be the mortial," cried the irishman, starting up like a jack-in-the-box, and throwing off his coat, "i'm larry o'neil, at yer sarvice. hooroo! come on, av' ye want to be purtily worked off." instantly the man's hand was on the hilt of his revolver; but, before he could draw it, the rest of the company started up and overpowered the belligerents. "come, gentlemen," said the host of the ranche, stepping forward, "it's not worth while quarrelling about a miserable red-skin." "put on your coat, larry, and come, let's get ready for a start," said ned; "you can't afford to fight till you've made your fortune at the diggings. how far is it to the next ranche, landlord?" this cool attempt to turn the conversation was happily successful. the next ranche, he was told, was about ten miles distant, and the road comparatively easy; so, as it was a fine moonlight night, and he was desirous of reaching the first diggings on the following day as early as possible, the horses and mules were saddled, and the bill called for. when the said bill was presented, or rather, announced to them, our travellers opened their eyes pretty wide; they had to open their purses pretty wide too, and empty them to such an extent that there was not more than a dollar left among them all! the supper, which we have described, cost them two and a half dollars-about ten shillings and sixpence a head, including a glass of bad brandy; but not including a bottle of stout which larry, in the ignorance and innocence of his heart, had asked for, and which cost him _three dollars_ extra! an egg, also, which ned had obtained, cost him a shilling. "oh, morther!" exclaimed larry, "why didn't ye tell us the price before we tuck them?" "why didn't ye ax?" retorted the landlord. "it's all right," remarked maxton. "prices vary at the diggings, as you shall find ere long. when provisions run short, the prices become exorbitant; when plentiful, they are more moderate, but they are never _low_. however, men don't mind much, for most diggers have plenty of gold." captain bunting and bill jones were unable to do more than sigh out their amazement and shake their heads, as they left the ranche and mounted their steeds; in doing which the captain accidentally, as usual, drove both spurs into the sides of his mule, which caused it to execute a series of manoeuvres and pirouettes that entertained the company for a quarter of an hour, after which they rode away over the plain. it was a beautiful country through which they now ambled pleasantly. undulating and partially wooded, with fine stretches of meadow land between, from which the scent of myriads of wild-flowers rose on the cool night air. the moon sailed low in a perfectly cloudless sky, casting the shadows of the horsemen far before them as they rode, and clothing hill and dale, bush and tree, with a soft light, as if a cloud of silver gauze had settled down upon the scene. the incident in the ranche was quickly banished, and each traveller committed himself silently to the full enjoyment of the beauties around him--beauties which appeared less like reality than a vision of the night. chapter nine. a night ride in the woods--the encampment--larry's first attempt to dig for gold--an alarm--a suspicious stranger--queer creatures. in less than two hours the travellers reached the second ranche, which was little better, in appearance or accommodation, than the one they had left. having no funds, they merely halted to water their cattle, and then pushed forward. the country became more and more undulating and broken as they advanced, and beyond the second ranche assumed the appearance of a hill country. the valleys were free from trees, though here and there occurred dense thickets of underwood, in which maxton told them that grizzly-bears loved to dwell--a piece of information that induced most of the party to carry their rifles in a handy position, and glance suspiciously at every shadow. large oaks and bay-trees covered the lower slopes of the hills, while higher up the white oak and fir predominated. about an hour after midnight the moon began to descend towards the horizon, and ned sinton, who had been unanimously elected commander of the little band, called a halt in the neighbourhood of a rivulet, which flowed round the base of an abrupt cliff whose sides were partially clothed with scrubby bushes. "we shall encamp here for the night, comrades," said he, dismounting; "here is water and food for our nags, a fine piece of greensward to spread our blankets on, and a thick-leaved oak to keep the dew off us. now, maxton, you are an old campaigner, let us see how soon you'll have a fire blazing." "i'll have it ready before you get the camp kettles and pans out," answered maxton, fastening his horse to a tree, seizing an axe, and springing into the woods on the margin of the stream. "and, captain bunting," continued ned, "do you water the horses and mules: our vaquero will help you. jones will unpack the provender. tom collins and i will see to getting supper ready." "an', may i ax, commodore," said larry o'neil, touching his hat, "wot _i'm_ to do?" "keep out of everybody's way, and do what you pleases, larry." "which manes, i'm to make myself ginerally useful; so here goes." and larry, springing through the bushes, proceeded to fulfil his duties, by seizing a massive log, which maxton had just cut, and, heaving it on his powerful shoulder, carried it to the camp. each was immediately busied with his respective duties. bustling activity prevailed for the space of a quarter of an hour, the result of which was that, before the moon left them in total darkness, the ruddy glare of a magnificent fire lighted up the scene brilliantly, glanced across the sun-burnt faces and vivid red shirts of our adventurers, as they clustered round it, and threw clouds of sparks in among the leaves of the stout old oak that overspread the camp. "now, this is what i call uncommon jolly," said captain bunting, sitting down on his saddle before the cheerful blaze, rubbing his hands, and gazing round, with a smile of the utmost benignity on his broad, hairy countenance. "it is," replied maxton, with an approving nod. "do you know, i have often thought, captain, that an indian life must be a very pleasant one--" "av coorse it must," interrupted larry, who at that moment was luxuriating in the first rich, voluminous puffs of a newly-filled pipe--"av coorse it must, _if_ it's always like this." "ay," continued maxton, "but that's what i was just going to remark upon--it's _not_ always like this. as a general rule, i have observed, men who are new to backwoods life, live _at first_ in a species of terrestrial paradise. the novelty and the excitement cause them to revel in all that is enjoyable, and to endure with indifference all that is disagreeable; sometimes, even, to take pleasure in shewing how stoically they can put up with discomfort. but after a time the novelty and excitement wear away, and then it is usual to hear the praises of indian life spoken of immediately before and immediately after supper. towards midnight--particularly if it should rain, or mosquitoes be numerous--men change their minds, and begin to dream of home, if they can sleep, or to wish they were there, if they can't." "get out! you horrid philosopher," cried tom collin as he gazed wistfully into the iron pot, whose savoury contents, (i.e. pork, flour, and beans), he was engaged in stirring. "don't try to dash the cup of romance from our lips ere we have tasted it. believe me, comrades, our friend maxton is a humbug. i am an old stager myself; have lived the life of an indian for months and months together, and i declare to you, i'm as jolly and enthusiastic _now_ as ever i was." "that may be quite true," observed maxton, "seeing that it is possible you may have never been jolly or enthusiastic at all; but even taking your words as you mean them to be understood, they only tend to enforce what i have said, for, you know, the exception proves the rule." "bah! you sophisticator," ejaculated tom, again inspecting the contents of the pot. "och, let him spake, an' be aisy," remarked larry, with a look of extreme satisfaction on his countenance; "we're in the navelty an' excitement stage o' life just now, an faix we'll kape it up as long as we can. hand me a cinder, bill jones, an' don't look as if ye wos meditatin' wot to say, for ye know that ye can't say nothin'." bill took no further notice of this remark than to lift a glowing piece of charcoal from the fire with his fingers, as deliberately as if they were made of iron, and hand it to o'neil, who received it in the same cool manner, and relighted his pipe therewith. "it strikes me we shall require all our jollity and enthusiasm to keep up our spirits, if we don't reach the diggings to-morrow," said ned sinton, as he busied himself in polishing the blade of a superb hunting-knife, which had been presented to him by a few college friends at parting; "you all know that our funds are exhausted, and it's awkward to arrive at a ranche without a dollar to pay for a meal--still more awkward to be compelled to encamp beside a ranche and unpack our own provisions, especially if it should chance to be a wet night. do you think we shall manage to reach the diggings to-morrow, maxton?" "i am certain of it. twelve miles will bring us to little creek, as it is called, where we can begin to take initiative lessons in gold-washing. in fact, the ground we stand on, i have not a doubt, has much gold in it. but we have not the means of washing it yet." larry o'neil caught his breath on hearing this statement. "d'ye mane to tell me," he said, slowly and with emphasis, "that i'm maybe sittin' at this minute on the top o' rale goold?" "you may be," answered maxton, laughing. "w'en ye don't know," remarked bill jones, sententiously, removing the pipe from his lips, and looking fixedly at his messmate, "w'en ye don't know _wot's_ under ye, nor the coorse o' nature, w'ich is always more or less a-doin' things oncommon an' out o' the way, ye shouldn't ought to speckilate on wot ye know nothin' about, until ye find out how's her head, an' w'ich way the land lies. them's my sentiments." "halloo! larry," cried the captain and tom collins simultaneously, "look out for the kettle. it'll boil over." larry's feelings had been deeply stirred at that moment, so that the union of the sudden shout, with the profundity of bill's remark, had the effect of causing him to clutch at the tea-kettle with such haste that he upset it into the fire. "oh! bad luck to ye!" "clumsy fellow!" ejaculated ned. "off with you to the creek, and refill it." larry obeyed promptly, but the mischance, after all, was trifling, for the fire was fierce enough to have boiled a twenty-gallon caldron in a quarter of an hour. besides, the contents of the iron pot had to be discussed before the tea was wanted. in a few minutes supper was ready, and all were about to begin, when it was discovered that o'neil was missing. "ho! larry, come to supper!" shouted one. "hi! where are you?" cried another. but there was no reply, until the captain put both hands to his mouth, and gave utterance to the nautical halloo with which, in days gone by, he was wont to hail the look-out at the main-top. "ay, ay, comin' sir-r," floated back on the night wind; and, shortly afterwards, the irishman stumbled into camp with his hands, his face, and his clothes plentifully bedaubed with mud. "why, what have you been about?" inquired ned. "diggin' for goold, sure. i've made a hole in the banks o' the creek with me two hands that ye might bury a young buffalo in, an' sorrow a bit o' goold have i got for me pains." a general laugh greeted the enthusiastic digger, as he wiped his hands and sat down to supper. "musha! av i didn't git goold, i've dug up a mortial big appetite, anyhow. hand me the wooden spoon, mister collins; it's more the gauge o' me pratie-trap than the pewter wans. d'ye know, comrades, i'm a'most sure i seed an injun in the bush. av it wasn't, it was a ghost." "what like was he?" "look there, and judge for yourselves," cried o'neil, jumping suddenly to his feet, and pointing towards the wood, where a solitary figure was seen dimly against the dark background. every man leaped up and seized his weapons. "who goes there?" shouted ned, advancing towards the edge of the circle of light. "a friend," was the reply, in english. relieved to find that he was not the advance-guard of a band of savages, ned invited the stranger to approach, and immediately he stepped within the sacred circle of the camp-fire's light. this unexpected addition to the party was by no means a pleasant one. his complexion was exceedingly dark, and he wore a jet-black beard. in manners he was coarse and repulsive--one of those forbidding men who seem to be born for the purpose of doing evil, in whatever position of life or part of the world they happen to be placed. the rude garments of the miner harmonised with the rugged expression of his bearded and bronzed face, and the harsh voice in which he addressed the party corresponded therewith. "i s'pose ye'll not object to let me rest by yer fire, strangers?" he said, advancing and seating himself without waiting for a reply. "you're welcome," answered ned, curtly, for he neither liked the manners nor the aspect of the man. "ye might ha' wished us the top o' the mornin', i think," suggested larry. "here, try an' soften yer sperrits with a sup," he added, pushing a pewter plate of soup and a spoon towards him. the man made no reply, but ate ravenously, as if he had been starving. when he had finished, he lighted his pipe, and drew his knees up to his chin as he warmed his hands before the blaze. little information of any kind could be drawn out of this taciturn wanderer. to ned's questions, he replied that he had been at the diggings on the yuba river, which he described as being rich; that he had made enough gold to satisfy all his wants, and was on his way to san francisco, where he intended to ship for england. his name, he said, was smith. he carried a short rifle, with a peculiarly large bore, and a heavy hunting-knife, the point of which was broken off. this last bill jones observed, as the man laid it down, after cutting up some tobacco, preparatory to refilling his pipe. "a good knife! how did ye break it?" inquired bill, taking up the weapon and examining it. "never you mind," answered the man, snatching it rudely from him, and sheathing it. at this o'neil regarded him with an angry expression. "faix, av ye wasn't livin', so to spake, in me own house, i'd make ye change yer tone." "i don't mean no offence," said smith, endeavouring to speak a little less gruffly. "the fact is, gents, i'm out o' sorts, 'cos i lost a grizzly bar in the hills an hour or two agone. i shot him dead, as i thought, and went up and drove my knife into his side, but it struck a rib and broke the pint, as ye see; and a'most afore i could get up a tree, he wos close up behind me. he went away after a while, and so i got clear off." to the immense satisfaction of every one, this disagreeable guest arose after finishing his pipe, knocked the ashes out, shouldered his rifle, and, bidding his entertainers good-night, re-entered the forest, and disappeared. "you're well away," remarked tom collins, looking after him; "i couldn't have slept comfortably with such a fellow in camp. now, then, i'm going to turn in." "so am i," said maxton, rolling himself in a blanket, and pillowing his head on a saddle, without more ado. in a few minutes the camp was as silent as it had previously been noisy. captain bunting's plethoric breathing alone told that human beings rested on that wild spot; and this, somewhat incongruously united with the tinkling of the rivulet hard by, and the howling of coyotes, constituted their lullaby. during the night the most of the travellers were awakened once or twice by a strange and very peculiar sensation, which led them to fancy the earth on which they reposed was possessed of life. the lazy members of the party lay still, and dreamily wondered until they fell asleep; those who were more active leaped up, and, lifting their blankets, gazed intently at the sward, which darkness prevented them from seeing, and felt it over with their hands, but no cause for the unwonted motion could be discovered, until the light of dawn revealed the fact that they had made their beds directly above the holes of a colony, of ground-squirrels, which little creatures, poking upwards with their noses in vain attempts to gain the upper world, had produced the curious sensations referred to. rough travelling, however, defies almost all disadvantages in the way of rest. tired and healthy men will sleep in nearly any position, and at any hour, despite all interruptions, so that when our friends rose at daybreak to resume their journey, they were well refreshed and eager to push on. chapter ten. game and cookery--arrival at the diggings--little creek--law and order in the mines--nooning at little creek--hard-up--our adventurers get credit and begin work--a yankee outwitted. deer, hares, crows, blackbirds, magpies, and quails, were the creatures that bounded, scampered, hopped, and flew before the eyes of the travellers at every step, as they wended their way pleasantly, beneath a bright morning sun, over the hills and through the lesser valleys of the great vale of the sacramento. and all of these creatures, excepting the crows and magpies, fell before the unerring and unexpectedly useful blunderbuss of captain bunting, passed a temporary existence in the maw of the big iron pot, and eventually vanished into the carnivorous jaws of ned sinton and his friends. crows were excluded from their bill of fare, because the whole party had an unconquerable antipathy to them; and larry said he had "aiten many pies in his lifetime, but he had niver aiten magpies, and he'd be shot av he wos goin' to begin now." the duties of chief hunter devolved upon the captain,--first, because he was intensely fond of shooting; and, secondly, because game was so plentiful and tame, that it was difficult to avoid hitting _something_, if one only fired straight before one. for the same reasons the blunderbuss proved to be more effectual than the rifle. the captain used to load it with an enormous charge of powder and a handful of shot--swan-shot, two sizes of duck-shot, and sparrow-hail, mixed, with an occasional rifle-ball dropped in to the bargain. the recoil of the piece was tremendous, but the captain was a stout buffer--if we may be permitted the expression--and stood the shock manfully. stewed squirrels formed one of their favourite dishes, it was frequently prepared by tom collins, whose powers in the culinary department proved to be so great that he was unanimously voted to the office of _chef de cuisine_--bill jones volunteering, (and being accepted), to assist in doing the dirty work; for it must be borne in mind that the old relations of master and man no longer subsisted amongst any of the travellers now--excepting always the native vaquero. all were equal at starting for the diggings, and the various appointments were made by, and with the consent of the whole party. little creek diggings were situated in a narrow gorge of the mountains, through which flowed a small though turbulent stream. the sides of the hills were in some places thickly clothed with trees, in others they were destitute not only of vegetation but of earth, the rock on the steeper declivities of the hills having been washed bare by the periodical heavy rains peculiar to those regions. although wild and somewhat narrow, this little valley was, nevertheless, a cheerful spot, in consequence of its facing almost in a southerly direction: while, towards the east, there were several wide and picturesque gaps in the hills which seemed to have been made for the express purpose of letting the sun shine the greater part of the day upon the diggers while they were at work--an advantage, no doubt, when the weather was cool, but rather the reverse when it was hot. the entrance to little creek was about two miles wide, undulating, and beautifully diversified, resembling pleasure grounds rather than a portion of the great wilderness of the far west; but the vale narrowed abruptly, and, about three miles further into the mountains, became a mere gap or ravine through which the streamlet leaped and boiled furiously. it was an hour before noon when our travellers came suddenly upon the wide entrance to the valley. "how beautiful!" exclaimed ned, as he reined up to gaze in admiration over the flowering plain, with its groups of noble trees. "ay," said maxton, enthusiastically, "you may well say that. there may be, perchance, as grand, but i am certain there is not a grander country in the world than america--the land of the brave and free." ned did not assent at once to the latter part of this proposition. "you forget," he said, hesitatingly, as if disinclined to hurt the feelings or prejudices of his new friend, "you forget that it is the land of _slaves_!" "i confess that i did forget that at the moment," answered maxton, while the blood mounted to his forehead. "it is the foulest blot upon my country's honour; but i at least am guiltless of upholding the accursed institution, as, also, are thousands of my countrymen. i feel assured, however, that the time is coming when that blot shall be wiped away." "i am glad, my friend," said ned, heartily, "to hear you speak thus; to be frank with you, i could not have prevailed upon myself to have held out to you the hand of intimate friendship had you proved to be a defender of slavery." "then you'll form few friendships in this country," said tom collins, "for many of the yankees here have been slave-holders in their day, and almost all defend the custom." the conversation was interrupted at this point by larry o'neil uttering a peculiarly hibernian exclamation, (which no combination of letters will convey,) and pointing in an excited manner to an object a few hundred yards in advance of them. "what d'ye see, lad!" inquired bill jones, shading his eyes with his hand. the whole party came to a halt, and gazed earnestly before them for a few minutes in silence. "och!" said o'neil, slowly, and with trembling earnestness, "av me two eyes are spakin' truth, it's--it's a _goold digger_!--the first o' the goold-diggers!"--and larry followed up the discovery with a mingled cheer and war-whoop of delight that rang far and wide over the valley. at such an unwonted, we might almost say, appalling, sound, the "first o' the goold-diggers,"--who was up to his waist in a hole, quietly and methodically excavating the earth on the river's bank with a pick-axe-raised his head, and, leaning on the haft of his pick, scrutinised the new arrivals narrowly. "hooray, my hearty!" shouted larry, as he advanced at a gallop, followed by his laughing comrades. "the top o' the mornin' to ye--it's good luck i'm wishin' ye, avic. how are ye gittin' on in the goold way, honey?" the rough-looking, dusty, and bearded miner, smiled good-humouredly, as he replied, in a gentle tone of voice that belied his looks--"pretty well, friend; though not quite so well as some of my neighbours. i presume that you and your friends have just arrived at the mines?" "tear an' ages! it's a gintleman, i do belave," cried larry, turning to his companions with a look of surprise. the miner laughed at the remark, and, leaping out of the hole, did his best to answer the many questions that were put to him in a somewhat excited tone by the party. "where's the gold?" inquired jones, gravely, going down on his knees at the side of the excavation, and peering into it. "i don't see none, wotsomediver." "the dust is very fine here," answered the miner, "and not easily detected until washed. occasionally we come upon nuggets and pockets in the dry parts of the river's bed, and the _canons_ of the hills, but i find it most profitable to work steadily down here where the whole earth, below the surface, is impregnated with fine particles of gold. many of the diggers waste their time in _prospecting_, which word, i suppose you know, means looking out for new diggings; but, according to the proverb of my country, i prefer to remain `contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair.'" "are we far-distant from the other miners in this creek?" inquired ned. "no; you are quite close. you will come upon the colony after passing that bluff of trees ahead of you," answered the scotchman; "but come, i will shew you the way; it is not far from nooning-time, when i usually cease work for a couple of hours." so saying, the miner threw his pick-axe and shovel into the hole, and led the way towards the colony of little creek. "ain't you afraid some of the bad-looking scoundrels in these parts may take a fancy to your pick and shovel?" inquired the captain, as they rode along at a foot pace. "not in the least. time was when i would have feared to leave them; for at one time neither life nor property was safe here, where so many ruffians congregated from all parts of the world; but the evil wrought its own cure at last. murders and robberies became so numerous, that the miners took to lynch law for mutual protection. murderers and thieves were hanged, or whipped almost to death, with such promptitude, that it struck terror into the hearts of evil-doers; and the consequence is, that we of this valley are now living in a state of perfect peace and security, while in other districts, where the laws of judge lynch are not so well administered, murders and thefts are occasionally heard of. here, if a man takes a fancy to go prospecting for a time, he has only to throw his pick and shovel into his claim, or upon his heap of dirt, [see note 1] and he will be sure to find them there untouched on his return, even though he should be absent several weeks. our tents, too, are left unwatched, and our doors unfastened, with perfect safety, though it is well-known that hundreds and thousands of dollars in gold-dust lie within. i do not mean to assert that we have attained to absolute perfection--a murder and a theft do occasionally occur, but such are the exceptions, security is the rule." "truly," said ned sinton, "you seem to live in a golden age in all respects." "not in all," answered the scot; "the terrors of the law deter from open violence, but they do not enforce morality, as the language and deportment of miners generally too plainly shew. but here we are at the colony of little creek." they rounded the projecting spur of one of the hills as he spoke, and the whole extent of the little valley opened up to view. it was indeed a romantic and curious sight. the vale, as we have said, was narrow, but by no means gloomy. the noontide sun shed a flood of light over the glistening rocks and verdant foliage of the hills on the left, and cast the short, rounded shadows of those on the right upon the plain. through the centre of this the little creek warbled on its course; now circling round some wooded knoll, until it almost formed an island; anon dropping, in a quiet cascade, over the edge of a flat rock; in some places sweeping close under the base of a perpendicular cliff; in others shooting out into a lake-like expanse of shallow water across a bright-green meadow, as it murmured on over its golden bed towards the sacramento. higher up the valley the cliffs were more abrupt. dark pines and cedars, in groups or singly, hung on their sides, and gave point to the landscape, in the background of which the rivulet glittered like a silver thread where the mountains rose in peaks towards the sky. along the whole course of this rivulet, as far as the eye could trace it, searchers for gold were at work on both banks, while their white tents, and rude wooden shanties, were scattered, singly or in clusters of various extent, upon the wooded slopes, in every pleasant and suitable position. from the distance at which our party first beheld the scene, it appeared as if the miners were not men, but little animals grubbing in the earth. little or no sound reached their ears; there was no bustle, no walking to and fro, as if the hundreds there assembled had various and diverse occupations. all were intently engaged in one and the same work. pick-axe and shovel rose and fell with steady regularity as each individual wrought with ceaseless activity within the narrow limits of his own particular claim, or rocked his cradle beside it. dig, dig, dig; rock, rock, rock; shovel, shovel, shovel, was the order of the day, as long as day lasted; and then the gold-hunters rested until recruited strength and dawning light enabled them again to go down into the mud and dig, and rock, and shovel as before. many, alas! rocked themselves into a fatal sleep, and dug and shovelled their own graves among these golden hills. many, too, who, although they dug and toiled for the precious metal, had neither made it their god nor their chief good, were struck down in the midst of their heavy toils, and retired staggering to their tents, and there, still clad in their damp garments, laid their fevered heads on their saddles--not unfrequently on their bags of gold-dust--to dream of the distant homes and the loved faces they were doomed to see no more; and thus, dreaming in solitude, or watched, mayhap, by a rough though warm-hearted mate, breathed out their spirits to him who gave them, and were laid in their last resting-place with wealth untold beneath them, and earth impregnated with gold-dust for their winding-sheet. happy, thrice happy, the few who in that hour could truly say to jesus, "whom have i in heaven but thee? and there is _none upon earth_ that i desire beside thee." just as our travellers approached the nearest and largest cluster of huts and tents, a sudden change came over the scene. the hour of noon had arrived, and, as if with one consent, the miners threw down their tools, and swarmed, like the skirmishers of an invading host, up from the stream towards the huts--a few of the more jovial among them singing at the full pitch of their lungs, but most of them too wearied to care for aught save food and repose. noon is the universal dinner-hour throughout the gold-mines, an hour which might be adopted with profit in every way, we venture to suggest, by those who dig for gold in commercial and legal ledgers and cash-books in more civilised lands. when the new-comers reached a moderately-sized log-cabin, which was the chief hotel of the colony, they found it in all the bustle of preparation for an immediate and simple, though substantial, meal. "can we have dinner!" inquired ned, entering this house of entertainment, while his companions were unsaddling and picketing their horses and mules. "to be sure ye can, my hearty," answered the smiling landlord, "if ye pay for it." "that's just the reason i asked the question," answered ned, seating himself on a cask--all available chairs, stool; and benches having been already appropriated by mud-bespattered miners, "because, you must know, i _can't_ pay for it." "ho!" ejaculated mine host, with a grin, "hard-up, eh! got cleaned out with the trip up, an' trust to diggin' for the future? well, i'll give ye credit; come on, and stick in. it's every man for himself here, an' no favour." thus invited, ned and his friends squeezed themselves into seats beside the long _table d'hote_--which boasted a canvas table-cloth, and had casks for legs--and made a hearty meal, in the course of which they obtained a great deal of useful information from their friend mcleod the scotchman. after dinner, which was eaten hurriedly, most of the miners returned to their work, and ned with his friend; under the guidance of mcleod, went down to the river to be initiated into the mysteries of gold-digging and washing. as they approached several of the claims which their owners were busy working, a yankee swaggered up to them with a cigar in his mouth, an impudent expression on his face, and a pick-axe on his shoulder. "guess you've just come to locate in them diggin's, strangers," he said, addressing the party at large, but looking at ned, whose superior height and commanding cast of countenance proved him unmistakeably to be a leader. "we have," replied ned, who disliked the look of the man. "thought so. i'm jest goin' to quit an' make tracks for the coast. 'bliged to cut stick on business that won't wait, i calc'late. it's plaguey unlucky, too, for my claim's turnin' out no end o' dollars, but i must sell it slick off so i don't mind to let ye have it cheap." "is your claim better than the others in the neighbourhood?" inquired ned. "wall, i jest opine it is. look here," cried the yankee, jumping into his claim, which was a pit of about eight feet square and three deep, and delving the shovel into the earth, while ned and his friends, besides several of the other miners, drew near to witness the result. maxton and tom collins, however, winked knowingly at each other, and, with the scotchman, drew back to the rear of the group. the first shovelful of earth thrown up was absolutely full of glittering particles of gold, and the second was even more richly impregnated with the precious metal. ned and the captain stood aghast with amazement, and bill jones opened mouth and eyes to their utmost extent. "hooroo! och! goold galore! there it is at last!" shouted larry o'neil, tossing up his arms with delight. "do buy it, mr ned, darlint." "i needn't turn up more, i guess," said the yankee, carelessly throwing down his shovel, and filling the earth into a tin bowl or pan; "i'll jest wash it out an' shew ye what it's like." so saying he dipped the pan into the stream gently, and proceeded to wash out the gold. as this was done in the way usually practised by diggers, we shall describe it. setting down the tin pan of earth and water, the yankee dipped both hands into it and stirred its contents about until it became liquid mud, removing the stones in the operation. it was then moved round quickly with a peculiar motion which caused some off the top to escape over the edge of the pan with each revolution; more water was added from time to time, and the process continued until all the earthy matter was washed away, and nothing but a kind of black sand, in which the gold is usually contained, remained at the bottom. "there you are," cried the man, exultingly, lifting up a handful of the heavy and shining mixture; "fifteen dollars at least in two shovelfuls. i'll sell ye the claim, if ye like, for two hundred dollars." "i would give it at once," said ned, feeling at the moment deeply troubled on account of his poverty; "but, to say truth, i have not a farthing in the world." a peculiar grin rested on the faces of the miners who looked on as he spoke, but before he could inquire the cause, tom collins stepped forward, and said: "that's a first-rate claim of yours. what did ye say was your charge for it?" "three hundred dollars down." "i'll tell ye what," rejoined tom, "i'll give you _six_ hundred dollars for it, if you take out another shovelful of dirt like _that_!" this remark was greeted by a general laugh from, the bystanders, which was joined in by the yankee himself as he leaped out of the hole, and, shouldering his shovel, went off with his friends, leaving ned and some others of his party staring at each other in astonishment. "what _does_ it all mean?" he inquired, turning to tom coffins, whose laughing countenance shewed that he at least was not involved in mystery. "it means simply that we were all taken for green-horns, which was quite a mistake, and that we were to have been thoroughly cheated--a catastrophe which has happily been prevented. maxton and i determined to let the rascally fellow go as far as he could, and then step in and turn the laugh against him, as we have done." "but explain yourself. i do not yet understand," repeated ned, with a puzzled look. "why, the fact is, that when strangers arrive at the diggings, full of excitement and expectation, there are always a set of sharpers on the look-out, who offer to sell their claims, as they often say, `for a mere song,' and in order to prove their worth, dig out a little dirt, and wash it, as you have just seen done; taking care beforehand, however, to mingle with it a large quantity of gold-dust, which, of course, comes to light, and a bargain is generally struck on the spot, when the sharper goes off with the price, and boasts of having `done' a green-horn, for which he is applauded by his comrades. should the fraud be detected before the completion of the bargain, as in our case, he laughs with the rest, and says, probably, he `warn't so 'cute as usual.'" "och, the scoundrels!" cried larry; "an' is there no law for sich doin's?" "none; at least in most diggings men are left to sharpen their own wits by experience. sometimes, however, the biter is pretty well bitten. there was a poor chilian once who was deceived in this way, and paid four hundred dollars for a claim that was scarcely worth working. he looked rather put out on discovering the imposture, but was only laughed at by most of those who saw the transaction for his softness. some there were who frowned on the sharper, and even spoke of lynching him, but they were a small minority, and had to hold their peace. however, the chilian plucked up heart, and, leaping into his claim, worked away like a trojan. after a day or two he hit upon a good layer of blue clay, and from that time he turned out forty dollars a day for two months." "ah! good luck to him," cried larry. "and did the sharper hear of it?" inquired the captain. "that he did, and tried to bully the poor fellow, and get his claim back again; but there was a strong enough sense of justice among the miners to cause such an outcry that the scoundrel was fain to seek other diggings." -----------------------------------------------------------------------note 1. "dirt" is the name given among miners, to the soil in which gold is found. chapter eleven. gold-washing--our adventurers count their gains, and are satisfied--the "r'yal bank o' calyforny" begins to prosper--frying gold--night visit to the grave of a murdered man--a murderer caught--the escape and pursuit. having escaped from the yankee land-shark, as has been related, our adventurers spent the remainder of the day in watching the various processes of digging and washing out gold, in imbibing valuable lessons, and in selecting a spot for their future residence. the two processes in vogue at little creek at that time were the _pan_ and the _cradle_ washing. the former has been already adverted to, and was much practised because the ground at that time was rich in the precious metal and easily wrought; the extreme simplicity, too, of the operation, which only required that the miner should possess a pick, a shovel, and a tin pan, commended it to men who were anxious to begin at once. an expert man, in favourable ground, could gather and wash a panful of "dirt," as it is called, every ten minutes; and there were few places in little creek that did not yield half-a-dollar or more to the panful, thus enabling the digger to work out gold-dust to the value of about twenty-five dollars, (five pounds sterling), every day, while occasionally he came upon a lump or nugget, equal, perhaps, to what he could produce by the steady labour of a week or more. many of the more energetic miners, however, worked in companies and used cradles, by means of which they washed out a much larger quantity of gold in shorter time; and in places which did not yield a sufficient return by the pan process to render it worth while working, the cradle-owners obtained ample remuneration for their toil. the cradle is a very simple machine, being a semicircular trough, hollowed out of a log, from five to six feet long by sixteen inches in diameter. at one end of this is a perforated copper or iron plate, with a rim of wood round it, on which the "dirt" is thrown, and water poured thereon by one man, while the cradle is rocked by another. the gold and gravel are thus separated from the larger stones, and washed down the trough, in which, at intervals, two transverse bars, half-an-inch high, are placed; the first of these arrests the gold, which, from its great weight, sinks to the bottom, while the gravel and lighter substances are swept away by the current. the lower bar catches any particles of gold that, by awkward management, may have passed the upper one. three men usually worked together at a rocker, one digging, one carrying the "dirt" in a bucket, and one rocking the cradle. the black sand, which, along with the gold, is usually left after all the washing and rocking processes are completed, is too heavy to be separated by means of washing. it has therefore to be blown away from the gold after the mass has been dried over a fire, and in this operation great care is requisite lest the finer particles of gold should be blown off along with it. the spot fixed on as the future residence of our friends was a level patch of greensward about a stone-cast from the banks of the stream, and twice that distance from the lowest cabin of the colony, which was separated and concealed from them by a group of wide-spreading oaks and other trees. a short distance behind the spot the mountains ascended in steep wooded slopes, and, just in front, the cliffs of the opposite hills rose abruptly from the edge of the stream, but a narrow ravine, that split them in a transverse manner, afforded a peep into the hills beyond. at evening, when the rest of the vale of little creek was shrouded in gloom, this ravine permitted the last beams of the setting sun to stream through and flood their encampment with rosy light. here the tent was pitched, and a fire kindled by tom collins, he being intrusted with the command of the party, whose duty it was to prepare the camp. this party included bill jones, maxton, and the vaquero. ned, the captain, and larry o'neil went, under the guidance of mcleod, to select a claim, and take lessons in washing. "this seems a likely spot," said the scotchman, as he led his new acquaintances down to the stream, a few yards below their encampment. "you may claim as much ground as you please, for there is room enough and to spare for all at the creek yet. i would recommend a piece of ground of ten or twelve feet square for each to begin with." "here is a level patch that i shall appropriate, then," said ned, smiling at the idea of becoming so suddenly and easily a landed proprietor--and to such an extent. "i suppose we don't require to make out title-deeds!" remarked the captain. "there's _my_ title dade," cried larry, driving his pick into the earth. "you are right, larry," said mcleod, laughing, "no other deed is required in this delightfully-free country." "ah! thin, it's quite to my taste; sure i niver thought to see the swate spot where i could pick out me property an' pick up me fortin' so aisy." "don't count your chickens quite so fast," said ned, "may be it won't be so easy as you think. but let us begin and ascertain the value of our claims; i vote that larry shall have the honour of washing out the first panful of gold, as a reward for his enthusiasm." "a very proper obsarvation," remarked the irishman, as he commenced work without further delay. in the course of ten minutes part of the layer of surface-earth was removed, revealing the bluish-clay soil in which gold was usually found; the pan was filled with this "pay-dirt," as it was called, in contradistinction to the "surface-dirt," which didn't "pay," and was taken down to the stream, where larry washed it out under the eye of mcleod; but he did it clumsily, as might be expected, and lost a considerable amount of valuable material. still, for a first attempt, it was pretty well done, and his companions watched the result with feelings of excited earnestness, that they felt half-ashamed to admit even to themselves. there was mingled with this feeling a sort of vague incredulity, and a disposition to ridicule the idea that they were actually endeavouring to wash gold out of the ground; but when larry's panful began to diminish, and the black sand appeared, sparkling with unmistakeably-brilliant particles of reddish-yellow metal, they felt that the golden dream was in truth becoming a sober reality. as the process proceeded, and the precious metal began to appear, larry's feelings found vent in abrupt remarks. "och! av me tshoo eyes--musha! there it is--goold intirely--av it isn't brass. ah ye purty little stars!--o larry, it's yerself as'll buy yer owld mother a pig, an' a coach to boot. hooroo! mr scotchman, i misremimber yer name, wot's that?" larry started up in excitement, and held up between his fore-finger and thumb what appeared to be a small stone. "ha! friend, you're in luck. that's a small nugget," replied mcleod, examining the lump of gold. "it's worth ten dollars at least. i have worked often two or three weeks at a time without coming on such a chunk as that." "ye don't mane it! eh! och! give it me. hooray!" and the irishman, seizing the little lump with trembling eagerness, rushed off, shouting and yelling, towards the camp to make his good fortune known to bill jones, leaving the pan of black sand unheeded. this ned took up, and tried his hand at the work of washing. when done, the residue was found to be exceedingly rich, so he and the captain proceeded without loss of time to test their separate claims. soon after, their obliging friend, the miner, returned to his own claim further down the valley, leaving them hard at work. that night, when the bright stars twinkled down upon the camp at little creek, our gold-hunters, wet and tired, but hearty and hopeful, assembled round the fire in front of their little tent among the oak-trees. the entire party was assembled there, and they were gazing earnestly, as might be expected of hungry men, into the frying-pan. but they did not gaze at _supper_. no, that night the first thing they fried was a mixture of black sand and gold. in fact, they were drying and blowing the result of their first day's work at the diggings, and their friend the scotch miner was there to instruct them in the various processes of their new profession, and to weigh the gold for them, in his little pair of scales, when it should be finally cleared of all grosser substances. as each panful was dried and blown, the gold was weighed, and put into a large white breakfast cup, the bottom of which was soon heaped up with shining particles, varying in size from the smallest visible speck, to little lumps like grains of corn. "bravo!" exclaimed mcleod, as he weighed the last pan, and added the gold to that already in the cup. "i congratulate you, gentlemen, on your success. the day's work is equal to one hundred and eighty dollars--about thirty dollars per man. few men are so lucky their first day, i assure you, unless, as has been the case once or twice they should hit upon a nugget or two." "that being the case, we shall have supper," cried ned sinton; "and while we are about it, do you go, larry, to mine host of the hotel, and pay for the dinner for which he gave us credit. i don't wish to remain an hour in debt, if i can avoid it." "mister mcleod," slowly said bill jones--who, during the whole operation of drying and weighing the gold, had remained seated on a log, looking on with an expression of imbecile astonishment, and without uttering a word--"mister mcleod, if i may make bold to ax, how much is one hundred and eighty dollars?" bill's calculating powers were of the weakest possible character. "about thirty-six pounds sterling," replied mcleod. bill's eyes were wide open before, but the extent to which he opened them on hearing this was quite alarming, and suggested the idea that they would never close again. the same incapacity to calculate figures rendered him unable to grasp correlative facts. he knew that thirty-six pounds in one day was a more enormous and sudden accumulation of wealth than had ever entered into his nautical mind to conceive of. but to connect this with the fact that a voyage and journey of many months had brought him there; that a similar journey and voyage would be required to reconduct him home; and that in the meantime he would have to pay perhaps five pounds sterling for a flannel shirt, and probably four pounds or more for a pair of boots, and everything else in proportion, was to his limited intellectual capacity a simple impossibility. he contented himself with remarking, in reference to these things, that "w'en things in gin'ral wos more nor ord'nar'ly oncommon, an' w'en incomprehensibles was blowin' a reg'lar hurricane astarn, so that a man couldn't hold on to the belayin'-pins he'd bin used to, without their breakin' short off an' lettin' him go spin into the lee-scuppers,--why wot then? a wise man's course wos to take in all sail, an' scud before it under bare poles." next day all the miners in the colony were up and at work by dawn. ned and his friends, you may be sure, were not last to leave their beds and commence digging in their separate claims, which they resolved to work out by means of pan-washing, until they made a little ready cash, after which they purposed constructing two rockers, and washing out the gold more systematically and profitably. they commenced by removing the surface-soil to the depth of about three feet, a work of no small labour, until the subsoil, or "pay-dirt," was reached. of this they dug out a small quantity, and washed it; put the produce of black sand and gold into leathern bags, and then, digging out another panful, washed it as before. thus they laboured till noon, when they rested for an hour and dined. then they worked on again until night and exhaustion compelled them to desist; when they returned to camp, dried and blew away the sand, weighed the gold, which was put carefully into a general purse--named by larry the "r'yal bank o' calyforny"--after which they supped, and retired to rest. the gold was found at various depths, the "dirt" on the bed-rock being the richest, as gold naturally, in consequence of its weight, sinks through all other substances, until arrested in its downward career by the solid rock. of course, the labour was severe to men unaccustomed to the peculiar and constant stooping posture they were compelled to adopt, and on the second morning more than one of the party felt as if he had been seized with lumbago, but this wore off in the course of a day or two. the result of the second day was about equal to that of the first; the result of the third a good deal better, and bill, who was fortunate enough to discover a small nugget, returned to camp with a self-satisfied swagger that indicated elation, though his visage expressed nothing but stolidity, slightly tinged with surprise. on the fourth day the cradles were made, and a very large portion of their gains thereby swept away in consequence of the unconscionable prices charged for every article used in their construction. however, this mattered little, maxton said, as the increased profits of their labour would soon repay the outlay. and he was right. on the fifth day their returns were more than trebled, and that evening the directors of the "r'yal bank o' calyforny" found themselves in possession of capital amounting to one thousand one hundred and fifty dollars, or, as tom collins carefully explained to bill, about 230 pounds. on the sixth day, however, which was saturday, larry o'neil, who was permitted to work with the pan in the meantime, instead of assisting with the cradles, came up to dinner with a less hearty aspect than usual, and at suppertime he returned with a terribly lugubrious visage and a totally empty bag. in fact his claim had become suddenly unproductive. "look at that," he cried, swaggering recklessly into camp, and throwing down his bag; "i haven't got a rap; faix the bag's as empty as my intarior." "what! have you worked out your claim already!" inquired maxton. "troth have i, and almost worked out me own body too." "well, larry, don't lose heart," said ned, as he dried the last panful of sand over the fire, "there are plenty more claims beside your present one. we, too, have not been as successful as before. i find the result is only fifty dollars amongst us all." "that's a sudden falling off," remarked tom collins; "i fear the `pay-dirt' is not deep near us, nevertheless it pays well enough to keep us going for some time to come. i shall mark off a new space on monday." "by the way, maxton," asked ned, handing over the frying-pan to collins, who soon filled it with a less valuable, but at that time not less needful commodity than gold-dust--namely, pork and beef--"how do the miners spend the sabbath here? i suppose not much better than in the cities." "here comes mcleod, who will be better able to answer than i am," replied maxton. the scot strode into the camp as he spoke, and, saluting the party, seated himself beside the fire. "i've come to tell you a piece of news, and to ask advice," he said; "but before doing so, i may tell you, in answer to your question, that the sabbath here is devoted to drinking, gambling, and loafing about." "i am not surprised to hear it," said captain bunting; "but pray what's i' the wind? any new diggin's discovered?" "a new digging certainly has been discovered," replied mcleod, with a peculiar smile, "but not precisely such a digging as one is wont to search for. the fact is, that in prospecting along the edge of the woods about a mile from this to-day, i came upon the body of a murdered man. it was covered with stones and branches of trees, which i removed, and i immediately recognised it to be that of a poor man who used to work not far from my own claim. i had missed him for more than a week past, but supposed that he had either gone to other diggings, or was away prospecting." "poor fellow!" said ned; "but how, in such a matter, can _we_ help you with advice?" "well, you see i'm in difficult circumstances," rejoined the scot, "for i feel certain that i could point out the murderer, yet i cannot _prove_ him to be such, and i want your advice as to what i should do." "let it be known at once that you have discovered the murdered man at any rate," said maxton. "that i have done already." "who do you think was the murderer?" inquired ned. "a man who used to live in the same tent with him at one time, but who quarrelled with him frequently, and at last went off in a rage. i know not what was the cause, but i heard him vow that he would be revenged. he was a great coarse fellow, more like a brute than a man, with a black beard, and the most forbidding aspect i think i ever saw." "wot wos his name?" inquired bill jones, while the party looked at each other as if they knew of such a character. "smith was the name he went by oftenest, but the diggers called him black jim sometimes." "ha! smith--black beard--forbidding aspect! it strikes me that i too have seen the man," said ned sinton, who related to mcleod the visit paid to them in their camp by the surly stranger. while he was speaking, larry o'neil sat pondering something in his mind. "mister mcleod," said he, when ned concluded, "will ye shew me the body o' this man? faix, i'm of opinion i can prove the murder; but, first of all, how is the black villain to be diskivered?" "no difficulty about that. he is even now in the colony. i saw him in a gambling-house half-an-hour since. my fear is that, now the murder's out, he'll bolt before we can secure him." "it's little trouble we'd have in preventin' that," suggested larry. "the consequences might be more serious, however, than you imagine. suppose you were to seize and accuse him, and fail to prove the murder, the jury would acquit him, and the first thing he would do, on being set free, would be to shoot you, for which act the morality of the miners would rather applaud him than otherwise. it is only on cold-blooded, unprovoked murder and theft that judge lynch is severe. it is a recognised rule here, that if a man, in a row, should merely make a _motion_ with his hand towards his pistol, his opponent is entitled to shoot him first if he can. the consequence is, that _bloody_ quarrels are very rare." "niver a taste do i care," cried larry; "they may hang me tshoo times over, but i'll prove the murder, an' nab the murderin' blackguard too." "have a care," said ned; "you'll get yourself into a scrape." "make sure you are right before you act," added maxton. larry o'neil paid no attention to these warnings. "are ye ready to go, mister mcleod?" said he, impatiently. "quite," replied the other. "then come along." and the two left the camp together, armed with their rifles, knives, revolvers, and a shovel. it was a dark night. heavy clouds obscured the face of the sky, through which only one or two stars struggled faintly, and rendered darkness visible. the two men passed rapidly along the little footpath that led from the colony to the more open country beyond. this gained, they turned abruptly to the right, and, entering a narrow defile, proceeded at a more cautious pace into the gloomy recesses of the mountains. "have a care, larry o'neil," whispered the scotchman, as they advanced; "the road is not so safe here, owing to a number of pits which have been made by diggers after gold--they lie close to the edge of the path, and are pretty deep." "all right; i'm lookin' out," replied larry, groping his way after his comrade, at the base of a steep precipice. "here is the place," said mcleod, stopping and pushing aside the bushes which lined the path. "keep close to me--there is no road." "are ye sure o' the spot?" inquired larry, in an undertone, while a feeling of awe crept over him at the thought of being within a few yards of a murdered man in such a dark, wild place. "quite sure. i have marked the trees. see there!" he pointed to a white spot on the stem of a tree, where a chip had been cut off, and close to which was a mound of earth and stones. this mound the two men proceeded to break up, and in less than ten minutes they disentombed the body from its shallow grave, and commenced to examine the fatal wound. it was in an advanced state of decomposition, and they hurried the process by the light of a bright solitary star, whose flickering rays pierced through the overspreading branches and fell upon the ghastly countenance of the murdered man. while thus occupied, they were startled by the sound of breaking twigs, as if some one were slowly approaching; whispering voices were also heard. "it must be hereabouts," said a voice in a low tone; "he pointed out the place." "ho!" cried mcleod, who, with larry, had seized and cocked his rifle, "is that you, webster?" "halloo! mcleod, where are you?" in another moment a party of miners broke through the underwood, talking loudly, but they dropped their voices to a whisper on beholding the dead body. "whist, boys," said larry, holding up his hand. "we've jist got hold o' the bullet. it's flattened the least thing, but the size is easy to see. there's a wound over the heart, too, made with a knife; now that's wot i want to get at the bottom of, but i don't like to use me own knife to cut down." as none of the others felt disposed to lend their knives for such a purpose, they looked at each other in silence. "mayhap," said the rough-looking miner who had been hailed by mcleod as webster--"mayhap the knife o' the corpse is lyin' about." the suggestion was a happy one. after a few minutes' search the rusty knife of the murdered man was discovered, and with this larry succeeded in extracting from the wound over the heart of the body a piece of steel, which had evidently been broken off the point of the knife, with which the poor wretch had been slain. larry held it up with a look of triumph. "i'll soon shew ye who's the murderer now, boys, av ye'll help me to fill up the grave." this was speedily accomplished; then the miners, hurrying in silence from the spot, proceeded to the chief hotel of the place, in the gambling-saloon of which they found the man smith, _alias_ black jim, surrounded by gamblers, and sitting on a corner of the monte table watching the game. larry went up to him at once, and, seizing him by the collar, exclaimed--"i've got ye, have i, ye murderer, ye black villain! come along wid ye, and git yer desarts--call a coort, boys, an' sot up judge lynch." instantly the saloon was in an uproar. smith turned pale as death for a moment, but the blood returned with violence to his brazen forehead; he seized larry by the throat, and a deadly struggle would speedily have taken place between the two powerful men had not ned sinton entered at the moment, and, grasping smith's arms in his herculean gripe, rendered him helpless. "what, comrades," cried black jim, with an oath, and looking fiercely round, "will ye see a messmate treated like this? i'm no murderer, an' i defy any one to prove it." there was a move among the miners, and a voice was heard to speak of rescuing the prisoner. "men," cried ned, still holding smith, and looking round upon the crowd, "men--" "i guess there are no men here," interrupted a yankee; "we're all _gentlemen_." "being a man does not incapacitate one from being a gentleman," said ned, sharply, with a look of scorn at the speaker, who deemed it advisable to keep silence. after a moment's pause, he continued--"if this _gentleman_ has done no evil, i and my friends will be answerable to him for what we have done; but my comrade, larry o'neil, denounces him as a murderer; and says he can prove it. surely the law of the mines and fair play demand that he should be tried!" "hear! hear! well said. git up a bonfire, and let's have it out," cried several voices, approvingly. the miners rushed out, dragging black jim along with them to an open level space in front of the hotel, where stood a solitary oak-tree, from one of whose sturdy arms several offenders against the laws of the gold-mines had, at various times, swung in expiation of their crimes. here an immense fire was kindled, and hither nearly all the miners of the neighbourhood assembled. black jim was placed under the branch, from which depended part of the rope that had hanged the last criminal. his rifle, pistols, and knife, were taken from him, amid protestations of innocence, and imprecations on the heads of his accusers. then a speech was made by an orator who was much admired at the place, but whose coarse language would scarcely have claimed admiration in any civilised community. after this larry o'neil stepped forward with mcleod, and the latter described all he knew of the former life of the culprit, and his conduct towards the murdered man. when he had finished, larry produced the bullet, which was compared with the rifle and the bullets in smith's pouch, and pronounced similar to the latter. at this, several of the miners cried out, "guilty, guilty; string him up at once!" "there are other rifles with the same bore," said smith. "i used to think judge lynch was just, but he's no better i find than the land-sharks elsewhere. hang me if you like, but if ye do, instead o' gittin' rid o' one murderer, ye'll fill the little creek with murderers from end to end. my blood will be on _your_ heads." "save yer breath," said larry, drawing smith's knife from its scabbard. "see here, boys, sure two dovetails niver fitted closer than this bit o' steel fits the pint o' black jim's knife. them men standin' beside me can swear they saw me take it out o' the breast o' the morthered man, an' yerselves know that this is the murderer's knife." almost before larry had concluded, smith, who felt that his doom was sealed, exerted all his strength, burst from the men who held him, and darted like an arrow towards that part of the living circle which seemed weakest. most of the miners shrank back--only one man ventured to oppose the fugitive; but he was driven down with such violence, that he lay stunned on the sward, while smith sprang like a goat up the steep face of the adjacent precipice. a dozen rifles instantly poured forth their contents, and the rocks rang with the leaden hail; but the aim had been hurried, and the light shed by the fire at that distance was uncertain. the murderer, next moment, stood on the verge of the precipice, from which he wrenched a mass of rock, and, shouting defiance, hurled it back, with a fearful imprecation, at his enemies. the rock fell into the midst of them, and fractured the skull of a young man, who fell with a groan to the earth. smith, who paused a moment to witness the result of his throw, uttered a yell of exultation, and darted into the mountains, whither, for hours after, he was hotly pursued by the enraged miners. but one by one they returned to the creek exhausted, and telling the same tale--"black jim had made his escape." chapter twelve. sabbath at the diggings--larry o'neil takes to wandering, and meets with adventures--an irish yankee discovered--terrible calamities befall travellers on the overland route. there is no country in our fallen world, however debased and morally barren, in which there does not exist a few green spots where human tenderness and sympathy are found to grow. the atmosphere of the gold-regions of california was, indeed, clouded to a fearful extent with the soul-destroying vapours of worldliness, selfishness, and ungodliness, which the terrors of lynch law alone restrained from breaking forth in all their devastating strength. and this is not to be wondered at, for europe and america naturally poured the flood of their worst inhabitants over the land, in eager search for that gold, the _love of which_, we are told in sacred writ, "is the root of all evil." true, there were many hundreds of estimable men who, failing, from adverse circumstances, to make a livelihood in their native lands, sought to better their fortunes in the far west; but, in too many cases, the gold-fever which raged there soon smote them down; and men who once regarded gold as the means to an end, came at last to esteem gold to be the end, and used every means, fair and foul, to obtain it. others there were, whose constitutions were proof against the national disease; whose hearts deemed _love_ to be the highest bliss of man, and doing good his greatest happiness. but stilling and destructive though the air of the gold-mines was, there were a few hardy plants of moral goodness which defied it--and some of these bloomed in the colony of little creek. the sabbath morning dawned on ned sinton and his friends--the first sabbath since they had begun to dig for gold. on that day the miners rested from their work. shovel and pick lay quiet in the innumerable pits that had been dug throughout the valley; no cradle was rocked, no pan of golden earth was washed. even reckless men had come to know from experience, that the almighty in his goodness had created the sabbath for the special benefit of man's _body_ as well as his soul, and that they wrought better during the six days of the week when they rested on the seventh. unfortunately they believed only what _experience_ taught them; they kept the sabbath according to the letter, not according to the spirit; and although they did not work, they did not refrain from "thinking their own thoughts and finding their own pleasure," on god's holy day. early in the morning they began to wander idly about from hut to hut, visited frequently the grog-shops, and devoted themselves to gambling, which occupation materially marred even the physical rest they might otherwise have enjoyed. "comrades," said ned sinton, as the party sat inside their tent, round the napkin on which breakfast was spread, "it is long since we have made any difference between saturday and sunday, and i think it would be good for us all if we were to begin now. since quitting san francisco, the necessity of pushing forward on our journey has prevented our doing so hitherto. how far we were right in regarding rapid travelling as being _necessary_, i won't stop to inquire; but i think it would be well if we should do a little more than merely rest from work on the sabbath. i propose that, besides doing this, we should read a chapter of the bible together as a family, morning and evening on sundays. what say you?" there was a pause. it was evident that conflicting feelings were at work among the party. "perhaps you're right," said maxton; "i confess that i have troubled myself very little about religion since i came out here, but my conscience has often reproached me for it." "don't you think, messmates," said captain bunting, lighting his pipe, "that if it gets wind the whole colony will be laughin' at us?" "sure they may laugh," said larry o'neil, "an' after that they may cry, av it'll do them good. wot's the differ to us?" "i don't agree with you, ned," said tom collins, somewhat testily; "for my part i like to see men straightforward, all fair and above-board, as the captain would say. hypocrisy is an abominable vice, whether it is well meaning or ill meaning, and i don't see the use of pretending to be religious when we are not." "tom," replied ned, in an earnest voice, "don't talk lightly of serious things. i don't _pretend_ to be religious, but i do _desire_ to be so: and i think it would be good for all of us to read a portion of god's word on his own day, both for the purpose of obeying and honouring him, and of getting our minds filled, for a short time at least, with other thoughts than those of gold-hunting. in doing this there is no hypocrisy." "well, well," rejoined tom, "i'll not object if the rest are agreed." "agreed," was the unanimous reply. so ned rose, and, opening his portmanteau, drew forth the little bible that had been presented to him by old mr shirley on the day of his departure from home. from that day forward, every sabbath morning and evening, ned sinton read a portion of the word of god to his companions, as long as they were together; and each of the party afterwards, at different times, confessed that, from the time the reading of the bible was begun, he felt happier than he did before. after breakfast they broke up, and went out to stroll for an hour or two upon the wooded slopes of the mountains. ned and tom collins went off by themselves, the others, with the exception of larry, walked out together. that morning larry o'neil felt less sociable than was his wont, so he sallied forth alone. for some time he sauntered about with his hands in his pockets, his black pipe in his mouth, a thick oak cudgel, of his own making, under his arm, and his hat set jauntily on one side of his head. he went along with an easy swagger, and looked particularly reckless, but no man ever belied his looks more thoroughly. the swagger was unintentional, and the recklessness did not exist. on the contrary, the reading of the bible had brought back to his mind a flood of home memories, which forced more than one tear from his susceptible heart into his light-blue eye, as he wandered in memory over the green hills of erin. but the scenes that passed before him as he roamed about among the huts and tents of the miners soon drew his thoughts to subjects less agreeable to contemplate. on week-days the village, if we may thus designate the scattered groups of huts and tents, was comparatively quiet, but on sundays it became a scene of riot and confusion. not only was it filled with its own idle population of diggers, but miners from all the country round, within a circuit of eight or ten miles, flocked into it for the purpose of buying provisions for the week, as well as for the purpose of gambling and drinking, this being the only day in all the week, in which they indulged in what they termed "a spree." consequently the gamblers and store-keepers did more business on sunday than on any other day. the place was crowded with men in their rough, though picturesque, bandit-like costumes, rambling about from store to store, drinking and inviting friends to drink, or losing in the gaming-saloons all the earnings of a week of hard, steady toil--toil more severe than is that of navvies or coal-heavers. there seemed to be an irresistible attraction in these gambling-houses. some men seemed unable to withstand the temptation, and they seldom escaped being fleeced. yet they returned, week after week, to waste in these dens of iniquity the golden treasure gathered with so much labour during their six working days. larry o'neil looked through the doorway of one of the gambling-houses as he passed, and saw men standing and sitting round the tables, watching with eager faces the progress of the play, while ever and anon one of them would reel out, more than half-drunk with excitement and brandy. passing on through the crowded part of the village, which looked as if a fair were being held there, he entered the narrow footpath that led towards the deeper recesses at the head of the valley. o'neil had not yet, since his arrival, found time to wander far from his own tent. it was therefore with a feeling of great delight that he left the scene of riot behind him, and, turning into a bypath that led up one of the narrow ravines, opening into the larger valley, strolled several miles into deep solitudes that were in harmony with his feelings. the sun streamed through the entrance to this ravine, bathing with a flood of light crags and caves and bush-encompassed hollows, that at other times were shrouded in gloom. as the irishman stood gazing in awe and admiration at the wild, beautiful scene, beyond which were seen the snowy peaks of the sierra nevada, he observed a small solitary tent pitched on a level patch of earth at the brow of a low cliff. curiosity prompted him to advance and ascertain what unsociable creature dwelt in it. a few minutes sufficed to bring him close upon it, and he was about to step forward, when the sound of a female voice arrested him. it was soft and low, and the accents fell upon his ear with the power of an old familiar song. being at the back of the tent, he could not see who spoke, but, from the monotonous regularity of the tone, he knew that the woman was reading. he passed noiselessly round to the front, and peeping over the tops of bushes, obtained a view of the interior. the reader was a young woman, whose face, which was partially concealed by a mass of light-brown hair as she bent over her book, seemed emaciated and pale. looking up just as larry's eye fell upon her, she turned towards a man whose gaunt, attenuated form lay motionless on a pile of brushwood beside her, and said, tenderly: "are ye tired, patrick, dear, or would you like me to go on?" larry's heart gave his ribs such a thump at that moment that he felt surprised the girl did not hear it. but he could not approach; he was rooted to the earth as firmly, though not as permanently, as the bush behind which he stood. an irish voice, and an irish girl, heard and seen so unexpectedly, quite took away his breath. the sick man made some reply which was not audible, and the girl, shutting the book, looked up for a few moments, as if in silent prayer, then she clasped her hands upon her knees, and laying her head upon them, remained for some time motionless. the hands were painfully thin, as was her whole frame. the face was what might have been pretty at one time, although it was haggard enough now, but the expression was peculiarly sorrowful. in a few minutes she looked up again, and spread the ragged blanket more carefully over the shoulders of the sick man, and larry, feeling that he was at that time in the questionable position of an eavesdropper, left his place of concealment, and stood before the tent. the sick man saw him instantly, and, raising himself slightly, exclaimed, "who goes there? sure i can't git lave to die in pace!" the familiar tones of a countryman's voice fell pleasantly on larry's ear as he sprang into the tent, and, seizing the sick man's hand, cried, "a blissin' on the mouth that said that same. o pat, darlint! i'm glad to mate with ye. what's the matter with ye? tell me now, an' don't be lookin' as if ye'd seen a ghost." "kape back," said the girl, pushing larry aside, with a half-pleased, half-angry expression. "don't ye see that ye've a'most made him faint? he's too wake intirely to be--" "ah! then, cushla, forgive me; i wint and forgot meself. blissin's on yer pale face! sure yer irish too." before the girl could reply to this speech, which was uttered in a tone of the deepest sympathy, the sick man recovered sufficiently to say-"sit down, friend. how comed ye to larn me name? i guess i never saw ye before." "sure, didn't i hear yer wife say it as i come for'ard to the tint," answered larry, somewhat staggered at the un-irish word "guess." "he is my brother," remarked the girl. "troth, ye've got a dash o' the yankee brogue," said larry, with a puzzled look; "did ye not come from the owld country?" the sick man seemed too much exhausted to reply, so the girl said-"our father and mother were irish, and left their own country to sittle in america. we have never seen ireland, my brother nor i, but we think of it as almost our own land. havin' been brought up in the woods, and seein' a'most no one but father and mother for days an' weeks at a time, we've got a good deal o' the irish tone." "ah! thin, ye have reason to be thankful for that same," remarked larry, who was a little disappointed that his new friends were not altogether irish; but, after a few minutes' consideration, he came to the conclusion, that people whose father and mother were natives of the emerald isle could no more be americans, simply because they happened to be born in america, than they could be fish if they chanced to be born at sea. having settled this point to his satisfaction, he proceeded to question the girl as to their past history and the cause of their present sad condition, and gradually obtained from her the information that their father and mother were dead, and that, having heard of the mines of california, her brother had sold off his farm in the backwoods, and proceeded by the overland route to the new land of gold, in company with many other western hunters and farmers. they reached it, after the most inconceivable sufferings, in the beginning of winter, and took up their abode at little creek. the rush of emigration from the western states to california, by the overland route, that took place at this time, was attended with the most appalling sufferings and loss of life. men sold off their snug farms, packed their heavy waggons with the necessaries for a journey, with their wives and little ones, over a wilderness more than two thousand miles in extent, and set off by scores over the prairies towards the ultima thule of the far west. the first part of their journey was prosperous enough, but the weight of their waggons rendered the pace slow, and it was late in the season ere they reached the great barrier of the rocky mountains. but severe although the sufferings of those first emigrants were, they were as nothing compared with the dire calamities that befell those who started from home later in the season. all along the route the herbage was cropped bare by those who had gone before; their oxen broke down; burning sandy deserts presented themselves when the wretched travellers were well-nigh exhausted; and when at length they succeeded in reaching the great mountain-chain, its dark passes were filled with the ice and snow of early winter. hundreds of men, women, and children, fell down and died on the burning plain, or clambered up the rugged heights to pillow their dying heads at last on wreaths of snow. to add to the unheard-of miseries of these poor people, scurvy in its worst forms attacked them; and the air of many of their camping places was heavy with the stench arising from the dead bodies of men and animals that had perished by the way. "it was late in the season," said kate morgan, as larry's new friend was named, "when me brother patrick an' i set off with our waggon and oxen, an' my little sister nelly, who was just able to run about, with her curly yellow hair streamin' over her purty shoulders, an' her laughin' blue eyes, almost spakin' when they looked at ye." the poor girl spoke with deep pathos as she mentioned nelly's name, while larry o'neil sat with his hands clasped, gazing at her with an expression of the deepest commiseration. "we got pretty well on at first," she continued, after a pause, "because our waggon was lighter than most o' the others; but it was near winter before we got to the mountains, an' then our troubles begood. first of all, one o' the oxen fell, and broke its leg. then darlin' nelly fell sick, and patrick had to carry her on his back up the mountains, for i had got so weak meself that i wasn't fit to take her up. all the way over i was troubled with one o' the emigrants that kep' us company-there was thirty o' us altogether--he was a very bad man, and none o' us liked him. he took a fancy to me, an' asked me to be his wife so often that i had to make patrick order him to kape away from us altogether. he wint off in a black rage, swearin' he'd be revenged,--an' oh!" continued kate, wringing her hands, "he kept his word. one day there was a dispute between our leaders which way we should go, for we had got to two passes in the mountains; so one party went one way, and we went another. through the night, my--my lover came into our camp to wish me good-bye, he said, for the last time, as he was goin' with the other party. after he was gone, i missed nelly, and went out to seek for her among the tents o' my neighbours, but she was nowhere to be found. at once i guessed he had taken her away, for well did he know i would sooner have lost my life than my own darlin' nell." again the girl paused a few moments; then she resumed, in a low voice-"we never saw him or nelly again. it is said the whole party perished, an' i believe it, for they were far spent, and the road they took, i've been towld, is worse than the one we took. it was dead winter when we arrived, and patrick and me came to live here. we made a good deal at first by diggin', but we both fell sick o' the ague, and we've been scarce able to kape us alive till now. but it won't last long. dear patrick is broken down entirely, as ye see, and i haven't strength a'most to go down to the diggin's for food. i haven't been there for a month, for it's four miles away, as i dare say ye know. we'll both be at rest soon." "ah! now, don't say that again, avic," cried larry, smiting his thigh with energy; "ye'll be nothin' o' the sort, that ye won't; sure yer brother pat is slaipin' now like an infant, he is, an' i'll go down meself to the stores and git ye medicines an' a doctor, an' what not. cheer up, now--" larry's enthusiastic efforts to console his new friend were interrupted by the sick man, who awoke at the moment, and whispered the word "food." his sister rose, and taking up a small tin pan that simmered on the fire in front of the tent, poured some of its contents into a dish. "what is it ye give him?" inquired larry, taking the dish from the girl's hands and putting it to his lips. he instantly spat out the mouthful, for it was soup made of rancid pork, without vegetables of any kind. "'tis all i've got left," said the girl. "even if i was able to go down for more, he wouldn't let me; but i couldn't, for i've tried more than once, and near died on the road. besides, i haven't a grain o' goold in the tent." "o morther! tare an' ages!" cried larry, staring first at the girl and then at her brother, while he slapped his thighs and twisted his fingers together as if he wished to wrench them out of joint. "howld on, faix i'll do it. don't give it him, plaze; howld on, _do_!" larry o'neil turned round as he spoke, seized his cudgel, sprang right over the bushes in front of the tent, and in two minutes more was seen far down the ravine, spurning the ground beneath him as if life and death depended on the race. chapter thirteen. kindness to strangers in distress--remarks in reference to early rising--diggings wax unproductive--ned takes a ramble, and has a small adventure--plans formed and partly developed--remarkable human creatures discovered, and still more remarkable converse held with them. "i'll throuble ye for two pounds of flour," cried larry o'neil, dashing into one of the stores, which was thronged with purchasers, whom he thrust aside rather unceremoniously. "you'll have to take your turn, stranger, i calculate," answered the store-keeper, somewhat sharply. "ah thin, avic, plaze do attind to me at wance; for sure i've run four miles to git stuff for a dyin' family--won't ye now?" the earnest manner in which larry made this appeal was received with a laugh by the bystanders, and a recommendation to the store-keeper to give him what he wanted. "what's the price?" inquired larry, as the man measured it out. "two dollars a pound," answered the man. "musha! i've seed it chaiper." "i guess so have i; but provisions are gittin' up, for nothin' has come from sacramento for a fortnight." "tay an' sugar'll be as bad, no doubt!" "wuss, they are; for there's next to none at all, i opine, in this here location." "faix, i'll have a pound o' both, av they wos two dollars the half-ounce. have ye got raisins an' sago?" "yes." "give me a pound o' that, aich." these articles having been delivered and paid for, larry continued-"ye'll have brandy, av coorse?" "i guess i have; plenty at twenty dollars a bottle." "och, morther, it'll brake the bank intirely; but it's little i care. hand me wan bottle, plaze." the bottle of brandy was added to his store, and then the irishman, shouldering his bundle of good things, left the shop, and directed his steps once more towards the ravine in which dwelt kate morgan and her brother pat. it was late when the irishman returned from his mission of kindness, and he found the fire nearly out, the tent closed, and all his comrades sound asleep, so, gently lifting the curtain that covered the entrance, he crept quietly in, lay down beside bill jones, whose nasal organ was performing a trombone solo, and in five minutes was sound asleep. it seemed to him as if he had barely closed his eyes, when he was roused by his comrades making preparations to resume work; nevertheless, he had rested several hours, and the grey hue of early day that streamed in through the opening of the tent warned him that he must recommence the effort to realise his golden dreams. the pursuit of gold, however engrossing it may be, does not prevent men from desiring to lie still in the morning, or abate one jot of the misery of their condition when they are rudely roused by _early_ comrades, and told that "it's time to get up." larry o'neil, tom collins, and maxton groaned, on receiving this information from ned, turned, and made as if they meant to go to sleep. but they meant nothing of the sort; it was merely a silent testimony to the fact of their thorough independence--an expressive way of shewing that they scorned to rise at the bidding of any man, and that they would not get up till it pleased themselves to do so. that this was the case became evident from their groaning again, two minutes afterwards, and turning round on their backs. then they stretched themselves, and, sitting up, stared at each other like owls. a moment after, maxton yawned vociferously, and fell back again quite flat, an act which was instantly imitated by the other two. such is the force of bad example. by this time the captain and jones had left the tent, and ned sinton was buckling on his belt. "now, then, get up, and don't be lazy," cried the latter, as he stepped out, dragging all the blankets off the trio as he took his departure, an act which disclosed the fact that trousers and flannel shirts were the sleeping garments of maxton and tom, and that larry had gone to bed in his boots. the three sprang up immediately, and, after performing their toilets, sallied forth to the banks of the stream, where the whole population of the place was already hard at work. having worked out their claims, which proved to be pretty good, they commenced new diggings close beside the old ones, but these turned out complete failures, excepting that selected by captain bunting, which was as rich as the first. the gold deposits were in many places very irregular in their distribution, and it frequently happened that one man took out thirty or forty dollars a day from his claim, while another man, working within a few yards of him, was, to use a mining phrase, unable "to raise the colour;" that is, to find gold enough to repay his labour. this uncertainty disgusted many of the impatient gold-hunters, and not a few returned home, saying that the finding of gold in california was a mere lottery, who, if they had exercised a little patience and observation, would soon have come to know the localities in which gold was most likely to be found. there is no doubt whatever, that the whole country is impregnated more or less with the precious material. the quartz veins in the mountains are full of it; and although the largest quantities are usually obtained in the beds of streams and on their banks, gold is to be found, in smaller quantities, even on the tops of the hills. hitherto the miners at little creek had found the diggings on the banks of the stream sufficiently remunerative; but the discovery of several lumps of gold in its bed, induced many of them to search for it in the shallow water, and they were successful. one old sea-captain was met by bill jones with a nugget the size of a goose-egg in each hand, and another man found a single lump of almost pure gold that weighed fourteen pounds. these discoveries induced ned sinton to think of adopting a plan which had been in his thoughts for some time past; so one day he took up his rifle, intending to wander up the valley, for the double purpose of thinking out his ideas, and seeing how the diggers higher up got on. as he sauntered slowly along, he came to a solitary place where no miners were at work, in consequence of the rugged nature of the banks of the stream rendering the labour severe. here, on a projecting cliff; which overhung a deep, dark pool or eddy, he observed the tall form of a naked man, whose brown skin bespoke him the native of a southern clime. while ned looked at him, wondering what he could be about, the man suddenly bent forward, clasped his hands above his head, and dived into the pool. ned ran to the margin immediately, and stood for nearly a minute observing the dark indistinct form of the savage as he groped along the bottom. suddenly he rose, and made for the shore with a nugget of gold in his hand. he seemed a little disconcerted on observing ned, who addressed him in english, french, and spanish, but without eliciting any reply, save a grunt. this, however, did not surprise our hero, who recognised the man to be a sandwich islander whom he had met before in the village, and whose powers of diving were well-known to the miners. he ascertained by signs, however, that there was much gold at the bottom of the stream, which, doubtless, the diver could not detach from the rocks during the short period of his immersion, so he hastened back to the tent, determined to promulgate his plan to his comrades. it was noon when he arrived, and the miners were straggling from all parts of the diggings to the huts, tents, and restaurants. "ha! maxton, glad i've found you alone," cried ned, seating himself on an empty box before the fire, over which the former was engaged in culinary operations. "i have been thinking over a plan for turning the course of the stream, and so getting at a portion of its bed." "now that's odd," observed maxton, "i have been thinking of the very same thing all morning." "indeed! wits jump, they say. i fancied that i had the honour of first hitting on the plan." "_first_ hitting on it!" rejoined maxton, smiling. "my dear fellow, it has not only been hit upon, but hit off, many months ago, with considerable success in some parts of the diggings. the only thing that prevents it being generally practised is, that men require to work in companies, for the preliminary labour is severe, and miners seem to prefer working singly, or in twos and threes, as long as there is good `pay-dirt' on the banks." "well, then, the difficulty does not affect us, because we are already a pretty strong company, although our vaquero has left us, and i have seen a place this morning which, i think, will do admirably to begin upon; it is a deep pool, a few miles up the stream, under--" "i know it," interrupted maxton, putting a large slice of pork into the frying-pan, which hissed delightfully in the ears of hungry men. "i know the place well, but there is a much better spot not a quarter of a mile higher up, where a chinaman, named ah-wow, lives; it will be more suitable, you'll find, when i shew it you." "we'll go and have a look at it after dinner," observed ned; "meanwhile, here are our comrades, let us hear what they have to say about the proposal." as he spoke, collins, jones, larry, and the captain advanced in single file, and with disconsolate looks, that told of hard toil and little reward. "well, what have you got, comrades?" "nothin'," answered bill jones, drawing forth his comforter. bill's comforter was black and short, and had a bowl, and was at all times redolent of tobacco. "niver a speck," cried larry o'neil, setting to with energy to assist in preparing dinner. "well, friends, i've a plan to propose to you, so let us take the edge off our appetites, and i'll explain." ned sat down tailor-fashion on the ground with his companions round him, and, while they devoted themselves ravenously and silently to tea, flour-cake, salt-pork, and beans, he explained to them the details of his plan, which explanation, (if it was not the dinner), had the effect of raising their spirits greatly. instead, therefore, of repairing to their profitless claims after dinner, they went in a body up the stream to visit the chinaman's diggings. captain bunting alone remained behind, as his claim was turning out a first-rate one. "sure, there's a human!" cried larry, as they turned a projecting point, about an hour and a half later, and came in sight of ah-wow's "lo-cation," as the yankees termed it. "it may be a human," remarked ned, laughing, "but it's the most inhuman one i ever saw. i think yonder fellow must be performing a surgical operation on the chinaman's head." ah-wow was seated on a stone in front of his own log-hut, with his arms resting on his knees, and an expression of supreme felicity on his yellow face, while a countryman, in what appeared a night-gown, and an immense straw hat, dressed his tail for him. lest uninformed readers should suppose that ah-wow belonged to the monkey-tribe, we may mention that the chinaman's head was shaved quite bald all round, with the exception of a _tail_ of hair, about two feet long, and upwards of an inch thick, which jutted from the top of his _caput_, and hung down his back. this tail he was in the act of getting dressed when our party of miners broke in upon the privacy of his dressing-room. ah-wow had a nose which was very flat and remarkably broad, with the nostrils pointing straight to the front. he also had a mouth which was extremely large, frightfully thick-lipped, and quite the reverse of pretty. he had two eyes, also, not placed, like the eyes of ordinary men, _across_ his face, on either side of his nose, but set in an angular manner on his visage, so that the outer corners pointed a good deal upwards, and the inner corners pointed a good deal downwards-towards the point of his nose, or, rather, towards that vacant space in front of his nostrils which would have been the point of his nose if that member had had a point at all. ah-wow also had cheek bones which were uncommonly high, and a forehead which was preposterously low, and a body which was rather squat, and a _tout ensemble_ which was desperately ugly. like his hairdresser, he wore a coat somewhat resembling a night-shirt, with a belt round it, and his feet were thrust into yellow slippers. these last, when he went to dig for gold, he exchanged for heavy boots. when ned and his friends walked up and stood in a grinning row before him, ah-wow opened his little eyes to the uttermost, (which wasn't much), and said, "how!" if he had affixed "d'ye do" to it, the sentence would have been complete and intelligible. his companion attempted to vary the style of address by exclaiming, "ho!" "can you speak english?" inquired ned, advancing. a shake of the head, and a consequent waggle of the tail was the reply. "or french?" (shake and waggle.) "maybe ye can do irish?" suggested larry. the shake and waggle were more vigorous than before but ah-wow rose, and, drawing on his boots, made signs to his visitors to follow him, which they did, through the bushes, round the base of a steep precipice. a short walk brought them to an open space quite close to the banks of the stream, which at that place was broken by sundry miniature waterfalls and cascades, whose puny turmoil fell like woodland music on the ear. here was another log-hut of minute dimensions and ruinous aspect, in front of which sat another chinaman, eating his dinner. him ah-wow addressed as ko-sing. after a brief conversation, ko-sing turned to the strangers, and said-"ho! kin speek english, me can. what you want?" "we want to look at your diggings," answered ned. "we are going to turn the river here, if we can; and if you and your companions choose to join us, we will give you good wages." "kin speek, but not fery well kin on'erstan'. work, work you say, an' pay we?" "yes, that's it; you work for us, and we'll pay you." "how moche?" inquired the cautious celestial. "five dollars a day," replied ned. the chinaman put on a broad grin, and offered to shake hands, which offer was accepted, not only by ned, but by the whole party; and the contract was thus settled on the spot, to the satisfaction of all parties. after this they spent some time in examining the bed of the stream, and having fixed upon a spot on which to commence operations, they prepared, about sunset, to return for their tent and mining tools, intending to make a moonlight flitting in order to avoid being questioned by over-curious neighbours. all their horses and mules, except ned's charger, having been sold a few days before to a yankee who was returning to sacramento, they expected to get off without much noise, with their goods and chattels on their backs. before starting on their return, while the rest of the party were crowding round and questioning ko-sing, bill jones--whose mind since he arrived in california seemed to be capable of only one sensation, that of surprise--went up to ah-wow, and glancing round, in order to make sure that he was not observed, laid his hand on his shoulder, and looked inquiringly into the chinaman's face. the chinaman returned the compliment with interest, throwing into his sallow countenance an expression of, if possible, blanker astonishment. "o-wow!" said bill, with solemn gravity, and pausing, as if to give him time to prepare for what was coming. "o-wow! wot do you dress your pig-tail with?" "ho!" replied the chinaman. "ho!" echoed bill; "now, that's curious. i thought as how you did it with grease, for it looks like it. tell me now, how long did it take afore it growed that long?" he lifted the end of the tail as he spoke. "how!" ejaculated the chinaman. "ay, _how_ long?" repeated bill. we regret that we cannot give ah-wow's answer to this question, seeing that it was never given, in consequence of bill being suddenly called away by ned sinton, as he and his friends turned to go. "come, bill, let's be off." "ay, ay, sir," answered bill, turning from the chinaman and following his comrades with solemn stolidity, or, if you prefer the expression, with stolid solemnity. "don't linger, larry," shouted tom collins. "ah! thin, it's cruel to tear me away. good-night to ye, bow-wow, we'll be back before mornin', ye purty creature." with this affectionate farewell, larry ran after his friends and followed them down the banks of the tumbling stream towards the `r'yal bank o' calyforny,' which was destined that night, for a time at least, to close its doors. chapter fourteen. the new diggings--bright prospects--great results spring from great exertions, even in california--captain bunting is seized with a great passion for solitary rambling, and has two desperate encounters; one with a man, the other with a rear. the part of the little creek diggings to which the gold-hunters transported their camp, was a wild, secluded spot, not much visited by the miners, partly on account of its gloomy appearance, and partly in consequence of a belief that the celestials located there were getting little or no gold. in this supposition they were correct. ah-wow and ko-sing being inveterately lazy, contented themselves with digging just enough gold to enable them to purchase a sufficiency of the necessaries of life. but the region was extremely rich, as our adventurers found out very soon after their arrival. one of the ravines, in particular, gave indications of being full of gold, and several panfuls of earth that were washed out shewed so promising a return, that the captain and larry were anxious to begin at once. they were overruled, however, by the others, who wished to make trial of the bed of the stream. six days of severe labour were undergone by the whole party ere their task was accomplished, during which period they did not make an ounce of gold, while, at the same time, their little store was rapidly melting away. nevertheless, they worked heartily, knowing that a few days of successful digging would amply replenish their coffers. at grey dawn they set to work; some, with trousers tucked up, paddling about in the water all day, carrying mud and stones, while others felled trees and cut them into logs wherewith to form the dam required to turn the stream from its course. this was a matter of no small difficulty. a new bed had to be cut to the extent of eight or ten yards, but for a long time the free and jovial little mountain stream scorned to make such a pitiful twist in its course, preferring to burst its way headlong through the almost completed barricade, by which it was pent-up. twice did it accomplish this feat, and twice, in so doing, did it sweep captain bunting off his legs and roll him along bodily, in a turmoil of mud and stones and dirty water, roaring, as it gushed forth, as if in savage triumph. on the second occasion, bill jones shared the captain's ducking, and all who chanced to be working about the dam at the time were completely drenched. but, however much their bodies might be moistened, no untoward accident could damp the ardour of their spirits. they resumed work again; repaired the breach, and, finally, turned the obstinate stream out of the course which, probably, it had occupied since creation. it rushed hissing, as if spitefully, along its new bed for a few yards, and then darted, at a right angle, back into its former channel, along which it leaped exultingly as before. but the object for which all this trouble had been undertaken was attained. about eight yards of the old bed of the torrent were laid bare, and the water was drained away, whereat each of the party exhibited his satisfaction after his own peculiar manner--larry o'neil, as usual, giving vent to his joy in a hearty cheer. the result was even more successful than had been anticipated. during the next few days the party conversed little; their whole energies being devoted to eating, sleeping, and digging. the bed of the stream was filled with stones, among which they picked up numerous nuggets of various sizes--from a pea to a walnut--some being almost pure gold, while others were, more or less, mixed with quartz. a large quantity of the heavy black sand was also found at the bottom of a hole, which once had been an eddy--it literally sparkled with gold-dust, and afforded a rich return for the labour previously expended in order to bring it to light. the produce of the first two days' work was no less than fourteen pounds weight of gold! the third day was the sabbath, and they rested from their work. it is, however, impossible for those who have never been in similar circumstances to conceive how difficult it was for our party of gold-hunters to refrain from resuming work as usual on that morning. some of them had never been trained to love or keep the sabbath, and would have certainly gone to work had not ned and the captain remonstrated. all were under great excitement in consequence of their valuable discovery, and anxious to know whether the run of luck was likely to continue, and not one of the party escaped the strong temptation to break the sabbath-day, except, indeed, the chinamen, who were too easy-going and lazy to care whether they worked or rested. but the inestimable advantage of good early training told at this time on ned sinton. it is questionable whether his principles were strong enough to have carried him through the temptation, but ned had been _trained_ to reverence the lord's-day from his earliest years, and he looked upon working on the sabbath with a feeling of dread which he could not have easily shaken off, even had he tried. the promise, in his case, was fulfilled--"train up a child in the way he should go, and he will not depart from it when he is old;" and though no mother's voice of warning was heard in that wild region of the earth, and no guardian's hand was there to beckon back the straggler from the paths of rectitude, yet he was not "let alone;" the arm of the lord was around him, and his voice whispered, in tones that could not be misunderstood, "remember the sabbath-day, to keep it holy." we have already said, that the sabbath at the mines was a day of rest as far as mere digging went, but this was simply for the sake of resting the wearied frame, not from a desire to glorify god. had any of the reckless miners who filled the gambling-houses been anxious to work during sunday on a prolific claim, he would not have hesitated because of god's command. the repose to their overworked muscles, and the feeling that they had been preserved from committing a great sin, enabled the party to commence work on monday with a degree of cheerfulness and vigour that told favourably on their profits that night, and in the course of a few days they dug out gold to the extent of nearly two thousand pounds sterling. "we're goin' to get rich, no doubt of it," said the captain one morning to ned, as the latter was preparing to resume work in the creek; "but i'll tell you what it is, i'm tired o' salt beef and pork, and my old hull is gettin' rheumatic with paddling about barefoot in the water, so i mean to go off for a day's shootin' in the mountains." "very good, captain," replied ned; "but i fear you'll have to go by yourself, for we must work out this claim as fast as we can, seeing that the miners further down won't be long of scenting out our discovery." ned's words were prophetic. in less than half-an-hour after they were uttered a long-visaged yankee, in a straw hat, nankeen trousers, and fisherman's boots, came to the spot where they were at work, and seated himself on the trunk of a tree hard by to watch their proceedings. "guess you've got som'thin'," he said, as larry, after groping in the mud for a little, picked up a lump of white quartz with a piece of gold the size of a marble embedded in the side of it. "ah! but ye're good for sore eyes," cried larry, examining the nugget carefully. "i say, stranger," inquired the yankee, "d'ye git many bits like that in this location?" the irishman regarded his question with an expressive leer. "arrah! now, ye won't tell?" he said, in a hoarse whisper; "sure it'll be the death o' me av ye do. there's _no end_ o' them things here--as many as ye like to pick; it's only the day before to-morrow that i turned up a nugget of pure goold the size of me head; and the capting got hold o' wan that's only half dug out yet, an' wot's seen o' 't is as big as the head o' a five-gallon cask--all pure goold." the yankee was not to be put off the scent by such a facetious piece of information. he continued to smoke in silence, sauntered about with his hands in his nankeen pockets, watched the proceedings of the party, inspected the dirt cast ashore, and, finally, dug out and washed a panful of earth from the banks of the stream, after which he threw away the stump of his cigar, and went off whistling. three hours later he returned with a party of friends, laden with tents, provisions, and mining tools, and they all took up their residence within twenty yards of our adventurers, and commenced to turn the course of the river just below them. larry and jones were at first so angry that they seriously meditated committing an assault upon the intruders, despite the remonstrances of tom collins and maxton, who assured them that the new-comers had a perfect right to the ground they occupied, and that any attempt to interrupt them by violence would certainly be brought under the notice of judge lynch, whose favourite punishments, they well knew, were whipping and hanging. meanwhile captain bunting had proceeded a considerable way on his solitary hunting expedition into the mountains, bent upon replenishing the larder with fresh provisions. he was armed with his favourite blunderbuss, a pocket-compass, and a couple of ship-biscuits. as he advanced towards the head of the valley, the scenery became more and more gloomy and rugged, but the captain liked this. having spent the greater part of his life at sea, he experienced new and delightful sensations in viewing the mountain-peaks and ravines, by which he was now surrounded; and, although of a sociable turn of mind, he had no objection for once to be left to ramble alone, and give full vent to the feelings of romance and enthusiastic admiration, with which his nautical bosom had been filled since landing in california. towards noon, the captain reached the entrance to a ravine, or gorge, which opened upon the larger valley, into which it discharged a little stream from its dark bosom. there was an air of deep solitude and rugged majesty about this ravine that induced the wanderer to pause before entering it. just then, certain sensations reminded him of the two biscuits in his pocket, so he sat down on a rock and prepared to dine. we say prepared to dine, advisedly, for captain bunting had a pretty correct notion of what comfort meant, and how it was to be attained. he had come out for the day to enjoy himself and although his meal was frugal, he did not, on that account, eat it in an off-hand easy way, while sauntering along, as many would have done. by no means. he brushed the surface of the rock on which he sat quite clean, and, laying the two biscuits on it, looked first at one and then at the other complacently, while he slowly, and with great care, cut his tobacco into delicate shreds, and filled his pipe. then he rose, and taking the tin prospecting-pan from his belt, went and filled it at the clear rivulet which murmured at his feet, and placed it beside the biscuits on the rock. this done, he completed the filling of his pipe, and cast a look of benignity at the sun, which at that moment happened in his course to pass an opening between two lofty peaks, which permitted him to throw a cloth of gold over the captain's table. captain bunting's mind now became imbued with those aspirations after knowledge, which would have induced him, had he been at sea, to inquire, "how's her head?" so he pulled out his pocket-compass, and having ascertained that his nose, when turned towards the sun, pointed exactly "south-south-west, and by south," he began dinner. thereafter he lit his pipe, and, reclining on the green turf beside the rock, with his head resting on his left hand, and wreaths of smoke encircling his visage, he--he enjoyed himself. to elaborate a description, reader, often weakens it--we cannot say more than that he enjoyed himself-emphatically. had captain bunting known who was looking at him in that solitary place, he would not have enjoyed himself quite so much, nor would he have smoked his pipe so comfortably. on the summit of the precipice at his back stood, or rather sat, one of the natives of the country, in the shape of a grizzly-bear. bruin had observed the captain from the time he appeared at the entrance of the ravine, and had watched him with a curious expression of stupid interest during all his subsequent movements. he did not attempt to interrupt him in his meal, however, on two grounds--first, because the nature of the grizzly-bear, if not molested, induces him to let others alone; and secondly, because the precipice, on the top of which he sat, although conveniently close for the purposes of observation, was too high for a safe jump. thus it happened that captain bunting finished his meal in peace, and went on his way up the wild ravine, without being aware of the presence of so dangerous a spectator. he had not proceeded far, when his attention was arrested by the figure of a man seated on a ledge of rock that over hung a yawning gulf into which the little stream plunged. so still did the figure remain, with the head drooping on the chest, as if in deep contemplation, that it might have been mistaken for a statue, cut out of the rock on which it sat. a deep shadow was cast over it by the neighbouring mountain-peaks, yet, as the white sheet of a waterfall formed the background, it was distinctly visible. the captain advanced towards it with some curiosity, and it was not until he was within a hundred yards that a movement at length proved it to be a living human being. the stranger rose hastily, and advanced to meet a woman, who at the same moment issued from an opening in the brushwood near him. the meeting was evidently disagreeable to the woman, although, from the manner of it, and the place, it did not seem to be accidental; she pushed the man away several times, but their words were inaudible to the captain, who began to feel all the discomfort of being an unintentional observer. uncertainty as to what he should do induced him to remain for a few moments inactive, and he had half made up his mind to endeavour to retreat unobserved, when the man suddenly struck down the female, who fell with a faint cry to the earth. in another minute the captain was at the side of the dastardly fellow, whom he seized by the neck with the left hand, while with the right he administered a hearty blow to his ribs. the man turned round fiercely, and grappled with his assailant; and then captain bunting became aware that his antagonist was no other than smith, _alias_ black jim, the murderer. smith, although a strong man, was no match for the captain, who soon overpowered him. "ha! you villain, have i got you?" cried he, as he almost throttled the man. "get up now, an' come along peaceably. if you don't, i'll knock your brains out with the butt of my gun." he permitted black jim to rise as he spoke, but held him fast by the collar, having previously taken from him his knife and rifle. black jim did not open his lips, but the scowl on his visage shewed that feelings of deadly hatred burned in his bosom. meanwhile, the girl had recovered, and now approached. "ah! plase, sir," she said, "let him off. shure i don't mind the blow; it's done me no harm--won't ye, now?" "let him off!" exclaimed the captain, violently; "no, my good girl; if he has not murdered you, he has at any rate murdered one human being that i know of, and if i can, i'll bring him to justice." kate, (for it was she), started at this reply, and looked earnestly at the man, who hung his head, and, for the first time, shewed symptoms of a softer feeling. "ah! it's true, i see, an' all hope is gone. if he'd commit a murder, he'd tell a lie too. i thought he spoke truth when he said nelly was alive, but--" the girl turned as she spoke, and left the spot hurriedly, while the captain took out his pocket-handkerchief, and began to fasten the arms of his prisoner behind him. but black jim was not to be secured without a struggle. despair lent him energy and power. darting forward, he endeavoured to throw his captor down, and partially succeeded; but captain bunting's spirit was fully roused, and, like most powerful men whose dispositions are habitually mild and peaceful, he was in a blaze of uncontrollable passion. for some time black jim writhed like a serpent in the strong grasp of his antagonist, and once or twice it seemed as if he would succeed in freeing himself, but the captain's hands had been trained for years to grasp and hold on with vice-like tenacity, and no efforts could disengage them. the two men swayed to and fro in their efforts, no sound escaping them, save an occasional gasp for breath as they put forth renewed energy in the deadly struggle. at last black jim began to give way. he was forced down on one knee, then he fell heavily on his side, and the captain placed his knee on his chest. just then a peculiar hiss was heard behind them, and the captain, looking back, observed that a third party had come upon the scene. the grizzly-bear, which has been described as watching captain bunting at dinner, had left its former position on the brow of the precipice, and, whether from motives of curiosity, or by accident, we will not presume to say, had followed the captain's track. it now stood regarding the two men with an uncommonly ferocious aspect. its indignation may, perhaps, be accounted for by the fact that they stood in the only path by which it could advance--a precipice on one side and a thicket on the other rendering the passage difficult or impossible. grizzlies are noted for their objection to turn out of their way for man or beast, so the combatants no sooner beheld the ferocious-looking animal than they sprang up, seized their weapons, and fired together at their common enemy. bruin shook his head, uttered a savage growl, and charged. it seemed as if black jim had missed altogether--not to be wondered at considering the circumstances--and the mixture of shot and slugs from the blunderbuss was little more hurtful than a shower of hail to the thick-skinned monarch of these western hills. be this as it may, the two men were compelled to turn and flee for their lives. black jim, being the nimbler of the two, was soon out of sight among the rocks of the precipices, and, we may remark in passing, he did not again make his appearance. inwardly thanking the bear for its timely appearance, he ran at top speed into the mountains, and hid himself among those wild lonely recesses that are visited but rarely by man or beast. captain bunting endeavoured to save himself by darting up the face of the precipice on his left, but the foot-hold was bad, and the bear proved about as nimble as himself, compelling him to leap down again and make for the nearest tree. in doing so, he tripped over a fallen branch, and fell with stunning violence to the ground. he rose, however, instantly, and grasping the lower limb of a small oak, drew himself with some difficulty up among the branches. the bear came thundering on, and reached the tree a few seconds later. it made several abortive efforts to ascend, and then, sitting down at the foot, it looked up, grinning and growling horribly in disappointed rage. the captain had dropped the blunderbuss in his fall, and now, with deep regret, and not a little anxiety, found himself unarmed and a prisoner. true, his long knife was still in its place, but he was too well aware of the strength and ferocity of the grizzly-bear--from hearsay, and now from ocular demonstration--to entertain the idea of acting on the offensive with such a weapon. the sun sank behind the mountain-peaks, and the shades of night began to fall upon the landscape, and still did captain bunting and the bear sit--the one at the top, and the other at the foot of the oak-tree-looking at each other. as darkness came on, the form of the bear became indistinct and shadowy; and the captain's eyes waxed heavy, from constant staring and fatigue, so that at length bruin seemed, to the alarmed fancy of the tree'd mariner, to be twice the size of an elephant. at last the darkness became so deep that its form mingled with the shadows on the ground, and for some time the uncertainty as to its actual presence kept the prisoner wakeful; but soon his eyes began to close, despite his utmost efforts to keep them open; and for two hours he endured an agonising struggle with sleep, compared to which his previous struggle with black jim was mere child's-play. he tried every possible position among the branches, in the hope of finding one in which he might indulge in sleep without the risk of falling, but no such position was to be found; the limbs of the tree were too small and too far apart. at last, however, he did find a spot to lie down on, and, with a sigh of relief, lay back to indulge in repose. alas! the spot was a myth--he merely dreamed it; the next moment he dropt, like a huge over-ripe pear, to the ground. fortunately a bush broke the violence of his fall, and, springing up with a cry of consternation, he rushed towards the tree, expecting each instant to feel the terrible hug of his ursine enemy. the very marrow in his back-bone seemed to shrink, for he fancied that he actually felt the dreaded claws sinking into his flesh. in his haste he missed the branch, and fell violently forward, scratching himself terribly among the bushes. again he rose, and a cold perspiration broke out upon him as he uttered an involuntary howl of terror, and once more leaped up at the limb of the oak, which he could just barely see. he caught it; despair nerved him, and in another moment he was safe, and panting violently among the branches. we need scarcely say that this little episode gave his feelings such a tremendous shock that his tendency to sleep was thoroughly banished; but another and a better result flowed from it,--the involuntary hubbub created by his yells and crashing falls reached listening and not far-distant ears. during their evening meal that day, ned sinton and his comrades had speculated pretty freely, and somewhat jocularly, on the probable result of the captain's hunting expedition--expressing opinions regarding the powers of the blunderbuss, which it was a shame, larry o'neil said, "to spake behind its back;" but as night drew on, they conversed more seriously, and when darkness had fairly set in they became anxious. "it's quite clear that something's wrong," cried ned sinton, entering the tent hastily, "we must up and search for him. the captain's not the man to lose his way with a compass in his pocket and so many landmarks round him." all the party rose at once, and began to buckle on belts and arm, while eagerly suggesting plans of search. "who can make a torch?" inquired ned. "here's one ready made to hand," cried maxton, seizing a huge pine-knot and lighting it. "some one must stay behind to look after our things. the new-comers who camped beside us to-day are not used to mining life, and don't sufficiently know the terrors of lynch law. do you stop, maxton. now then, the rest of you, come along." ned issued from the tent as he spoke, and walked at a rapid pace along the track leading up the valley, followed closely by tom collins, larry o'neil, and bill jones--all of whom were armed with rifles, revolvers, and bowie-knives. for a long time they walked on in silence, guided by the faint light of the stars, until they came to the flat rock which had formed the captain's dinner-table. here they called a halt, in order to discuss the probability of their lost comrade having gone up the ravine. the question was soon settled by larry, who discovered a few crumbs of the biscuit lying on the rock, and footprints leading up the ravine; for the captain, worthy man, had stepped recklessly into the little stream when he went to fill his pannikin, and his wet feet left a distinct track behind him for some distance. "he can't have gone far up such a wild place as this," said tom collins, while they moved cautiously along. "kindle the torch, ned, it will light us on our way, and be a guide to the captain if he's within sight." "it will enlighten enemies, too, if any are within range," replied ned, hesitating. "oh, no fear," rejoined tom, "our greatest enemy is darkness; here, jones, hand me your match-box." in a few seconds the torch flared forth, casting a broad glare of light on their path, as they advanced, examining the foot of precipices. "give a shout, larry," said ned. larry obeyed, and all listened intently, but, save the echo from the wild cliffs, no reply was heard. had the captain been wide-awake at the time, he would, doubtless, have heard the friendly shout, but his ears were dull from prolonged watching. it was thought needless to repeat the cry, so the party resumed their search with anxious forebodings in their hearts, though their lips were silent. they had not proceeded far, however, when the noise occasioned by the captain's fall from the tree, as already described, struck upon their ears. "och! what's that?" exclaimed larry, with a look of mingled surprise and superstitious fear. for a minute the party seemed transformed into statues, as each listened intently to the mysterious sounds. "they come from the other side of the point ahead," remarked ned, in a whisper. "light another torch, larry, and come on--quick!" ned led the way at a run, holding one of the torches high above his head, and in a few minutes passed round the point above referred to. the glare of his torch immediately swept far ahead, and struck with gladsome beam on the now wakeful eye of the captain, who instantly greeted it with one of his own peculiarly powerful and eminently nautical roars. "hooroo!" yelled larry, in reply, dashing forward at full speed. "here we are all right, capting, comin' to the rescue; don't give in, capting; pitch into the blackguards--" "look out for the grizzly-bear," roared the captain, as his friends advanced at a run, waving their torches encouragingly. the whole party came to a dead halt on this unexpected caution, and each cocked his piece as they looked, first into the gloom beyond, and then at each other, in surprise and perplexity. "halloo! captain, where are you?" shouted ned. "and where's the bear!" added tom collins. "right in front o' you," replied the captain, "about fifty yards on. the bear's at the bottom o' the tree, and i'm a-top of it. come on, and fire together; but aim _low_, d'ye hear?" "ay, ay, sir," replied bill jones, as if he were answering a command on shipboard, while he advanced boldly in the direction indicated. the others were abreast of him instantly, ned and larry holding the torches high in their left hands as they approached, step by step, with rifles ready for instant use. "have a care," cried the captain; "i see him. he seems to be crouchin' to make a rush." this caused another halt; but as no rush was made, the party continued to advance very slowly. "oh! av ye would only shew yerself," said larry, in a suppressed tone of exasperation at being kept so long in nervous expectation. "i see him," cried ned, taking aim. the rest of the party cried "where!" aimed in the same direction, and the whole fired a volley, the result of which was, that captain bunting fell a second time to the ground, crashing through the branches with a terrible noise, and alighting heavily at the foot of the tree. to the surprise of all, he instantly jumped up, and seizing ned and tom as they came up, shook them warmly by the hand. "och! are ye not shot, capting?" exclaimed larry. "not a bit; not even hurt," answered the captain, laughing. the fact was, that captain bunting, in his anxiety to escape being accidentally shot by his comrades, had climbed to the utmost possible height among the tender top branches of the oak. when the volley was fired, he lost his balance, fell through the tree, the under branches of which happily broke his fall, and finally alighted on the back of the grizzly-bear itself, which lay extended, and quite dead, on the ground. "faix we've polished him off for wance," cried larry, in the excess of his triumph, as he stood looking at the fallen bear. "faix we've done nothing of the sort," retorted tom collins, who was examining the carcase. "it's been dead for hours, and is quite cold. every bullet has missed, too, for the shot that settled him is on the side next the ground. so much for hasty shooting. had bruin been alive when we fired, i'm inclined to think that some of us would not be alive now." "now, that's wot i wos sure of," remarked bill jones. "wot i says is this--w'en yer goin' aloft to reef to'sails, don't be in a hurry. it's o' no manner o' use tryin' to shove on the wind. if ye've got a thing to do, do it slow--slow an' sure. if ye haven't got a thing to do, in coorse ye can't do it, but if ye have, don't be in a hurry--i says." bill jones's maxim is undoubtedly a good one. not a scratch had the bear received from any one of the party. the bullet of black jim had laid him low. although hurriedly aimed, it had reached the animal's heart, and all the time that captain bunting was struggling to overcome his irresistible tendency to sleep, poor bruin was lying a helpless and lifeless body at the foot of the oak-tree. chapter fifteen. ah-wow saved from an untimely fate--lynch law enforced--ned sinton resolves to renounce gold-digging for a time, and tom collins seconds him. ah-wow sat on the stump of an oak-tree, looking, to use a familiar, though incorrect expression, very blue indeed. and no wonder, for ah-wow was going to be hanged. perhaps, courteous reader, you think we are joking, but we assure you we are not. ah-wow had just been found guilty, or pronounced guilty--which, at the diggings, meant the same thing--of stealing two thousand dollars' worth of gold-dust, and was about to expiate his crime on the branch of a tree. there could be no doubt of his guilt; so said the enlightened jury who tried him; so said the half-tipsy judge who condemned him; and so said the amiable populace which had assembled to witness his execution. it cannot be denied that appearances went very much against ah-wow--so much so, that maxton, and even captain bunting, entertained suspicions as to his innocence, though they pleaded hard for his pardon. the gold had been discovered hid near the chinaman's tent, and the bag containing it was recognised and sworn to by at least a dozen of the diggers as that belonging to the man from whom the gold had been stolen. the only point that puzzled the jury was the strong assertions of captain bunting, maxton, and collins, that, to their certain belief, the poor celestial had dug beside them each day, and slept beside them each night for three weeks past, at a distance of three miles from the spot where the robbery took place. but the jury were determined to hang somebody, so they shut their ears to all and sundry, save and except to those who cried out, "string the riptile up--sarves him right!" ko-sing also sat on the tree-stump, endeavouring to comfort ah-wow by stroking his pig-tail and howling occasionally in an undertone. it seemed indeed that the poor man's career was drawing to a close, for two men advanced, and, seizing his pinioned arms, led him under the fatal limb; but a short respite occurred in consequence of a commotion in the outskirts of the crowd, where two men were seen forcing a passage towards the centre. ned sinton and larry o'neil had been away in the mountains prospecting at the time when ah-wow was captured and led to the settlement, near the first residence of our adventurers, to stand his trial. the others accompanied the condemned man, in order, if possible, to save him, leaving jones behind to guard their property, and acquaint ned with the state of affairs on his return. our hero knew too well the rapid course of lynch law to hesitate. he started at once with larry down the stream, to save, if possible, the life of his servant, for whom he felt a curious sort of patronising affection, and who he was sure must be innocent. he arrived just in time. "howld on, boys," cried larry, flourishing his felt hat as they pushed through the crowd. "stay, friends," cried ned, gaining the centre of the circle at last; "don't act hastily. this man is my servant." "_that_ don't make him an honest man, i guess," said a cynical bystander. "perhaps not," retorted ned; "but it binds me in honour to clear him, if i can." "hear, hear," said several voices; "get up on the stump an' fire away, stranger." ned obeyed. "gentlemen," he began, "i can swear, in the first place, that the chinaman has not been a quarter of a mile from my tent for three weeks past, so that he could not have stolen the gold--" "how then came it beside his tent?" inquired a voice. "i'll tell you, if you will listen. this morning early i started on a prospecting ramble up the stream, and not long after i set out i caught a glance of that villain black jim, who, you know, has been supposed for some time back to have been lurking in the neighbourhood. he ran off the moment he caught sight of me, and although i followed him at full speed for a considerable distance, he succeeded in escaping. however, i noticed the print of his footsteps, in a muddy place over which he passed, and observed that his right boot had no heel. on returning home this afternoon, and hearing what had happened, i went to the spot where the bag of gold had been discovered, and there, sure enough, i found footprints, one of which shewed that the wearer's right boot had _no heel_. now, gentlemen, it don't need much speaking to make so clear a matter clearer, i leave you to judge whether this robbery has been committed by the chinaman or not." ned's speech was received with various cries; some of which shewed that the diggers were not satisfied with his explanation, and ah-wow's fate still trembled in the balance, when the owner of the bag of gold stepped forward and admitted that he had observed similar foot-marks in the neighbourhood of his tent just after the robbery was committed, and said that he believed the chinaman was innocent. this set the matter at rest. ah-wow was cast loose and congratulated by several of the bystanders on his escape, but there seemed a pretty general feeling amongst many of the others that they had been unjustly deprived of their prey, and there is no saying what might have happened had not another culprit appeared on the scene to divert their attention. the man who was led forward had all the marks of a thorough desperado about him. from his language it was impossible to judge what country had the honour of giving him birth, but it was suspected that his last residence had been botany bay. had this man's innocence been ever so clearly proved he could not have escaped from such judges in their then disappointed state of mind; but his guilt was unquestionable. he had been caught in the act of stealing from a monte table. the sum was not very large, however, so it was thought a little too severe to hang him; but he was condemned to have his head shaved, his ears cut off, and to receive a hundred lashes. the sentence was executed promptly, notwithstanding the earnest remonstrances of a few of the better-disposed among the crowd: and ned, seeing that he could do nothing to mitigate the punishment of the poor wretch, left the spot with his comrades and the rescued chinaman. that night, as they all sat round their camp-fire, eating supper with a degree of zest known only to those who labour at severe and out-of-door occupation all day, ned sinton astonished his companions not a little, by stating his intention to leave them for the purpose of making a tour through the country. "make a tour!" exclaimed maxton, in surprise. "an' lave all the goold!" cried larry o'neil, pausing in his mastication of a tough lump of bear-steak. "why, boy," said captain bunting, laying down his knife, and looking at ned in amazement, "what's put that in your head, eh?" "being somewhat tired of grubbing in the mud has put it into my head," replied ned, smiling. "the fact is, comrades, that i feel disposed for a ramble, and i _don't_ feel bent on making a fortune. you may, perhaps, be surprised to hear such a statement, but--" "not at all--by no means," interrupted bill jones; "i'm surprised at nothin' in this here country. if i seed a first-rate man-o'-war comin' up the valley at fifteen knots, with stun'-sails alow and aloft, stem on, against the wind, an' carryin' all before it, like nothin', i wouldn't be surprised, not a bit, so i wouldn't!" "well, perhaps not," resumed ned; "but, surprised or not, my statement is true. i don't care about making my `pile' in a hurry. life was not given to us to spend it in making or digging gold; and, being quite satisfied, in the meantime, with the five or six hundred pounds of profits that fall to my share, i am resolved to make over my unfinished claim to the firm, and set out on my travels through the country. i shall buckle on my bowie-knife and revolver, and go where fancy leads me, as long as my funds last; when they are exhausted, i will return, and set to work again. now, who will go with me?" "are you in earnest?" asked tom collins. "in earnest! ay, that am i; never was more so in my life. why, i feel quite ashamed of myself. here have i been living for weeks in one of the most romantic and beautiful parts of this world, without taking more notice of it, almost, than if it did not exist. do you think that with youth and health, and a desire to see everything that is beautiful in creation, i'm going to stand all day and every day up to the knees in dirty water, scraping up little particles of gold? not i! i mean to travel as long as i have a dollar in my pocket; when that is empty, i'll work." ned spoke in a half-jesting tone, but there is no doubt that he gave utterance to the real feelings of his heart. he felt none of that eager thirst for gold which burned, like a fever, in the souls of hundreds and thousands of the men who poured at that time in a continuous and ever-increasing stream into california. gold he valued merely as a means of accomplishing present ends; he had no idea of laying it up for the future; married men, he thought, might, perhaps, with propriety, amass money for the benefit of their families, but _he_ wasn't a married man, and didn't mean to be one, so he felt in duty bound to spend all the gold he dug out of the earth. we do not pretend to enter into a disquisition as to the correctness or incorrectness of ned's opinions; we merely state them, leaving our reader to exercise his own reasoning powers on the subject, if so disposed. for a few seconds after ned's last speech, no sound escaped the lips of his comrades, save those resulting from the process of mastication. at last, tom collins threw down his knife, and slapped his thigh energetically, as he exclaimed, "i'll go with you, ned! i've made up my mind. i'm tired of digging, too; and i'm game for a ramble into the heart of the rocky mountains, if you like." "bravo! tom," cried captain bunting, slapping his companion on the shoulder--"well and bravely spoken; but you're a goose for all that, and so, saving his presence, is commodore ned sinton. why, you'll just waste two months or so in profitless wandering, and return beggars to the little creek to begin the work all over again. take my advice, lads--the advice of an old salt, who knows a thing or two--and remain where you are till we have worked out all the gold hereabouts. after that you may talk of shifting." "you're a very sour old salt to endeavour to damp our spirits in that way at the outset, but it won't do; my mind is made up, and i'm glad to find that there is at least one of the party who is strong enough to break these golden chains." "faix i comed here for goold, an' i stop here for the same raison," remarked larry, scraping the last morsels from the bottom of the kettle with an iron spoon; "i've thravelled more nor enough in me day, so i can affoord to stop at home now." "get out, you renegade! do you call this home?" cried ned. "'tis all that's of it at present, anyhow." "when shall we start?" inquired tom collins. "to-morrow. we have few preparations to make, and the sooner we go the better; for when the rainy season sets in, our journeying will be stopped perforce. i have a plan in my mind which i shall detail to you after we retire to rest. meanwhile i'll go and improve my bed, which has been so uncomfortable for some nights past that my very bones are aching." ned rose, took up an axe, and, going into the bush in rear of the tent, cut down a young pine-tree, the tender shoots and branches of which he stripped off, and strewed thickly on the ground on which he was wont to sleep; over these he spread two thick blankets, and on this simple but springy and comfortable couch he and tom coffins lay down side by side to talk over their future plans, while their comrades snored around them. daylight found them still talking; so, pausing by mutual consent, they snatched an hour's repose before commencing the needful preparations for their contemplated journey. chapter sixteen. ned and tom take to wandering--philosophical speculations--a startling apparition--the digger indians--water boiled in a basket--the gloomy pass--the attack by robbers--the fight--a surprise--the encampment. change is one of the laws of nature. we refer not to small-change, reader, but to physical, material change. everything is given to change; men, and things, and place, and circumstances, all change, more or less, as time rolls on in its endless course. following, then, this inevitable law of nature, we, too, will change the scene, and convey our reader deeper in among the plains and mountains of the far, "far west." it is a beautiful evening in july. the hot season has not yet succeeded in burning up all nature into a dry russet-brown. the whole face of the country is green and fresh after a recent shower, which has left myriads of diamond-drops trembling from the point of every leaf and blade. a wide valley, of a noble park-like appearance, is spread out before us, with scattered groups of trees all over it, blue mountain-ranges in the far distance circling round it, and a bright stream winding down its emerald breast. on the hill-sides the wild-flowers grow so thickly that they form a soft, thick couch to lie upon, immense trees, chiefly pines and cedars, rise here and there like giants above their fellows. oaks, too, are numerous, and the scene in many places is covered with mansanita underwood, a graceful and beautiful shrub. the trees and shrubbery, however, are not so thickly planted as to intercept the view, and the ground undulates so much that occasionally we overtop them, and obtain a glimpse of the wide vale before us. over the whole landscape there is a golden sunny haze, that enriches while it softens every object, and the balmy atmosphere is laden with the sweet perfume called forth by the passing shower. one might fancy eden to have been somewhat similar to this, and here, as there, the presence of the lord might be recognised in a higher degree than in most other parts of this earth, for, in this almost untrodden wilderness, his pre-eminently beautiful works have not yet to any great extent been marred by the hand of man. far away towards the north, two horsemen may be seen wending their way through the country at a slow, ambling pace, as if they would fain prolong their ride in such a lovely vale. the one is ned sinton, the other tom collins. it had cost these worthies a week of steady riding, to reach the spot on which we now find them, during which time they had passed through great varieties of scenery, had seen many specimens of digging-life, and had experienced not a few vicissitudes; but their griefs were few and slight compared with their enjoyments, and, at the moment we overtake them, they were riding they knew not and they cared not whither! sufficient for them to know that the wilds before them were illimitable; that their steeds were of the best and fleetest mexican breed; that their purses were well-lined with dollars and gold-dust; that they were armed with rifles, pistols, knives, and ammunition, to the teeth; and that the land was swarming with game. "'tis a perfect paradise!" exclaimed tom collins, as they reined up on the brow of a hill to gaze at the magnificent prospect before them. "strange," murmured ned, half soliloquising, "that, although so wild and uncultivated, it should remind me so forcibly of home. yonder bend in the stream, and the scenery round it, is so like to the spot where i was born, and where i spent my earliest years, that i can almost fancy the old house will come into view at the next turn." "it does indeed remind one of the cultivated parks of england," replied tom; "but almost all my early associations are connected with cities. i have seen little of uncontaminated nature all my life, except the blue sky through chimney tops, and even that was seen through a medium of smoke." "do you know," remarked ned, as they resumed their journey at a slow pace, "it has always seemed to me that cities are unnatural monstrosities, and that there should be no such things!" "indeed," replied tom, laughing; "how, then, would you have men to live?" "in the country, of course, in cottages and detached houses. i would sow london, liverpool, manchester, etcetera, broadcast over the land, so that there would be no spot in britain in which there were not clusters of human dwellings, each with its little garden around it, and yet no spot on which a _city_ could be found." "hum, rather awkward for the transaction of business, i fear," suggested tom. "not a bit; our distances would be greater, but we could overcome that difficulty by using horses more than we do--and railroads." "and how would you manage with huge manufactories?" inquired tom. "i've not been able to solve that difficulty yet," replied ned, smiling; "but my not being able to point out how things may be put right, does not, in the least degree, alter the fact that, as they are at present, they are wrong." "most true, my sagacious friend," said tom; "but, pray, how do you prove the fact that things _are_ wrong?" "i prove it thus:--you admit, i suppose, that the air of all large cities is unhealthy, as compared with that of the country, and that men and women who dwell in cities are neither so robust nor so healthy as those who dwell in country places?" "i'm not sure that i do admit it," answered tom. "surely you don't deny that people of the cities deem it a necessary of life to get off to the country at least once a year, in order to recruit, and that they invariably return better in health than when they left?" "true; but that is the result of change." "ay," added ned, "the result of change from worse to better." "well, i admit it for the sake of argument." "well, then, if the building of cities necessarily and inevitably creates a condition of atmosphere which is, to some extent, no matter how slight, prejudicial to health, those who build them and dwell in them are knowingly damaging the life which has been given them to be cherished and taken care of." "ned," said tom, quietly, "you're a goose!" "tom," retorted ned, "i know it; but, in the sense in which you apply the term, all men are geese. they are divided into two classes--namely, geese who are such because they can't and won't listen to reason, and geese who are such because they take the trouble to talk philosophically to the former; but to return from this digression, what think you of the argument?" tom replied by reining up his steed, pointing to an object in front, and inquiring, "what think you of _that_?" the object referred to was a man, but, in appearance at least, he was not many degrees removed from the monkey. he was a black, squat, hideous-looking native, and his whole costume, besides the little strip of cloth usually worn by natives round the loins, consisted of a black silk hat and a pair of wellington boots! dear reader, do not suppose that i am trying to impose upon your good-natured credulity. what i state is a _fact_, however unlikely it may appear in your eyes. the natives of this part of the country are called digger indians, not with reference to gold-digging, but from the fact of their digging subterranean dwellings, in which they pass the winter, and also from the fact that they grub in the earth a good deal for roots, on which they partly subsist. they are degraded, miserable creatures, and altogether uncivilised, besides being diminutive in stature. soon after the first flood of gold-hunters swept over their lands these poor creatures learned the value of gold, but they were too lazy to work diligently for it. they contented themselves with washing out enough to purchase a few articles of luxury, in the shape of cast-off apparel, from the white men. when stores began to be erected here and there throughout the country, they visited them to purchase fresh provisions and articles of dress, of which latter they soon became passionately fond. but the digger indians were not particular as to style or fashion-glitter and gay colour were the chief elements of attraction. sometimes a naked savage might be seen going about with a second-hand dress-coat put on the wrong way, and buttoned up the back. another would content himself with a red silk handkerchief tied round his head or shoulders. a third would thrust his spindle-shanks through the arms of a sleeved vest, and button the body round his loins; while a fourth, like the one now under consideration, would parade about in a hat and boots. the poor digger had drawn the right boot on the left foot, and the left boot on the right--a matter of little moment, however, as they were immensely too large for him, as was also the hat, which only remained on his brows by being placed very much back on the head. he was a most singular being, and ned and tom, after the first glance of astonishment, were so un-mannered as to laugh at him until they almost fell off their horses. the digger was by no means disconcerted. he evidently was accustomed to the free and easy manners of white men, and while they rolled in their saddles, he stood quietly beside them, grinning hideously from ear to ear. "truly, a rare specimen of humanity," cried ned, when he recovered his composure. "where did _you_ come from, old boy?" the digger shook his head, and uttered some unintelligible words. "it's of no use speaking to him; he don't understand english," said tom collins, with a somewhat puzzled expression. the two friends made several attempts to ask him, by signs, where he lived, but they utterly failed. their first efforts had the effect of making the man laugh, but their second attempts, being more energetic and extravagant, frightened him so that he manifested a disposition to run away. this disposition they purposely encouraged until he fairly took to his heels, and, by following him, they at last came upon the village in which his tribe resided. here they found an immense assemblage of men, and women, and children, whose appearance denoted dirtiness, laziness, and poverty. they were almost all in a state bordering on nudity, but a few of them wore miscellaneous portions of european apparel. the hair of the men was long, except on the forehead, where it was cut square, just above the eyebrows. the children wore no clothes at all. the infants were carried on stiff cradles, similar to those used by north american indians. they all resided in tents, made of brushwood and sticks, and hundreds of mangy, half-starved curs dwelt along with them. the hero of the hat and boots was soon propitiated by the gift of a few inches of tobacco, and ned sinton and tom collins were quickly on intimate terms with the whole tribe. it is difficult to resist the tendency to laugh when a human being stands before you in a ludicrously-meagre costume, making hideous grimaces with his features, and remarkable contortions with his limbs, in the vain efforts to make himself understood by one who does not speak his language! ned's powers of endurance were tested in this way by the chief of the tribe, an elderly man with a beard so sparse that each stumpy hair might have been easily counted. this individual was clad in the rough, ragged blue coat usually worn by irish labourers of the poorest class. it was donned with the tails in front; and two brass buttons, the last survivors of a once glittering double row, fastened it across the back of its savage owner. "what _can_ he mean?" said ned, at the close of a series of pantomimic speeches, in which the indian vainly endeavoured to get him to understand something having reference to the mountains beyond, for he pointed repeatedly towards them. "it seems to me that he would have us understand," said tom, "that the road lies before us, and the sooner we take ourselves off the better." ned shook his head. "i don't think that likely; he seems rather to wish us to remain; more than once he has pointed to his tent, and beckoned us to enter." "perhaps the old fellow wants us to become members of his tribe," suggested tom. "evidently he cannot lead his braves on the war-path as he was wont to do, and he wishes to make you chief in his room. what think you? shall we remain? the blue coat would suit you admirably." during this colloquy the old savage looked from one speaker to another with great eagerness, as if trying to comprehend what they said, then, renewing his gesticulations, he succeeded at last in convincing the travellers that he wished them not to pursue their journey any further, in the direction in which they were going. this was a request with which they did not, however, feel disposed to comply; but seeing that he was particularly anxious that they should accept of his hospitality, they dismounted, and, fastening their horses to a tree close beside the opening of the chief's hut, they entered. the inside of this curious bee-hive of a dwelling was dirty and dark, besides being half-full of smoke, created by the pipe of a squaw--the old man's wife--who regaled herself there with the soothing weed. there were several dogs there also, and two particularly small infants in wooden cradles, who were tied up like mummies, and did nothing but stare right before them into space. "what's that?" inquired tom, pointing to a basketful of smoking water. "it looks like a basket," replied ned. "it _is_ a basket," remarked tom, examining the article in question, "and, as i live, superb soup in it." "tom," said ned sinton, solemnly, "have a care; if it is soup, depend upon it, dogs or rats form the basis of its composition." "ned," said tom, with equal solemnity, "eat, and ask no questions." tom followed his own advice by accepting a dish of soup, with a large lump of meat in it, which was at that moment offered to him by the old chief who also urged ned sinton to partake; but he declined, and, lighting his pipe, proceeded to enjoy a smoke, at the same time handing the old man a plug of tobacco, which he accepted promptly, and began to use forthwith. while thus engaged, they had an opportunity of observing how the squaw boiled water in a basket. laying aside her pipe, she hauled out a goody-sized and very neatly-made basket of wicker-work, so closely woven by her own ingenious hands, that it was perfectly water-tight; this she three-quarters filled, and then put into it red-hot stones, which she brought in from a fire kindled outside. the stones were thrown in in succession, till the temperature was raised to the boiling point, and afterwards a little dead animal was put into the basket. the sight of this caused tom collins to terminate his meal somewhat abruptly, and induced ned to advise him to try a little more. "no, thank you," replied tom, lighting his pipe hastily, and taking up a bow and several arrows, which he appeared to regard with more than usual interest. the bow was beautifully made;--rather short, and tipped with horn. the arrows were formed of two distinct pieces of wood spliced together, and were shod with flint; they were feathered in the usual way. all the articles manufactured by these natives were neatly done, and evinced considerable skill in the use of their few and simple tools. after resting half-an-hour, the two friends rose to depart, and again the old indian manifested much anxiety to prevail on them to remain; but resisting all his entreaties, they mounted their horses and rode away, carrying with them the good wishes of the community, by the courtesy of their manners, and a somewhat liberal distribution of tobacco at parting. the country through which they passed became wilder at every step, for each hour brought them visibly nearer the mountain-range, and towards night-fall they entered one of the smaller passes or ravines that divided the lower range of hills at which they first arrived. here a rugged precipice, from which projected pendent rocks and scrubby trees, rose abruptly on the right of the road, and a dense thicket of underwood, mingled with huge masses of fallen rock, lay on their left. we use the word road advisedly, for the broad highway of the flowering plains, over which the horsemen had just passed, narrowed at this spot as it entered the ravine, and was a pretty-well-defined path, over which parties of diggers and wandering indians occasionally passed. "does not this wild spot remind you of the nursery tales we used to read?" said ned, as they entered the somewhat gloomy defile, "which used to begin, `once upon a time--'" "hist, ned, is that a grizzly?" both riders drew up abruptly, and grasped their rifles. "i hear nothing," whispered ned. "it must have been imagination," said tom, throwing his rifle carelessly over his left arm, as they again advanced. the gloom of the locality, which was deepened by the rapidly-gathering shades of night, quieted their spirits, and induced them to ride on in silence. about fifty yards further on, the rustling in the bushes was again heard, and both travellers pulled up and listened intently. "pshaw!" cried ned, at last, urging his horse forward, and throwing his piece on his shoulder, "we are starting at the rustling of the night wind; come, come, tom, don't let us indulge superstitious feelings--" at that moment there was a crash in the bushes on both sides of them, and their horses reared wildly, as four men rushed upon them. before their steeds became manageable, they were each seized by a leg, and hurled from their saddles. in the fall, their rifles were thrown out of their grasp into the bushes; but this mattered little, for in a close struggle pistols are better weapons. seizing their revolvers, ned and tom instantly sprang up, and fired at their assailants, but without effect, both being so much shaken by their fall. the robbers returned the fire, also without effect. in the scuffle, ned was separated from his friend, and only knew that he maintained the fight manfully, from the occasional shots that were fired near him. his whole attention, however, had to be concentrated on the two stalwart ruffians with whom he was engaged. five or six shots were fired at a few yards' distance, quick as lightning, yet, strange to say, all missed. then the taller of the two opposed to ned, hurled his revolver full in his face, and rushed at him. the pistol struck ned on the chest, and almost felled him, but he retained his position, and met the highwayman with a well-directed blow of his fist right between the eyes. both went down, under the impetus of the rush, and the second robber immediately sprang upon ned, and seized him by the throat. but he little knew the strength of the man with whom he had to deal. our hero caught him in the iron grasp of his right hand, while, with his left, he hurled aside the almost inanimate form of his first assailant; then, throwing the other on his back, he placed his knee on his chest, and drew his bowie-knife. even in the terrible passion of mortal combat, ned shuddered at the thought of slaying a helpless opponent. he threw the knife aside, and struck the man violently with his fist on the forehead, and then sprang up to rescue tom who, although he had succeeded at the outset in felling one of the robbers with the butt of his pistol, was still engaged in doubtful strife with a man of great size and power. when ned came up, the two were down on their knees, each grasping the other's wrist in order to prevent their bowie-knives from being used. their struggles were terrible; for each knew that the first who freed his right hand would instantly take the other's life. ned settled the matter, however, by again using his fist, which he applied so promptly to the back of the robber's neck, that he dropped as if he had been shot. "thank you--god bless you, ned," gasped tom, as soon as he recovered breath; "you have saved my life, for certainly i could not have held out a minute longer. the villain has all but broken my right arm." "never mind," cried ned, stooping down, and turning the stunned robber over on his face, "give me a hand, boy; we must not let the fellows recover and find themselves free to begin the work over again. take that fellow's neckcloth and tie his hands behind his back." tom obeyed at once, and in a few minutes the four highwaymen were bound hand and foot, and laid at the side of the road. "now," said ned, "we must push on to the nearest settlement hot-haste, and bring a party out to escort--halloo! tom, are you wounded?" "not badly--a mere cut on the head." "why, your face is all covered with blood!" "it's only in consequence of my wiping it with a bloody handkerchief, then; but you can examine, and satisfy yourself." "the wound is but slight, i see," rejoined ned, after a brief manipulation of tom's skull; "now, then, let us away." "we'll have to catch our horses first, and that won't be an easy matter." tom was right. it cost them half-an-hour to secure them and recover their rifles and other arms, which had been scattered over the field of battle. on returning to the spot where the robbers lay, they found them all partially recovered, and struggling violently to free themselves. three of them failed even to slacken their bonds, but the fourth, the powerful man who had nearly overcome tom collins, had well-nigh freed his hands when his captors came up. "lie quiet," said ned, in a low tone, "if you don't want the butt of my rifle on your skull." the man lay down instantly. "tom, go and cut a stake six feet long, and i'll watch these fellows till you come back." the stake was soon brought and lashed to the robber's back in such a manner that he was rendered utterly powerless. the others were secured in a similar manner, and then the two travellers rode forward at a gallop. for nearly an hour they continued to advance without speaking or drawing rein. at the end of that time, while sweeping round the jutting base of a precipitous rock, they almost ran into a band of horsemen who were trotting briskly towards them. both parties halted, and threw forward their rifles, or drew their revolvers for instant use, gazing at each other the while in silent surprise at the suddenness of their meeting. "give in, ye villains," at last shouted a stern voice, "or we'll blow ye out o' the saddle. you've no chance; down your arms, i say." "not until i know what right _you_ have to command us," replied ned, somewhat nettled at the overbearing tone of his opponent. "we are peaceable travellers, desiring to hurt no one; but if we were not, surely so large a party need not be afraid. we don't intend to run away, still less do we intend to dispute your passage." the strangers lowered their fire-arms, as if half-ashamed at being surprised into a state of alarm by two men. "who said we were `afraid,' young man?" continued the first speaker, riding up with his comrades, and eyeing the travellers narrowly. "where have you come from, and how comes it that your clothes are torn, and your faces covered with blood?" the party of horsemen edged forward, as he spoke, in such a manner as to surround the two friends, but ned, although he observed the movement, was unconcerned, as, from the looks of the party, he felt certain they were good men and true. "you are a close interrogator for a stranger," he replied. "perhaps you will inform me where _you_ have come from, and what is your errand in these lonesome places at this hour of the night?" "i'll tell ye wot it is, stranger," answered another of the party--a big, insolent sort of fellow--"we're out after a band o' scoundrels that have infested them parts for a long time, an' it strikes me you know more about them than we do." "perhaps you are right," answered ned. "mayhap they're not _very_, far off from where we're standin'," continued the man, laying his hand on tom collins's shoulder. tom gave him a look that induced him to remove the hand. "right again," rejoined ned, with a smile. "i know where the villains are, and i'll lead you to them in an hour, if you choose to follow me." the men looked at each other in surprise. "you'll not object to some o' us ridin' before, an' some behind ye!" said the second speaker, "jist by way o' preventin' yer hosses from runnin' away; they looks a little skeary." "by no means," answered ned, "lead on; but keep off the edge of the track till i call a halt." "why so, stranger?" "never mind, but do as i bid you." the tone in which this was said effectually silenced the man, and during the ride no further questions were asked. about a quarter-of-an-hour afterwards the moon rose, and they advanced at such a rapid pace that in a short time they were close upon the spot where the battle had taken place. just before reaching it ned called a halt, and directed the party to dismount and follow him on foot. although a good deal surprised, they obeyed without question; for our hero possessed, in an eminent degree, the power of constituting himself a leader among those with whom he chanced to come into contact. fastening his horse to a tree, ned led the men forward a hundred yards. "are these the men you search for!" he inquired. "they are, sir," exclaimed one of the party, in surprise, as he stooped to examine the features of the robbers, who lay where they had been left. "halloo!" exclaimed tom collins, "i say, the biggest fellow's gone! didn't we lay him hereabouts?" "eh! dear me, yes; why, this is the very spot, i do believe--" all further remarks were checked at that moment by the sound of horses' hoofs approaching, and, almost before any one could turn round, a horseman came thundering down the pass at full gallop. uttering a savage laugh of derision, he discharged his pistol full into the centre of the knot of men as he passed, and, in another moment, was out of sight. several of the onlookers had presence of mind enough to draw their pistols and fire at the retreating figure, but apparently without effect. "it's him!" cried tom collins; "and he's mounted on your horse, ned." "after him, lads!" shouted ned, as he ran back towards the place where the horses were fastened. "whose is the best horse?" "hold on, stranger," said one of the men, as he ran up to ned, "ye may save yer wind. none o' the horses can overtake your one, i guess. i was lookin' at him as we came along. it would only be losin' time for nothin', an' he's miles ahead by this time." ned sinton felt that the man's remarks were too true, so he returned to the spot where the remaining robbers lay, and found that the miners had cut their fastenings, and were busily engaged in rebinding their hands behind them, preparatory to carrying them back to their settlement. it was discovered that the lashings of one of the men had been partly severed with a knife, and, as he could not have done it himself, it was plain that the robber who had escaped must have done it, and that the opportune arrival of the party had prevented him from accomplishing his purpose. how the man had broken his own bonds was a mystery that could not now be solved, but it was conjectured they must have been too weak, and that he had burst them by main strength. another discovery was now made, namely, that one of the three robbers secured was no other than black jim himself; the darkness of the night had prevented ned and tom from making this discovery during the fight. in less time than we have taken to describe it, the robbers were secured, and each was mounted behind one of his captors. "ain't you goin' with us?" inquired one of the men, observing that ned sinton stood leaning on his rifle, as if he meant to remain behind. "no," answered ned; "my companion and i have travelled far to-day, besides fighting a somewhat tough battle; we mean to camp here for the night, and shall proceed to your settlement to-morrow." the men endeavoured to dissuade them from their purpose, but they were both fatigued, and persisted in their determination. the impression they had made, however, on their new friends was so favourable, that one of their number, a yankee, offered the loan of his horse to ned, an offer which the latter accepted thankfully, promising to return it safe and sound early on the following day. five minutes later the sound of the retreating hoofs died away, and the travellers stood silently side by side in the gloomy ravine. for a few minutes neither spoke; then ned heaved a sigh, and, looking in his companion's face with a serio-comically-sad expression, said: "it may not, perhaps, have occurred to you, tom, but are you aware that we are a couple of beggars?" "if you use the term in its slang sense, and mean to insinuate that we are a couple of unfortunate beggars, i agree with you." "well, i've no objection," rejoined ned, "to your taking my words in that sense; but i mean to say that, over and above that, we are real, veritable, _bona fide_ beggars, inasmuch as we have not a sixpence in the world." tom collins's visage grew exceedingly long. "our united purse," pursued ned, "hung, as you are aware, at my saddle-bow, and yon unmitigated villain who appropriated my good steed, is now in possession of all our hard-earned gold!" tom's countenance became preternaturally grave, but he did not venture to speak. "now," continued ned, forcing a smile, "there is nothing for it but to make for the nearest diggings, commence work again, and postpone our travels to a future and more convenient season. we may laugh at it as we please, my dear fellow, but there's no denying that we are in what the yankees would call an `oncommon fix.'" ned's remark as to "laughing at it," was altogether uncalled for and inappropriate, for his own smile might have been more correctly termed a grin, and nothing was further from tom collins's thoughts at that moment than laughing. "are the victuals gone too?" inquired ned, hastily. both turned their eyes towards tom collins's horse, which grazed hard by, and both heaved a sigh of relief on observing that the saddle-bags were safe. this was a small drop of comfort in their otherwise bitter cup, and they made the most of it. each, as if by a common impulse, pretending that he cared very little about the matter, and assuming that the other stood in need of being cheered and comforted, went about the preparations for encamping with a degree of reckless joviality that insensibly raised their spirits, not only up to but considerably above the natural level; and when at last they had spread out their viands, and lighted their fire and their pipes, they were, according to tom's assertion, "happy as kings." the choosing of a spot to encamp on formed the subject of an amicable dispute. "i recommend the level turf under this oak," said ned, pointing to a huge old tree, whose gnarled limbs covered a wide space of level sward. "it's too low," objected tom, (tom could always object--a quality which, while it acted like an agreeable dash of cayenne thrown into the conversation of some of his friends, proved to be sparks applied to gunpowder in that of others;) "it's too low, and, doubtless, moist. i think that yonder pine, with its spreading branches and sweet-smelling cones, and carpet of moss below, is a much more fitting spot." "now, who is to decide the question if i don't give in, tom? for i assume, of course, that you will never give in." at that moment an accident occurred which decided the question for them. it frequently happens that some of the huge, heavy branches of the oaks in america become so thoroughly dried and brittle by the intense heat of summer, that they snap off without a moment's warning, often when there is not a breath of air sufficient to stir a leaf. this propensity is so well-known to californian travellers that they are somewhat careful in selecting their camping ground, yet, despite all their care, an occasional life is lost by the falling of such branches. an event of this kind occurred at the present time. the words had barely passed ned's lips, when a large limb of the oak beside which they stood snapt off with a loud report, and fell with a crash to the ground. "that settles it," said tom, somewhat seriously, as he led his horse towards the pine-tree, and proceeded to spread his blanket beneath its branches. in a few minutes the bright flame of their camp-fire threw a lurid glare on the trees and projecting cliffs of the wild pass, while they cooked and ate their frugal meal of jerked beef and biscuit. they conversed little during the repast or after it, for drowsiness began to steal over them, and it was not long before they laid their heads, side by side, on their saddles, and murmuring "good-night," forgot their troubles in the embrace of deep, refreshing slumber. chapter seventeen. a curious and valuable draught--lynch law applied--black jim's confession--ned becomes a painter, and finds the profession profitable as well as amusing--the first portrait. next morning the travellers were up and away by daybreak, and in the afternoon they came upon a solitary miner who was prospecting in a gulch near the road-side. this word gulch is applied to the peculiarly abrupt, short ravines, which are a characteristic feature in californian more than in any other mountains. the weather was exceedingly hot, and the man took off his cap and wiped his streaming brow as he looked at the travellers who approached him. "ha! you've got water there, i see," cried tom collins, leaping off his horse, seizing a cup which stood on the ground full of clear water, and draining it eagerly. "stop!" cried the man, quickly. "why!" inquired tom, smacking his lips. the miner took the empty cup and gazed inquiringly into it. "humph! you've drunk it, every grain." "drop, you mean," suggested tom, laughing at the man's expression; "of course i have, and why not? there's plenty more of the same tap here." "oh, i wouldn't mind the water," replied the man, "if ye had only left the gold-dust behind, but you've finished that too." "you _don't_ mean it!" gasped tom, while the questions flashed across his mind--is gold-dust poison? and if not, is it digestible? "how--how much have i swallowed?" "only about two dollars--it don't signify," answered the man, joining in the burst of laughter to which ned and tom gave way on this announcement. "i'm afraid we must owe you the sum, then," said ned, recovering his composure, "for we have only one dollar left, having been robbed last night; but as we mean to work in this neighbourhood, i dare say you will trust us." the man agreed to this, and having directed the travellers to the settlement of weaver creek, resumed his work, while they proceeded on their way. tom's digestion did not suffer in consequence of his golden draught, and we may here remark, for the benefit of the curious, that he never afterwards experienced any evil effects from it. we may further add, that he did not forget to discharge the debt. after half-an-hour's ride they came in sight of a few straggling diggers, from whom they learned that the settlement, or village, or town of weaver creek was about two miles further on, and in a quarter of an hour they reached it. the spot on which it stood was wild and romantic, embosomed among lofty wooded hills, whose sides were indented by many a rich ravine, and seamed by many a brawling water-course. here digging was, as the miners have it, in full blast. pick, and shovel, and cradle, and long-tom, and prospecting-pan--all were being plied with the utmost energy and with unwearied perseverance. the whole valley was cut up and converted into a net-work of holes and mud-heaps, and the mountain slopes were covered with the cabins, huts, and canvas tents of the miners. about the centre of the settlement, which was a very scattered one, stood a log-house or cabin, of somewhat larger dimensions than the generality of those around it. this was the grand hotel, restaurant, and gambling-house of the place, besides being the scene of the trials and executions that occasionally took place. some such work was going forward when our travellers rode up, for the area in front of the hotel was covered with a large concourse of miners. "i suspect they are about to try the poor wretches who attacked us last night," said ned, dismounting at the door of the house. he had scarcely spoken, when a couple of men ran towards them. "here you are, strangers," they cried, "come along and bear witness agin' them blackguards; they're just about to be strung up. we'll look after your horses." the duty was a disagreeable one, but it could not be avoided, so ned and tom suffered themselves to be led into the centre of the ring where the three culprits were standing already pinioned, and with the ropes round their necks. for a short time silence was obtained while ned stated the circumstances of the robbery, and also the facts regarding the murder of which black jim had been previously found guilty. then there was a general shout of "string 'em up!" "up wi' the varmints!" and such phrases; but a short respite was granted in consequence of black jim expressing a desire to speak with ned sinton. "what have you to say to me?" inquired ned, in a low tone, as he walked close up to the wretched man, who, although his minutes on earth were numbered, looked as if he were absolutely indifferent to his fate. "i've only to say," answered the culprit, sternly, "that of all the people i leaves behind me in this world there's but one i wish i hadn't bin bad to, and that's kate morgan. you know something of her, though you've never seen her--i know that. tell her i--no, tell her she'll find the gold i robbed her of at the foot o' the pine-tree behind the tent she's livin' in jist now. an' tell her that her little sister's not dead, though she don't believe me. i took the child to--" "come, come, ha' done wi' yer whisperin'," cried several of the bystanders, who were becoming impatient of delay. "have patience," said ned, raising his hand. "the man is telling me something of importance." "i've done," growled black jim, scowling on the crowd with a look of hate; "i wish i hadn't said so much." the rope was tightened as he spoke, and ned, turning abruptly on his heel, hurried away with his friend from the spot just as the three robbers were run up and suspended from the branch of the tree, beneath and around which the crowd stood. entering the inn, and seating themselves in a retired corner of the crowded gambling-room, ned and tom proceeded to discuss their present prospects and future plans in a frame of mind that was by no means enviable. they were several hundreds of miles distant from the scene of their first home at the diggings, without a dollar in their pockets, and only a horse between them. with the exception of the clothes on their backs, and ned's portfolio of drawing materials, which he always carried slung across his shoulder, they had nothing else in the world. their first and most urgent necessity was supper, in order to procure which it behoved them to sell tom's horse. this was easily done, as, on application to the landlord, they were directed to a trader who was on the point of setting out on an expedition to sacramento city, and who readily purchased the horse for less than half its value. being thus put in possession of funds sufficient at least for a few days, they sat down to supper with relieved minds, and afterwards went out to stroll about the settlement, and take a look at the various diggings. the miners here worked chiefly at the bars or sand-banks thrown up in various places by the river which coursed through their valley; but the labour was severe, and the return not sufficient to attract impatient and sanguine miners, although quite remunerative enough to those who wrought with steady perseverance. the district had been well worked, and many of the miners were out prospecting for new fields of labour. a few companies had been formed, and these, by united action and with the aid of long-toms, were well rewarded, but single diggers and pan-washers were beginning to become disheartened. "our prospects are not bright," observed tom, sitting down on a rock close to the hut of a yankee who was delving busily in a hole hard by. "true," answered ned, "in one sense they are not bright, but in another sense they are, for i never yet, in all my travels, beheld so beautiful and bright a prospect of land and water as we have from this spot. just look at it, tom; forget your golden dreams for a little, if you can, and look abroad upon the splendid face of nature." ned's eye brightened as he spoke, for his love and admiration of the beauties and charms of nature amounted almost to a passion. tom, also, was a sincere admirer of lovely, and especially of wild, scenery, although he did not express his feelings so enthusiastically. "have you got your colours with you?" he inquired. "i have; and if you have patience enough to sit here for half-an-hour i'll sketch it. if not, take a stroll, and you'll find me here when you return." "i can admire nature for even longer than that period, but i cannot consent to watch a sketcher of nature even for five minutes, so i'll take a stroll." in a few minutes ned, with book on knee and pencil in hand, was busily engaged in transferring the scene to paper, oblivious of gold, and prospects, and everything else, and utterly ignorant of the fact that the yankee digger, having become curious as to what the stranger could be about, had quitted his hole, and now stood behind him quietly looking over his shoulder. the sketch was a very beautiful one, for, in addition to the varied character of the scenery and the noble background of the sierra nevada, which here presented some of its wildest and most fantastic outlines, the half-ruined hut of the yankee, with the tools and other articles scattered around it, formed a picturesque foreground. we have elsewhere remarked that our hero was a good draughtsman. in particular, he had a fine eye for colour, and always, when possible, made coloured sketches during his travels in california. on the present occasion, the rich warm glow of sunset was admirably given, and the yankee stood gazing at the work, transfixed with amazement and delight. ned first became aware of his proximity by the somewhat startling exclamation, uttered close to his ear-"wall, stranger, you _air_ a screamer, that's a fact!" "i presume you mean that for a compliment," said ned, looking up with a smile at the tall, wiry, sun-burnt, red-flannel-shirted, straw-hatted creature that leaned on his pick-axe beside him. "no, i don't; i ain't used to butter nobody. i guess you've bin raised to that sort o' thing?" "no, i merely practise it as an amateur," answered ned, resuming his work. "now, that is cur'ous," continued the yankee; "an' i'm kinder sorry to hear't, for if ye was purfessional i'd give ye an order." ned almost laughed outright at this remark, but he checked himself as the idea flashed across him that he might perhaps make his pencil useful in present circumstances. "i'm not professional as yet," he said, gravely; "but i have no objection to become so if art is encouraged in these diggings." "i guess it will be, if you shew yer work. now, what'll ye ax for that bit!" this was a home question, and a poser, for ned had not the least idea of what sum he ought to ask for his work, and at the same time he had a strong antipathy to that species of haggling, which is usually prefaced by the seller, with the reply, "what'll ye give?" there was no other means, however, of ascertaining the market-value of his sketch, so he put the objectionable question. "i'll give ye twenty dollars, slick off." "very good," replied ned, "it shall be yours in ten minutes." "an' i say, stranger," continued the yankee, while ned put the finishing touches to his work, "will ye do the inside o' my hut for the same money?" "i will," replied ned. the yankee paused for a few seconds, and then added-"i'd like to git myself throwd into the bargain, but i guess ye'll ask more for that." "no, i won't; i'll do it for the same sum." "thank'ee; that's all square. ye see, i've got a mother in ohio state, an' she'd give her ears for any scrap of a thing o' me or my new home; an' if ye'll git 'em both fixed off by the day arter to-morrow, i'll send 'em down to sacramento by sam scott, the trader. i'll rig out and fix up the hut to-morrow mornin', so if ye come by breakfast-time i'll be ready." ned promised to be there at the appointed hour, as he rose and handed him the sketch, which the man, having paid the stipulated sum, carried away to his hut with evident delight. "halloo, i say," cried ned. "wall?" answered the yankee, stopping with a look of concern, as if he feared the artist had repented of his bargain. "mind you tell no one my prices, for, you see, i've not had time to consider about them yet." "all right; mum's the word," replied the man, vanishing into his little cabin just as tom collins returned from his ramble. "halloo, ned, what's that i hear about prices? i hope you're not offering to speculate in half-finished holes, or anything of that sort, eh?" "sit down here, my boy, and i'll tell you all about it." tom obeyed, and, with a half-surprised and more than half-amused expression, listened to his companion's narration of the scene that had just taken place, and of the plan which he had formed in his mind. this plan was carried out the following day. by daybreak ned was up preparing his drawing materials; then he and tom breakfasted at the _table d'hote_, after which the latter went to hunt for a suitable log-hut, in which to carry on their joint labours, while the former proceeded to fulfil his engagement. their night's lodging and breakfast made a terribly large gap in their slender fortune, for prices at the time happened to be enormously high, in consequence of expected supplies failing to arrive at the usual time. the bill at the hotel was ten dollars a day per man; and provisions of all kinds were so dear, that the daily earnings of the miners barely sufficed to find them in the necessaries of life. it therefore behoved our friends to obtain a private dwelling and remunerative work as fast as possible. on reaching the little log-hut, ned found the yankee ready to receive him. he wore a clean new red-flannel shirt, with a blue silk kerchief round the throat; a broad-brimmed straw hat, corduroys, and fisherman's long boots. to judge from his gait, and the self-satisfied expression of his bronzed countenance, he was not a little proud of his personal appearance. while ned arranged his paper and colours, and sharpened the point of his pencil, the yankee kept up a running commentary on men and things in general, rocking himself on a rudely-constructed chair the while, and smoking his pipe. the hut was very small--not more than twelve feet by eight, and just high enough inside to permit of a six-foot man grazing the beams when he walked erect. but, although small, it was exceedingly comfortable. its owner was his own architect and builder, being a jack-of-all-trades, and everything about the wooden edifice betokened the hand of a thorough workman, who cared not for appearance, but was sensitively alive to comfort. comfort was stamped in unmistakeable characters on every article of furniture, and on every atom that entered into the composition of the yankee's hut. the logs of which it was built were undressed; they were not even barked, but those edges of them that lay together were fitted and bevelled with such nicety that the keenest and most searching blast of north wind failed to discover an entrance, and was driven baffled and shrieking from the walls. the small fire-place and chimney, composed of mud and dry grass, were rude in appearance; but they were substantial, and well calculated for the work they had to perform. the seats, of which there were four--two chairs, a bench, and a stool--were of the plainest wood, and the simplest form; but they were solid as rocks, and no complaining creak, when heavy men sat down on them, betokened bad or broken constitutions. the little table--two feet by sixteen inches--was in all respects worthy of the chairs. at one end of the hut there was a bed-place, big enough for two; it was variously termed a crib, a shelf, a tumble-in, and a bunk. its owner called it a "snoosery." this was a model of plainness and comfort. it was a mere shell about two and a half feet broad, projecting from the wall, to which it was attached on one side, the other side being supported by two wooden legs a foot high. a plank at the side, and another at the foot, in conjunction with the walls of the cottage, converted the shelf into an oblong box. but the mattress of this rude couch was formed of buffalo-skins, covered with thick, long luxurious hair; above which were spread two large green mackinaw blankets of the thickest description; and the canvas pillow-case was stuffed with the softest down, purchased from the wild-fowl of california with leaden coin, transmitted through the yankee's unerring rifle. there was a fishing-rod in one corner, a rifle in another, a cupboard in a third; poles and spears, several unfinished axe-handles, and a small fishing-net lay upon the rafters overhead; while various miscellaneous articles of clothing, and implements for mining hung on pegs from the walls, or lay scattered about everywhere; but in the midst of apparent confusion comfort reigned supreme, for nothing was placed so as to come in one's way; everything was cleverly arranged, so as to _lie close_ and _fit in_; no article or implement was superfluous; no necessary of a miner's life was wanting; an air of thorough completeness invested the hut and everything about it; and in the midst of all sat the presiding genius of the place, with his long legs comfortably crossed, the tobacco wreaths circling round his lantern jaws, the broad-brimmed straw hat cocked jauntily on one side, his arms akimbo, and his rather languid black eyes gazing at ned sinton with an expression of comfortable self-satisfaction and assurance that was quite comforting to behold. "wall, mister, if you're ready, i guess ye'd better fire away." "one second more and i shall commence," replied ned; "i beg pardon, may i ask your name?" "jefferson--abel jefferson to command," answered the yankee, relighting the large clay pipe which he had just filled, and stuffing down the glowing tobacco with the end of his little finger as slowly and deliberately as though that member were a salamander. "what's yourn!" "edward sinton. now, mr jefferson, in what position do you intend to sit?" "jest as i'm settin' now." "then you must sit still, at least for a few minutes at a time, because i cannot sketch you while you keep rocking so." "no! now that's a pity, for i never sits no other way when i'm to home; an' it would look more nat'ral an' raal like to the old 'ooman if i was drawd rockin'. however, fire away, and sing out when ye want me to stop. mind ye, put in the whole o' me. none o' yer half-lengths. i never goes in for half-lengths. i always goes the whole length, an' a leetle shave more. see that ye don't forget the mole on the side o' my nose. my poor dear old mother wouldn't believe it was me if the mole warn't there as big as life, with the two hairs in the middle of it. an' i say, mister, mind that i hate flatterers, so don't flatter me no how." "it wouldn't be easy to do so," thought ned, as he plied his pencil, but he did not deem it advisable to give expression to his thoughts. "now, then, sit still for a moment," said ned. the yankee instantly let the front legs of his chair come to the ground with a bang, and gazed right before him with that intensely-grave, cataleptic stare that is wont to overspread the countenances of men when they are being photographed. ned laughed inwardly, and proceeded with his work in silence. "i guess there's sam at the door," said abel jefferson, blowing a cloud of smoke from his mouth that might have made a small cannon envious. the door flew open as he spoke, and sam scott, the trader, strode into the hut. he was a tall, raw-boned man, with a good-humoured but intensely impudent expression of countenance, and tanned to a rich dark brown by constant exposure to the weather in the prosecution of his arduous calling. "halloo! stranger, what air _you_ up to!" inquired sam, sitting down on the bench behind ned, and looking over his shoulder. ned might perhaps have replied to this question despite its unceremoniousness, had not the yankee followed it up by spitting over his shoulder into the fire-place. as it was, he kept silence, and went on with his work. "why i _do_ declare," continued sam, "if you ain't _photogged_ here as small as life, mole an' all, like nothin'. i say, stranger, ain't you a britisher?" sam again followed up his question with a shot at the fire-place. "yes," answered ned, somewhat angrily, "and i am so much of a britisher, that i positively object to your spitting past my ear." "no, you don't, do you? now, that is cur'ous. i do believe if you britishers had your own way, you'd not let us spit at all. what air you better than we, that you hold your heads so high, and give yourselves sich airs! that's what _i_ want to know." ned's disgust having subsided, he replied-"if we do hold our heads high, it is because we are straightforward, and not afraid to look any man in the face. as to giving ourselves airs, you mistake our natural reserve and dislike to obtrude ourselves upon strangers for pride; and in this respect, at least, if in no other, we are better than you--we don't spit all over each other's floors and close past each other's noses." "wall, now, stranger, if you choose to be resarved, and we choose to be free-an'-easy, where's the differ? we've a right to have our own customs, and do as we please as well as you, i guess." "hear, hear!" cried abel jefferson, commencing to rock himself again, and to smoke more violently than ever. "what say ye to that, mister?" "only this," answered ned, as he put the finishing touches to his sketch, "that whereas we claim only the right to do to and with ourselves what we please, you yankees claim the right to do to and with _everybody, else_ what you please. i have no objection whatever to your spitting, but i do object to your spitting over my shoulder." "do you?" said sam scott, in a slightly sarcastic tone, "an' suppose i don't stop firin' over your shoulder, what then?" "i'll make you," replied ned, waxing indignant at the man's cool impudence. "how?" inquired sam. ned rose and shook back the flaxen curls from his flushed face, as he replied, "by opening the door and kicking you out of the hut." he repented of the hasty expression the moment it passed his lips, so he turned to jefferson and handed him the drawing for inspection. sam scott remained seated. whether he felt that ned was thoroughly capable of putting his threat in execution or not we cannot tell, but he evinced no feeling of anger as he continued the conversation. "i guess if you did that, you'd have to fight me, and you'd find me pretty smart with the bowie-knife an' the revolver, either in the dark or in daylight." sam here referred to the custom prevalent among the yankees in some parts of the united states of duelling with bowie-knives or with pistols in a darkened room. "and suppose," answered ned, with a smile--"suppose that i refused to fight, what then?" "why, then, you'd be called a coward all over the diggin's, and you'd have to fight to clear your character." "and suppose i didn't care a straw for being called a coward, and wouldn't attempt to clear my character?" "why, then, i guess, i'd have to kick you in public till you were obligated to fight." "but suppose still further," continued ned, assuming the air of a philosopher discussing a profoundly-abstruse point in science--"suppose that, being the stronger man, i should prevent you from kicking me by knocking you down, what then?" "why, then, i'd be compelled to snuff you out slick off?" sam scott smiled as he spoke, and touched the handle of his revolver. "which means," said ned, "that you would become a cold-blooded murderer." "so you britishers call it." "and so judge lynch would call it, if i am not mistaken, which would insure your being snuffed out too, pretty effectually." "wrong, you air, stranger," replied the trader; "judge lynch regards affairs of honour in a very different light, i guess. i don't think he'd scrag me for that." further investigation of this interesting topic was interrupted by abel jefferson, who had been gazing in wrapt admiration at the picture for at least five minutes, pronouncing the work "fuss rate," emphatically. "it's jest what'll warm up the old 'ooman's heart, like a big fire in a winter day. won't she screech when she claps her peepers on't, an' go yellin' round among the neighbours, shewin' the pictur' o' `her boy abel,' an' his house at the gold diggin's?" the two friends commented pretty freely on the merits of the work, without the smallest consideration for the feelings of the artist. fortunately they had nothing but good to say about it. sam scott, indeed, objected a little to the sketchy manner in which some of the subordinate accessories were touched in, and remarked that the two large hairs on the mole were almost invisible; but jefferson persisted in maintaining that the work was "fuss rate," and faultless. the stipulated sum was paid; and ned, bidding his new friends good-morning, returned to the inn, for the purpose of discussing dinner and plans with tom collins. chapter eighteen. ned's new profession pays admirably--he and tom wax philosophical--"pat" comes for a "landscape" of himself--lynch law and the doctors--ned's sitters--a yankee swell receives a gentle rebuff. the ups and downs, and the outs and ins of life are, as every one is aware, exceedingly curious,--sometimes pleasant, often the reverse, and not infrequently abrupt. on the day of their arrival at the settlement, ned and tom were almost beggars; a dollar or two being all the cash they possessed, besides the gold-dust swallowed by the latter, which being, as tom remarked, sunk money, was not available for present purposes. one week later, they were, as abel jefferson expressed it, "driving a roaring trade in pictur's," and in the receipt of fifty dollars, or 10 pounds a day! goods and provisions of all kinds had been suddenly thrown into the settlement by speculators, so that living became comparatively cheap; several new and profitable diggings had been discovered, in consequence of which gold became plentiful; and the result of all was that edward sinton, esquire, portrait and landscape painter, had more orders than he could accept, at almost any price he chose to name. men who every saturday came into the settlement to throw away their hard-earned gains in the gambling-houses, or to purchase provisions for the campaign of the following week, were delighted to have an opportunity of procuring their portraits, and were willing to pay any sum for them, so that, had our hero been so disposed, he could have fleeced the miners to a considerable extent. but ned was not so disposed, either by nature or necessity. he fixed what he considered fair remunerative prices for his work, according to the tariff of the diggings, and so arranged it that he made as much per day as he would have realised had he been the fortunate possessor of one of the best "claims" in the neighbourhood. tom collins, meanwhile, went out prospecting, and speedily discovered a spot of ground which, when wrought with the pan, turned him in twenty dollars a day. so that, in the course of a fortnight, our adventurers found themselves comparatively rich men. this was satisfactory, and ned admitted as much one morning to tom, as he sat on a three-legged stool in his studio--i.e. a dilapidated log-hut--preparing for a sitter, while the latter was busily engaged in concluding his morning repast of damper, pork, and beans. "there's no doubt about it, tom," said he, pegging a sheet of drawing-paper to a flat board, "we are rapidly making our fortunes, my boy; but d'you know, i'm determined to postpone that desirable event, and take to rambling again." "there you go," said tom, somewhat testily, as he lit a cigar, and lay down on his bed to enjoy it; "you are never content; i knew it wouldn't last; you're a rolling stone, and will end in being a beggar. do you really mean to say that you intend to give up a lucrative profession and become a vagrant?--for such you will be, if you take to wandering about the country without any object in view." "indeed, i do," answered ned. "how often am i to tell you that i don't and _won't_ consider the making of money the chief good of this world? doubtless, it is an uncommonly necessary thing, especially to those who have families to support; but i am firmly convinced that this life was meant to be enjoyed, and i mean to enjoy it accordingly." "i agree with you, ned, heartily; but if every one enjoyed life as you propose to do, and took to rambling over the face of the earth, there would be no work done, and nothing could be had for love or money-except what grew spontaneously; and that would be a joyful state of things, wouldn't it?" tom collins, indulging the belief that he had taken up an unassailable position, propelled from his lips a long thin cloud of smoke, and smiled through it at his friend. "your style of reasoning is rather wild, to say the least of it," answered ned, as he rubbed down his colours on the bottom of a broken plate. "in the first place, you assume that i propose to spend _all_ my life in rambling; and, in the second place, you found your argument on the absurd supposition that everybody else must find their sole enjoyment in the same occupation." "how i wish," sighed tom collins, smoking languidly, "that there was no such thing as reasoning. you would be a much more agreeable fellow, ned, if you didn't argue." "it takes two to make an argument," remarked ned. "well, but couldn't you _converse_ without arguing?" "certainly, if you would never contradict what i say, nor make an incorrect statement, nor draw a wrong conclusion, nor object to being contradicted when i think you are in the wrong." tom sighed deeply, and drew comfort from his cigar. in a few minutes he resumed,--"well, but what do you mean by enjoying life?" ned sinton pondered the question a few seconds, and then replied-"i mean this:--the way to enjoy life is to do all the good you can, by working just enough to support yourself and your family, if you have one; to assist in spreading the gospel, and to enable you to help a friend in need; and to alleviate the condition of the poor, the sick, and the destitute. to work for more than this is to be greedy; to work for less is to be reprehensibly lazy. this amount of work being done, men ought to mingle with their fellow-creatures, and wander abroad as much as may be among the beautiful works of their creator." "a very pretty theory, doubtless," replied tom; "but, pray, in what manner will your proposed ramble advance the interests of religion, or enable you to do the extra ordinary amount of good you speak of?" "there you go again, tom; you ask me the abstract question, `what do you mean by enjoying life?' and when i reply, you object to the answer as not being applicable to the present case. of course, it is not. i did not intend it to be. the good i mean to do in my present ramble is chiefly, if not solely, to my own body and mind--" "stop, my dear fellow," interrupted tom, "don't become energetic! i accept your answer to the general question; but how many people, think you, can afford to put your theory in practice?" "very, very few," replied ned, earnestly; "but that does not affect the truth of my theory. men _will_ toil night and day to accumulate gold, until their bodies and souls are incapable of enjoying the good things which gold can purchase, and they are infatuated enough to plume themselves on this account, as being diligent men of business; while others, alas! are compelled thus to toil in order to procure the bare necessaries of life; but these melancholy facts do not prove the principle of `grind-and-toil' to be a right one; much less do they constitute a reason for my refusing to enjoy life in the right way when i have the power." tom made no reply, but the vigorous puffs from his cigar seemed to indicate that he pondered these things deeply. a few minutes afterwards, ned's expected sitter entered. he was a tall burly irishman, with a red-flannel shirt, open at the neck, a pair of huge long boots, and a wide-awake. "the top o' the mornin' to yees," said the man, pulling off his hat as he entered. "good-morning, friend," said ned, as tom collins rose, shouldered his pick and shovel, and left the hut. "you are punctual, and deserve credit for so good a quality. pray, sit down." "faix, then, i don't know what a `quality' is, but av it's a good thing i've no objection," replied the man, taking a seat on the edge of the bed which tom had just vacated. "i wos wantin' to ax ye, sir, av ye could put in me pick and shovel in the lan'scape." "in the landscape, pat!" exclaimed ned, addressing his visitor by the generic name of the species; "i thought you wanted a portrait." "troth, then, i don't know which it is ye call it; but i wants a pictur' o' meself all over, from the top o' me hat to the sole o' me boots. isn't that a lan'scape?" "no, it's a portrait." "then it's a porthraite i wants; an' if ye'll put in the pick and shovel, i'll give ye two dollars a pace for them." "i'll put them in, pat, for nothing," replied ned, smiling, as he commenced his sketch. "i suppose you intend to send this to some fair one in old ireland?" pat did not reply at once. "sure," said he, slowly, "i niver thought of her in that way before, but maybe she was fair wance, though she's been a'most as black as bog-oak for half-a-cintury. it's for me grandmother i want it." "your grandmother! that's curious, now; the last man i painted meant to send the likeness to his mother." "not so cur'ous neither," replied the man, with some feeling; "it's my opinion, the further a man goes from the owld country, and the rougher he becomes wi' scrapin' up and down through the world, the more tinder his heart gits when he thinks o' his mother. me own mother died whin i wos a bit spalpeen, an' i lived wi' me grandmother, bliss her heart, ever since,--at laste till i took to wanderin', which was tin years past." "so long! pat, you must have wandered far in that time. have you ever been away far into the interior of this country, among the mountains, in the course of your wanderings!" "among the mountains, is it? indeed i have, just; an' a most tree-mendous beautiful sight it is. wos ye goin' there?" "i've been thinking about it. is the shooting good?" "shootin', ah! av ye'd bin wi' me an' bill simmons, two summers ago, ye'd have had more nor enough o' shootin'. the grizzlies are thick as paes, and the buffaloes swarm in the valleys like muskaitoes, not to mintion wolves, and beavers, and badgers, and deer, an' sich like--forby the red injuns; we shot six o' them critters about the legs an' arms in self defence, an' they shot us too--they put an arrow dane through the pint o' bill's nose, an' wan ripped up me left arm, it did." (pat bared the brawny limb, and exhibited the wound as he spoke.) "shootin', is it? faix there's the hoith o' shootin' there, an' no end o' sainery." the conversation was interrupted at this point by the door being burst violently open, and several men rushing into the hut. they grasped the irishman by the arms, and attempted to drag him out, but pat seized hold of the plank, on the edge of which he sat, and refused to move at first. "come along, boy," cried one, boisterously; "we're goin' to lynch a doctor, an' we want you to swear to him." "ay, an' to swear _at_ him too, if ye like; he's a rig'lar cheat; bin killin' us off by the dozen, as cool as ye like, and pretendin' to be an m.d. all the time." "there's more than wan," cried another man, seizing pat again by the arm; "won't ye come, man?" "och! av coorse i will; av it's to do any good to the public, i'm yer man. hooray! for the people, an' down wi' the aristock-racy." this sentiment was received with a shout of delight, and several exclamations of "bah!" as the party hurried in a body from the studio. ned, having thus nothing to do, rose, and followed them towards the centre of the settlement, where a large crowd was collecting to try the unhappy doctors above referred to. there were six of them, all disreputable-looking rascals, who had set up for doctors, and had carried on a thriving business among the sick miners,--of whom there were many at that time,--until a genuine doctor arrived at the place, and discovered and exposed them. the miners were fortunately not bloodthirsty at this time, so the six self-dubbed m.d.s, instead of being hanged, were banished for ever from the settlement. half-an-hour later the miners were busy in their respective claims, and ned sinton was again seated before his "lan'scape" of the irishman. just as he was completing the sketch, the door opened slowly, and a very remarkable man swaggered into the room, and spat on the centre of the floor. he was dressed in the extreme of the fashion then prevalent in the eastern states. a superfine black coat, silk vest, superfine black trousers, patent-leather boots, kid gloves, and a black silk hat! a more unnatural apparition at the diggings could not well be imagined. ned sinton could hardly credit his eyes, but no rubbing of them would dispel the vision. there he stood, a regular broadway swell, whose love of change had induced him to seek his fortune in the gold-regions of california, and whose vanity had induced him to retain his drawing-room costume. this man, besides being possessed of a superabundance of supercilious impudence, also possessed a set of digging tools, the handles of which were made of polished oak and walnut, with bright brass ferrules. with these he proposed to dig his fortune in a leisurely way; meanwhile, finding the weather rather hot, he had made up his mind to have his portrait done. thrusting his hands into his pockets, this gentleman shut the door with his heel, turned his back to the fire-place--from the mere force of habit, for there was no fire--and again spat upon the floor, after which he said: "i say, stranger, what's your charge for a likeness?" "you will excuse me, sir," answered ned, "if, before replying to that question, i beg of you not to spit on my floor." the yankee uttered an exclamation of surprise, and asked, "why not, stranger?" "because i don't like it." "you wouldn't have me spit in my hat, would you?" inquired the dandy. "certainly not." "where then?" ned pointed to a large wooden box which stood close to the fire-place, and said, "there--i have provided a box for the accommodation of those sitters who indulge in that disagreeable practice. if you can't avoid spitting, do it there." "wall, now, you britishers are strange critters. but you haven't told me your price for a portrait." "i fear that i cannot paint you at any price," replied ned, without looking up from his paper, while pat listened to the conversation with a comical leer on his broad countenance. "why not, stranger?" asked the dandy, in surprise. "because i'm giving up business, and don't wish to take any more orders." "then i'll set here, i guess, an' look at ye while ye knock off that one," said the man, sitting down close to ned's elbow, and again spitting on the floor. whether he did so intentionally or not we cannot tell, probably not, but the effect upon ned was so strong that he rose deliberately, opened the door, and pointed to the passage thus set free, without uttering a word. his look, however, was quite sufficient. the dandy rose abruptly, and walked out in silence, leaving ned to shut the door quietly behind him and return to his work, while the irishman rolled in convulsions of laughter on tom collins's bed. ned's sitters, as we have hinted, were numerous and extremely various. sometimes he was visited by sentimental and home-sick miners, and occasionally by dandy miners, such as we have described, but his chief customers were the rough, hearty men from "old england," "owld ireland," and from the western states; with all of whom he had many a pleasant and profitable hour's conversation, and from many of whom, especially the latter, he obtained valuable and interesting information in reference to the wild regions of the interior which he longed so much to see. chapter nineteen. the wilderness again--a splendid valley--gigantic trees and waterfalls-tom meets with an accident--both meet with many surprises--mysteries, caverns, doleful sounds, and grizzly-bear-catchers. mounted on gallant steeds, ned and his friend again appear in the wilderness in the afternoon of a beautiful autumn day. they had ridden far that day. dust covered their garments, and foam bespattered the chests of their horses, but the spirits of men and beasts were not yet subdued, for their muscles, by long practice, were inured to hardship. many days had passed since they left the scene of their recent successful labours, and many a weary league had been traversed over the unknown regions of the interior. they were lost, in one sense of that term--charmingly, romantically lost--that is to say, neither ned nor tom had the most distant idea of where they were, or what they were coming to, but both of them carried pocket-compasses, and they knew that by appealing to these, and to the daily jotting of the route they had travelled, they could ascertain pretty closely the direction that was necessary to be pursued in order to strike the great san joaquin river. very different was the scenery through which they now rode from that of the northern diggings. the most stupendous and magnificent mountains in the world surrounded, on all sides, the valley through which they passed, giving to it an air of peaceful seclusion; yet it was not gloomy, for the level land was broad and fertile, and so varied in aspect that it seemed as though a beautiful world were enclosed by those mighty hills. large tracts of the valley were covered with wild oats and rich grass, affording excellent pasturage for the deer that roamed about in large herds. lakes of various sizes sustained thousands of wild-fowl on their calm breasts, and a noble river coursed down its entire length. oaks, chestnuts, and cypresses grew in groups all over the landscape, and up on the hill-sides firs of gigantic size reared their straight stems high above the surrounding trees. but the point in the scenery which struck the travellers as being most peculiar was the precipitous character of the sides of many of the vast mountains and the flatness of their summits. tom collins, who was a good judge of heights, having travelled in several mountainous regions of the world, estimated the nearest precipices to be upwards of three thousand feet, without a break from top to bottom, but the ranges in the background towered far above these, and must have been at least double. "i never saw anything like this before, tom," said ned, in a suppressed voice. "i did not believe such sublime scenery existed," replied his companion. "i have travelled in switzerland and norway, but this surpasses both. truly it was worth while to give up our gold-digging in order to see this." "yet there are many," rejoined ned, "who travel just far enough into california to reach the diggings, where they remain till their fortunes are made, or till their hopes are disappointed, and then return to england and write a book, perchance, in which they speak as authoritatively as if they had swept the whole region, north and south, east and west. little wonder that we find such travellers contradicting each other flatly. one speaks of `california' as being the most splendid agricultural country in the world, and advises every one to emigrate at once; while another condemns it as an arid, unproductive region, fit only for the support of indians and grizzly-bears;--the fact being, that both speak, (correctly enough, it may be), of the very small portion of california they have respectively visited. why, the more i travel in this wonderful land the more i feel how very little i know about it; and had i returned to england without having seen this valley, i should have missed one of the most remarkable sights, not only in the country, but, i verily believe, in the world. if you ever return home, tom, and are persuaded, `at the earnest request of numerous friends,' to write a book, _don't_ dogmatise as to _facts_; remember how limited your experience has been, and don't forget that _facts_ in one valley are not facts at all in another valley eight or ten miles off." "perhaps," suggested tom collins, patting the arched neck of his steed--"perhaps the advice with which you have just favoured me might, with greater propriety, have proceeded from me to you; for, considering the copious variety of your sentiments on this and other subjects, and the fluency with which you utter them, it is likely that you will rush into print long before i timidly venture, with characteristic modesty, even to grasp the pen!" as tom ceased speaking they came upon a forest of pine, or fir trees, in the midst of which towered a tree of such gigantic height, that its appearance caused them simultaneously to draw up, and gaze at it in silent wonder. "can it be possible," said ned, "that our eyes don't deceive us! surely some peculiarity in the atmosphere gives that tree false proportions?" without answering, tom galloped towards the tree in question, closely followed by his friend. instead of any delusive haze being cleared away, however, the tree grew larger as they approached, and when they halted about twenty yards from it, they felt that they were indeed in the presence of the monarch of the forest. the tree, which they measured, after viewing it in wondering admiration from all points of view, was ninety-three feet in circumference, and it could not have been less than three hundred and sixty feet high. they little knew that, many years afterwards, the bark of this giant tree, to the height of a hundred and sixteen feet, was to be removed to england, built up in its original form, and exhibited in the great crystal palace of sydenham; yet so it was, and part of the "mother of the forest" may be seen there at this day. towards evening the travellers drew near to the head of the valley. "we must be approaching a waterfall of no ordinary size," remarked tom, as they rode through the dark shades of the forest, which were pretty extensive there. "i have heard its roar for some time," answered ned, "but until we clear this belt of trees we shan't see it." just then the roar of the fall burst upon them with such deafening violence, that they involuntarily started. it seemed as if a mighty torrent had burst its bounds and was about to sweep them away, along with the forest through which they rode. pressing forward in eager haste, they soon found that their having doubled round a huge mountain barrier, which the trees had hitherto concealed from them, was the cause of the sudden increase in the roar of the fall, but they were still unable to see it, owing to the dense foliage that overshadowed them. as they galloped on, the thunder of falling waters became more deep and intense, until they reached an elevated spot, comparatively free from trees, which overlooked the valley, and revealed a sight such as is not equalled even by niagara itself. a succession of wall-like mountains rose in two tiers before them literally into the clouds, for several of the lower clouds floated far below the highest peaks, and from the summit of the highest range a river, equal to the thames at richmond, dropt sheer down a fall of above two thousand feet. here it met the summit of the lower mountain-range, on which it burst with a deep-toned, sullen, never-ceasing roar, comparable only to eternal thunder. a white cloud of spray received the falling river in its soft embrace, and sent it forth again--turbulent and foam bespeckled--towards its second leap, another thousand feet, into the plain below. the entire height of the fall was above three thousand feet. its sublimity no language can convey. its irresistible effect on the minds of the wanderers was to turn their thoughts to the almighty creator of so awe-inspiring and wonderful a scene. here they discovered another tree, which was so large that their thoughts were diverted even from the extraordinary cataract for a short time. unlike the previous one, this monarch of the woods lay prostrate on the ground, but its diameter near the root was so great that they could not see over it though seated on horseback. it measured a hundred and twenty feet in circumference, and, when standing, must have been little, if at all, short of five hundred feet in height. surrounded as they were by such noble and stupendous works of god, the travellers could not find words to express their feelings. deep emotion has no articulate language. the heaving breast and the glowing eye alone indicate the fervour of the thoughts within. for a long time they sat gazing round them in silent wonder and admiration, then they dismounted to measure the great tree, and after that ned sat down to sketch the fall, while his companion rode forward to select a spot for camping on. tom had not proceeded far when he came upon the track of wheels in the grass, a sight which surprised him much, for into that remote region he had supposed few travellers ventured, even on horseback. the depth and breadth of the tracks, too, surprised him not a little. they were much deeper and broader than those caused by any species of cart he had yet seen or heard of in the country, and the width apart was so great, that he began to suspect he must have mistaken a curious freak of nature for the tracks of a gigantic vehicle. following the track for some distance, he came to a muddy spot, where the footprints of men and horses became distinctly visible. a little further on he passed the mouth of what appeared to be a cavern, and, being of an inquisitive disposition, he dismounted and tied his horse to a tree, intending to examine the entrance. to enter a dark cave, in a wild, unknown region, with the din of a thundering cataract filling the ears, just after having discovered tracks of a mysterious nature in the neighbourhood, was so trying to tom's nervous system, that he half resolved to give it up; but the exploration of a cavern has a fascination to some dispositions which every one cannot understand. tom said "pshaw!" to himself in an undertone, and boldly stepping into the dark portals of the cave, he disappeared. meanwhile, edward sinton finished his sketch, and, supposing that tom was waiting for him in advance, he mounted and galloped forward as fast as the nature of the ground would allow. soon he came to the tracks before mentioned, and shortly after to the muddy spot with the footprints. here he drew rein, and dismounted to examine the marks more closely. our hero was as much perplexed as his friend had been at the unusually broad tracks of the vehicle which had passed that way. leading his horse by the bridle, he advanced slowly until he came to the spot where tom's horse stood fastened to a tree,--a sight which alarmed him greatly, for the place was not such as any one would have selected for an encampment, yet had any foul play befallen his friend, he knew well that the horse would not have been left quietly there. sorely puzzled, and filled with anxious fears, he examined the spot carefully, and at last came upon the entrance to the cavern, before which he paused, uncertain what to do. the shadows of evening were fast falling on the scene, and he experienced a feeling of dread as he gazed into the profound gloom. he was convinced that tom must be there; but the silence, and the length of time he had been absent, led him to fear that some accident had befallen his friend. "ho! tom!" he shouted, on entering, "are you there?" there was a rolling echo within, but no voice replied to the question. again ned shouted at the full pitch of his lungs, and this time he thought he heard a faint reply. hurrying forward eagerly, as quickly as he dared, he repeated his shout, but the declivity of the entrance became so great that he lost his footing and well-nigh fell headlong down a steep incline. he succeeded, however, in regaining his hold, and clambered back to the entrance as quickly as possible. here he caught up a pine-knot, struck a light and kindled it, and, with this torch held high above his head, advanced once more into the cavern. the voice of tom collins at this moment came loud and full from the interior,--"take care, ned, there's a sharp descent; i've tumbled down it, but i don't think i'm much hurt." "cheer up, my boy," cried ned, heartily; "i'll get you out in a minute." the next moment he stood beside his friend, who had risen from the rugged floor of the cave, and sat on a piece of rock, resting his head on his hand. "are you badly hurt, my poor fellow?" said ned, anxiously, going down on one knee and endeavouring to raise his friend's head. "i fear you are. here, try a drop of this brandy. that's it. why, you look better already. come, now, let me examine you." the spirit revived tom at once, and he replied cheerfully, as he submitted to inspection,--"all right, i was only stunned a little by the fall. catch me exploring again without a light!" on examination, ned found, to his great relief; that his friend's hurts were slight. he had been stunned by the severity of his fall, but no bones were broken, and only a few scratches received, so that, after another sip of brandy, he felt almost as well as ever. but he firmly resisted his companion's entreaty to leave the cavern. "no, my boy," said he, "after paying such a price as entrance fee, i'm not going to quit until i have explored the whole of this cave, so please go out for another pine-knot or two, and i'll wait for you." seeing that he was determined, ned obeyed, and soon returned with several fresh torches, two of which were ignited, and a bright light sent far and wide into the roof of the cave, which was at a great height above them. the walls were of curious, and in some places grotesque, forms. immense stalactites hung from the roof, and these were of varied colours,--pale green, pink, and white,--while some of them looked like cascades, which sprang from the walls, and had been petrified ere they quite reached the ground. the roof was supported by natural pillars, and various arched openings led into similar chambers, some of which were larger and more curious than the outer one. "do you know," said ned sinton, as they sat down on a rock in one of the inner chambers to rest, "this place recalls vividly to my remembrance a strange dream which i had just before leaving england." "indeed!" said tom; "i hope you're not a believer in dreams. don't, i beseech you, take it into your head that it's going to be realised at this particular moment, whatever it was." "it would take a very strong amount of belief indeed to induce me to expect the realisation of _that_ dream. shall i tell it you?" "is it a very ghostly one?" inquired tom. "no; not at all." "then out with it." ned immediately began the narration of the remarkable dream with which this story opens, and as he went on to tell of how the stout old gentleman snuffed gold-dust, and ultimately shot up to the roof of the cave, and became a golden stalactite, tom collins, whose risible tendencies were easily roused, roared with laughter, until the vaulted caverns echoed again. at the end of one of these explosions, the two friends were struck dumb by certain doleful and mysterious sounds which proceeded from the further end of the inmost chamber. in starting to his feet, tom collins let fall his torch, and in the convulsive clutch which he made to catch it, he struck the other torch out of ned's hand, so that instantly both were left in the profoundest darkness, with their hearts beating like sledge-hammers against their ribs. to flee was their first and natural impulse; but to flee in the dark, over rough ground, and with very imperfect ideas as to the position of the cave's outlet, was dangerous. "what _is_ to be done?" ejaculated tom collins in a tone that indicated the perturbation of his heart too clearly. at that moment ned remembered that he had a box of matches in the pocket of his hunting-coat; so, without answering, he drew it forth, struck a light, and re-ignited the torches. "now, tom," he said, "don't let us give way to unmanly fears. i have no belief whatever in ghosts or spirits, good or evil, being permitted to come in visible or audible form to frighten poor mortals. every effect has a cause, and i'm determined to find out the cause of these strange sounds. they certainly proceed from animal lungs, whether from man or beast remains to be seen." "go ahead, then, i'll follow," said tom, whose courage had returned with the light, "i'm game for anything that i can see; but i confess to you that i can _not_ stand howls, and groans and darkness." notwithstanding their utmost efforts they failed to discover the cause of the mysterious sounds, which seemed at times to be voices muttering, while at other times they swelled out into a loud cry. all that could be certainly ascertained was, that they proceeded from the roof of the innermost cavern, and that the centre of that roof was too high to be discerned by torch-light. "what shall we do now?" inquired tom. "we shall go to the summit of the hill above this cave, and see what is to be seen there. always look at both sides of a mystery if you would fathom it; come along." in a few minutes they stood in open air, and once more breathed freely. mounting their horses, they ascended the steep slope of the hill above the cave, and, after some trouble, reached the summit. here the first thing that met their gaze was a camp-fire, and near to it several men engaged in harnessing their horses to a large waggon or van. the frantic haste with which they performed the operation convinced ned that he had discovered the cause of the mysterious voices, and that he and tom had been the innocent cause of frightening the strangers nearly out of their wits. so engrossed were they with their work, that our travellers advanced within the circle of light of their fire before they were discovered. the man who first saw them uttered a yell, and the whole party turned round, seized their rifles, and, with terror depicted on their countenances, faced the intruders. "who comes here?" shouted one. "friends," answered ned, laying down his rifle and advancing. instantly the men threw down their arms and resumed the work of harnessing their horses. "if ye be friends," cried the one who spoke first, "give us a hand. i guess all the fiends in the bottomless pit are lo-cated jist below our feet." "listen to me for one moment, gentlemen," cried ned sinton. "i think i can relieve your minds. what have you heard or seen?" at these words the men stopped, and looked inquiringly at their questioner. "seen! stranger, we've seed nothin', but we've _hear'd_ a sight, we have, i calc'late. we hear'd the imps o' darkness talkin' as plain as i hear you. at first i thought it was somebody at the foot o' the hill, but all of a suddent the imps took to larfin' as if they'd split, jist under my feet, so i yelled out to my mate here to come an' yoke the beasts and git away as slick as we could. we wos jist about ready to slope when you appeared." ned now explained to them the cause of their alarms, and on search being made, a hole was found, as he had anticipated, close at hand among the bushes, which communicated with the cavern below, and formed a channel for the conveyance of the so-called mysterious sounds. "and now," said ned, "may i ask permission to pass the night with you?" "you're welcome, stranger," replied he who seemed to be the chief of the band--a tall, bearded american, named croft, who seemed more like a bandit than an honest man. his comrades, too, six in number, appeared a wild and reckless set of fellows, with whom one would naturally desire to hold as little intercourse as possible; but most men at the californian diggings had more or less the aspect of brigands, so ned sinton and his companion felt little concern as to their characters, although they did feel a little curious as to what had brought them to such a wild region. "if it is not taking too great a liberty," said ned, after answering the thousand questions put to him in rapid succession by his yankee host, "may i ask what has brought you to this out-of-the-way valley?" "bear-catchin'," answered the man, shortly, as he addressed himself to a large venison steak, which a comrade had just cooked for him. "bear-catching?" ejaculated ned. "ay, an' screamin' hard work it is too, i guess; but it pays well." "what do you do with them when caught?" inquired tom collins, in a somewhat sceptical tone. "take 'em down to the cities, an' sells 'em to fight with wild bulls." at this answer our travellers stared at the man incredulously. "you're strangers here, i see," he resumed, "else you'd know that we have bull and bear fights. the grizzlies are chained by one leg and the bulls let loose at 'em. the bulls charge like all possessed, but they find it hard to do much damage to caleb, whose hide is like a double-extra rhinoceros. the grizzlies ginerally git the best of it; an' if they was let loose, they'd chaw up the bulls in no time, they would. there's a great demand for 'em jist now, an' my trade is catchin' 'em alive here in the mountains." the big yankee stretched out his long limbs and smoked his pipe with the complacent aspect of a man who felt proud of his profession. "do you mean that you seven men catch fall-grown grizzly-bears alive and take them down to the settlements?" inquired ned in amazement. "sartinly i do," replied the bear-catcher; "an' why not, stranger?" "because i should have thought it impossible." "nothin''s impossible," replied the man, quietly. "but how do you manage it?" instead of replying, the yankee inquired if "the strangers" would stay over next forenoon with them. "with much pleasure," answered ned, not a little amused at the invitation, as well as the man's _brusque_ manner. "well, then," continued the bear-catcher, shaking the ashes out of his pipe, and putting it into his hat, "i'll let ye see how we do it in the mornin'. good-night." so saying, he drew his blanket over his head and resigned himself to sleep, an example which was speedily followed by the whole party. chapter twenty. grizzly-bear-catching in the mountains--ned and tom dine in the midst of romantic scenery, and hold sagacious converse--the strange devices of woodpeckers. just as day began to peep on the following morning, the camp was roused by one of the bear-catchers, a mexican, who had been away to visit the bear-trap during the night, and now came rushing in among the sleepers, shouting-"hoor-roo! boy, him cotch, him cotch! big as twinty mans! fact!" at first ned thought the camp was attacked by savages, and he and tom sprang to their feet and grasped their rifles, while they sought to rub their eyes open hastily. a glance at the other members of the camp, however, shewed that they were unnecessarily alarmed. croft leisurely stretched his limbs, and then gathered himself slowly into a sitting posture, while the others arose with various degrees of reluctance. "bin long in?" inquired croft. "no, jist cotched," answered the mexican, who sat down, lit his pipe, and smoked violently, to relieve his impatient feelings. "big 'un?" inquired croft, again. to this the mexican answered by rolling his eyes and exclaiming "hoh!" with a degree of vigour that left his hearers to imagine anything they pleased, and then settle it in their minds that the thing so imagined was out of all sight short of the mark. the excitement of the man at last fully roused the sleepy crew, and croft sprang up with the agility of a cat. "ho! boys," he cried, proceeding to buckle his garments round him, "up with you. ketch the hosses, an' put to. look alive, will you? grease your jints, _do_. now, strangers, i'll shew you how we ketch a bar in this lo-cation; bring yer rules, for sometimes he breaks his trap, an' isn't there a spree jist!" we need scarcely remark, that the latter part of this speech was made to sinton and his comrade, who were drawing the charges of their revolvers and reloading. "is the trap far off?" inquired ned. "quarter of an hour, or so. look sharp, lads." this exhortation was unnecessary, for the men had already caught three stout horses, all of which were attached to an enormous waggon or van, whose broad wheels accounted for the tracks discovered in the valley on the previous evening. "that's his cage," said the bear-catcher, replying to ned's look of inquiry. "it's all lined with sheet-iron, and would hold an ontamed streak o' lightnin', it would. now, then, drive ahead." the lumbering machine jolted slowly down the hill as he spoke, and while several of the party remained with the horses, croft and our travellers, with the remainder, pushed on ahead. in less than twenty minutes, they came to a ravine filled with thick underwood, from the recesses of which came forth sounds of fierce ursine wrath that would have deterred most men from entering; but croft knew his game was secure, and led the way confidently through the bushes, until he reached a spot on which stood what appeared to be a small log-cabin without door or window. inside of this cabin an enormous grizzly-bear raged about furiously, thrusting his snout and claws through the interstices of the logs, and causing splinters to fly all round him, while he growled in tones of the deepest indignation. "oh! ain't he a bit o' thunder?" cried croft, as he walked round the trap, gazing in with glittering eyes at every opening between the logs. "how in the world did you get him in there?" asked ned sinton, as soon as his astonishment had abated sufficiently to loosen his tongue. "easy enough," replied croft. "if ye obsarve the top o' the trap, ye'll see the rope that suspended it from the limb o' that oak. inside there was a bit o' beef, so fixed up, that when mister caleb laid hold of it, he pulled a sort o' trigger, an' down came the trap, shuttin' him in slick, as ye see." at this moment the powerful animal struggled so violently that he tilted his prison on one side, and well-nigh overturned it. "look out, lads," shouted croft, darting towards a tree, and cocking his rifle,--actions in which he was imitated by all the rest of the party, with surprising agility. "don't fire till it turns over," he cried, sternly, on observing that two of the more timid members of his band were about to fire at the animal's legs, which appeared below the edge of the trap. fortunately, the bear ceased its efforts just at that critical moment, and the trap fell heavily back to its original position. "by good luck!" shouted croft; "an' here comes the cage. range up on the left, boys, and out with the hosses, they won't stand this." the terrified animals were removed from the scene, trembling violently from head to foot, and the whole band, applying their shoulders to the wheels, slowly pushed the vehicle alongside of the trap until the sides of the two met. there was a strong door in the side of the trap, which was now removed by being pulled inwards, revealing to bruin an aperture which corresponded to another door opening into the iron-lined cage. there were stout iron bars ready to be shot home the instant he condescended to pass through this entrance; but caleb, as croft called him, shewed himself sadly destitute of an inquiring disposition. he knew that there was now a hole in his prison-wall, for he looked at it; he knew that a hole either conducted into a place or out of it, for life-long experience had taught him that; yet he refused to avail himself of the opportunity, and continued to rage round the trap, glaring between the logs at his foes outside. it is unreasonable to suppose that he was afraid to go into the hole because it was a _dark_ one, for he was well accustomed to such dark dens; besides, no one who looked at him could for a moment suppose that he was, or could be, afraid of anything at all. we must, therefore, put his conduct down to sheer obstinacy. the men poked him with sticks; shouted at him; roared in his face; threw water over him; and even tried the effect of a shot of powder at his flank; but all to no purpose, although their efforts were continued vigorously for full two hours. the bear would _not_ enter that hole on any account whatever. "try another shot of powder at him," cried croft, whose patience was now almost exhausted. the shot was fired at his flank, and was received with a ferocious growl, while the strong wood-work of the trap trembled under his efforts to escape. "ain't it vexin'?" said croft, sitting down on the stump of a tree and wiping the perspiration from his forehead. ned sinton and tom, who had done their utmost to assist their new acquaintance, sat down beside him and admitted that it _was_ vexing. as if by one impulse, the whole party then sat down to rest, and at that moment, having, as it were, valiantly asserted his right of independent action, the bear turned slowly round and quietly scrambled through the hole. the men sprang up; the massive iron bars were shot into their sockets with a clang; and bruin was a prisoner for life. as neither edward sinton nor tom collins had any particular desire to become bear-catchers, they bade their new friends adieu that afternoon, and continued their journey. the road, as they advanced, became more and more steep and rugged, so that they could only proceed at a walk, and in many places experienced considerable difficulty, and ran no little risk, in passing along the faces of cliffs, where the precipices ascended hundreds of feet upwards like walls, on the one hand, and descended sheer down into an unfathomable abyss, on the other. but the exceeding grandeur of the scenery amply repaid their toils, and the deep roar of that mighty cataract ever sounded in their ears. at length they reached the head of the valley, and stood under the spray of the fall, which, expanding far above and around the seething caldron whence it sprang, drenched the surrounding country with perpetual showers. here a gap or pass in the mountains was discovered, ascending on the left, and affording, apparently, an exit from the valley. up this the travellers toiled until they cleared the spray of the falls, and then sat down beside a clump of trees to dry their garments in the sunshine and to cook their mid-day meal. "what a glorious thing it is, tom, to wander thus unrestrained amid such scenes!" said ned sinton, as he busied himself roasting a piece of venison, which his rifle had procured but half-an-hour before. "how infinitely more delightful than travelling in the civilised world, where one is cheated at every turn, and watched and guarded as if robbery, or murder, or high treason were the only probable objects a traveller could have in view." "`comparisons,' my dear fellow--you know the proverb," replied tom collins; "don't uphold california at the expense of the continent. besides, there are many in this world who would rather a thousand times wander by the classic lake of como, with its theatrical villas and its enchanting sunshine and perfume, or paddle up the castellated rhine, than scramble here among wild rocks, and woods, and cataracts, with the chance of meeting an occasional savage or a grizzly-bear." "go on, my boy," said ned, with a touch of sarcasm in his tone, "you haven't read me half a lesson yet. besides, the `many' you refer to, are there not hundreds, ay, thousands, whose chief enjoyment in travelling is derived from the historical associations called up by the sight of the ruined castles and temples of classic ground--whose delight it is to think that here napoleon crossed the alps, as hannibal did before him, (and many a nobody has done after him), that there, within these mouldering ruins, the oracles of old gave forth their voice-forgetting, perhaps, too easily, while they indulge in these reminiscences of the past, that the warrior's end was wholesale murder, and that the oracle spoke only to deceive poor ignorant human nature. ha! i would not give one hearty dash into pure, uncontaminated nature for all the famous `tours' put together." ned looked round him as he spoke, with a glow of enthusiasm that neither badinage nor philosophy could check. "just look around thee," he continued; "open thine ears, tom, to the music of yon cataract, and expand thy nostrils to the wild perfume of these pines." "i wouldn't, at this moment," quietly remarked tom, "exchange for it the perfume of that venison steak, of which i pray thee to be more regardful, else thou'lt upset it into the fire." "oh! tom--incorrigible!" "not at all, ned. while you flatter yourself that you have all the enthusiastic study of nature to yourself, here have i succeeded, within the last few minutes, in solving a problem in natural history which has puzzled my brains for weeks past." "and, pray thee, what may that be, most sapient philosopher?" "do you see yonder bird clinging to the stem of that tree, and pitching into it as if it were its most deadly foe?" "i do--a woodpecker it is." "well," continued tom, sitting down before his portion of the venison steak, "that bird has cleared up two points in natural history, which have, up till this time, been a mystery to me. the one was, why woodpeckers should spend their time in pecking the trees so incessantly; the other was, how it happened that several trees i have cut down could have had so many little holes bored in their trunks, and an acorn neatly inserted into each. now that little bird has settled the question for me. i caught him in the act not ten minutes ago. he flew to that tree with an acorn in his beak, tried to insert it into a hole, which didn't fit, being too small; so he tried another, which did fit, poked the nut in, small end first, and tapped it scientifically home. now, why did he do it? that's the question." "because he wanted to, probably," remarked ned; "and very likely he lays up a store of food for winter in this manner." "very possibly. i shall make a note of this, for i'm determined to have it sifted to the bottom. meanwhile, i'll trouble you for another junk of venison." it was many weeks afterwards ere tom collins succeeded in sifting this interesting point to the bottom; but perhaps the reader may not object to have the result of his inquiries noted at this point in our story. many of the trees in california, on being stripped of their bark, are found to be perforated all over with holes about the size of a musket-ball. these are pierced by the woodpecker with such precision and regularity that one might believe they had been cut out by a ship-carpenter. the summer is spent by this busy little bird in making these holes and in filling them with acorns. one acorn goes to one hole, and the bird will not try to force the nut into a hole that is too small for it, but flutters round the tree until it finds one which fits it exactly. thus one by one the holes are filled, and a store of food is laid up for winter use in a larder which secures it from the elements, and places it within reach of the depositor when the winter snows have buried all the acorns that lie upon the ground, and put them beyond the reach of woodpeckers. the birds never encroach on their store until the snow has covered the ground, then they begin to draw upon their bank; and it is a curious fact that the bills of these birds are always honoured, for their instinct enables them to detect the bad nuts with unerring certainty, so that their bank is always filled with good ones. this matter of selecting the good nuts is a mere chance with men, for often those shells which seem the soundest, are found to contain a grub instead of a nut. even the sagacious indian is an uncertain judge in this respect, but the woodpecker, provided by an all-wise creator with an unerring instinct, never makes a mistake in selecting its store of food for winter. chapter twenty one. curious trees, and still more curious plains--an interesting discovery, followed by a sad one--fate of travellers in the mountains--a sudden illness--ned proves himself to be a friend in need and in deed, as well as an excellent doctor, hunter, cook, and nurse--deer-shooting by firelight. during the course of their wanderings among the mountains our hero and his companion met with many strange adventures and saw many strange sights, which, however, we cannot afford space to dwell upon here. their knowledge in natural history, too, was wonderfully increased, for they were both observant men, and the school of nature is the best in which any one can study. audubon, the hunter-naturalist of america, knew this well! and few men have added so much as he to the sum of human knowledge in his peculiar department, while fewer still have so wonderfully enriched the pages of romantic adventure in wild, unknown regions. in these wanderings, too, ned and tom learned to know experimentally that truth is indeed stranger than fiction, and that if the writers of fairy-tales had travelled more they would have saved their imaginations a deal of trouble, and produced more extraordinary works. the size of the trees they encountered was almost beyond belief, though none of them surpassed the giant of which an account has been already given. among other curious trees they found _sugar-pines_ growing in abundance in one part of the country. this is, perhaps, the most graceful of all the pines. with a perfectly straight and cylindrical stem and smooth bark, it rears its proud crest high above other trees, and flings its giant limbs abroad, like a sentinel guarding the forest. the stem rises to about four-fifths of its height perfectly free of branches; above this point the branches spread out almost horizontally, drooping a little at the ends from the weight of the huge cones which they bear. these cones are about a foot-and-a-half long, and under each leaf lies a seed the size of a pea, which has an agreeably sweet taste, and is much esteemed by the indians, who use it as an article of food. another remarkable sight they saw was a plain, of some miles in extent, completely covered with shattered pieces of quartz, which shone with specks and veins of pure gold. of course they had neither time nor inclination to attempt the laborious task of pulverising this quartz in order to obtain the precious metal; but ned moralised a little as they galloped over the plain, spurning the gold beneath their horses' hoofs, as if it had been of no value whatever! they both puzzled themselves also to account for so strange an appearance; but the only solution that seemed to them at all admissible was, that a quartz vein had, at some early period of the world's history, been shattered by a volcanic eruption, and the plain thus strewn with gold. but from the contemplation of these and many other interesting sights and phenomena we must pass to an event which seriously affected the future plans of the travellers. one beautiful evening--such an evening as, from its deep quiet and unusual softness, leaves a lasting impression on the memory--the two horsemen found themselves slowly toiling up the steep acclivity of a mountain-ridge. their advance was toilsome, for the way was rugged, and no track of any kind assisted them in their ascent. "i fear the poor horses will give in," said ned, dismounting and looking back at his companion, who slowly followed him. "we are near the summit," answered tom, "and they shall have a long rest there." as he spoke, they both dismounted and advanced on foot, leading their fatigued horses by the bridles. "do you know," said tom, with a sigh, "i feel more used up to-day than i have been since we started on this journey. i think we had better encamp and have a cup of tea; there is a little left yet, if i mistake not." "with all my heart, tom; i, too, feel inclined to rest, and--" ned paused, for at that moment they overtopped the highest edge of the ridge, and the view that burst upon them was well fitted to put to flight every previous train of thought. the ridge on which they stood rose several hundred feet above the level of the plain beyond, and commanded a view of unknown extent towards the far west. the richest possible sweep of country was spread out at their feet like a huge map, bathed in a glow of yellow sunshine. lakes and streams, crags and rocks, sward, and swamp, and plain--undulating and abrupt, barren and verdant--all were there, and could be embraced in a single wide-sweeping glance. it seemed, to the entranced travellers, like the very garden of eden. water-fowl flew about in all directions, the whistling of their wings and their wild cries being mellowed by distance into pleasant music; and, far away on the right, where a clear lake mirrored each tree on its banks, as if the image were reality, a herd of deer were seen cooling their sides and limbs in the water, while, on the extreme horizon, a line of light indicated the shores of the vast pacific ocean. ere the travellers could find words to express their feelings, a rock, with a piece of stick and a small rag attached to it, attracted their attention. "we are not the first who have set their feet here, it seems," said ned, pointing to the signal. "strange!" muttered tom collins, as they turned towards the rock; "that does not look like an indian mark; yet i would have thought that white men had never stood here before, for the spot is far removed from any known diggings, and, as we know fail well, is not easily reached." on gaining the rock, they found that the rag was a shred of linen, without mark of any kind to tell who had placed it there. "it must have been the freak of some indian hunter," said ned, examining the rock on which the little flag-staff was raised. "stay--no--here are some marks cut in the stone! look here, tom, can you decipher this? it looks like the letter d--db." "db?" cried tom collins, with a degree of energy that surprised his friend. "let me see!" tom carefully removed the moss, and cleared out the letters, which were unmistakeable. "who can db have been?" said ned. tom looked up with a flushed countenance and a glittering eye, as he exclaimed-"who? who but daniel boone, cooper's great hero--hawk-eye, of the `last of the mohicans'--deer-slayer--leather-stocking! _he_ has been here before us--ay, brave spirit! long before other hunters had dared to venture far into the territory of the scalping, torturing, yelling red-skin, this bold heart had pushed westward, fearless and alone, until his eagle eye rested on the great pacific. it _must_ have been he. i have followed him, ned, in spirit, throughout all his wild career, for i knew him to be a _real_ man, and no fiction; but little did i think that i should see a spot where his manly foot had rested, or live to discover his _farthest step_ in the `far west!'" ned sinton listened with interest to the words of his friend, but he did not interrupt him, for he respected the deep emotions that swelled his heart and beamed from his flashing eye. "we spoke, ned, sometime ago, of historical associations," continued tom,--"here are historical associations worth coming all this way to call up. here are associations that touch _my_ heart more than all the deeds of ancient chivalry. ah! daniel boone, little didst thou think when thy hawk's eye rested here, that in a few short years the land would be overrun by gold-diggers from all ends of the earth!" "but this flag," said ned; "_he_ could never have placed that here. it would have been swept away by storms years ago." "you are right," said tom, turning over the stones that supported the staff--"halloo! what have we here?" he pulled out a roll of oiled cloth as he spoke, and, on opening it, discovered a scrap of paper, on which were written, in pencil, the words, "_help us!--for god's sake help us! we are perishing at the foot of the hill to the southward of this_." no name or date was attached to this strange paper, but the purport of it was sufficiently clear so, without wasting time in fruitless conjecture, the young men immediately sprang on their horses, and rode down the hill in the direction indicated. the route proved more rugged and steep than that by which they had ascended, and, for a considerable distance, they wound their way between the trunks of a closely-planted cypress grove; after passing which they emerged upon a rocky plain of small extent, at the further extremity of which a green oasis indicated the presence of a spring. towards this they rode in silence. "ah!" exclaimed ned, in a tone of deep pity, as he reined up at the foot of an oak-tree, "too late!" they were indeed too late to succour the poor creatures who had placed the scrap of paper on the summit of that mountain-ridge, in the faint hope that friendly hands might discover it in time. six dead forms lay at the foot of the oak, side by side, with their pale faces turned upwards, and the expression of extreme suffering still lingering on their shrunken features. it needed no living witness to tell their sad history. the skeletons of oxen, the broken cart, the scattered mining tools, and the empty provision casks, shewed clearly enough that they were emigrants who had left their homesteads in the states, and tried to reach the gold-regions of california by the terrible overland journey. they had lost their way among the dreary fastnesses of the mountains, travelled far from the right road to the mines, and perished at last of exhaustion and hunger on the very borders of the golden land. the grey-haired father of the family lay beside a young girl, with his arm clasped round her neck. two younger men also lay near them, one lying as if, in dying, he had sought to afford support to the other. the bodies were still fresh, and a glance shewed that nearly all of them were of one family. "alas! ned, had we arrived a few days sooner we might have saved them," said tom. "i think they must have been freed from their pains and sorrows here more than a week since," replied the other, fastening his horse to a tree, and proceeding to search the clothes of the unfortunates for letters or anything that might afford a clue to their identity. "we must stay here an hour or two, tom, and bury them." no scrap of writing, however, was found--not even a book with a name on it--to tell who the strangers were. with hundreds of others, no doubt, they had left their homes, full of life and hope, to seek their fortunes in the land of gold; but the director of man's steps had ordered it otherwise, and their golden dreams had ended with their lives in the unknown wilderness. the two friends covered the bodies with sand and stones, and, leaving them in their shallow grave, pursued their way; but they had not gone far when a few large drops of rain fell, and the sky became overcast with dark leaden clouds. "ned," said tom, anxiously, "i fear we shall be caught by the rainy season. it's awkward being so far from the settlements at such a time." "oh, nonsense! surely you don't mind a wetting?" cried ned; "we can push on in spite of rain." "can we?" retorted tom, with unwonted gravity. "it's clear that you've never seen the rainy season, else you would not speak of it so lightly." "why, man, you seem to have lost pluck all of a sudden; come, cheer up; rain or no rain, i mean to have a good supper, and a good night's rest; and here is just the spot that will suit us." ned sinton leaped off his horse as he spoke, and, fastening him to a tree, loosened the saddle-girths, and set about preparing the encampment. tom collins assisted him; but neither the rallying of his comrade, nor his own efforts could enable the latter to shake off the depression of spirits, with which he was overpowered. that night the rain came down in torrents, and drenched the travellers to the skin, despite their most ingenious contrivances to keep it out. they spent the night in misery, and when morning broke ned found that his companion was smitten down with ague. even ned's buoyant spirits were swamped for a time at this unlooked-for catastrophe; for the dangers of their position were not slight. it was clear that tom would not be able to travel for many days, for his whole frame trembled, when the fits came on, with a violence that seemed to threaten dislocation to all his joints. ned felt that both their lives, under god, depended on his keeping well, and being able to procure food for, and nurse, his friend. at the same time, he knew that the rainy season, if indeed it had not already begun, would soon set in, and perhaps render the country impassable. there was no use, however, in giving way to morbid fears, so ned faced his difficulties manfully, and, remembering the promise which he had given his old uncle at parting from him in england, he began by offering up a short but earnest prayer at the side of his friend's couch. "ned," said tom, sadly, as his companion ceased, "i fear that you'll have to return alone." "come, come, don't speak that way, tom; it isn't right. god is able to help us here as well as in cities. i don't think you are so ill as you fancy--the sight of these poor emigrants has depressed you. cheer up, my boy, and i'll let you see that you were right when you said i could turn my hand to anything. i'll be hunter, woodcutter, cook, and nurse all at once, and see if i don't make you all right in a day or two. you merely want rest, so keep quiet for a little till i make a sort of sheltered place to put you in." the sun broke through the clouds as he spoke and shed a warm beam down on poor tom, who was more revived by the sight of the cheering orb of day than by the words of his companion. in half-an-hour tom was wrapped in the driest portion of the driest blanket; his wet habiliments were hung up before a roaring fire to dry, and a rude bower of willows, covered with turf, was erected over his head to guard him from another attack of rain, should it come; but it didn't come. the sun shone cheerily all day, and ned's preparations were completed before the next deluge came, so that when it descended on the following morning, comparatively little found its way to tom's resting-place. it was scarcely a _resting-place_, however. tom turned and groaned on his uneasy couch, and proved to be an uncommonly restive patient. he complained particularly when ned left him for a few hours each day to procure fresh provisions; but he smiled and confessed himself unreasonable when ned returned, as he always did, with a dozen wild ducks, or several geese or hares attached to his belt, or a fat deer on his shoulders. game of all kinds was plentiful, the weather improved, the young hunter's rifle was good, and his aim was true, so that, but for the sickness of his friend, he would have considered the life he led a remarkably pleasant one. as day after day passed by, however, and tom collins grew no better, but rather worse, he began to be seriously alarmed about him. tom himself took the gloomiest view of his case, and at last said plainly he believed he was dying. at first ned sought to effect a cure by the simple force of kind treatment and care; but finding that this would not do, he bethought him of trying some experiments in the medicinal way. he chanced to have a box of pills with him, and tried one, although with much hesitation and fear, for he had got them from a miner who could not tell what they were composed of, but who assured him they were a sovereign remedy for the blues! ned, it must be confessed, was rather a reckless doctor. he was anxious, at the time he procured the pills, to relieve a poor miner who seemed to be knocked up with hard work, but who insisted that he had a complication of ailments; so ned bought the pills for twenty times their value, and gave a few to the man, advising him, at the same time, to rest and feed well, which he did, and the result was a complete cure. our hero did not feel so certain, however, that they would succeed as well in the present case; but he resolved to try their virtues, for tom was so prostrate that he could scarcely be induced to whisper a word. when the cold fit seized him he trembled so violently that his teeth rattled in his head; and when that passed off it was followed by a burning fever, which was even worse to bear. at first he was restive, and inclined to be peevish under his illness, the result, no doubt, of a naturally-robust constitution struggling unsuccessfully against the attacks of disease, but when he was completely overcome, his irascibility passed away, and he became patient, sweet-tempered, and gentle as a child. "come, tom, my boy," said ned, one evening, advancing to the side of his companion's couch and sitting down beside him, while he held up the pill--"open your mouth, and shut your eyes, as we used to say at school." "what is it?" asked the sick man, faintly. "never you mind; patients have no business to know what their doctors prescribe. it's intended to cure ague, and that's enough for you to know. if it doesn't cure you it's not my fault, anyhow--open your mouth, sir!" tom smiled sadly and obeyed; the pill was dropt in, a spoonful of water added to float it down, and it disappeared. but the pill had no effect whatever. another was tried with like result--or rather with like absence of all result, and at last the box was finished without the sick man being a whit the better or the worse for them. this was disheartening; but ned, having begun to dabble in medicines, felt an irresistible tendency to go on. like the tiger who has once tasted blood, he could not now restrain himself. "i think you're a little better to-night, tom," he said on the third evening after the administration of the first pill; "i'm making you a decoction of bark here that will certainly do you good." tom shook his head, but said nothing. he evidently felt that a negative sign was an appropriate reply to the notion of his being better, or of any decoction whatever doing him good. however, ned stirred the panful of bark and water vigorously, chatting all the while in a cheering tone, in order to keep up his friend's spirits, while the blaze of the camp-fire lit up his handsome face and bathed his broad chest and shoulders with a ruddy glow that rendered still more pallid the lustre of the pale stars overhead. "it's lucky the rain has kept off so long," he said, without looking up from the mysterious decoction over which he bent with the earnest gaze of an alchymist. "i do believe that has something to do with your being better, my boy--either that or the pills, or both." ned totally ignored the fact that his friend did not admit that he was better. "and this stuff," he continued, "will set you up in a day or two. it's as good as quinine, any day; and you've no notion what wonderful cures that medicine effects. it took me a long time, too, to find the right tree. i wandered over two or three leagues of country before i came upon one. luckily it was a fine sunny day, and i enjoyed it much. i wish you had been with me, tom; but you'll be all right soon. i lay down, too, once or twice in the sunshine, and put my head in the long grass, and tried to fancy myself in a miniature forest. did you ever try that, tom!" ned looked round as he spoke, but the sick man gave a languid smile, and shut his eyes, so he resumed his stirring of the pot and his rambling talk. "you've no idea, if you never tried it, how one can deceive one's-self in that way. i often did it at home, when i was a little boy. i used to go away with a companion into a grass-field, and, selecting a spot where the grass was long and tangled, and mixed with various kinds of weeds, we used to lie flat down with our faces as near to the ground as possible, and gaze through the grass-stems until we fancied the blades were trees, and the pebbles were large rocks, and the clods were mountains. sometimes a huge beetle would crawl past, and we instantly thought of saint george and the dragon, and, as the unwieldy monster came stumbling on through the forest, we actually became quite excited, and could scarcely believe that what we tried to imagine was not real. "we seldom spoke on these occasions, my companion and i," continued ned, suspending the stirring of the decoction and filling his pipe, as he sat down close to the blazing logs; "speaking, we found, always broke the spell, so we agreed to keep perfect silence for as long a time as possible. you must try it, tom, some day, for although it may seem to you a childish thing to do, there are many childish things which, when done in a philosophical spirit, are deeply interesting and profitable to men." ned ceased talking for a few minutes while he ignited his pipe; when he spoke again his thoughts had wandered into a new channel. "i'm sorry we have no fresh meat to-day," he said, looking earnestly at his friend. "the remainder of that hare is not very savoury, but we must be content; i walked all the country round to-day, without getting within range of any living thing. there were plenty both of deer and birds, but they were so wild i could not get near them. it would matter little if you were well, tom, but you require good food just now, my poor fellow. do you feel better to-night?" tom groaned, and said that he "felt easier," in a very uneasy voice, after which they both relapsed into silence, and no sound was heard save the crackling of the logs and the bubbling of the mysterious decoction in the pot. suddenly tom uttered a slight hiss,--that peculiar sound so familiar to backwoods ears, by which hunters indicate to each other that something unusual has been observed, and that they had better be on the alert. ned sinton's nerves were of that firm kind which can never be startled or taken by surprise. he did not spring to his feet, but, quick as thought, he stretched forth his long arm, and, seizing his rifle, cocked it, while he glanced at his friend's eye to see in what direction he was looking. tom pointed eagerly with his thin hand straight across the fire. ned turned in that direction, and at once saw the objects which had attracted his attention. two bright gleaming balls shone in the dark background of the forest, like two lustrous irish diamonds in a black field of bog-oak. he knew at once that they were the eyes of a deer, which, with a curiosity well-known as peculiar to many wild animals, had approached the fire to stare at it. ned instantly threw forward his rifle; the light of the fire enabled him easily to align the sights on the glittering eyes; the deadly contents belched forth, and a heavy crash told that his aim had been true. "bravo!" shouted tom collins, forgetting his ailments in the excitement of the moment, while ned threw down his rifle, drew his hunting-knife, sprang over the fire, and disappeared in the surrounding gloom. in a few minutes he returned with a fine deer on his shoulders. "so ho! my boy," he cried, flinging the carcase down; "that was a lucky shot. we shall sup well to-night, thanks to curiosity, which is a most useful quality in beast as well as man. but what's wrong; you look pale, and, eh? you don't mean to say you're--laughing?" tom was indeed pale, for the sudden excitement, in his exhausted condition had been too much for him; yet there did seem a peculiar expression about the corners of his mouth that might have been the remains of a laugh. "ned," he said, faintly, "the--the decoction's all gone." ned sprang up and ran to the fire, where, sure enough, he found the pan, over which he had bent so long with necromantic gaze, upset, and most of the precious liquid gone. "ha!" he cried, catching up the pot, "not _all_ gone, lad, so your rejoicing was premature. there's quite enough left yet to physic you well; and it's in fit state to be taken, so open your mouth at once, and be a good boy." a little of the medicine, mixed in water, was administered, and tom, making a wry face, fell back on his couch with a sigh. immediately after he was seized with, perhaps, the severest shaking fit he had yet experienced, so that ned could not help recalling the well-known caution, so frequently met with on medicine vials, "when taken, to be well shaken," despite the anxiety he felt for his friend. but soon after, the trembling fit passed away, and tom sank into a quiet slumber,--the first real rest he had enjoyed for several days. ned felt his pulse and his brow, looked long and earnestly into his face, nodded approvingly once or twice, and, having tucked the blankets gently in round the sick man, he proceeded to prepare supper. he removed just enough of the deer's skin to permit of a choice morsel being cut out; this he put into the pot, and made thereof a rich and savoury soup, which he tasted; and, if smacking one's lips and tasting it again twice, indicated anything, the soup was good. but ned sinton did not eat it. that was tom's supper, and was put just near enough the fire to keep it warm. this being done, ned cut out another choice morsel of deer's-meat, which he roasted and ate, as only those can eat who are well, and young, and robust, and in the heart of the wilderness. then he filled his pipe, sat down close to tom's couch, placed his back against a tree, crossed his arms on his breast, and smoked and watched the whole night long. he rose gently several times during the night, however, partly for the purpose of battling off his tendency to sleep, and partly for the purpose of replenishing the fire and keeping the soup warm. but tom collins took no supper that night. ned longed very much to see him awake, but he didn't. towards morning, ned managed for some time to fight against sleep, by entering into a close and philosophical speculation, as to what was the precise hour at which that pot of soup could not properly be called supper, but would merge into breakfast. this question still remained unsettled in his mind when grey dawn lit up the peaks of the eastern hills, and he was still debating it, and nodding like a chinese mandarin, and staring at intervals like a confused owl, when the sun shot over the tree-tops, and, alighting softly on the sleeper's face, aroused him. tom awoke refreshed, ate his breakfast with relish, took his medicine without grumbling, smiled on his comrade, and squeezed his hand as he went to sleep again with a heavy sigh of comfort. from that hour he mended rapidly, and in a week after he was well enough to resume his journey. chapter twenty two. powerful effects of gold on the aspect of things in general--the doings at little creek diggings--larry becomes speculative, and digs a hole which nearly proves the grave of many miners--captain bunting takes a fearful dive--ah-wow is smitten to the earth--a mysterious letter, and a splendid dish. we must now beg our reader to turn with us to another scene. the appearance of little creek diggings altered considerably, and for the worse, after ned sinton and tom collins left. a rush of miners had taken place in consequence of the reports of the successful adventurers who returned to sacramento for supplies, and, in the course of a few weeks, the whole valley was swarming with eager gold-hunters. the consequence of this was that laws of a somewhat stringent nature had to be made. the ground was measured off into lots of about ten feet square, and apportioned to the miners. of course, in so large and rough a community, there was a good deal of crime, so that judge lynch's services were frequently called in; but upon the whole, considering the circumstances of the colony, there was much less than might have been expected. at the time of which we write, namely, several weeks after the events narrated in our last chapter, the whole colony was thrown into a state of excitement, in consequence of large quantities of gold having been discovered on the banks of the stream, in the ground on which the log-huts and tents were erected. the result of this discovery was, that the whole place was speedily riddled with pits and their concomitant mud-heaps, and, to walk about after night-fall, was a difficult as well as a dangerous amusement. many of the miners pulled down their tents, and began to work upon the spots on which they previously stood. others began to dig all round their wooden huts, until these rude domiciles threatened to become insular, and a few pulled their dwellings down in order to get at the gold beneath them. one man, as he sat on his door-step smoking his pipe after dinner, amused himself by poking the handle of an axe into the ground, and, unexpectedly, turned up a small nugget of gold worth several dollars. in ten minutes there was a pit before his door big enough to hold a sheep, and, before night, he realised about fifty dollars. another, in the course of two days, dug out one hundred dollars behind his tent, and all were more or less fortunate. at this particular time, it happened that captain bunting had been seized with one of his irresistible and romantic wandering fits, and had gone off with the blunderbuss, to hunt in the mountains. maxton, having heard of better diggings elsewhere, and not caring for the society of our adventurers when ned and tom were absent, had bid them good-bye, and gone off with his pick and shovel on his shoulder, and his prospecting-pan in his hand, no one knew whither. bill jones was down at sacramento purchasing provisions, as the prices at the diggings were ruinous; and ko-sing had removed with one of the other chinamen to another part of the creek. thus it came to pass that larry o'neil and ah-wow, the chinaman, were left alone to work out the claims of the party. one fine day, larry and his comrade were seated in the sunshine, concluding their mid-day meal, when a yankee passed, and told them of the discoveries that had been made further down the settlement. "good luck to ye!" said larry, nodding facetiously to the man, as he put a tin mug to his lips, and drained its contents to the bottom. "ha! it's the potheen i'm fond of; not but that i've seen better; faix i've seldom tasted worse, but there's a vartue in goold-diggin' that would make akifortis go down like milk--it would. will ye try a drop?" larry filled the pannikin as he spoke, and handed it to the yankee, who, nothing loth, drained it, and returned it empty, with thanks. "they're diggin' goold out o' the cabin floors, are they?" said larry, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. "they air," answered the man. "one feller dug up three hundred dollars yesterday, from the very spot where he's bin snorin' on the last six months." "ah! thin that's a purty little sum," said larry, with a leer that shewed he didn't believe a word of it. "does he expect more to-morrow, think ye?" "don't know," said the man, half offended at the doubt thus cast on his veracity; "ye better go an' ax him. good day, stranger;" and the yankee strode away rapidly. larry scratched his head; then he rubbed his nose, and then his chin, without, apparently, deriving any particular benefit from these actions. after that, he looked up at ah-wow, who was seated cross-legged on the ground opposite to him, smoking, and asked him what was _his_ opinion. "dun no," said the chinaman, without moving a muscle of his stolid countenance. "oh! ye're an entertainin' cratur, ye are; i'll just make a hole here where i sit, an' see what comes of it. sure it's better nor doin' nothin'." saying this, larry refilled his empty pipe, stretched himself at full length on his side, rested his head on his left hand, and smoked complacently for three minutes; after which he took up the long sheath-knife, with which he had just cut up his supper, and began carelessly to turn over the sod. "sure, there _is_ goold," he said, on observing several specks of the shining metal. as he dug deeper down, he struck upon a hard substance, which, on being turned up, proved to be a piece of quartz, the size of a hen's egg, in which rich lumps and veins of gold were embedded. "may i niver!" shouted the irishman, starting up, and throwing away his pipe in his excitement, "av it isn't a nugget. hooray! where's the pick!" larry overturned the chinaman, who sat in his way, darted into the tent for his pick and shovel, and in five minutes was a foot down into the earth. he came upon a solid rock, however, much to his chagrin, a few inches further down. "faix i'll tell ye what i'll do," he said, as a new idea struck him, "i'll dig inside o' the tint. it 'll kape the sun an' the rain off." this remark was made half to himself and half to ah-wow, who, having gathered himself up, and resumed his pipe, was regarding him with as much interest as he ever regarded anything. as ah-wow made no objection, and did not appear inclined to volunteer an opinion, larry entered the tent, cleared all the things away into one corner, and began to dig in the centre of it. it was fortunate that he adopted this plan: first, because the rainy season having now set in, the tent afforded him shelter; and secondly, because the soil under the tent turned out to be exceedingly rich--so much so, that in the course of the next few days he and the chinaman dug out upwards of a thousand dollars. but the rains, which for some time past had given indubitable hints that they meant to pay a long visit to the settlement, at last came down like a waterspout, and flooded larry and his comrade out of the hole. they cut a deep trench round the tent, however, to carry off the water, and continued their profitable labour unremittingly. the inside of the once comfortable tent now presented a very remarkable appearance. all the property of the party was thrust into the smallest possible corner, and larry's bed was spread out above it; the remainder of the space was a yawning hole six feet deep, and a mound of earth about four feet high. this earth formed a sort of breast-work, over which larry had to clamber night and morning in leaving and returning to his couch. the chinaman slept in his own little tent hard by. there was another inconvenience attending this style of mining which larry had not foreseen when he adopted it, and which caused the tent of our adventurers to become a sort of public nuisance. larry had frequently to go down the stream for provisions, and ah-wow being given to sleep when no one watched him, took advantage of those opportunities to retire to his own tent; the consequence was, that strangers who chanced to look in, in passing, frequently fell headlong into the hole ere they were aware of its existence, and on more than one occasion larry returned and found a miner in the bottom of it with his neck well-nigh broken. to guard against this he hit upon the plan of putting up a cautionary ticket. he purchased a flat board and a pot of black paint, with which he wrote the words: "mind yer feet thars a big hol," and fixed it up over the entrance. the device answered very well in as far as those who could read were concerned, but as there were many who could not read at all, and who mistook the ticket for the sign of a shop or store, the accidents became rather more frequent than before. the irishman at last grew desperate, and, taking ah-wow by the pig-tail, vowed that if he deserted his post again, "he'd blow out all the brains he had--if he had any at all--an' if that wouldn't do, he'd cut him up into mince-meat, so he would." the chinaman evidently thought him in earnest, for he fell on his knees, and promised, with tears in his eyes, that he would never do it again-or words to that effect. one day larry and ah-wow were down in the hole labouring for gold as if it were life. it was a terribly rainy day--so bad, that it was almost impossible to keep the water out. larry had clambered out of the hole, and was seated on the top of the mud-heap, resting himself and gazing down upon his companion, who slowly, but with the steady regularity of machinery, dug out the clay, and threw it on the heap, when a voice called from without-"is this mr edward sinton's tent?" "it is that same," cried larry, rising; "don't come in, or it'll be worse for ye." "here's a letter for him, then, and twenty dollars to pay." "musha! but it's chape postage," said larry, lifting the curtain, and stepping out; "couldn't ye say thirty, now?" "come, down with the cash, and none o' yer jaw," said the man, who was a surly fellow, and did not seem disposed to stand joking. "oh! be all manes, yer honour," retorted larry, with mock servility, as he counted out the money. "av it wouldn't displase yer lordship, may i take the presumption to ax how the seal come to be broken?" "i know nothin' about it," answered the man, as he pocketed the money; "i found it on the road between this an' sacramento, and, as i was passin' this way anyhow, i brought it on." "ah, thin, it was a great kindness, intirely, to go so far out o' yer way, an' that for a stranger, too, an' for nothin'--or nixt thing to it!" said larry, looking after the man as he walked away. "well, now," he continued, re-entering the tent, and seating himself again on the top of the mud-heap, while he held the letter in his hand at arm's length, "this bates all! an' whot am i to do with it? sure it's not right to break the seal o' another man's letter; but then it's broke a'ready, an' there can be no sin in raidin' it. maybe," he continued, with a look of anxiety, "the poor lad's ill, or dead, an' he's wrote to say so. sure, i would like to raid it--av i only know'd how; but me edication's bin forgot, bad luck to the schoolmasters; i can only make out big print--wan letter at a time." the poor man looked wistfully at the letter, feeling that it might possibly contain information of importance to all of them, and that delay in taking action might cause irreparable misfortune. while he meditated what had best be done, and scanned the letter in all directions, a footstep was heard outside, and the hearty voice of captain bunting shouted: "ship ahoy! who's within, boys!" "hooroo! capting," shouted larry, jumping up with delight; "mind yer fut, capting, dear; don't come in." "why not?" inquired the captain, as he lifted the curtain. "sure, it's no use tellin' ye _now_!" said larry, as captain bunting fell head-foremost into ah-wow's arms, and drove that worthy creature-as he himself would have said--"stern-foremost" into the mud and water at the bottom. the captain happened to have a haunch of venison on his shoulder, and the blunderbuss under his arm, so that the crash and the splash, as they all floundered in the mud, were too much for larry, who sat down again on the mud-heap and roared with laughter. it is needless to go further into the details of this misadventure. captain bunting and the chinaman were soon restored to the upper world, happily, unhurt; so, having changed their garments, they went into ah-wow's tent to discuss the letter. "let me see it, larry," said the captain, sitting down on an empty pork cask. larry handed him the missive, and he read as follows:-"san francisco. "edward sinton, esquire, little creek diggings. "my dear sir,--i have just time before the post closes, to say that i only learned a few days ago that you were at little creek, otherwise i should have written sooner, to say that--" here the captain seemed puzzled. "now, ain't that aggravatin'?" he said; "the seal has torn away the most important bit o' the letter. i wish i had the villains by the nose that opened it! look here, larry, can you guess what it was?" larry took the letter, and, after scrutinising it with intense gravity and earnestness, returned it, with the remark, that it was "beyant him entirely." "that--that--" said the captain, again attempting to read, "that-somethin'--great success; so you and captain bunting had better come down at once. "believe me, my dear sir, yours faithfully, john thomson." "now," remarked the captain, with a look of chagrin, as he laid down the letter, folded his hands together, and gazed into larry's grave visage, "nothin' half so tantalisin' as that has happened to me since the time when my good ship, the _roving bess_, was cast ashore at san francisco." "it's purvokin'," replied larry, "an' preplexin'." "it's most unfortunate, too," continued the captain, knitting up his visage, "that sinton should be away just at this time, without rudder, chart, or compass, an' bound for no port that any one knows of. why, the fellow may be deep in the heart o' the rocky mountains, for all i can tell. i might start off at once without him, but maybe that would be of no use. what can it be that old thompson's so anxious about? why didn't the old figur'-head use his pen more freely--his tongue goes fast enough to drive the engines of a seventy-four. what _is_ to be done?" although captain bunting asked the question with thorough earnestness and much energy, looking first at larry and then at ah-wow, he received no reply. the former shook his head, and the latter stared at him with a steady, dead intensity, as if he wished to stare him through. after a few minutes' pause, larry suddenly asked the captain if he was hungry, to which the latter replied that he was; whereupon the former suggested that it was worth while "cookin' the haunch o' ven'son," and offered to do it in a peculiar manner, that had been taught to him not long ago by a hunter, who had passed that way, and fallen into the hole in the tent and sprained his ankle, so that he, (larry), was obliged to "kape him for a week, an' trate him to the best all the time." the proposal was agreed to, and larry, seizing the haunch, which was still covered with the mud contracted in "the hole," proceeded to exhibit his powers as a cook. the rain, which had been coming down as if a second flood were about to deluge the earth, had ceased at this time, and the sun succeeded, for a few hours, in struggling through the murky clouds and pouring a flood of light and heat over hill and plain; the result of which was, that, along the whole length of little creek, there was an eruption of blankets, and shirts, and inexpressibles, and other garments, which stood much in need of being dried, and which, as they fluttered and flapped their many-coloured folds in the light breeze, gave the settlement the appearance--as captain bunting expressed it--of being "dressed from stem to stern." the steam that arose from these habiliments, and from the soaking earth, and from the drenched forest, covered the face of nature with a sort of luminous mist that was quite cheering, by contrast with the leaden gloom that had preceded it, and filled with a romantic glow the bosoms of such miners as had any romance left in their natures. larry o'neil was one of these, and he went about his work whistling violently. we will not take upon us to say how much of his romance was due to the haunch of venison. we would not, if called on to do it, undertake to say how much of the romance and enjoyment of a pic-nic party would evaporate, if it were suddenly announced that "the hamper" had been forgotten, or that it had fallen and the contents been smashed and mixed. we turn from such ungenerous and gross contemplations to the cooking of that haunch of venison, which, as it was done after a fashion never known to soyer, and may be useful in after-years to readers of this chronicle, whose lot it may be, perchance, to stand in need of such knowledge, we shall carefully describe. it is not necessary to enlarge upon the preliminaries. we need hardly say that larry washed off the mud, and that he passed flattering remarks upon his own abilities and prowess, and, in very irreverent tones and terms, addressed ah-wow, who smoked his pipe and looked at him. all that, and a great deal more, we leave to our reader's well-known and vivid imagination. suffice it that the venison was duly washed, and a huge fire, with much difficulty, kindled, and a number of large stones put into it to heat. this done, larry cut off a lump of meat from the haunch--a good deal larger than his own head, which wasn't small--the skin with the hair on being cut off along with the meat. a considerable margin of flesh was then pared off from the lump, so as to leave an edging of hide all round, which might overlap the remainder, and enclose it, as it were, in a natural bag. at this stage of the process larry paused, looked admiringly at his work, winked over the edge of it at ah-wow, and went hastily into the tent, whence he issued with two little tin canisters,--one containing pepper, the other salt. "why, you beat the french all to nothing!" remarked the captain, who sat on an upturned tea-box, smoking and watching the proceedings. "ah! thin, don't spake, capting; it'll spile yer appetite," said larry, sprinkling the seasoning into the bag and closing it up by means of a piece of cord. he then drew the red-hot stones and ashes from the fire, and, making a hot-bed thereof, placed the venison-dumpling--if we may be allowed the term--on the centre of it. before the green hide was quite burned through, the dish was "cooked," as yankees express it, "to a curiosity," and the tasting thereof would have evoked from an alderman a look, (he would have been past speaking!) of ecstasy, while a lady might have exclaimed, "delicious!" or a schoolboy have said, "hlpluhplp," [see note 1], or some such term which ought only to be used in reference to intellectual treats, and should never be applied to such low matters as meat and drink. -----------------------------------------------------------------------note 1. hlpluhplp. as the reader may have some difficulty in pronouncing the above word, we beg to inform him, (or her), that it is easily done, by simply drawing in the breath, and, at the same time, waggling the tongue between the lips. chapter twenty three. the rainy season, and its effects--disease and misery at little creek-reappearance of old friends--an emigrant's death--an unexpected arrival. captain bunting, after two days' serious consideration, made up his mind to go down alone to san francisco, in order to clear up the mystery of the letter, and do all that he could personally in the absence of his friend. to resolve, however, was easy; to carry his resolution into effect was almost impracticable, in consequence of the inundated state of the country. it was now the middle of november, and the rainy season, which extends over six months of the year, was in full play. language is scarcely capable of conveying, to those who have not seen it, an adequate idea of how it rained at this period of the year. it did not pour--there were no drops--it roared a cataract of never-ending ramrods, as thick as your finger, straight down from the black sky right through to the very vitals of the earth. it struck the tents like shot, and spirted through the tightest canvas in the form of scotch-mist. it swept down cabin chimneys, and put out the fires; it roared through every crevice, and rent and seam of the hills in mad cataracts, and swelled up the little creek into a mighty surging river. all work was arrested; men sat in their tents on mud-heaps that melted from below them, or lay on logs that well-nigh floated away with them; but there was not so much grumbling as one might have expected. it was too tremendous to be merely annoying. it was sublimely ridiculous,--so men grinned, and bore it. but there were many poor miners there, alas! who could not regard that season in a light manner. there were dozens of young and middle-aged men whose constitutions, although good, perhaps, were not robust, and who ought never to have ventured to seek their fortunes in the gold-regions. men who might have lived their full time, and have served their day and generation usefully in the civilised regions of the world, but who, despite the advice of friends, probably, and certainly despite the warnings of experienced travellers and authors, rushed eagerly to california to find, not a fortune, but a grave. dysentery, scurvy in its worst and most loathsome type, ague, rheumatism, sciatica, consumption, and other diseases, were now rife at the diggings, cutting down many a youthful plant, and blasting many a golden dream. doctors, too, became surprisingly numerous, but these disciples of esculapius failed to effect cures, and as their diplomas, when sought for, were not forthcoming, they were ultimately banished _en masse_ by the indignant miners. one or two old hunters and trappers turned out in the end to be the most useful doctors, and effected a good many cures with the simple remedies they had become acquainted with among the red-men. what rendered things worse was that provisions became scarce, and, therefore, enormously dear. no fresh vegetables of any kind were to be had. salt, greasy and rancid pork, bear's-meat, and venison, were all the poor people could procure, although many a man there would have given a thousand dollars--ay, all he possessed--for a single meal of fresh potatoes. the men smitten with scurvy had, therefore, no chance of recovering. the valley became a huge hospital, and the banks of the stream a cemetery. there were occasional lulls, however, in this dismal state of affairs. sometimes the rain ceased; the sun burst forth in irresistible splendour, and the whole country began to steam like a caldron. a cart, too, succeeded now and then in struggling up with a load of fresh provisions; reviving a few sinking spirits for a time, and almost making the owner's fortune; but, at the best, it was a drearily calamitous season,--one which caused many a sick heart to hate the sight and name of gold, and many a digger to resolve to quit the land, and all its treasures, at the first opportunity. doubtless, too, many deep and earnest thoughts of life, and its aims and ends, filled the minds of some men at that time. it is often in seasons of adversity that god shews to men how mistaken their views of happiness are, and how mad, as well as sinful, it is in them to search for joy and peace apart from, and without the slightest regard for, the author of all felicity. yes, there is reason to hope and believe that many seeds of eternal life were sown by the saviour, and watered by the holy spirit, in that disastrous time of disease and death,--seed which, perhaps, is now blessing and fertilising many distant regions of the world. in one of the smallest and most wretched of the huts, at the entrance of the valley of little creek, lay a man, whose days on earth were evidently few. the hut stood apart from the others, in a lonely spot, as if it shrank from observation, and was seldom visited by the miners, who were too much concerned about their own misfortunes to care much for those of others. here kate morgan sat by the couch of her dying brother, endeavouring to soothe his last hours by speaking to him in the most endearing terms, and reading passages from the word of god, which lay open on her knee. but the dying man seemed to derive little comfort from what she said or read. his restless eye roamed anxiously round the wretched hut, while his breath came short and thick from between his pale lips. "shall i read to ye, darlin'?" said the woman, bending over the couch to catch the faint whisper, which was all the poor man had strength to utter. just then, ere he could reply, the clatter of hoofs was heard, and a bronzed, stalwart horseman was seen through the doorless entrance of the hut, approaching at a brisk trot. both horse and man were of immense size, and they came on with that swinging, heavy tread, which gives the impression of irresistible weight and power. the rider drew up suddenly, and, leaping off his horse, cried, "can i have a draught of water, my good woman?" as he fastened the bridle to a tree, and strode into the hut. kate rose hurriedly, and held up her finger to impose silence, as she handed the stranger a can of water. but he had scarcely swallowed a mouthful when his eye fell on the sick man. going gently forward to the couch, he sat down beside it, and, taking the invalid's wrist, felt his pulse. "is he your husband?" inquired the stranger, in a subdued voice. "no, sir,--my brother." "does he like to have the bible read to him?" "sometimes; but before his voice failed he was always cryin' out for the priest. he's a catholic, sir, though i'm not wan meself and thinks he can't be saved unless he sees the priest." the stranger took up the bible, and, turning towards the man, whose bright eyes were fixed earnestly upon him, read, in a low impressive voice, several of those passages in which a free salvation to the chief of sinners is offered through jesus christ. he did not utter a word of comment; but he read with deep solemnity, and paused ever and anon to look in the face of the sick man as he read the blessed words of comfort. the man was not in a state either to listen to arguments or to answer questions, so the stranger wisely avoided both, and gently quitted the hut after offering up a brief prayer, and repeating twice the words-"jesus says, `him that cometh to _me_, i will in no wise cast out.'" kate followed him out, and thanked him earnestly for his kindness, while tears stood in her eyes. "have you no friends or relations here but him!" inquired the stranger. "not wan. there was wan man as came to see us often when we stayed in a lonesome glen further up the creek, but we've not seen him since we came here. more be token he didn't know we were goin' to leave, and we wint off in a hurry, for my poor brother was impatient, and thought the change would do him good." "take this, you will be the better of it." the stranger thrust a quantity of silver into kate's hand, and sprang upon his horse. "i don't need it, thank 'ee," said kate, hurriedly. "but you _may_ need it; at any rate, _he_ does. stay, what was the name of the man who used to visit you?" "o'neil, sir--larry o'neil." "indeed! he is one of my mates. my name is sinton--edward sinton; you shall hear from me again ere long." ned put spurs to his horse as he spoke, and in another moment was out of sight. chapter twenty four. ned decides on visiting san francisco--larry pays a visit, and receives a severe disappointment--the road and the city--unexpected news. few joys in this life are altogether without alloy. the delight experienced by larry o'neil and captain bunting, when they heard the hearty tones of ned sinton's voice, and the satisfaction with which they beheld his face, when, in their anxiety to prevent his falling headlong into "the hole," they both sprang out of the tent and rushed into his arms, were somewhat damped on their observing that tom collins was not with him. but their anxieties were speedily relieved on learning that tom was at sacramento city, and, it was to be hoped, doing well. as ned had eaten nothing on the day of his arrival since early morning, the first care of his friends was to cook some food for him; and larry took special care to brew for him, as soon as possible, a stiff tumbler of hot brandy and water, which, as he was wet and weary, was particularly acceptable. while enjoying this over the fire in front of the tent, ned related the adventures of himself and tom collins circumstantially; in the course of which narration he explained, what the reader does not yet know, how that, after tom had recovered from his illness sufficiently to ride, he had conducted him by easy stages to the banks of the great san joaquin river, down which they had proceeded by boat until they reached sacramento. here ned saw him comfortably settled in the best room of the best hotel in the town, and then, purchasing the largest and strongest horse he could find, he set off, in spite of the rains, to let his comrades know that they were both safe, and, in ned's case at least, sound. "and, now, with reference to that letter." "ay, that letter," echoed the captain; "that's what i've bin wantin' you to come to. what can it mean?" "i am as ignorant of that as yourself," answered ned; "if it had only been you who were mentioned in the letter, i could have supposed that your old ship had been relaunched and refitted, and had made a successful voyage to china during your absence; but, as i left no property of any kind in san francisco, and had no speculations afloat, i cannot conceive what it can be." "maybe," suggested larry, "they've heard o' our remarkable talents up here in the diggin's, and they've been successful in gittin' us app'inted to respansible sitivations in the new government i've heared they're sottin' up down there. i wouldn't object to be prime minister meself av they'd only allow me enough clarks to do the work." "and did you say you were all ready for a start to-morrow, captain?" inquired ned. "quite. we've disposed of the claims and tools for fifteen hundred dollars, an' we sold ah-wow along with the lot; that's to say, he remains a fixture at the same wage; and the little we meant to take with us is stowed away in our saddle-bags. ye see, i couldn't foresee that you'd plump down on us in this fashion, and i felt that the letter was urgent, and ought to be acted on at once." "you did quite right," returned ned. "what a pity i missed seeing bill jones at sacramento; but the city has grown so much, and become so populous, in a few months, that two friends might spend a week in it, unknown to each other, without chancing to meet. and now as to the gold. have you been successful since i left?" "ay," broke in larry, "that have we. it's a great country intirely for men whose bones and muscles are made o' iron. we've dug forty thousand dollars--eight thousand pounds--out o' that same hole in the tint; forby sprainin' the ankles, and well-nigh breakin' the legs, o' eight or tin miners. it's sorry i'll be to lave it. but, afther all, it's a sickly place, so i'm contint to go." "by the way, larry, that reminds me i met a friend o' yours at the other end of the settlement." "i belave ye," answered larry; "ivery man in the creek's my fri'nd. they'd die for me, they would, av i only axed them." "ay, but a particular friend, named kate, who--" "och! ye don't mane it!" cried the irishman, starting up with an anxious look. "sure they lived up in the dark glen there; and they wint off wan fine day, an' i've niver been able to hear o' them since." "they are not very far off," continued ned, detailing his interview with the brother and sister, and expressing a conviction that the former could not now be in life. "i'll go down to-night," said larry, drawing on his heavy boots. "you'd better wait till to-morrow," suggested the captain. "the poor thing will be in no humour to see any one to-night, and we can make a halt near the hut for an hour or so." larry, with some reluctance, agreed to this delay, and the rest of the evening was spent by the little party in making preparations for a start on the following day; but difficulties arose in the way of settling with the purchasers of their claims, so that another day passed ere they got fairly off on their journey towards sacramento. on reaching the mouth of the little creek, larry o'neil galloped ahead of his companions, and turned aside at the little hut, the locality of which sinton had described to him minutely. springing off his horse, he threw the reins over a bush and crossed the threshold. it is easier to conceive than to describe his amazement and consternation on finding the place empty. dashing out, he vaulted into the saddle, and almost galloped through the doorway of the nearest hut in his anxiety to learn what had become of his friends. "halloo! stranger," shouted a voice from within, "no thoroughfare this way; an' i wouldn't advise ye for to go an' try for to make one." "ho! countryman, where's the sick irishman and his sister gone, that lived close to ye here?" "wall, i ain't a countryman o' yourn, i guess; but i can answer a civil question. they're gone. the man's dead, an' the gal took him away in a cart day b'fore yisterday." "gone! took him away in a cart!" echoed larry, while he looked aghast at the man. "are ye sure?" "wall, i couldn't be surer. i made the coffin for 'em, and helped to lift it into the cart." "but where have they gone to?" "to sacramento, i guess. i advised her not to go, but she mumbled something about not havin' him buried in sich a wild place, an' layin' him in a churchyard; so i gave her the loan o' fifty dollars--it was all i could spare--for she hadn't a rap. she borrowed the horse and cart from a countryman, who was goin' to sacramento at any rate." "you're a trump, you are!" cried larry, with energy; "give us your hand, me boy! ah! thin yer parents were irish, i'll be bound; now, here's your fifty dollars back again, with compound interest to boot--though i don't know exactly what that is--" "i didn't ax ye for the fifty dollars," said the man, somewhat angrily. "who are you that offers 'em!" "i'm her--her--friend," answered larry, in some confusion; "her intimate friend; i might almost say a sort o' distant relation--only not quite that." "wall, if that's all, i guess i'm as much a friend as you," said the man, re-entering his cabin, and shutting the door with a bang. larry sighed, dropped the fifty dollars into his leather purse, and galloped away. the journey down to sacramento, owing to the flooded state of the country, was not an easy one. it took the party several days' hard riding to accomplish it, and during all that time larry kept a vigilant look-out for kate morgan and the cart, but neither of them did he see. each day he felt certain he would overtake them, but each evening found him trying to console himself with the reflection that a "stern chase" is proverbially a long one, and that _next_ day would do it. thus they struggled on, and finally arrived at the city of sacramento, without having set eyes on the wanderer. poor larry little knew that, having gone with a man who knew the road thoroughly, kate, although she travelled slowly, had arrived there the day before him; while ned had lengthened the road by unwittingly making a considerable and unnecessary detour. still less did he know that, at the very hour he arrived in the city, kate, with her sad charge, embarked on board a small river steamer, and was now on her way to san francisco. as it was, larry proposed to start back again, supposing they must have passed them; but, on second thoughts, he decided to remain where he was and make inquiries. so the three friends pushed forward to the city hotel to make inquiries after tom collins. "mr collins?" said the waiter, bowing to sinton--"he's gone, sir, about a week ago." "_gone_!" exclaimed ned, turning pale. "yes, sir; gone down to san francisco. he saw some advertisement or other in the newspaper, and started off by the next steamer." ned's heart beat freely again. "was he well when he left?" "yes, sir, pretty well. he would have been the better of a longer rest, but he was quite fit to travel, sir." captain bunting, who, during this colloquy, had been standing with his legs apart, and his eyes glaring at the waiter, as if he had been mad, gave a prolonged whistle, but made no further remark. at this moment larry, who had been conversing with one of the under-waiters, came rushing in with a look of desperation on his countenance. "would ye belave it," he cried, throwing himself down on a splendid crimson sofa, that seemed very much out of keeping with the dress of the rough miners whom it was meant to accommodate--"would ye belave it, they're gone!" "who are gone, and where to!" inquired ned. "kate an'--an' the caffin. off to san francisco, be all that's onlucky; an' only wint little more nor an hour ago." the three friends looked at each other. "waiter," said captain bunting, in a solemn voice, "bear-chops for three, pipes and baccy for six, an' a brandy-smash for one; an', d'ye hear, let it be stiff!" "yes, sir." a loud laugh from ned and larry relieved their over-excited and pent-up feelings; and both agreed that, under the circumstances, the captain's order was the best that could be given at that stage of their perplexities. having ascertained that there was not another steamer to san francisco for a week, they resolved to forget their anxieties as much as possible, and enjoy themselves in the great city of sacramento during the next few days; while they instituted inquiries as to what had become of their comrade, bill jones, who, they concluded, must still be in the city, as they had not met him on the way down. chapter twenty five. gold not all-powerful--remarkable growth of sacramento--new style of bringing a hotel into notice--a surprising discovery--death of a mexican horse-tamer--the concert, and another discovery--mademoiselle nelina creates a sensation. it is said that gold can accomplish anything; and, in some respects, the saying is full of truth; in some points of view, however, the saying is altogether wrong. gold can, indeed, accomplish almost anything in the material world--it can purchase stone, and metal, and timber; and muscles, bones, thews, and sinews, with life in them, to any extent. it can go a step further--it can purchase brains, intellect, genius; and, throwing the whole together, material and immaterial, it can cut, and carve, and mould the world to such an extent that its occupants of fifty years ago, were they permitted to return to earth, would find it hard to recognise the scene of their brief existence. but there are things and powers which gold cannot purchase. that worn-out old _millionnaire_ would give tons of it for a mere tithe of the health that yonder ploughman enjoys. youth cannot be bought with gold. time cannot be purchased with gold. the prompt obedience of thousands of men and women may be bought with that precious metal, but one powerful throb of a loving heart could not be procured by all the yellow gold that ever did or ever will enrich the human family. but we are verging towards digression. let us return to the simple idea with which we intended to begin this chapter--the wonder-working power of gold. in no country in the wide world, we venture to affirm, has this power been exemplified so strikingly as in california. the knowledge of the discovery of gold was so suddenly and widely disseminated over the earth, that human beings flowed into the formerly-uninhabited wilderness like a mighty torrent, while thousands of ships flooded the markets with the necessaries of life. then gold was found to be so abundant, and, _at first_, so easily procured, that the fever was kept up at white-heat for several years. the result of this was, as we have remarked elsewhere, that changes, worthy of aladdin's lamp or harlequin's wand, were wrought in the course of a few weeks, sometimes in a few days. the city of sacramento was one of the most remarkable of the many strange and sudden growths in the country. the river on which it stands is a beautiful stream, from two to three hundred yards wide, and navigable by large craft to a few miles above the city. the banks, when our friends were there, were fringed with rich foliage, and the wild trees of the forest itself stood growing in the streets. the city was laid out in the form of a square, with streets crossing each other at right angles; a forest of masts along the _embarcadero_ attested the growing importance and wealth of the place; and nearly ten thousand inhabitants swarmed in its streets. many of those streets were composed of canvas tents, or erections scarcely more durable. yet here, little more than a year before, there were only _four thousand_ in the place! those who chanced to be in possession of the land here were making fortunes. lots, twenty feet by seventy, in the best situations, brought upwards of 3500 dollars. rents, too, were enormous. one hotel paid 30,000 dollars (6000 pounds) per annum; another, 35,000 dollars. small stores fetched ten and twelve thousand dollars a year; while board at the best hotels was five dollars a day. truly, if gold was plentiful, it was needed; for the common necessaries of life, though plentiful, were bought and sold at fabulous prices. the circulation of gold was enormous, and the growth of the city did not suffer a check even for a day, although the cost of building was unprecedented. and this commercial prosperity continued in spite of the fact that the place was unhealthy--being a furnace in summer, and in winter little better than a swamp. "it's a capital hotel," remarked captain bunting to his companions, as they sat round their little table, enjoying their pipes after dinner; "i wonder if they make a good thing out of it?" "sure, if they don't," said larry, tilting his chair on its hind legs, and calmly blowing a cloud of smoke towards the roof, "it's a losin' game they're playin', for they sarve out the grub at a tearin' pace." "they are doing well, i doubt not," said ned sinton; "and they deserve to, for the owner--or owners, i don't know how many or few there are-made a remarkable and enterprising start." "how was that?" asked the captain. "i heard of it when i was down here with tom," continued sinton. "you must know that this was the first regular hotel opened in the city, and it was considered so great an event that it was celebrated by salvos of artillery, and, on the part of the proprietors, by a great unlimited feast to all who chose to come." "what!" cried larry, "free, gratis, for nothin'?" "ay, for nothing. it was done in magnificent style, i assure you. any one who chose came and called for what he wanted, and got it at once. the attendance was prompt, and as cheerfully given as though it had been paid for. gin-slings, cocktails, mint-juleps, and brandy-smashes went round like a circular storm, even champagne flowed like water; and venison, wild-fowl, salmon, grizzly-bear-steaks, and pastry--all the delicacies of the season, in short--were literally to be had for the asking. what it cost the spirited proprietors i know not, but certainly it was a daring stroke of genius that deserved patronage." "faix it did," said larry, emphatically; "and they shall have it, too;-here, waiter, a brandy-smash and a cheroot, and be aisy as to the cost; i think me bank'll stand it." "what say you to a stroll!" said ned, rising. "by all means," replied captain bunting, jumping up, and laying down his pipe. larry preferred to remain where he was; so the two friends left him to enjoy his cheroot, and wandered away, where fancy led, to see the town. there was much to be seen. it required no theatrical representation of life to amuse one in sacramento at that time. the whole city was a vast series of plays in earnest. every conceivable species of comedy and farce met the eye at every turn. costumes the most remarkable, men the most varied and peculiar, and things the most incomprehensible and unexpected, presented themselves in endless succession. here a canvas restaurant stood, or, rather leaned against a log-store. there a tent spread its folds in juxtaposition to a deck-cabin, which seemed to have walked ashore from a neighbouring brig, without leave, and had been let out as a grog-shop by way of punishment. chinamen in calico jostled sailors in canvas, or diggers in scarlet flannel shirts, or dandies in broad-cloth and patent-leather, or red indians in nothing! bustle, and hurry, and uproar, and joviality prevailed. a good deal of drinking, too, unfortunately, went on, and the results were occasional melodramas, and sometimes serious rows. tragedies, too, were enacted, but these seldom met the eye; as is usually the case, they were done in the dark. "what have we here?" cried captain bunting, stopping before a large placard, and reading. "`grand concert, this evening--wonderful singer-mademoiselle nelina, first appearance--ethiopian serenaders.' i say, ned, we must go to this; i've not heard a song for ages that was worth listening to." "at what hour?" inquired ned--"oh! seven o'clock; well, we can stroll back to the hotel, have a cup of coffee, and bring larry o'neil with us. come along." that evening our three adventurers occupied the back seat of a large concert-room in one of the most crowded thoroughfares of the town, patiently awaiting the advent of the performers. the room was filled to overflowing, long before the hour for the commencement of the performances, with every species of mortal, except woman. women were exceedingly rare creatures at that time--the meetings of all sorts were composed almost entirely of men, in their varied and motley garbs. considering the circumstances in which it was got up, the room was a very creditable one, destitute, indeed, of ornament, but well lighted by an enormous wooden chandelier, full of wax candles, which depended from the centre of the ceiling. at the further end of the room was a raised stage, with foot-lights in front, and three chairs in the middle of it. there was a small orchestra in front, consisting of two fiddles, a cornopian, a trombone, a clarionet, and a flute; but at first the owners of these instruments kept out of sight, wisely reserving themselves until that precise moment when the impatient audience would--as all audiences do on similar occasions--threaten to bring down the building with stamping of feet, accompanied with steam-engine-like whistles, and savage cries of "music!" while ned sinton and his friends were quietly looking round upon the crowd, larry o'neil's attention was arrested by the conversation of two men who sat just in front of him. one was a rough-looking miner, in a wide-awake and red-flannel shirt; the other was a negro, in a shirt of blue-striped calico. "who be this missey nelina?" inquired the negro, turning to his companion. "i dun know; but i was here last night, an' i'd take my davy, i saw the little gal in the ranche of a feller away in the plains, five hundred miles to the east'ard, two months ago. her father, poor chap, was killed by a wild horse." "how was dat?" inquired the negro, with an expression of great interest. "well, it was this way it happened," replied the other, putting a quid of tobacco into his cheek, such as only a sailor would venture to masticate. "i was up at the diggin's about six months, without gittin' more gold than jist kep' me in life--for, ye see, i was always an unlucky dog--when one day i goes down to my claim, and, at the very first lick, dug up two chunks o' gold as big as yer fists; so i sold my claim and shovel, and came down here for a spree. well, as i was sayin', i come to the ranche o' a feller called bangi, or bongi, or bungi, or some sort o' bang, with a gi at the end o' 't. he was clappin' his little gal on the head, when i comed up, and said good-bye to her. i didn't rightly hear what she said; but i was so taken with her pretty face that i couldn't help axin' if the little thing was his'n. `yees,' says he--for he was a mexican, and couldn't come round the english lingo--`she me darter.' i found the man was goin' to catch a wild horse, so, says i, `i'll go with ye,' an', says he, `come 'long,' so away we went, slappin' over the plains at a great rate, him and me, and a yankee, a friend o' his and three or four servants, after a drove o' wild horses that had been seen that mornin' near the house. well, away we went after the wild horses. oh! it was grand sport! the man had lent me one of his beasts, an' it went at such a spankin' pace, i could scarce keep my seat, and had to hold on by the saddle--not bein' used to ridin' much, d'ye see. we soon picked out a horse--a splendid-lookin' feller, with curved neck, and free gallop, and wide nostrils. my eye! how he did snort and plunge, when the mexican threw the lasso, it went right over his head the first cast, but the wild horse pulled the rope out o' his grip. `it's all up,' thought i; but never a bit. the mexican put spurs to his horse, an' while at full gallop, made a dive with his body, and actually caught the end o' the line, as it trailed over the ground, and recovered his seat again. it was done in a crack; an', i believe, he held on by means of his spurs, which were big enough, i think, to make wheels for a small carronade. takin' a turn o' the line round the horn of his saddle, he reined in a bit, and then gave the spurs for another spurt, and soon after reined in again--in fact, he jist played the wild horse like a trout, until he well-nigh choked him; an', in an hour, or less, he was led steamin', and startin', and jumpin', into the corral, where the man kept his other horses." at this point in the narrative, the cries for music became so deafening, that the sailor was obliged to pause, to the evident annoyance of the negro, who seemed intensely interested in what he had heard; and, also, to the regret of larry, who had listened eagerly the whole time. in a few minutes the "music" came in, in the shape of two bald-headed frenchmen, a wild-looking bearded german, and several lean men, who might, as far as appearance went, have belonged to almost any nation; and who would have, as far as musical ability went, been repudiated by every nation, except, perhaps, the chinese. during the quarter of an hour in which these performers quieted the impatient audience with sweet sounds, the sailor continued his anecdote. "well, you see," said he to the negro, while larry bent forward to listen, "the mexican mounted, and raced and spurred him for about an hour; but, just at the last, the wild horse gave a tremendous leap and a plunge, and we noticed the rider fall forward, as if he'd got a sprain. the yankee an' one o' the servants ran up, and caught the horse by the head, but its rider didn't move--he was stone dead, and was held in his seat by the spurs sticking in the saddle-cloth. the last bound must have ruptured some blood-vessel inside, for there was no sign of hurt upon him anywhere." "you don' say dat?" said the negro, with a look of horror. "'deed do i; an' we took the poor feller home, where his little daughter cried for him as if she'd break her heart. i asked the yankee what we should do, but he looked at me somewhat offended like, an' said he was a relation o' the dead man's wife, and could manage the affairs o' the family without help; so i bid him good mornin', and went my way. but i believe in my heart he was tellin' a lie, and that he's no right to go hawkin' the poor gal about the country in this fashion." larry was deeply interested in this narrative, and felt so strong a disposition to make further inquiries, that he made up his mind to question the sailor, and was about to address him when a small bell tinkled, the music ceased, and three ethiopian minstrels, banjo in hand, advanced to the foot-lights, made their bow, and then seated themselves on the three chairs, with that intensity of consummate, impudent, easy familiarity peculiar to the ebony sons of song. "go it, darkies!" shouted an enthusiastic individual in the middle of the room. "three cheers for the niggers!" roared a sailor, who had just returned from a twelvemonth's cruise at the mines, and whose delight at the prospect of once more hearing a good song was quite irrepressible. the audience responded to the call with shouts of laughter, and a cheer that would have done your heart good to listen to, while the niggers shewed their teeth in acknowledgment of the compliment. the first song was "lilly dale," and the men, who, we need scarcely say, were fictitious negroes, sang it so well that the audience listened with breathless attention and evident delight, and encored it vociferously. the next song was "oh! massa, how he wopped me," a ditty of quite a different stamp, but equally popular. it also was encored, as indeed was every song sting that evening; but the performers had counted on this. after the third song there was a hornpipe, in the performance of which the dancer's chief aim seemed to be, to shew in what a variety of complex ways he could shake himself to pieces if he chose. then there was another trio, and then a short pause, in order duly to prepare the public mind for the reception of the great _cantatrice_ mademoiselle nelina. when she was led to the foot-lights by the tallest of the three negroes, there was a momentary pause, as if men caught their breath; then there was a prolonged cheer of enthusiastic admiration. and little wonder, for the creature that appeared before these rough miners seemed more like an angelic visitant than a mortal. there was nothing strikingly beautiful about the child, but she possessed that inexpressibly _sweet_ character of face that takes the human heart by storm at first sight; and this, added to the fact that she was almost the only one of her sex who had been seen for many months by any of those present,--that she was fair, blue-eyed, delicate, modestly dressed, and innocent, filled them with an amount of enthusiasm that would have predisposed them to call a scream melodious, had it been uttered by mademoiselle nelina. but the voice which came timidly from her lips was in harmony with her appearance. there was no attempt at execution, and the poor child was too frightened to succeed in imparting much expression to the simple ballad which she warbled; but there was an inherent richness in the tones of her voice that entranced the ear, and dwelt for weeks and months afterwards on the memory of those who heard it that night. it is needless to add, that all her songs were encored with rapturous applause. the second song she sang was the popular one, "erin, my country!" and it created quite a _furore_ among the audience, many of whom were natives of the green isle. "oh! ye purty creature! sing it again, do!" yelled an irishman in the front seats, while he waved his hat, and cheered in mad enthusiasm. the multitude shouted, "encore!" and the song was sung for the third time. while it was singing, larry o'neil sat with his hands clasped before him, his bosom heaving, and his eyes riveted on the child's face. "mr sinton," he said, in a deep, earnest tone, touching ned on the shoulder, as the last sweet notes of the air were drowned in the thunder of applause that followed mademoiselle nelina off the stage; "mr sinton, i'd lay me life that it's _her_!" "who?" inquired ned, smiling at the serious expression of his comrade's face. "who but nelly morgan, av course. she's the born image o' kate. they're as like as two paise. sure av it's her, i'll know it, i will; an' i'll make that black thief of a yankee explain how he comed to possess stolen goods." ned and the captain at first expressed doubts as to larry's being able to swear to the identity of one whom he had never seen before; but the earnest assurances of the irishman convinced them that he must be right, and they at once entered into his feelings, and planned, in an eager undertone, how the child was to be communicated with. "it won't do," said ned, "to tax the man right out with his villainy. the miners would say we wanted to get possession of the child to make money by her." "but if the child herself admitted that the man was not her relative!" suggested captain bunting. "perhaps," returned ned, "she might at the same time admit that she didn't like the appearance of the strangers who made such earnest inquiries about her, and prefer to remain with her present guardian." "niver fear," said larry, in a hoarse whisper; "she'll not say that if i tell her i know her sister kate, and can take her to her. besides, hasn't she got an irish heart? an' don't i know the way to touch it? jist stay where ye are, both o' ye, an' i'll go behind the scenes. the niggers are comin' on again, so i'll try; maybe there's nobody there but herself." before they could reply, larry was gone. in a few minutes he reached the front seats, and, leaning his back against the wall, as if he were watching the performers, he gradually edged himself into the dark corner where the side curtain shut off the orchestra from the public. to his great satisfaction he found that this was only secured to the wall by one or two nails, which he easily removed, and then, in the midst of an uproarious laugh, caused by a joke of the serenaders, he pushed the curtain aside, and stood before the astonished gaze of mademoiselle nelina, who sat on a chair, with her hands clasped and resting on her knee. unfortunately for the success of larry's enterprise, he also stood before the curtain-raiser--a broad, sturdy man, in rough miner's costume--whose back was turned towards him, but whose surprised visage instantly faced him on hearing the muffled noise caused by his entry. there was a burly negro also in the place, seated on a small stool, who looked at him with unqualified astonishment. "halloo! wot do _you_ want?" exclaimed the curtain-raiser. "eh! tare an' ages!" cried larry, in amazement. "may i niver! sure it's draimin' i am; an' the ghost o' bill jones is comed to see me!" it was, indeed, no other than bill jones who stood revealed before him; but no friendly glance of recognition did his old comrade vouchsafe him. he continued, after the first look of surprise, to frown steadily on the intruder. "you've the advantage o' me, young man," said bill, in a stern, though subdued tone, for he feared to disturb the men on the stage; "moreover, you've comed in where ye've got no right to be. when a man goes where he shouldn't ought to, an' things looks as if they wasn't all square, in them circumstances, blow high or blow low, i always goes straight for'ard an' shoves him out. if he don't shove easy, why, put on more steam--that's wot _i_ say." "but sure ye don't forgit me, bill!" pleaded larry, in amazement. "well, p'r'aps i don't, an' p'r'aps i do. w'en i last enjoyed the dishonour o' yer acquaintance, ye wos a blackguard. it ain't likely yer improved, so be good enough to back yer top-sails, and clear out." bill jones pointed, as he spoke, to the opening through which larry had entered, but, suddenly changing his mind, he said, "hold on; there's a back door, an' it'll be easier to kick you through that than through the consart-room." so saying, bill seized larry o'neil by the collar, and led that individual, in a state of helpless and wondering consternation, through a back door, where, however, instead of kicking him out, he released him, and suddenly changed his tone to an eager whisper. "oh! larry, lad, i'm glad to see ye. wherever did ye come from? i've no time to speak. uncle ned's jist buried, and jim crow comes on in three minutes. i had to pretend, ye know, 'cause it wouldn't do to let jim see i know'd ye--that wos him on the stool--i know wot brought ye here--an' i've fund out who _she_ is. where d'ye stop?" larry's surprise just permitted him to gasp out the words "city hotel," when a roar of laughter and applause met their ears, followed by the tinkle of a small bell. bill sprang through the doorway, and slammed the door in his old comrade's face. it would be difficult to say, looking at that face at that particular time, whether the owner thereof was mad or drunk--or both--so strangely did it wrinkle and contort as it gradually dawned upon its owner that bill jones, true to his present profession, was acting a part; that he knew about the mystery of mademoiselle nelina; was now acquainted with his, (larry's), place of abode; and would infallibly find him out after the concert was over. as these things crossed his mind, larry smote his thigh so often and so vigorously, that he ran the risk of being taken up for unwarrantably discharging his revolver in the streets, and he whistled once or twice so significantly, that at least five stray dogs answered to the call. at last he hitched up the band of his trousers, and, hastening round to the front door, essayed to re-enter the concert-room. "pay here, please," cried the money-taker, in an extremely nasal tone, as he passed the little hole in the wall. "i've paid already," answered larry. "shew your check, then." "sure i don't know what that is." the doorkeeper smiled contemptuously, and shut down with a bang the bar that kept off the public. larry doubled his fist, and flushed crimson; then he remembered the importance of the business he had on hand, and quietly drew the requisite sum from his leather purse. "come along," said he to ned sinton, on re-entering the room. "i've see'd her; an' bill jones, too!" "bill jones!" cried ned and the captain simultaneously. "whist!" said larry; "don't be makin' people obsarve us. come along home; it's all right--i'll tell ye all about it when we're out." in another minute the three friends were in the street, conversing eagerly and earnestly as they hastened to their quarters through the thronged and noisy streets of sacramento. chapter twenty six. deep plots and plans--bill jones relates his misadventures--mademoiselle nelina consents to run off with larry o'neil--a yankee musician outwitted--the escape. as larry had rightly anticipated, bill jones made his appearance at the city hotel the moment the concert was over, and found his old comrades waiting anxiously for him. it did not take long to tell him how they had discovered the existence of nelly morgan, as we shall now call her, but it took much longer to drag from bill the account of his career since they last met, and the explanation of how he came to be placed in his present circumstances. "ye see, friends," said he, puffing at a pipe, from which, to look at him, one would suppose he derived most of his information, "this is how it happened. when i set sail from the diggin's to come here for grub, i had a pleasant trip at first. but after a little things began to look bad; the feller that steered us lost his reckoning, an' so we took two or three wrong turns by way o' makin' short cuts. that's always how it is. there's a proverb somewhere--" "in milton, maybe, or napier's book o' logarithms," suggested captain bunting. "p'r'aps it wos, and p'r'aps it wosn't," retorted bill, stuffing the end of his little finger, (if such a diminutive may be used in reference to any of his fingers), into the bowl of his pipe. "i raither think myself it wos in _bell's life_ or the _royal almanac_; hows'ever, that's wot it is. when ye've got a short road to go, don't try to make it shorter, say i--" "an' when ye've got a long story to tell, don't try to make it longer," interrupted larry, winking at his comrade through the smoke of his pipe. "well, as i wos sayin'," continued bill, doggedly, "we didn't git on so well after a bit; but somehow or other we got here at last, and cast anchor in this very hotel. off i goes at once an' buys a cart an' a mule, an' then i sets to work to lay in provisions. now, d'ye see, lads, 'twould ha' bin better if i had bought the provisions first an' the mule and the cart after, for i had to pay ever so many dollars a day for their keep. at last i got it all square; packed tight and tied up in the cart--barrels o' flour, and kegs o' pork, an' beans, an' brandy, an' what not; an' away i went alone; for, d'ye see, i carry a compass, an' when i've once made a voyage, i never need to be told how to steer. "but my troubles began soon. there's a ford across the river here, which i was told i'd ha' to cross; and sure enough, so i did--but it's as bad as niagara, if not worse--an' when i gits half way over, we wos capsized, and went down the river keel up. i dun know yet very well how i got ashore, but i did somehow--" "and did the cart go for it?" inquired captain bunting, aghast. "no, the cart didn't. she stranded half-a-mile further down, on a rock, where she lies to this hour, with a wheel smashed and the bottom out, and about three thousand tons o' water swashin' right through her every hour; but all the provisions and the mule went slap down the sacramento; an', if they haven't bin' picked up on the way, they're cruisin' off the port o' san francisco by this time." the unfortunate seaman stopped at this point to relight his pipe, while his comrades laughingly commented on his misadventure. "ah! ye may laugh; but i can tell ye it warn't a thing to be laughed at; an' at this hour i've scarce one dollar to rub 'gainst another." "never mind, my boy," said ned, as he and the others laughed loud and long at the lugubrious visage of their comrade; "we've got well-lined pockets, i assure you; and, of course, we have _your_ share of the profits of our joint concern to hand over whenever you wish it." the expression of bill jones's face was visibly improved by this piece of news, and he went on with much greater animation. "well, my story's short now. i comed back here, an' by chance fell in with this feller--this yankee-nigger--who offered me five dollars a day to haul up the curtain, an' do a lot o' dirty work, sich as bill stickin', an' lightin' the candles, an' sweepin' the floor; but it's hard work, i tell ye, to live on so little in sich a place as this, where everything's so dear." "you're not good at a bargain, i fear," remarked sinton; "but what of the little girl?" "well, i wos comin' to that. ye see, i felt sure, from some things i overheerd, that she wasn't the man's daughter, so one day i axed her who she wos, an' she said she didn't know, except that her name was nelly morgan; so it comed across me that morgan wos the name o' the irish family you wos so thick with up at the diggin's, larry; an' i wos goin' to ask if she know'd them, when jolly--that's the name o' the gitter up o' the concerts--catched me talkin', an' he took her away sharp, and said he'd thank me to leave the girl alone. i've been watchin' to have another talk with her, but jolly's too sharp for me, an' i haven't spoke to her yet." larry manifested much disappointment at this termination, for he had been fully prepared to hear that the girl had made bill her confidant, and would be ready to run away with him at a moment's notice. however, he consoled himself by saying that he would do the thing himself; and, after arranging that bill was to tell nelly that a friend of his knew where her sister was, and would like to speak with her, they all retired to rest, at least to rest as well as they could in a house which, like all the houses in california, swarmed with rats. next night bill jones made a bold effort, and succeeded in conveying larry's message to nelly, very adroitly, as he thought, while she was standing close to him waiting for mr jolly to lead her to the foot-lights. the consequence was that the poor child trembled like a leaf when she attempted to sing, and, finally, fainted on the stage, to the consternation of a crowded house. the point was gained, however; nelly soon found an opportunity of talking in private with bill jones, and appointed to meet larry in the street next morning early, near the city hotel. it was with trembling eagerness, mixed with timidity, that she took the irishman's arm when they met, and asked if he really knew where her sister was. "oh, how i've longed for her! but are you _sure_ you know her?" "know her!" said larry, with a smile. "do i know meself?" this argument was unanswerable, so nelly made no reply, and larry went on. "yes, avic, i know'd her, an' faix i hope to know her better. but here's her picture for ye." larry then gave the earnest listener at his side a graphic description of her sister kate's personal appearance, and described her brother also, but he did not, at that time, acquaint her with the death of the latter. he also spoke of black jim, and described the circumstances of her being carried off. "so ye see, darlin'," said he, "i know all about ye; an' now i want ye to tell me what happened to ye after that." "it's a sad story," said the child, in a low tone, as if her mind were recalling melancholy incidents in her career. then she told rapidly, how she had been forsaken by those to whom she had been intrusted, and left to perish in the mountain snow; and how, in her extremity, god had sent help; how another party of emigrants found her and carried her on; how, one by one, they all died, till she was left alone a second time; and how a mexican horseman found her, and carried her to his home, and kept her there as his adopted daughter, till he was killed while taming a wild horse. after that, nelly's story was a repetition of what larry had already overheard accidentally in the concert-room. "now, dear," said larry, "we haven't time to waste, will ye go with me to san francisco?" the tones of the rough man's voice, rather than his words, had completely won the confidence of the poor child, so she said, "yes," without hesitation. "but how am i to escape from mr jolly?" she added; "he has begun to suspect mr jones, i see quite well." "lave that to me, darlin', an' do you kape as much as ye can in the house the nixt day or two, an' be lookin' out for what may turn up. good day to ye, mavourneen; we must part here, for fear we're seen by any lynx-eyed blackguards. kape up yer heart." nelly walked quickly away, half laughing at, and half perplexed by, the ambiguity of her new friend's parting advice. the four friends now set themselves to work to outwit mr jolly, and rob him of mademoiselle nelina. at last they hit upon a device, which did not, indeed, say much for the ingenuity of the party, but which, like many other bold plans, succeeded admirably. a steamer was to start in three days for san francisco--one of those splendid new vessels which, like floating palaces, had suddenly made their appearance on these distant waters--having made the long and dangerous voyage from the united states round the horn. before the steamer started, larry contrived to obtain another interview with nelly morgan, and explained their plan, which was as follows:-on the day of the steamer sailing, a few hours before the time of starting, mr jolly was to receive the following letter, dated from a well-known ranche, thirty miles up the river:-"sir,--i trust that you will forgive a perfect stranger addressing you, but the urgency of the case must be my excuse. there is a letter lying here for you, which, i have reason to know, contains information of the utmost importance to yourself; but which--owing to circumstances that i dare not explain in a letter that might chance to fall into wrong hands--must be opened here by your own hands. it will explain all when you arrive; meanwhile, as i am a perfect stranger to the state of your finances, i send you a sufficient quantity of gold-dust by the bearer to enable you to hire a horse and come up. pray excuse the liberty i take, and believe me to be, "your obedient servant, "edward sinton." at the appointed time larry delivered this epistle, and the bag of gold into mr jolly's hands, and, saying that no answer was required, hurried away. if mr jolly had been suddenly informed that he had been appointed secretary of state to the king of ashantee, he could not have looked more astonished than when he perused this letter, and weighed the bag of gold in his hand. the letter itself; had it arrived alone, might, very likely would, have raised his suspicions, but accompanied as it was by a bag of gold of considerable value, it commended itself as a genuine document; and the worthy musician was in the saddle half-an-hour later. before starting, he cautioned nelly not to quit the house on any account whatever, a caution which she heard but did not reply to. three hours later mr jolly reached his destination, and had the following letter put into his hands. "sir,--by the time you receive this, your late charge, mademoiselle nelina, will be on her way to san francisco, where you are welcome to follow her, and claim her from her sister, if you feel so disposed. "i am, sir, etcetera, "edward sinton." we need not repeat what mr jolly said, or try to imagine what he felt, on receipt of _this_ letter! about the time it was put into his hands the magnificent steamer at the _embarcadero_ gave a shrill whistle, then it panted violently, the paddles revolved,--and our adventurers were soon steaming swiftly down the noble river on their way to san francisco. chapter twenty seven. san francisco again--a terrible misfortune--an old friend in surprisingly new circumstances--several remarkable discoveries and new lights. there is no time or place, perhaps, more suitable for indulging in ruminations, cogitations, and reminiscences, than the quiet hours of a calm night out upon the sea, when the watchful stars look down upon the bosom of the deep, and twinkle at their reflections in placid brilliancy. late at night, when all the noisy inmates of the steamer had ceased to eat, and drink, and laugh, and had sought repose in their berths, edward sinton walked the deck alone, meditating on the past, the present, and the future. when he looked up at the serene heavens, and down at the tranquil sea, whose surface was unruffled, save by the long pure white track of the vessel, he could scarcely bring himself to believe that the whirl of incident and adventure in which he had been involved during the last few and short months was real. it seemed like a brilliant dream. as long as he was on shore it all appeared real enough, and the constant pressure of _something to be done_, either immediately, or in an hour, or to-morrow, kept his mind perpetually chained down to the consideration of visible, and tangible, and passing events; but now the cord of connexion with land had been suddenly and completely severed. the very land itself was out of sight. nothing around him tended to recall recent events; and, as he had nothing in the world to do but wait until the voyage should come to an end, his mind was left free to bound over the recent-past into the region of the long-past, and revel there at pleasure. but ned sinton was not altogether without anxieties. he felt a little uneasy as to the high-handed manner, in which he had carried off nelly morgan from her late guardian; and he was a good deal perplexed as to what the important affairs could be, for which he had so hastily overturned all the gold-digging plans of his whole party. with these thoughts mingled many philosophic inquiries as to the amount of advantage that lay--if, indeed, there was any advantage at all--in making one's fortune suddenly and at the imminent hazard of one's life. overpowering sleep at last put an end to ned's wandering thoughts, and he too bade the stars good-night, and sought his pillow. in due course the vessel cast anchor off the town of san francisco. "there is many a slip 'tween the cup and the lip." it is an old proverb that, but one which is proved, by frequent use, on the part of authors in all ages, to be a salutary reminder to humanity. its truth was unpleasantly exemplified on the arrival of the steamer. as the tide was out at the time, the captain ordered the boats to be lowered, in order to land the passengers. the moment they touched the water they were filled by impatient miners, who struggled to be first ashore. the boat into which ned and his friends got was soon overloaded with passengers, and the captain ordered her to be shoved off. "hold on!" shouted a big coarse-looking fellow, in a rough blue jacket and wide-awake, who was evidently drunk; "let me in first." "there's no room!" cried several voices. "shove off." "there's room enough!" cried the man, with an oath; at the same time seizing the rope. "if ye do come down," said a sailor, sternly, "i'll pitch ye overboard." "will ye!" growled the man; and the next instant he sprang upon the edge of the boat, which upset, and left its freight struggling in the water. the other boats immediately picked them all up; and, beyond a wetting, they were physically none the worse. but, alas! the bags of gold which our adventurers were carrying ashore with them, sank to the bottom of the sea! they were landed on the wharf at san francisco as penniless as they were on the day of their arrival in california. this reverse of fortune was too tremendous to be realised in a moment. as they stood on the wharf; dripping wet, and gazing at each other in dismay, they suddenly, as if by one consent, burst into a loud laugh. but the laugh had a strong dash of bitterness in its tone; and when it passed, the expression of their countenances was not cheerful. bill jones was the first to speak, as they wandered, almost helplessly, through the crowded streets, while little nelly ever and anon looked wistfully up into larry's face, as he led her by the hand. "it's a stunnin' smash," said bill, fetching a deep sigh. "but w'en a thing's done, an' can't be undone, then it's unpossible, that's wot it is; and wot's unpossible there's no use o' tryin' for to do. 'cause why? it only wastes yer time an' frets yer sperrit--that's _my_ opinion." not one of the party ventured to smile--as was their wont in happier circumstances--at the philosophy of their comrade's remark. they wandered on in silence till they reached--they scarce knew how or why-the centre plaza of the town. "it's of no use giving way to it," said ned sinton, at last, making a mighty effort to recover: "we must face our reverses like men; and, after all, it might have been worse. we might have lost our lives as well as our gold, so we ought to be thankful instead of depressed." "what shall we do now?" inquired captain bunting, in a tone that proved sufficiently that he at least could not benefit by ned's advice. "sure we'll have to go an' work, capting," replied larry, in a tone of facetious desperation; "but first of all we'll have to go an' see mr thompson, and git dry clo'se for nelly, poor thing--are ye cowld, darlin'?" "no, not in the least," answered the child, sadly. "i think my things will dry soon, if we walk in the sun." nelly's voice seemed to rouse the energies of the party more effectually than ned's moralising. "yes," cried the latter, "let us away to old thompson's. his daughter, lizette, will put you all to rights, dear, in a short time. come along." so saying, ned led the way, and the whole party speedily stood at the door of mr thompson's cottage. the door was merely fastened by a latch, and as no notice was taken of their first knock, ned lifted it and entered the hall, then advancing to the parlour door, he opened it and looked in. the sight that met his gaze was well calculated to make him open his eyes, and his mouth too, if that would in any way have relieved his feelings. seated in old mr thompson's easy-chair, with one leg stretched upon an ottoman, and the other reposing on a stool, reclined tom collins, looking, perhaps, a little paler than was his wont, as if still suffering from the effects of recent illness, but evidently quite happy and comfortable. beside tom, on another stool, with her arm resting on tom's knee, and looking up in his face with a quiet smile, sat elizabeth thompson. "tom! miss thompson!" cried ned sinton, standing absolutely aghast. miss thompson sprang up with a face of crimson, but tom sat coolly still, and said, while a broad grin overspread his handsome countenance, "no, ned, not miss thompson--mrs _collins_, who, i know, is rejoiced to see you." "you are jesting, tom," said ned, as he advanced quickly, and took the lady's hand, while tom rose and heartily welcomed his old companions. "not a bit of it, my dear fellow," he repeated. "this, i assure you, is my wife. pray, dear lizette, corroborate my statement, else our friends won't believe me. but sit down, sit down, and let's hear all about you. go, lizette, get 'em something to eat. i knew you would make your appearance ere long. old thompson's letter--halloo! why what's this? you're wet! and _who's_ this--a wet little girl?" "faix, ye may well be surprised, mister tom," said larry, "for we're all wet _beggars_, ivery wan o' us--without a dollar to bless ourselves with." tom collins looked perplexed, as he turned from one to the other. "stay," he shouted; "wife, come here. there's a mystery going on. take this moist little one to your room; and there," he added, throwing open a door, "you fellows will all find dry apparel to put on--though i don't say to fit. come along with me, ned, and while you change, give an account of yourself." ned did as he was desired; and, in the course of a lengthened conversation, detailed to tom the present condition of himself and his friends. "it's unfortunate," said tom, after a pause; "ill-luck seems to follow us wherever we go." "you ought to be ashamed of yourself;" cried ned, "for saying so, considering the wife you have got." "true, my boy," replied the other, "i ought indeed to be ashamed, but i spoke in reference to money matters. what say you to the fact, that i am as much a beggar as yourself?" "outward appearances would seem to contradict you." "nevertheless, it is true, i assure you. when you left me, ned, in the hotel at sacramento, i became so lonely that i grew desperate; and, feeling much stronger in body, i set off for this town in the new steamer--that in which you arrived. i came straight up here, re-introduced myself to mr thompson; and, two days after--for i count it folly to waste time in such matters when one's mind is made up--i proposed to lizette, and was accepted conditionally. of course, the condition was that papa should be willing. but papa was _not_ willing. he said that three thousand dollars, all i possessed, was a capital sum, but not sufficient to marry on, and that he could not risk his daughter's happiness, etcetera, etcetera--you know the rest. well, the very next day news came that one of thompson's best ships had been wrecked off cape horn. this was a terrible blow, for the old man's affairs were in a rickety condition at any rate, and this sank him altogether. his creditors were willing enough to wait, but one rascal refused to do so, and swore he would sequestrate him. i found that the sum due him was exactly three thousand dollars, so i paid him the amount in full, and handed thompson the discharged account. `now,' said i, `i'm off to the diggings, so good-bye!' for, you see, ned, i felt that i could not urge my suit at that time, as it would be like putting on the screw--taking an unfair advantage of him. "`why, what do you mean, my lad?' said he. "`that i'm off to-morrow,' replied i. "`that you must not do,' said he. "`why not?' said i. "`because,' said he, `now that things are going smooth, i must go to england by the first ship that sails, and get my affairs there put on a better footing, so you must stay here to look after my business, and to--to--take care of lizette.' "`eh! what!' said i, `what do you mean? you know _that_ is impossible.' "`not at all, boy, if you marry her!' "of course i could not refuse, and so, to cut it short, we were married right off and here we are, the representatives of the great firm of thompson and company, of california." "then, do you mean to say that thompson is gone?" inquired ned, with a look of horror. "near the horn, i should think, by this time; but why so anxious?" "because," sighed ned, sitting down on the edge of the bed, with a look of despair, "i came here by his invitation; and--" "oh! it's all right," interrupted tom; "i know all about it, and am commissioned by him to settle the affair for you." "but what _is_ the affair?" inquired ned, eagerly. "ah! my dear boy, do try to exercise patience. if i tell you everything before we go down to our comrades, i fear we shall have to send a message to say that we are not coming till to-morrow morning." tom rose as he spoke, and led the way to the parlour, where bread and cheese were spread out for them. "the only drawback to my felicity," whispered tom to sinton, as they entered, "is that i find thompson's affairs far worse than he himself was aware of; and it's a fact, that at this moment i can scarcely draw enough out of the business to supply the necessaries of life." there was a slight bitterness in tom's tone as he said this, but the next moment he was jesting with his old companions as lightheartedly as ever. during the meal he refused, however, to talk business, and, when it was concluded, he proposed that they should go out for a stroll through the town. "by the way," remarked ned, as they walked along, "what of captain bunting's old ship?" "ay!" echoed the captain, "that's the uppermost thing in _my_ mind; but master tom seems determined to keep us in the dark. i do believe the _roving bess_ has been burned, an' he's afraid to tell us." "you're a desperately inquisitive set," cried tom collins, laughing. "could you not suppose that i wanted to give you a surprise, by shewing you how curiously she has been surrounded by houses since you last saw her. you'll think nothing of it, now that i have told you." "why, where are ye goin'?" cried larry, as tom turned up a street that led a little away from the shore, towards which they had been walking! tom made no reply, but led on. they were now in that densely-crowded part of the town where shops were less numerous, warehouses more plentiful, and disagreeable odours more abundant, than elsewhere. a dense mass of buildings lay between them and the sea, and in the centre of these was a square or plaza, on one side of which stood a large hotel, out of the roof of which rose a gigantic flag-staff. a broad and magnificent flight of wooden steps led up to the door of this house of entertainment, over which, on a large board, was written its name--"the roving bess tavern." "dear me! that's a strange coincidence," exclaimed the captain, as his eye caught the name. "tare an' ages!" yelled larry, "av it isn't the owld ship! don't i know the mizzen-mast as well as i know me right leg?" "the _roving bess_ tavern!" muttered captain bunting, while his eyes stared incredulously at the remarkable edifice before him. bill jones, who, up to this point, had walked beside his comrades in silent meditation, here lost presence of mind and, putting both hands to his mouth, sang out, in true stentorian boatswain tones, "all hands ahoy! tumble up there--tumble up!" "ay, ay, sir!" roared half-a-dozen jack tars, who chanced to be regaling themselves within, and who rushed out, hat in hand, ready for a spree, at the unexpected but well-known summons. "major whitlaw," said tom collins, springing up the steps, and addressing a tall, cadaverous-looking yankee, "allow me to introduce to you your landlord, captain bunting--your tenant, captain. i dare say you have almost forgotten each other." the captain held out his hand mechanically and gazed at his tenant unbelievingly, while the major said-"glad to see ye, cap'n, i guess. wanted to for a long time. couldn't come to terms with old thompson. won't you step in and take a cocktail or a gin-sling? i'd like to have a private talk--this way." the landlord of the _roving bess_ tavern led the captain to what was once his own cabin, and begged him to be seated on his own locker at the head of his own table. he accepted these civilities, staring round him in mute wonder all the time, as if he thought it was a dream, out of which he should wake in due course, while, from all parts of the tavern, came sounds of mirth, and clatter of knives and forks and dishes, and odours of gin-slings and bear-steaks and pork-pies. "jist sit there a minute," said the yankee, "till i see to your friends bein' fixed off comfortable; of course, mr collins may stay, for he knows all about it." when he was gone, the captain rose and looked into his old berth. it had been converted into a pantry, so he shut the door quickly and returned to his seat. "tom," said he, in a low whisper, as if he feared to break the spell, "how _did_ they get her up here!" "she's never been moved since you left her," answered tom, laughing; "the town has gradually surrounded her, as you see, and crept out upon the shore, filling up the sea with rubbish, till it has left her nearly a quarter of a mile inland." the captain's eyes opened wider than ever, but before he could find words again to speak, major whitlaw returned. "they're all square now, gentlemen, so, if you please, we'll proceed to business. i suppose your friend has told you how the land lies?" "he certainly has," replied the captain, who accepted the phrase literally. "wall, i reckon your property's riz since ye wor here; now, if you give me leave to make the alterations i want to, i'll give you 1000 dollars a month, payable in advance." "you'd better tell captain bunting what the alterations you refer to are," suggested tom collins, who saw that the captain's state of mind rendered him totally incapable of transacting business. "that's soon done. i'll give it ye slick off. i want to cut away the companion-hatch and run up a regular stair to the deck; then it's advisable to cut away at least half o' the main deck to heighten the gamin' saloon. but i guess the main point is to knock out half-a-dozen windows in the hold, for gas-light is plaguey dear, when it's goin' full blast day and night. besides, i must cut the entrance-door down to the ground, for this tree-mendous flight o' stairs'll be the ruin o' the business. it's only a week since a man was shot by a comrade here in the cabin, an' as they rushed out after him, two customers fell down the stair and broke their arms. and i calc'late the gentlemen that's overtaken by liquor every night won't stand it much longer. there isn't a single man that quits this house after 12 p.m. but goes down that flight head-foremost. if you don't sanction that change, i guess i'll have to get 'em padded, and spread feather-beds at the foot. now, cap'n, if you agrees to this right off, i'll give the sum named." captain bunting's astonishment had now reached that point at which extremes are supposed to meet, and a reaction began to take place. "how much did you propose?" he inquired, taking out a pencil and an old letter, as if he were about to make notes, at the same time knitting his brows, and endeavouring to look intensely sagacious. "one thousand dollars a month," answered the yankee; "i railly can't stand more." "let me see," muttered the captain slowly, in an under tone, while he pressed his forehead with his fore-finger; "one thousand dollars--200 pounds sterling--hum, equal to about 2400 pounds a year. well," he added, raising his voice, "i don't mind if i do. i suppose, tom, it's not _much_ below the thing, as rents go!" "it's a fair offer," said tom, carelessly; "we might, perhaps, get a higher, but major whitlaw is in possession, and is, besides, a good tenant." "then i'll conclude the bargain--pray get pen, ink, and paper." while the major turned for a moment to procure writing materials, the captain looked at tom and winked expressively. then, a document was drawn up, signed, and witnessed, and then the captain, politely declining a brandy-smash, or any other smash whatever, left the _roving bess_ tavern with his friends, and with 200 pounds--the first month's rent--in his pocket. it is needless to remark, that his comrades congratulated him heartily, and that the worthy captain walked along the streets of san francisco chuckling. in a few minutes, tom collins stopped before a row of immense warehouses. there was one gap in the row, a space of several yards square, that might have held two good-sized houses. four wooden posts stood at the corners of the plot, and an old boat, turned keel up, lay in the middle of it. "i know it!" cried ned sinton, laughing in gleeful surprise; "it's my old boat, isn't it? well, i can scarcely credit my eyes! i saw it last on the sea-shore, and now it's a quarter of a mile into the town!" "more than that, ned," said tom collins, "the plot of ground is worth ten thousand dollars at this moment. had it been a little further south, it would have been worth ten times that sum. and more than that still, the irish family you lent the boat to--you remember them--well, they dug up a bag from under the boat which contained five thousand dollars; the honest people at once gave it up, and mr thompson rewarded them well; but they did not live to enjoy it long, they're all dead now. so you see, ned, you're just 3000 pounds richer than you thought you were this morning." "it's a great day!" remarked larry o'neil, looking round upon his comrades, who received all this information with an expression of doubting surprise; "a great day intirely! faix, i'm only hopin' we won't waken up an' find it's all a dhrame!" larry's companions quite agreed with him. they did not indeed say so, but, as they returned home after that stroll, talking eagerly of future plans and prospects, the ever-recurring sentiment broke from their lips, in every style of phrase, "it's a great day, intirely!" chapter twenty eight. more unexpected discoveries--captain bunting makes bill jones a first mate--larry o'neil makes himself a first mate--the parting--ned sinton proves himself, a second time, to be a friend in need and in deed. "it never rains but it pours," saith the proverb. we are fond of proverbs. we confess to a weakness that way. there is a depth of meaning in them which courts investigation from the strongest intellects. even when they are nonsensical, which is not unfrequently the case, their nonsense is unfathomable, and, therefore, invested with all the zest which attaches, metaphysically speaking, to the incomprehensible. astonishing circumstances had been raining for some time past around our bewildered adventurers, and, latterly, they had begun to pour. on the afternoon of the day, the events of which have been recorded in the last chapter, there was, metaphorically speaking, a regular thunder-plump. no sooner had the party returned to old mr thompson's cottage, than down it came again, heavy as ever. on entering the porch, lizette ran up to tom, in that pretty tripping style peculiar to herself, and whispered in his ear. "well, you baggage," said he, "i'll go with you; but i don't like secrets. walk into the parlour, friends; i'll be with you in a minute." "tom," said lizette, pursing up her little mouth and elevating her pert nose; "you can't guess what an interesting discovery i've made." "of course i can't," replied tom, with affected impatience; "now, pray, don't ask me to try, else i shall leave you instantly." "what an impatient creature you are!" said lizette. "only think! i have discovered that my maid, whom we hired only two days ago, has--" "bolted with the black cook, or somebody else, and married him," interrupted tom, with a look of horror, as he threw himself into any easy-chair. "not at all," rejoined lizette, hurriedly; "nothing of the sort; she has discovered that the little girl mr sinton brought with him is her sister." "what! kate morgan's sister!" cried tom, with a look of surprise. "i knew it; i was sure i had heard the name before, but i couldn't remember when or where; i see it now; she must be the girl larry o'neil used to talk about up at the diggin's; but as i never saw her there, of course i couldn't know her." "well, i don't know about that; i suppose you're right," replied lizette; "but isn't it nice? they're kissing and hugging each other, and crying, in the kitchen at this moment. oh! i'm _so_ happy--the dear little thing!" if lizette was happy she took a strange way to shew it, for she sat down beside tom and began to sob. while the above conversation was going on up-stairs, another conversation--interesting enough to deserve special notice--was going on in the parlour. "sure don't i know me own feelin's best?" remarked larry, addressing ned sinton. "it's all very well at the diggin's; but when it comes to drawin'-rooms and parlours, i feels--an' so does bill jones here--that we're out 'o place. in the matter o' diggin' we're all equals, no doubt; but we feels that we ain't gintlemen born, and that it's a'k'ard to the lady to be havin' sich rough customers at her table, so bill an' me has agreed to make the most o' ourselves in the kitchen." "larry, you're talking nonsense. we have messed together on equal terms for many months; and, whatever course we may follow after this, you _must_ sup with us to-night, as usual. i know tom will be angry if you don't." "ay, sir, but it ain't `as oosual,'" suggested bill jones, turning the quid in his cheek; "it's quite on-oosual for the likes o' us to sup with a lady." "that's it," chimed in larry; "so, mister ned, ye'll jist plaise to make our excuges to mrs tom, and tell her where we've gone to lo-cate, as the yankees say. come away, bill." larry took his friend by the arm, and, leading him out of the room, shut the door. five seconds after that there came an appalling female shriek, and a dreadful masculine yell, from the region of the kitchen, accompanied by a subdued squeak of such extreme sweetness, that it could have come only from the throat of mademoiselle nelina. ned and the captain sprang to the door, and dashed violently against tom and his wife, whom they unexpectedly met also rushing towards the kitchen. in another moment a curious and deeply interesting _tableau vivant_ was revealed to their astonished gaze. in the middle of the room was larry o'neil, down on one knee, while with both arms he supported the fainting form of kate morgan. by kate's side knelt her sister nelly, who bent over her pale face with anxious, tearful countenance, while, presiding over the group, like an amiable ogre, stood bill jones, with his hands in his breeches-pockets, his legs apart, one eye tightly screwed up, and his mouth expanded from ear to ear. "that's yer sort!" cried bill, in ecstatic glee. "w'en a thing comes all right, an' tight, an' ship-shape, why, wot then? in coorse it's all square--that's wot _i_ say." "she's comin' to," whispered larry. "ah! thin, spake, won't ye, darlin'? it'll do ye good, maybe, an' help to open yer two purty eyes." kate morgan recovered--we need scarcely tell our reader that--and nelly dried her eyes, and that evening was spent in a fashion that conduced to the well-being, and comfort, and good humour of all parties concerned. perhaps it is also needless to inform our reader that larry o'neil and bill jones carried their point. they supped in the kitchen that night. our informant does not say whether kate morgan and her sister nelly supped with them--but we rather think they did. a week afterwards, captain bunting had matured his future plans. he resolved to purchase a clipper-brig that was lying at that time useless in the harbour, and embark in the coasting trade of california. he made bill jones his first mate, and offered to make larry o'neil his second, but larry wanted a mate himself, and declined the honour; so the captain gave him five hundred pounds to set him up in any line he chose. ned sinton sold his property, and also presented his old comrade with a goodly sum of money, saying, that as he, (ned), had been the means of dragging him away from the diggings, he felt bound to assist him in the hour of need. so kate morgan became mrs o'neil the week following; and she, with her husband and her little sister, started off for the interior of the country to look after a farm. about the same time, captain bunting having completed the lading of his brig, succeeded in manning her by offering a high wage, and, bidding adieu to ned and tom, set sail for the sacramento. two days afterwards, ned got a letter from old mr shirley--the first that he had received since leaving england. it began thus:-"my dearest boy,--what has become of you? i have written six letters, at least, but have never got a single line in reply. you must come home immediately, as affairs here require your assistance, and i'm getting too old to attend to business matters. do come at once, my dear ned, unless you wish me to reprove you. moxton says only a young and vigorous man of business can manage things properly; but when i mentioned you, he shook his head gravely. `too wild and absurd in his notions,' said he. i stopped him, however, by saying that i was fully aware of your faults--" the letter then went rambling on in a quaint, prosy, but interesting style; and ned sat long in his room in old mr thompson's cottage poring over its contents, and gradually maturing his future plans. "it's awkward," soliloquised he, resting his head on both hands. "i shall have to go at once, and so won't have a chance of seeing bunting again, to tell him of poor tom's circumstances. he would only be too glad to give him a helping hand; but i know tom will never let him know how hard-up he is. there's nothing else for it," he added, determinedly; "my uncle will laugh at my profitless tour--but, _n'importe_, i have learned much.--come in!" this last remark was addressed to some one who had tapped gently at the door. "it's only me, ned; can i come in? i fear i interrupt you," said tom, as he entered the room. "not at all; sit down, my boy. i have just been perusing a letter from my good old uncle shirley: he writes so urgently that i fear i must return to england by the first homeward-bound ship." "return to england!" exclaimed tom, in surprise. "what! leave the gold-fields just as the sun is beginning to shine on you?" "even so, tom." "my dear ned, you are mad! this is a splendid country. just see what fortunes we should have made, but for the unfortunate accidents that have happened!" tom sighed as he spoke. "i know it," replied his friend, with sadden energy. "this is a splendid country; gold exists all over it--not only in the streams, but on the hill-sides, and even on hill-tops, as you and i know from personal experience--but gold, tom, is not _everything_ in this world, and the getting of it should not be our chief aim. moreover, i have come to the conclusion, that _digging_ gold ought to be left entirely to such men as are accustomed to dig ditches and throw up railway embankments. men whose intelligence is of a higher order ought not to ignore the faculties that have been given to them, and devote their time--too often, alas! their lives--to a species of work that the merest savage is equally capable of performing. navvies may work at the mines with propriety; but educated men who devote themselves to such work are, i fear, among the number of those to whom scripture specially speaks, when it says, `make not haste to be rich.'" "but there are other occupations here besides digging for gold," said tom. "i know it; and i would be happy and proud to rank among the merchants, and engineers, and such men, of california; but duty calls me home, and, to say truth," added ned, with a smile, "inclination points the way." tom collins still for some time attempted to dissuade his friend from quitting the country, and his sweet little wife, lizette, seconded his efforts with much earnestness; but ned sinton was immovable. he took passage in the first ship that sailed for england. the night before he sailed, ned, after retiring to his room for the last time in his friend's house, locked his door, and went through a variety of little pieces of business that would have surprised his hosts had they seen him. he placed a large strong-box on the table, and cautiously drew from under his bed a carpet-bag, which, from the effort made to lift it, seemed to be filled with some weighty substance. unlocking the bag, he proceeded to lift out handful after handful of shining dollars and gold pieces, interspersed here and there with massive nuggets. these he transferred into the wooden box until it was full. this was nearly the whole of ned's fortune. it amounted to a little more than 3000 pounds sterling. having completed the transfer, ned counted the surplus left in the bag, and found it to be about 500 pounds. this he secured in a leather purse, and then sat down to write a letter. the letter was short when finished, but it took him long to write, for he meditated much during the writing of it, and several times laid his head on his hands. at last it was completed, put into the box, and the lid screwed down above it. then ned read a chapter in the bible, as was his wont, and retired to rest. next day tom and lizette stood on the wharf to see him embark for england. long and earnest was the converse of the two friends, as they were about to part, probably for ever, and then, for the first time, they became aware how deep was the attachment which each had formed for the other. at last the mate of the ship came up, and touched his hat. "now, sir, boat's ready, sir; and we don't wish to lose the first of the ebb." "good-bye, lizette--good-bye, tom! god be with and bless you, my dear fellow! stay, i had almost forgotten. tom, you will find a box on the table in my room; you can keep the contents--a letter in it will explain. farewell!" tom's heart was too full to speak. he squeezed his friend's hand in silence, and, turning hurriedly round, walked away with lizette the instant the boat left the shore. late in the evening, tom and his wife remembered the box, and went up-stairs to open it. their surprise at its rich contents may be imagined. both at once understood its meaning; and lizette sat down, and covered her face with her hands, to hide the tears that flowed, while her husband read the letter. it ran thus:-"my dearest tom,--you must not be angry with me for leaving this trifle--it _is_ a trifle compared with the amount of gold i would give you if i had it. but i need not apologise; the spirit of love in which it is given demands that it shall be unhesitatingly received in the same spirit. may god, who has blessed us and protected us in all our wanderings together, cause your worldly affairs to prosper, and especially may he bless your soul. seas and continents may separate us, but i shall never forget you, tom, or your dear wife. but i must not write as if i were saying farewell. i intend this epistle to be the opening of a correspondence that shall continue as long as we live. you shall hear from me again ere long. "your sincerely-attached friend, "edward sinton." at the time tom collins was reading the above letter to lizette, in a broken, husky voice, our hero was seated on the taffrail of the ship that bore him swiftly over the sea, gazing wistfully at the receding shore, and bidding a final adieu to california and all his golden dreams. chapter twenty nine. our story comes to an end. home! what a host of old and deep and heart-stirring associations arise in every human breast at the sound of that old familiar word! how well we know it--how vividly it recalls certain scenes and faces--how pleasantly it falls on the ear, and slips from the tongue--yet how little do we appreciate home until we have left it, and longed for it, perhaps, for many years. our hero, ned sinton, is home at last. he sits in his old place beside the fire, with his feet on the fender. opposite to him sits old mr shirley, with a bland smile on his kind, wrinkled visage, and two pair of spectacles on his brow. mr shirley, as we formerly stated, regularly loses one pair of spectacles, and always searches for them in vain, in consequence of his having pushed them too far up on his bald head; he, therefore, is frequently compelled to put on his second pair, and hence makes a spectacle, to some extent, of himself. exactly between the uncle and the nephew, on a low stool, sits the cat--the cat, _par excellence_--mr shirley's cat, a creature which he has always been passionately fond of since it was a kitten, and to which, after ned's departure for california, he had devoted himself so tenderly, that he felt half-ashamed of himself, and would not like to have been asked how much he loved it. yes, the cat sits there, looking neither at old mr shirley nor at young mr sinton, but bestowing its undivided attentions and affections on the fire, which it enjoys extremely, if we may judge from the placid manner in which it winks and purrs. ned has been a week at home, and he has just reached that point of experience at which the wild life of the diggings through which he has passed begins to seem like a vivid dream rather than reality. breakfast had just been concluded, although the cloth had not yet been removed. "do you know, uncle," remarked ned, settling his bulky frame more comfortably in the easy-chair, and twirling his watch-key, "i find it more difficult every day to believe that the events of the last few months of my life have actually occurred. when i sit here in my old seat, and look at you and the cat and the furniture--everything, in fact, just the same as when i left--i cannot realise that i have been nearly two years away." "i understand your feelings, my dear boy," replied mr shirley, taking off his spectacles, (the lower pair,) wiping them with his handkerchief putting them on again, and looking _over_ them at his nephew, with an expression of unmitigated admiration. "i can sympathise with you, ned, for i have gone through the same experience more than once in the course of my life. it's a strange life, boy, a very strange life this, as you'll come to know, if you're spared to be as old as i am." ned thought that his knowledge was already pretty extended in reference to life, and even flattered himself that he had had some stranger views of it than his uncle, but he prudently did not give expression to his thoughts; and, after a short pause, mr shirley resumed-"yes, lad, it's a very strange life; and the strangest part of it is, that the longer we live the stranger it gets. i travelled once in switzerland--," (the old gentleman paused, as if to allow the statement to have its full weight on ned's youthful mind,) "and it's a curious fact, that when i had been some months there, home and all connected with it became like a dream to me, and switzerland became a reality. but after i came back to england, and had spent some time here, home again became the reality, and switzerland appeared like a dream, so that i sometimes said to myself, `can it be possible that i have been there!' very odd, isn't it?" "it is, uncle; and i have very much the same feelings now." "very odd, indeed," repeated mr shirley. "by the way, that reminds me that we have to talk about that farm of which i spoke to you on the day of your arrival." we might feel surprised that the above conversation could in any way have the remotest connexion with "that farm" of which mr shirley was so suddenly reminded, did we not know that the subject was, in fact, never out of his mind. "true, uncle, i had almost forgotten about it, but you know i've been so much engaged during the last few days in visiting my old friends and college companions, that--" "i know it, i know it, ned, and i don't want to bother you with business matters sooner than i can help, but--" "my dear uncle, how can you for a moment suppose that i could be `bothered' by--" "of course not, boy," interrupted mr shirley. "well, now, let me ask you, ned, how much gold have you brought back from the diggings?" ned fidgeted uncomfortably on his seat--the subject could no longer be avoided. "i--i--must confess," said he, with hesitation, "that i haven't brought much." "of course, you couldn't be expected to have done much in so short a time; but _how_ much?" "only 500 pounds," replied ned, with a sigh, while a slight blush shone through the deep bronze of his countenance. "oh!" said mr shirley, pursing up his mouth, while an arch twinkle lurked in the corners of each eye. "ah! but, uncle, you mustn't quiz me. i _had_ more, and might have brought it home too, if i had chosen." "then why didn't you?" ned replied to this question by detailing how most of his money had been lost, and how, at the last, he gave nearly all that remained to his friend tom collins. "you did quite right, ned, _quite right_," said mr shirley, when his nephew had concluded; "and now i'll tell you what i want you to do. you told me the other day, i think, that you wished to become a farmer." "yes, uncle. i do think that that life would suit me better than any other. i'm fond of the country and a quiet life, and i don't like cities; but, then, i know nothing about farming, and i doubt whether i should succeed without being educated to it to some extent at least." "a very modest and proper feeling to entertain," said mr shirley, with a smile; "particularly when it is considered that farming is an exceedingly difficult profession to acquire a knowledge of. but i have thought of that for you, ned, and i think i see a way out of the difficulty." "what way is that?" "i won't tell you just yet, boy. but answer me this. are you willing to take any farm i suggest to you, and henceforth to give up all notion of wandering over the face of the earth, and devote yourself steadily to your new profession?" "i am, uncle; if you will point out to me how i am to pay the rent and stock the farm, and how i am to carry it on in the meantime without a knowledge of husbandry." "i'll do that for you, all in good time; meanwhile, will you put on your hat, and run down to moxton's office--you remember it?" "that i do," replied ned, with a smile. "well, go there, and ask him for the papers i wrote about to him two days ago. bring them here as quickly as you can. we shall then take the train, and run down to brixley, and look at the farm." "but are you really in earnest!" asked ned, in some surprise. "never more so in my life," replied the old gentleman, mildly. "now be off; i want to read the paper." ned rose and left the room, scarcely believing that his uncle did not jest. as he shut the door, old mr shirley took up the paper, pulled down the upper pair of spectacles--an act which knocked the lower pair off his nose, whereat he smiled more blandly than ever--and began to read. meanwhile, edward sinton put on his great-coat--the identical one he used to wear before he went away--and his hat and his gloves, and walked out into the crowded streets of london, with feelings somewhat akin, probably, to those of a somnambulist. having been so long accustomed to the free-and-easy costume of the mines, ned felt about as uncomfortable and stiff as a warrior of old must have felt when armed _cap-a-pie_. his stalwart frame was some what thinner and harder than when he last took the same walk; his fair moustache and whiskers were somewhat more decided, and less like wreaths of smoke, and his countenance was of a deep-brown colour; but in other respects ned was the same dashing fellow that he used to be--dashing by _nature_, we may remark, not by _affectation_. in half-an-hour he stood before moxton's door. there it was, as large as life, and as green as ever. ned really found it impossible to believe that it was so long since he last saw it. he felt as if it had been yesterday. the brass knocker and the brass plate were there too, as dirty as ever--perhaps a thought dirtier--and the dirty house still retreated a little behind its fellows, and was still as much ashamed of itself--seemingly--as ever. ned raised the knocker, and smote the brass knob. the result was, as formerly, a disagreeable-looking old woman, who replied to the question, "is mr moxton in?" with a sharp, short, "yes." the dingy little office, with its insufficient allowance of daylight, and its compensating mixture of yellow gas, was inhabited by the same identical small dishevelled clerk who, nearly two years before, was busily employed in writing his name interminably on scraps of paper, and who now, as then, answered to the question, "can i see mr moxton?" by pointing to the door which opened into the inner apartment, and resuming his occupation--the same occupation--writing his name on scraps of paper. ned tapped--as of yore. "come in," cried a stern voice--as of ditto. ned entered; and there, sure enough, was the same tall, gaunt man, with the sour cast of countenance, standing, (as formerly,) with his back to the fire. "ah!" exclaimed moxton, "you're young sinton, i suppose?" ned almost started at the perfect reproduction of events, and questions, and answers. he felt a species of reckless incredulity in reference to everything steal over him, as he replied-"yes; i came, at my uncle's request, for some papers that--" "ah, yes, they're all ready," interrupted the lawyer, advancing to the table. "tell your uncle that i shall be glad to hear from him again in reference to the subject of those papers; and take care of them--they are of value. good-morning!" "good-morning!" replied our hero, retreating. "stay!" said moxton. ned stopped, and turned round. "you've been in california, since i last saw you, i understand?" "i have," replied ned. "umph! you haven't made your fortune, i fancy?" "no, not quite." "it's a wild place, if all reports are true?" "rather," replied ned, smiling; "there's a want of law there." "ha! and lawyers," remarked moxton, sarcastically. "indeed there is," replied ned, with some enthusiasm, as he thought of the gold-hunting spirit that prevailed in the cities of california. "there is great need out there of men of learning--men who can resist the temptation to collect gold, and are capable of doing good to the colony in an intellectual and spiritual point of view. clergymen, doctors, and lawyers are much wanted there. you'd find it worth your while to go, sir." had edward sinton advised mr moxton to go and rent an office in the moon, he could scarcely have surprised that staid gentleman more than he did by this suggestion. the lawyer gazed at him for one moment in amazement. then he said-"these papers are of value, young man: be careful of them. good-morning--" and sat down at his desk to write. ned did not venture to reply, but instantly retired, and found himself in the street with-not, as formerly, an indistinct, but--a distinct impression that he had heard the dishevelled clerk chuckling vociferously as he passed through the office. that afternoon ned and old mr shirley alighted from the train at a small village not a hundred miles out of london, and wended their way leisurely--for it was a warm sunny day for the season--towards a large, quaint, old farm-house, about two miles distant from the station. "what a very pleasant-looking house that is on the hill-top!" remarked ned, as he gave his arm to his uncle. "d'you think so? well, i'm glad of it, because that's the farm i wish you to take." "indeed!" exclaimed ned, in surprise. "surely the farm connected with such a house must be a large one?" "so it is," replied the other. ned laughed. "my dear uncle," said he, "how can _i_ manage such a place, without means or knowledge?" "i said before, boy, that i would overcome both these difficulties for you." "you did, dear uncle; and if you were a rich man, i could understand how you might overcome the first; but you have often told me you had no money in the world except the rent of a small property." "right, ned; i said so; and i say it again. i shan't leave you a sixpence when i die, and i can't afford to give you one while i am alive." "then i must just leave the matter in your own hands," replied ned, smiling, "for i cannot comprehend your plans." they had now reached the gate of the park that surrounded the fine old building of brixley hall. the house was one of those rambling, picturesque old mansions, which, although not very large in reality, have a certain air of magnitude, and even grandeur, about them. the windows were modern and large, so that the rooms were well lighted, and the view in all directions was magnificent. wherever the eye turned, it met knolls, and mounds, and fields, and picturesque groves, with here and there a substantial farm-steading, or a little hamlet, with its modest church-spire pointing ever upwards to the bright sky. cattle and sheep lowed and bleated in the meadows, while gentle murmurs told that a rivulet flowed along its placid course at no great distance. the spot was simply enchanting--and ned said so, in the fulness of his heart, emphatically. "'tis a sweet spot!" remarked his uncle, in a low, sad tone, as he entered the open door of the dwelling, and walked deliberately into the drawing-room. "now, ned, sit down--here, opposite that window, where you can see the view--and i'll tell you how we shall manage. you tell me you have 500 pounds?" "yes, uncle." "well, your dear mother left you her fortune when she died--it amounts to the small sum of 200 pounds. i never told you of it before, my boy, for reasons of my own. that makes 700 pounds." "will that suffice to stock and carry on so large a farm," inquired ned? "not quite," replied mr shirley, "but the farm is partly stocked already, so it'll do. now, i've made arrangements with the proprietor to let you have it for the first year or two rent free. his last tenant's lease happens to have expired six months ago, and he is anxious to have it let immediately." ned opened his eyes very wide at this. "he says," continued the old gentleman, "that if you can't manage to make the two ends meet in the course of a year or two, he will extend the _gratis_ lease." ned began to think his uncle had gone deranged. "why, what _do_ you mean," said he, "who is this extraordinary proprietor?" "he's an eccentric old fellow, ned, who lives in london--they call him shirley, i believe." "yourself, uncle!" cried ned, starting up. dear reader, the conversation that followed was so abrupt, exclamatory, interjectional, and occasionally ungrammatical, as well as absurd, that it could not be reduced to writing. we therefore leave it to your imagination. after a time, the uncle and nephew subsided, and again became sane. "but," said ned, "i shall have to get a steward--is that what you call him? or overseer, to manage affairs until i am able to do it myself." "true, ned; but i have provided one already." "indeed!--but i might have guessed that. what shall i have to pay him? a good round sum, i suppose." "no," replied mr shirley; "he is very moderate in his expectations. he only expects his food and lodging, besides a little care, and attention, and love, particularly in his old age." "he must be a cautious fellow, to look so far forward," said ned, laughing. "what's his name?" "his name--is shirley." "what! yourself again?" "and why not, nephew? i've as much right to count myself fit to superintend a farm, as you had, a year ago, to think yourself able to manage a gold mine. nay, i have a better right--for i was a farmer the greater part of my life before i went to reside in london. now, boy, as i went to live in the great city--which i _don't_ like--in order to give you a good education, i expect that you'll take me to the country--which i _do_ like--to be your overseer. i was born and bred here, ned; this was my father's property, and, when i am gone, it shall be yours. it is not much to boast of. you won't be able to spend an idle life of it here; for, although a goodly place, it must be carefully tended if you would make it pay." "i don't need to tell _you_," replied ned, "that i have no desire to lead an idle life. but, uncle, i think your terms are very high." "how so, boy?" "_love_ is a very high price to pay for service," replied ned. "your kindness and your generosity in this matter make me very happy and very grateful, and, perhaps, might make me very obedient and extremely attentive; but i cannot give you _love_ at any price. i must refuse you _as an overseer_, but if you will come to me as old uncle shirley--" "well, well, ned," interrupted the old gentleman, with a benign smile, "we'll not dispute about that. let us now go and take a run round the grounds." -----------------------------------------------------------------------it is needless, dear reader, to prolong our story. perchance we have taxed your patience too much already--but we cannot close without a word or two regarding the subsequent life of those whose fortunes we have followed so long. ned sinton and old mr shirley applied themselves with diligence and enthusiasm to the cultivation of their farm, and to the cultivation of the friendship and good-will of their neighbours all round. in both efforts they were eminently successful. ned made many interesting discoveries during his residence at brixley hall, chief among which was a certain louisa leslie, with whom he fell desperately in love--so desperately that his case was deemed hopeless. louisa therefore took pity on him, and became mrs sinton, to the unutterable delight of old mr shirley--and the cat, both of whom benefited considerably by this addition to the household. about the time this event occurred, ned received a letter from tom collins, desiring him to purchase a farm for him as near to his own as possible. tom had been successful as a merchant, and had made a large fortune--as was often the case in those days--in the course of a year or two. at first, indeed, he had had a hard struggle, and was more than once nearly driven, by desperation, to the gaming-table, but ned's advice and warnings came back upon him again and again--so he fought against the temptation manfully, and came off victorious. improved trade soon removed the temptation--perhaps we should say that his heavenly father took that means to remove it--and at last, as we have said, he made a fortune, as many had done, in like circumstances, before him. ned bought a farm three miles from his own, and, in the course of a few months, tom and he were once more walking together, arm in arm, recalling other days, and--arguing. lizette and louisa drew together like two magnets, the instant they met. but the best of it was, tom had brought home larry o'neil as his butler, and mrs kate o'neil as his cook while nelly became his wife's maid. larry, it seems, had not taken kindly to farming in california, the more so that he pitched unluckily on an unproductive piece of land, which speedily swallowed up his little fortune, and refused to yield any return. larry, therefore, like some men who thought themselves much wiser fellows, pronounced the country a wretched one, in reference to agriculture, and returned to san francisco, where he found tom collins, prospering and ready to employ himself and his family. as butler to an english squire, larry o'neil was, according to his own statement, "a continted man." may he long remain so! nelly morgan soon became, out of sight, the sweetest girl in the countryside, and, ere long, one of the best young fellows in the district carried her off triumphantly, and placed her at the head of affairs in his own cottage. we say he was one of the best young fellows--this husband of nelly's--but he was by no means the handsomest; many a handsome strapping youth there failed to obtain so good a wife as nelly. her husband was a steady, hard working, thriving, good man--and quite good-looking enough for her--so nelly said. as for captain bunting and bill jones, they stuck to each other to the last, like two limpets, and both of them stuck to the sea like fish. no shore-going felicities could tempt these hardy sons of neptune to forsake their native element again. he had done it once, bill jones said, "in one o' the splendidest countries goin', where gold was to be had for the pickin' up, and all sorts o' agues and rheumatizes for nothin'; but w'en things didn't somehow go all square, an' the anchor got foul with a gale o' adwerse circumstances springin' up astarn, why, wot then?--go to sea again, of coorse, an' stick to it; them wos _his_ sentiments." as these were also captain bunting's sentiments, they naturally took to the same boat for life. but, although captain bunting and bill did not live on shore, they occasionally, at long intervals, condescended to revisit the terrestrial globe, and, at such seasons of weakness, made a point of running down to brixley hall to see ned and tom. then, indeed, "the light of other days" shone again in retrospect on our adventurers with refulgent splendour; then larry sank the butler, and came out as the miner--as one of the partners of the "r'yal bank o' calyforny"--then ned and tom related marvellous adventures, to the admiration of their respective wives, and the captain smote his thigh with frequency and emphasis, to the terror of the cat, and bill jones gave utterance to deeply-pregnant sentences, and told how that, on his last voyage to china, he had been up at pekin, and had heard that ah-wow had dug up a nugget of gold three times the size of his own head, and had returned to his native land a _millionnaire_, and been made a mandarin, and after that something else, and at last became prime minister of china--so bill had been _told_, but he wouldn't vouch for it, no how. all this, and a great deal more, was said and done on these great and rare occasions--and our quondam gold-hunters fought their battles o'er again, to the ineffable delight of old mr shirley, who sat in his easy-chair, and gazed, and smiled, and stared, and laughed, and even wept, and chuckled--but never spoke--he was past that. in the course of time ned and tom became extremely intimate with the pastor of their village, and were at last his right and left-hand men. this pastor was a man whose aim was to live as his master had lived before him--he went about doing good--and, of all the happy years our two friends spent, the happiest were those in which they followed in the footsteps and strengthened the hands of this good man, lizette and louisa were helpmates to their husbands in this respect, as in all others, and a blessing to the surrounding country. ned sinton's golden dream was over now, in one sense, but by no means over in another. his sleeping and his waking dreams were still, as of old, tinged with a golden hue, but they had not a metallic ring. the _golden rule_ was the foundation on which his new visions were reared, and that which we are told is _better_ than gold, "yea, than much fine gold," was thenceforth eagerly sought for and coveted by him. as for other matters--he delighted chiefly in the sunshine of louisa's smile, and in fields of golden grain. the end. the hunters' feast, by captain mayne reid. ________________________________________________________________________ the story starts in the city of st louis, towards the end of the summer of some year in the nineteenth century. reid collects together a group of six men who would pay to take part in an expedition, camping and hunting, into the prairies. they take with them a couple of paid men, professionals who would give them very necessary guidance. they all make a pact that they would each tell a round of tales around the camp fire, such stories to be amusing and instructive. reid himself is something of a naturalist, as we can learn from his many other books. we are given these tales just as they are told, in good english if told by an educated man, and in the dialect of the less educated ones. this latter arrangement makes the checking of the ocr transcriptions a little difficult, but never mind. what people may find a little tedious is reid's habit of giving the naturalists' latin names for the various animals and plants described. ________________________________________________________________________ the hunters' feast, by captain mayne reid. chapter one. a hunting party. on the western bank of the mississippi, twelve miles below the _embouchure_ of the missouri, stands the large town of saint louis, poetically known as the "mound city." although there are many other large towns throughout the mississippi valley, saint louis is the true metropolis of the "far west"--of that semi-civilised, ever-changing belt of territory known as the "frontier." saint louis is one of those american cities in the history of which there is something of peculiar interest. it is one of the oldest of north-american settlements, having been a french trading port at an early period. though not so successful as their rivals the english, there was a degree of picturesqueness about french colonisation, that, in the present day, strongly claims the attention of the american poet, novelist, and historian. their dealings with the indian aborigines--the facile manner in which they glided into the habits of the latter--meeting them more than half-way between civilisation and savage life--the handsome nomenclature which they have scattered freely, and which still holds over the trans-mississippian territories--the introduction of a new race (the half blood--peculiarly french)--the heroic and adventurous character of their earliest pioneers, de salle marquette, father hennepin, etcetera--their romantic explorations and melancholy fate--all these circumstances have rendered extremely interesting the early history of the french in america. even the quixotism of some of their attempts at colonisation cannot fail to interest us, as at gallipolis on the ohio, a colony composed of expatriated people of the french court;-perruquiers, coachbuilders, tailors, _modistes_, and the like. here, in the face of hostile indians, before an acre of ground was cleared, before the slightest provision was made for their future subsistence, the first house erected was a large log structure, to serve as the _salon du lal_! besides its french origin, saint louis possesses many other points of interest. it has long been the _entrepot_ and _depot_ of commerce with the wild tribes of prairie-land. there the trader is supplied with his stock for the indian market--his red and green blanket--his beads and trinkets--his rifles, and powder, and lead; and there, in return, he disposes of the spoils of the prairie collected in many a far and perilous wandering. there the emigrant rests on the way to his wilderness home; and the hunter equips himself before starting forth on some new expedition. to the traveller, saint louis is a place of peculiar interest. he will hear around him the language of every nation in the civilised world. he will behold faces of every hue and variety of expression. he will meet with men of every possible calling. all this is peculiarly true in the latter part of the summer season. then the motley population of new orleans fly from the annual scourge of the yellow fever, and seek safety in the cities that lie farther north. of these, saint louis is a favourite "city of refuge,"--the creole element of its population being related to that kindred race in the south, and keeping up with it this annual correspondence. in one of these streams of migration i had found my way to saint louis, in the autumn of 18--. the place was at the time filled with loungers, who seemed to have nothing else to do but kill time. every hotel had its quota, and in every verandah and at the corners of the streets you might see small knots of well-dressed gentlemen trying to entertain each other, and laugh away the hours. most of them were the annual birds of passage from new orleans, who had fled from "yellow jack," and were sojourning here till the cold frosty winds of november should drive that intruder from the "crescent city;" but there were many other _flaneurs_ as well. there were travellers from europe:--men of wealth and rank who had left behind them the luxuries of civilised society to rough it for a season in the wild west--painters in search of the picturesque-naturalists whose love of their favourite study had drawn them from their comfortable closets to search for knowledge under circumstances of extremest difficulty--and sportsmen, who, tired of chasing small game, were on their way to the great plains to take part in the noble sport of hunting the buffalo. i was myself one of the last-named fraternity. there is no country in the world so addicted to the _table d'hote_ as america, and that very custom soon makes idle people acquainted with each other. i was not very long in the place before i was upon terms of intimacy with a large number of these loungers, and i found several, like myself, desirous of making a hunting expedition to the prairies. this chimed in with my plans to a nicety, and i at once set about getting up the expedition. i found five others who were willing to join me. after several _conversaziones_, with much discussion, we succeeded at length in "fixing" our plan. each was to "equip" according to his own fancy, though it was necessary for each to provide himself with a riding horse or mule. after that, a general fund was to be "raised," to be appropriated to the purchase of a waggon and team, with tents, stores, and cooking utensils. a couple of professional hunters were to be engaged; men who knew the ground to be traversed, and who were to act as guides to the expedition. about a week was consumed in making the necessary preparations, and at the end of that time, under the sunrise of a lovely morning, a small cavalcade was seen to issue from the back suburbs of saint louis, and, climbing the undulating slopes in its rear, head for the far-stretching wilderness of the prairies. it was our hunting expedition. the cavalcade consisted of eight mounted men, and a waggon with its full team of six tough mules. these last were under the _manege_ of "jake"-a free negro, with a shining black face, a thick full mop, and a set of the best "ivories," which were almost always uncovered in a smile. peeping from under the tilt of the waggon might be seen another face strongly contrasting with that of jake. this had been originally of a reddish hue, but sun-tan, and a thick sprinkling of freckles, had changed the red to golden-yellow. a shock of fiery hair surmounted this visage, which was partially concealed under a badly-battered hat. though the face of the black expressed good-humour, it might have been called sad when brought into comparison with that of the little red man, which peeped out beside it. upon the latter, there was an expression irresistibly comic--the expression of an actor in broad farce. one eye was continually on the wink, while the other looked knowing enough for both. a short clay-pipe, stuck jauntily between the lips, added to the comical expression of the face, which was that of mike lanty from limerick. no one ever mistook the nationality of michael. who were the eight cavaliers that accompanied the waggon? six of them were gentlemen by birth and education. at least half that number were scholars. the other two laid no claim either to gentleness or scholarship--they were rude trappers--the hunters and guides of the expedition. a word about each one of the eight, for there was not one of them without his peculiarity. first, there was an englishman--a genuine type of his countrymen--full six feet high, well proportioned, with broad chest and shoulders, and massive limbs. hair of a light brown, complexion florid, moustache and whiskers full and hay-coloured, but suiting well the complexion and features. the last were regular, and if not handsome, at least good humoured and noble in their expression. the owner was in reality a nobleman--a true nobleman--one of that class who, while travelling through the "states," have the good sense to carry their umbrella along, and leave their title behind them. to us he was known as mr thompson, and, after some time, when we had all become familiar with each other, as plain "thompson." it was only long after, and by accident, that i became acquainted with his rank and title; some of our companions do not know it to this day, but that is of no consequence. i mention the circumstance here to aid me in illustrating the character of our travelling companion, who was "close" and modest almost to a fault. his costume was characteristic. a "tweed" shooting jacket, of course, with eight pockets--a vest of the same material with four--tweed browsers, and a tweed cap. in the waggon was _the hat-box_; of strong yellow leather, with straps and padlock. this was supposed to contain the dress hat; and some of the party were merry about it. but no--mr thompson was a more experienced traveller than his companions thought him at first. the contents of the hat-case were sundry brushes-including one for the teeth--combs, razors, and pieces of soap. the hat had been left at saint louis. but the umbrella had _not_. it was then under thompson's arm, with its full proportions of whalebone and gingham. under that umbrella he had hunted tigers in the jungles of india--under that umbrella he had chased the lion upon the plains of africa--under that umbrella he had pursued the ostrich and the vicuna over the pampas of south america; and now under that same hemisphere of blue gingham he was about to carry terror and destruction among the wild buffaloes of the prairies. besides the umbrella--strictly a weapon of defence--mr thompson carried another, a heavy double-barrelled gun, marked "bishop, of bond street," no bad weapon with a loading of buck-shot, and with this both barrels were habitually loaded. so much for mr thompson, who may pass for number 1 of the hunting party. he was mounted on a strong bay cob, with tail cut short, and english saddle, both of which objects--the short tail and the saddle-were curiosities to all of the party except mr thompson and myself. number 2 was as unlike number 1 as two animals of the same species could possibly be. he was a kentuckian, full six inches taller than thompson, or indeed than any of the party. his features were marked, prominent and irregular, and this irregularity was increased by a "cheekful" of half-chewed tobacco. his complexion was dark, almost olive, and the face quite naked, without either moustache or whisker; but long straight hair, black as an indian's, hung down to his shoulders. in fact, there was a good deal of the indian look about him, except in his figure. that was somewhat slouched, with arms and limbs of over-length, loosely hung about it. both, however, though not modelled after the apollo, were evidently full of muscle and tough strength, and looked as though their owner could return the hug of a bear with interest. there was a gravity in his look, but that was not from any gravity of spirits; it was his swarth complexion that gave him this appearance, aided, no doubt, by several lines of "ambeer" proceeding from the corners of his mouth in the direction of the chin. so far from being grave, this dark kentuckian was as gay and buoyant as any of the party. indeed, a light and boyish spirit is a characteristic of the kentuckian as well as of all the natives of the mississippi valley--at least such has been my observation. our kentuckian was costumed just as he would have been upon a cool morning riding about the "woodland" of his own plantation, for a "planter" he was. he wore a "jeans" frock, and over that a long-tailed overcoat of the best green blanket, with side pockets and flaps. his jeans pantaloons were stuck into a pair of heavy horse-leather pegged boots, sometimes known as "nigger" boots; but over these were "wrappers" of green baize, fastened with a string above the knees. his hat was a "broad-brimmed felt," costly enough, but somewhat crushed by being sat upon and slept in. he bestrode a tall raw-boned stood that possessed many of the characteristics of the rider; and in the same proportion that the latter overtopped his companions, so did the steed out-size all the other horses of the cavalcade. over the shoulders of the kentuckian were suspended, by several straps, pouch, horn, and haversack, and resting upon his toe was the butt of a heavy rifle, the muzzle of which reached to a level with his shoulder. he was a rich kentucky planter, and known in his native state as a great deer-hunter. some business or pleasure had brought him to saint louis. it was hinted that kentucky was becoming too thickly settled for him-deer becoming scarce, and bear hardly to be found--and that his visit to saint louis had something to do with seeking a new "location" where these animals were still to be met with in greater plenty. the idea of buffalo-hunting was just to his liking. the expedition would carry him through the frontier country, where he might afterwards choose his "location"--at all events the sport would repay him, and he was one of the most enthusiastic in regard to it. he that looms up on the retrospect of my memory as number 3 was as unlike the kentuckian, as the latter was to thompson. he was a disciple of esculapius--not thin and pale, as these usually are, but fat, red, and jolly. i think he was originally a "yankee," though his long residence in the western states had rubbed the yankee out of him to a great extent. at all events he had few of their characteristics about him. he was neither staid, sober, nor, what is usually alleged as a trait of the true bred yankee, "stingy." on the contrary, our doctor was full of talk and joviality--generous to a fault. a fault, indeed; for, although many years in practice in various parts of the united states, and having earned large sums of money, at the date of our expedition we found him in saint louis almost without a dollar, and with no great stock of patients. the truth must be told; the doctor was of a restless disposition, and liked his glass too well. he was a singer too, a fine amateur singer, with a voice equal to mario's. that may partly account for his failure in securing a fortune. he was a favourite with all--ladies included--and so fond of good company, that he preferred the edge of the jovial board to the bed-side of a patient. not from any fondness for buffalo-hunting, but rather through an attachment to some of the company, had the doctor volunteered. indeed, he was solicited by all to make one of us--partly on account of his excellent society, and partly that his professional services might be called into requisition before our return. the doctor still preserved his professional costume of black--somewhat russet by long wear--but this was modified by a close-fitting fur cap, and wrappers of brown cloth, which he wore around his short thick legs. he was not over-well mounted--a very spare little horse was all he had, as his funds would not stretch to a better. it was quite a quiet one, however, and carried the doctor and his "medical saddle-bags" steadily enough, though not without a good deal of spurring and whipping. the doctor's name was "jopper"--dr john jopper. a very elegant youth, with fine features, rolling black eyes, and luxuriant curled hair, was one of us. the hands were well formed and delicate; the complexion silky, and of nearly an olive tint; but the purplish-red broke through upon his cheeks, giving the earnest of health, as well as adding to the picturesque beauty of his face. the form was perfect, and full of manly expression, and the pretty sky-blue plaited pantaloons and close-fitting jacket of the same material, sat gracefully on his well-turned limbs and arms. these garments were of "cottonade," that beautiful and durable fabric peculiar to louisiana, and so well suited to the southern climate. a costly panama hat cast its shadow over the wavy curls and pictured cheek of this youth, and a cloak of fine broad cloth, with velvet facings, hung loosely from his shoulders. a slight moustache and imperial lent a manlier expression to his chiselled features. this young fellow was a creole of louisiana--a student of one of the jesuit colleges of that state--and although very unlike what would be expected from such a dashing personage, he was an ardent, even passionate, lover of nature. though still young, he was the most accomplished botanist in his state, and had already published several discoveries in the _flora_ of the south. of course the expedition was to him a delightful anticipation. it would afford the finest opportunity for prosecuting his favourite study in a new field; one as yet almost unvisited by the scientific traveller. the young creole was known as jules besancon. he was not the only naturalist of the party. another was with us; one who had already acquired a world-wide fame; whose name was as familiar to the _savans_ of europe as to his own countrymen. he was already an old man, almost venerable in his aspect, but his tread was firm, and his arm still strong enough to steady his long, heavy, double-barrelled rifle. an ample coat of dark blue covered his body; his limbs were enveloped in long buttoned leggings of drab cloth, and a cap of sable surmounted his high, broad forehead. under this his blueish grey eye glanced with a calm but clear intelligence, and a single look from it satisfied you that you were in the presence of a superior mind. were i to give the name of this person, this would readily be acknowledged. for certain reasons i cannot do this. suffice it to say, he was one of the most distinguished of modern zoologists, and to his love for the study we were indebted for his companionship upon our hunting expedition. he was known to us as mr a-the "hunter-naturalist." there was no jealousy between him and the young besancon. on the contrary, a similarity of tastes soon brought about a mutual friendship, and the creole was observed to treat the other with marked deference and regard. i may set myself down as number 6 of the party. let a short description of me suffice. i was then but a young fellow, educated somewhat better than common; fond of wild sports; not indifferent to a knowledge of nature; fond almost to folly of a good horse, and possessing one of the very best; not ill-looking in the face, and of middle stature; costumed in a light hunting-shirt of embroidered buckskin, with fringed cape and skirt; leggings of scarlet cloth, and cloth forage-cap, covering a flock of dark hair. powder-flask and pouch of tasty patterns; belt around the waist, with hunting-knife and pistols--revolvers. a light rifle in one hand, and in the other a bridle-rein, which guided a steed of coal blackness; one that would have been celebrated in song by a troubadour of the olden time. a deep spanish saddle of stamped leather; holsters with bearskin covers in front; a scarlet blanket, folded and strapped on the croup; lazo and haversack hanging from the "horn"--_voila tout_! there are two characters still undescribed. characters of no mean importance were they--the "guides." they were called respectively, isaac bradley and mark redwood. a brace of trappers they were, but as different from each other in personal appearance as two men could well be. redwood was a man of large dimensions, and apparently as strong as a buffalo, while his _confrere_ was a thin, wiry, sinewy mortal, with a tough, weasel-like look and gait. the expression of redwood's countenance was open and manly, his eyes were grey, his hair light-coloured, and huge brown whiskers covered his cheeks. bradley, on the other hand, was dark--his eyes small, black, and piercing--his face as hairless as an indian's, and bronzed almost to the indian hue, with the black hair of his head closely cropped around it. both these men were dressed in leather from head to foot, yet they were very differently dressed. redwood wore the usual buckskin hunting-shirt, leggings, and moccasins, but all of full proportions and well cut, while his large 'coon-skin cap, with the plume-like tail, had an imposing appearance. bradley's garments, on the contrary, were tight-fitting and "skimped." his hunting-shirt was without cape, and adhered so closely to his body that it appeared only an outer skin of the man himself. his leggings were pinched and tight. shirt, leggings, and moccasins were evidently of the oldest kind, and as dirty as a cobbler's apron. a close-fitting otter cap, with a mackinaw blanket, completed the wardrobe of isaac bradley. he was equipped with a pouch of greasy leather hanging by an old black strap, a small buffalo-horn suspended by a thong, and a belt of buffalo-leather, in which was stuck a strong blade, with its handle of buckhorn. his rifle was of the "tallest" kind--being full six feet in height--in fact, taller than he was, and at least four fifths of the weapon consisted of barrel. the straight narrow stock was a piece of manufacture that had proceeded from the hands of the trapper himself. redwood's rifle was also a long one, but of more modern build and fashion, and his equipments--pouch, powder-horn and belt--were of a more tasty design and finish. such were our guides, redwood and bradley. they were no imaginary characters these. mark redwood was a celebrated "mountain-man" at that time, and isaac bradley will be recognised by many when i give him the name and title by which he was then known,--viz. "old ike, the wolf-killer." redwood rode a strong horse of the half-hunter breed, while the "wolf-killer" was mounted upon one of the scraggiest looking quadrupeds it would be possible to imagine--an old mare "mustang." chapter two. the camp and camp-fire. our route was west by south. the nearest point with which we expected to fall in with the buffalo was two hundred miles distant. we might travel three hundred without seeing one, and even much farther at the present day; but a report had reached saint louis that the buffalo had been seen that year upon the osage river, west of the ozark hills, and towards that point we steered our course. we expected in about twenty days to fall in with the game. fancy a cavalcade of hunters making a journey of twenty days to get upon the field! the reader will, no doubt, say we were in earnest. at the time of which i am writing, a single day's journey from saint louis carried the traveller clear of civilised life. there were settlements beyond; but these were sparse and isolated--a few small towns or plantations upon the main watercourses--and the whole country between them was an uninhabited wilderness. we had no hope of being sheltered by a roof until our return to the mound city itself, but we had provided ourselves with a couple of tents, part of the freight of our waggon. there are but few parts of the american wilderness where the traveller can depend upon wild game for a subsistence. even the skilled hunter when stationary is sometimes put to his wits' end for "daily bread." upon the "route" no great opportunity is found of killing game, which always requires time to approach it with caution. although we passed through what appeared to be excellent cover for various species of wild animals, we reached our first camp without having ruffled either hair or feathers. in fact, neither bird nor quadruped had been seen, although almost every one of the party had been on the look out for game during most of the journey. this was rather discouraging, and we reasoned that if such was to be our luck until we got into the buffalo-range we should have a very dull time of it. we were well provisioned, however, and we regretted the absence of game only on account of the sport. a large bag of biscuit, and one of flour, several pieces of "hung bacon," some dry ox-tongues, a stock of green coffee, sugar, and salt, were the principal and necessary stores. there were "luxuries," too, which each had provided according to his fancy, though not much of these, as every one of the party had had some time or other in his life a little experience in the way of "roughing it." most of the loading of the waggon consisted of provender for our horses and mules. we made full thirty miles on the first day. our road was a good one. we passed over easy undulations, most of them covered with "black-jack." this is a species of dwarf oak, so called from the very dark colour of its wrinkled bark. it is almost worthless as a timber, being too small for most purposes. it is ornamental, however, forming copse-like groves upon the swells of the prairie, while its dark green foliage contrasts pleasantly with the lighter green of the grasses beneath its shade. the young botanist, besancon, had least cause to complain. his time had been sufficiently pleasant during the day. new foliage fell under his observation--new flowers opened their corollas to his delighted gaze. he was aided in making his collections by the hunter-naturalist, who of course was tolerably well versed in this kindred science. we encamped by the edge of a small creek of clear water. our camp was laid out in due form, and everything arranged in the order we designed habitually to follow. every man unsaddled his own horse. there are no servants in prairie-land. even lanty's services extended not beyond the _cuisine_, and for this department he had had his training as the cook of a new orleans trading ship. jake had enough to do with his mules; and to have asked one of our hunter-guides to perform the task of unsaddling your horse, would have been a hazardous experiment. menial service to a free trapper! there are no servants in prairie-land. our horses and mules were picketed on a piece of open ground, each having his "trail-rope," which allowed a circuit of several yards. the two tents were pitched side by side, facing the stream, and the waggon drawn up some twenty feet in the rear. in the triangle between the waggon and the tents was kindled a large fire, upon each side of which two stakes, forked at the top, were driven into the ground. a long sapling resting in the forks traversed the blaze from side to side. this was lanty's "crane,"--the fire was his kitchen. let me sketch the camp more minutely, for our first camp was a type of all the others in its general features. sometimes indeed the tents did not front the same way, when these openings were set to "oblige the wind," but they were always placed side by side in front of the waggon. they were small tents of the old-fashioned conical kind, requiring only one pole each. they were of sufficient size for our purpose, as there were only three of us to each--the guides, with jake and lanty, finding their lodgment under the tilt of the waggon. with their graceful shape, and snowy-white colour against the dark green foliage of the trees, they formed an agreeable contrast; and a _coup d'oeil_ of the camp would have been no mean picture to the eye of an artist. the human figures may be arranged in the following manner. supper is getting ready, and lanty is decidedly at this time the most important personage on the ground. he is stooping over the fire, with a small but long-handled frying-pan, in which he is parching the coffee. it is already browned, and lanty stirs it about with an iron spoon. the crane carries the large coffee-kettle of sheet iron, full of water upon the boil; and a second frying-pan, larger than the first, is filled with sliced ham, ready to be placed upon the hot cinders. our english friend thompson is seated upon a log, with the hat-box before him. it is open, and he has drawn out from it his stock of combs and brushes. he has already made his ablutions, and is now giving the finish to his toilet, by putting his hair, whiskers, moustache, teeth, and even his nails, in order. your englishman is the most comfortable traveller in the world. the kentuckian is differently engaged. he is upon his feet; in one hand gleams a knife with ivory handle and long shining blade. it is a "bowie," of that kind known as an "arkansas toothpick." in the other hand you see an object about eight inches in length, of the form of a parallelogram, and of a dark brown colour. it is a "plug" of real "james's river tobacco." with his knife the kentuckian cuts off a piece--a "chunk," as he terms it--which is immediately transferred to his mouth, and chewed to a pulp. this is his occupation for the moment. the doctor, what of him? doctor jopper may be seen close to the water's edge. in his hand is a pewter flask, of the kind known as a "pocket pistol." that pistol is loaded with brandy, and dr jopper is just in the act of drawing part of the charge, which, with a slight admixture of cool creek water, is carried aloft and poured into a very droughty vessel. the effect, however, is instantly apparent in the lively twinkle of the doctor's round and prominent eyes. besancon is seated near the tent, and the old naturalist beside him. the former is busy with the new plants he has collected. a large portfolio-looking book rests upon his knees, and between its leaves he is depositing his stores in a scientific manner. his companion, who understands the business well, is kindly assisting him. their conversation is interesting, but every one else is too busy with his affairs to listen to it just now. the guides are lounging about the waggon. old ike fixes a new flint in his rifle, and redwood, of a more mirthful disposition, is occasionally cracking a joke with mike or the "darkey." jake is still busy with his mules, and i with my favourite steed, whose feet i have washed in the stream, and anointed with a little spare grease. i shall not always have the opportunity of being so kind to him, but he will need it the less, as his hoofs become more hardened by the journey. around the camp are strewed our saddles, bridles, blankets, weapons, and utensils. these will all be collected and stowed under cover before we go to rest. such is a picture of our camp before supper. when that meal is cooked, the scene somewhat changes. the atmosphere, even at that season, was cool enough, and this, with mike's announcement that the coffee was ready, brought all the party-guides as well--around the blazing pile of logs. each found his own platter, knife, and cup; and, helping himself from the general stock, set to eating on his own account. of course there were no fragments, as a strict regard to economy was one of the laws of our camp. notwithstanding the fatigue, always incidental to a first day's march, we enjoyed this _al fresco_ supper exceedingly. the novelty had much to do with our enjoyment of it, and also the fine appetites which we had acquired since our luncheon at noon halt. when supper was over, smoking followed, for there was not one of the party who was not an inveterate burner of the "noxious weed." some chose cigars, of which we had brought a good stock, but several were pipe-smokers. the zoologist carried a meerschaum; the guides smoked out of indian calumets of the celebrated steatite, or red claystone. mike had his dark-looking "dudeen," and jake his pipe of corn "cob" and cane-joint shank. our english friend thompson had a store of the finest havannahs, which he smoked with the grace peculiar to the english cigar smoker; holding his cigar impaled upon the point of his knife-blade. kentucky also smoked cigars, but his was half buried within his mouth, slanted obliquely towards the right cheek. besancon preferred the paper cigarette, which he made extempore, as he required them, out of a stock of loose tobacco. this is creole fashion--now also the _mode de paris_. a song from the doctor enlivened the conversation, and certainly so melodious a human voice had never echoed near the spot. one and all agreed that the grand opera had missed a capital "first tenor" in not securing the services of our companion. the fatigue of our long ride caused us to creep into our tents at an early hour, and rolling ourselves in our blankets we went to sleep. of course everything had been carefully gathered in lest rain might fall in the night. the trail-ropes of our animals were looked to: we did not fear their being stolen, but horses on their first few days' journey are easily "stampeded," and will sometimes stray home again. this would have been a great misfortune, but most of us were old travellers, and every caution was observed in securing against such a result. there was no guard kept, though we knew the time would come when that would be a necessary duty. chapter three. besancon's adventure in the swamps. the prairie traveller never sleeps after daybreak. he is usually astir before that time. he has many "_chores_" to perform, unknown to the ordinary traveller who rests in the roadside inn. he has to pack up his tent and bed, cook his own breakfast, and saddle his horse. all this requires time, therefore an early start is necessary. we were on our feet before the sun had shown his disc above the black-jacks. lanty had the start of us, and had freshened up his fire. already the coffee-kettle was bubbling audibly, and the great frying-pan perfumed the camp with an incense more agreeable than the odours of araby. the raw air of the morning had brought everybody around the fire. thompson was pruning and cleansing his nails; the kentuckian was cutting a fresh "chunk" from his plug of "james's river;" the doctor had just returned from the stream, where he had refreshed himself by a "nip" from his pewter flask; besancon was packing up his portfolios; the zoologist was lighting his long pipe, and the "captain" was looking to his favourite horse, while inhaling the fragrance of an "havannah." the guides stood with their blankets hanging from their shoulders silent and thoughtful. in half an hour breakfast was over, the tents and utensils were restored to the waggon, the horses were brought in and saddled, the mules "hitched up," and the expedition once more on its way. this day we made not quite so good a journey. the roads were heavier, the country more thickly timbered, and the ground more hilly. we had several small streams to ford, and this retarded our progress. twenty miles was the extent of our journey. we encamped again without any of us having killed or seen game. although we had beaten the bushes on both sides of our course, nothing bigger than the red-bird (scarlet tanager, _pyranga rubra_), a screaming jay, or an occasional flight of finches, gratified our sight. we reached our camp somewhat disappointed. even old ike and redwood came into camp without game, alleging also that they had not met with the sign of a living quadruped. our second camp was also on the bank of a small stream. shortly after our arrival on the ground, thompson started out afoot, taking with him his gun. he had noticed a tract of marsh at no great distance off. he thought it promised well for snipe. he had not been long gone, when two reports echoed back, and then shortly after another and another. he had found something to empty his gun at. presently we saw him returning with a brace and a half of birds that looked very much like large snipe. so he thought them, but that question was set at rest by the zoologist, who pronounced them at once to be the american "curlew" of wilson (_numenius longirostris_). curlew or snipe, they were soon divested of the feathery coat, and placed in lanty's frying-pan. excellent eating they proved, having only the fault that there was not enough of them. these birds formed the topic of our after-supper conversation, and then it generalised to the different species of wading birds of america, and at length that singular creature, the "ibis," became the theme. this came round by besancon remarking that a species of ibis was brought by the indians to the markets of new orleans, and sold there under the name of "spanish curlew." this was the white ibis (_tantalus albas_), which the zoologist stated was found in plenty along the whole southern coast of the united states. there were two other species, he said, natives of the warm parts of north america, the "wood-ibis" (_tantalus loculator_), which more nearly resembles the sacred ibis of egypt, and the beautiful "sacred ibis" (_tantalus ruber_), which last is rarer than the others. our venerable companion, who had the ornithology of america, if i may use the expression, at his fingers' ends, imparted many curious details of the habits of these rare birds. all listened with interest to his statements--even the hunter-guides, for with all their apparent rudeness of demeanour, there was a dash of the naturalist in these fellows. when the zoologist became silent, the young creole took up the conversation. talking of the ibis, he said, reminded him of an adventure he had met with while in pursuit of these birds among the swamps of his native state. he would relate it to us. of course we were rejoiced at the proposal. we were just the audience for an "adventure," and after rolling a fresh cigarette, the botanist began his narration. "during one of my college vacations i made a botanical excursion to the south-western part of louisiana. before leaving home i had promised a dear friend to bring him the skins of such rare birds as were known to frequent the swampy region i was about to traverse, but he was especially desirous i should obtain for him some specimens of the red ibis, which he intended to have `mounted.' i gave my word that no opportunity should be lost of obtaining these birds, and i was very anxious to make good my promise. "the southern part of the state of louisiana is one vast labyrinth of swamps, bayous, and lagoons. the bayous are sluggish streams that glide sleepily along, sometimes running one way, and sometimes the very opposite, according to the season of the year. many of them are outlets of the mississippi, which begins to shed off its waters more than 300 miles from its mouth. these bayous are deep, sometimes narrow, sometimes wide, with islets in their midst. they and their contiguous swamps are the great habitat of the alligator and the fresh-water shark--the gar. numerous species of water and wading fowl fly over them, and plunge through their dark tide. here you may see the red flamingo, the egret, the trumpeter-swan, the blue heron, the wild goose, the crane, the snake-bird, the pelican, and the ibis; you may likewise see the osprey, and the white-headed eagle robbing him of his prey. both swamps and bayous produce abundantly fish, reptile, and insect, and are, consequently, the favourite resort of hundreds of birds which prey upon these creatures. in some places, their waters form a complete net-work over the country, which you may traverse with a small boat in almost any direction; indeed, this is the means by which many settlements communicate with each other. as you approach southward towards the gulf, you get clear of the timber; and within some fifty miles of the sea, there is not a tree to be seen. "in the first day or two that i was out, i had succeeded in getting all the specimens i wanted, with the exception of the ibis. this shy creature avoided me; in fact i had only seen one or two in my excursions, and these at a great distance. i still, however, had hopes of finding them before my return to my friend. "about the third or fourth day i set out from a small settlement on the edge of one of the larger bayous. i had no other company than my gun. i was even unattended by a dog, as my favourite spaniel had the day before been bitten by an alligator while swimming across the bayou, and i was compelled to leave him at the settlement. of course the object of my excursion was a search after new flora, but i had become by this time very desirous of getting the rare ibis, and i was determined half to neglect my botanising for that purpose. i went of course in a boat, a light skiff, such as is commonly used by the inhabitants of these parts. "occasionally using the paddles, i allowed myself to float some four or live miles down the main bayou; but as the birds i was in search of did not appear, i struck into a `branch,' and sculled myself up-stream. this carried me through a solitary region, with marshes stretching as far as the eye could see, covered with tall reeds. there was no habitation, nor aught that betokened the presence of man. it was just possible that i was the first human being who had ever found a motive for propelling a boat through the dark waters of this solitary stream. "as i advanced, i fell in with game; and i succeeded in bagging several, both of the great wood-ibis and the white species. i also shot a fine white-headed eagle (_falco leucocephalus_), which came soaring over my boat, unconscious of danger. but the bird which i most wanted seemed that which could not be obtained. i wanted the scarlet ibis. "i think i had rowed some three miles up-stream, and was about to take in my oars and leave my boat to float back again, when i perceived that, a little farther up, the bayou widened. curiosity prompted me to continue; and after pulling a few hundred strokes, i found myself at the end of an oblong lake, a mile or so in length. it was deep, dark, marshy around the shores, and full of alligators. i saw their ugly forms and long serrated backs, as they floated about in all parts of it, hungrily hunting for fish and eating one another; but all this was nothing new, for i had witnessed similar scenes during the whole of my excursion. what drew my attention most, was a small islet near the middle of the lake, upon one end of which stood a row of upright forms of a bright scarlet colour. these red creatures were the very objects i was in search of. they might be flamingoes: i could not tell at that distance. so much the better, if i could only succeed in getting a shot at them; but these creatures are even more wary than the ibis; and as the islet was low, and altogether without cover, it was not likely they would allow me to come within range: nevertheless, i was determined to make the attempt. i rowed up the lake, occasionally turning my head to see if the game had taken the alarm. the sun was hot and dazzling; and as the bright scarlet was magnified by refraction, i fancied for a long time they were flamingoes. this fancy was dissipated as i drew near. the outlines of the bills, like the blade of a sabre, convinced me they were the ibis; besides, i now saw that they were less than three feet in height, while the flamingoes stand five. there were a dozen of them in all. these were balancing themselves, as is their usual habit, on one leg, apparently asleep, or _buried in deep thought_. they were on the upper extremity of the islet, while i was approaching it from below. it was not above sixty yards across; and could i only reach the point nearest me, i knew my gun would throw shot to kill at that distance. i feared the stroke of the sculls would start them, and i pulled slowly and cautiously. perhaps the great heat--for it was as hot a day as i can remember--had rendered them torpid or lazy. whether or not, they sat still until the cut-water of my skiff touched the bank of the islet. i drew my gun up cautiously, took aim, and fired both barrels almost simultaneously. when the smoke cleared out of my eyes, i saw that all the birds had flown off except one, that lay stretched out by the edge of the water. "gun in hand, i leaped out of the boat, and ran across the islet to bag my game. this occupied but a few minutes; and i was turning to go back to the skiff, when, to my consternation, i saw it out upon the lake, and rapidly floating downward! "in my haste i had left it unfastened, and the bayou current had carried it off. it was still but a hundred yards distant, but it might as well have been a hundred miles, for at that time i could not swim a stroke. "my first impulse was to rush down to the lake, and after the boat. this impulse was checked on arriving at the water's edge, which i saw at a glance was fathoms in depth. quick reflection told me that the boat was gone--irrecoverably gone! "i did not at first comprehend the full peril of my situation; nor will you, gentlemen. i was on an islet, in a lake, only half a mile from its shores--alone, it is true, and without a boat; but what of that? many a man had been so before, with not an idea of danger. "these were first thoughts, natural enough; but they rapidly gave place to others of a far different character. when i gazed after my boat, now beyond recovery--when i looked around, and saw that the lake lay in the middle of an interminable swamp, the shores of which, even could i have reached them, did not seem to promise me footing--when i reflected that, being unable to swim, i could _not_ reach them--that upon the islet there was neither tree, nor log, nor bush; not a stick out of which i might make a raft--i say, when i reflected upon all these things, there arose in my mind a feeling of well-defined and absolute horror. "it is true i was only in a lake, a mile or so in width; but so far as the peril and helplessness of my situation were concerned, i might as well have been upon a rock in the middle of the atlantic. i knew that there was no settlement within miles--miles of pathless swamp. i knew that no one could either see or hear me--no one was at all likely to come near the lake; indeed, i felt satisfied that my faithless boat was the first keel that had ever cut its waters. the very tameness of the birds wheeling round my head was evidence of this. i felt satisfied, too, that without some one to help me, i should never go out from that lake: i must die on the islet, or drown in attempting to leave it! "these reflections rolled rapidly over my startled soul. the facts were clear, the hypothesis definite, the sequence certain; there was no ambiguity, no supposititious hinge upon which i could hang a hope; no, not one. i could not even expect that i should be missed and sought for; there was no one to search for me. the simple _habitans_ of the village i had left knew me not--i was a stranger among them: they only knew me as a stranger, and fancied me a strange individual; one who made lonely excursions, and brought home hunches of weeds, with birds, insects, and reptiles, which they had never before seen, although gathered at their own doors. my absence, besides, would be nothing new to them, even though it lasted for days: i had often been absent before, a week at a time. there was no hope of my being missed. "i have said that these reflections came and passed quickly. in less than a minute, my affrighted soul was in full possession of them, and almost yielded itself to despair. i shouted, but rather involuntarily than with any hope that i should be heard; i shouted loudly and fiercely: my answer--the echoes of my own voice, the shriek of the osprey, and the maniac laugh of the white-headed eagle. "i ceased to shout, threw my gun to the earth, and tottered down beside it. i can imagine the feelings of a man shut up in a gloomy prison-they are not pleasant. i have been lost upon the wild prairie--the land sea--without bush, break, or star to guide me--that was worse. there you look around; you see nothing; you hear nothing: you are alone with god, and you tremble in his presence; your senses swim; your brain reels; you are afraid of yourself; you are afraid of your own mind. deserted by everything else, you dread lest it, too, may forsake you. there is horror in this--it is very horrible--it is hard to bear; but i have borne it all, and would bear it again twenty times over rather than endure once more the first hour i spent on that lonely islet in that lonely lake. your prison may be dark and silent, but you feel that you are not utterly alone; beings like yourself are near, though they be your jailers. lost on the prairie, you are alone; but you are free. in the islet, i felt that i was alone; that i was not free: in the islet i experienced the feelings of the prairie and the prison combined. "i lay in a state of stupor--almost unconscious; how long i know not, but many hours i am certain; i knew this by the sun--it was going down when i awoke, if i may so term the recovery of my stricken senses. i was aroused by a strange circumstance: i was surrounded by dark objects of hideous shape and hue--reptiles they were. they had been before my eyes for some time, but i had not seen them. i had only a sort of dreamy consciousness of their presence; but i heard them at length: my ear was in better tune, and the strange noises they uttered reached my intellect. it sounded like the blowing of great bellows, with now and then a note harsher and louder, like the roaring of a bull. this startled me, and i looked up and bent my eyes upon the objects: they were forms of the _crocodilidae_, the giant lizards--they were alligators. "huge ones they were, many of them; and many were they in number--a hundred at least were crawling over the islet, before, behind, and on all sides around me. their long gaunt jaws and channelled snouts projected forward so as almost to touch my body; and their eyes, usually leaden, seemed now to glare. "impelled by this new danger, i sprang to my feet, when, recognising the upright form of man, the reptiles scuttled off, and plunging hurriedly into the lake; hid their hideous bodies under the water. "the incident in some measure revived me. i saw that i was not alone; there was company even in the crocodiles. i gradually became more myself; and began to reflect with some degree of coolness on the circumstances that surrounded me. my eyes wandered over the islet; every inch of it came under my glance; every object upon it was scrutinised--the moulted feathers of wildfowl, the pieces of mud, the fresh-water mussels (_unios_) strewed upon its beach--all were examined. still the barren answer--no means of escape. "the islet was but the head of a sand-bar, formed by the eddy, perhaps gathered together within the year. it was bare of herbage, with the exception of a few tufts of grass. there was neither tree nor bush upon it: not a stick. a raft indeed! there was not wood enough to make a raft that would have floated a frog. the idea of a raft was but briefly entertained; such a thought had certainly crossed my mind, but a single glance round the islet dispelled it before it had taken shape. "i paced my prison from end to end; from side to side i walked it over. i tried the water's depth; on all sides i sounded it, wading recklessly in; everywhere it deepened rapidly as i advanced. three lengths of myself from the islet's edge, and i was up to the neck. the huge reptiles swam around, snorting and blowing; they were bolder in this element. i could not have waded safely ashore, even had the water been shallow. to swim it--no--even though i swam like a duck, they would have closed upon and quartered me before i could have made a dozen strokes. horrified by their demonstrations, i hurried back upon dry ground, and paced the islet with dripping garments. "i continued walking until night, which gathered around me dark and dismal. with night came new voices--the hideous voices of the nocturnal swamp; the qua-qua of the night-heron, the screech of the swamp-owl, the cry of the bittern, the cl-l-uk of the great water-toad, the tinkling of the bell-frog, and the chirp of the savanna-cricket--all fell upon my ear. sounds still harsher and more, hideous were heard around me--the plashing of the alligator, and the roaring of his voice; these reminded me that i must not go to sleep. to sleep! i durst not have slept for a single instant. even when i lay for a few minutes motionless, the dark reptiles came crawling round me--so close that i could have put forth my hand and touched them. "at intervals, i sprang to my feet, shouted, swept my gun around, and chased them back to the water, into which they betook themselves with a sullen plunge, but with little semblance of fear. at each fresh demonstration on my part they showed less alarm, until i could no longer drive them either with shouts or threatening gestures. they only retreated a few feet, forming an irregular circle round me. "thus hemmed in, i became frightened in turn. i loaded my gun and fired; i killed none. they are impervious to a bullet, except in the eye, or under the forearm. it was too dark to aim at these parts; and my shots glanced harmlessly from the pyramidal scales of their bodies. the loud report, however, and the blaze frightened them, and they fled, to return again after a long interval. i was asleep when they returned; i had gone to sleep in spite of my efforts to keep awake. i was startled by the touch of something cold; and half-stilled by the strong musky odour that filled the air. i threw out my arms; my fingers rested upon an object slippery and clammy: it was one of these monsters--one of gigantic size. he had crawled close alongside me, and was preparing to make his attack; as i saw that he was bent in the form of a bow, and i knew that these creatures assume that attitude when about to strike their victim. i was just in time to spring aside, and avoid the stroke of his powerful tail, that the next moment swept the ground where i had lain. again i fired, and he with the rest once more retreated to the lake. "all thoughts of going to sleep were at an end. not that i felt wakeful; on the contrary, wearied with my day's exertion--for i had had a long pull under a hot tropical sun--i could have lain down upon the earth, in the mud, anywhere, and slept in an instant. nothing but the dread certainty of my peril kept me awake. once again before morning, i was compelled to battle with the hideous reptiles, and chase them away with a shot from my gun. "morning came at length, but with it no change in my perilous position. the light only showed me my island prison, but revealed no way of escape from it. indeed, the change could not be called for the better, for the fervid rays of an almost vertical sun poured down upon me until my skin blistered. i was already speckled by the bites of a thousand swamp-flies and mosquitoes, that all night long had preyed upon me. there was not a cloud in the heavens to shade me; and the sunbeams smote the surface of the dead bayou with a double intensity. "towards evening, i began to hunger; no wonder at that: i had not eaten since leaving the village settlement. to assuage thirst, i drank the water of the lake, turbid and slimy as it was. i drank it in large quantities, for it was hot, and only moistened my palate without quenching the craving of my appetite. of water there was enough; i had more to fear from want of food. "what could i eat? the ibis. but how to cook it? there was nothing wherewith to make a fire--not a stick. no matter for that. cooking is a modern invention, a luxury for pampered palates. i divested the ibis of its brilliant plumage, and ate it raw. i spoiled my specimen, but at the time there was little thought of that: there was not much of the naturalist left in me. i anathematised the hour i had ever promised to procure the bird. i wished my friend up to his neck in a swamp. "the ibis did not weigh above three pounds, bones and all. it served me for a second meal, a breakfast; but at this _dejeuner sans fourchette_ i picked the bones. "what next? starve? no--not yet. in the battles i had had with the alligators during the second night, one of them had received a shot that proved mortal. the hideous carcass of the reptile lay dead upon the beach. i need not starve; i could eat that. such were my reflections. i must hunger, though, before i could bring myself to touch the musky morsel. "two more days' fasting conquered my squeamishness. i drew out my knife, cut a steak from the alligator's tail, and ate it--not the one i had first killed, but a second; the other was now putrid, rapidly decomposing under the hot sun: its odour filled the islet. "the stench had grown intolerable. there was not a breath of air stirring, otherwise i might have shunned it by keeping to windward. the whole atmosphere of the islet, as well as a large circle around it, was impregnated with the fearful effluvium. i could bear it no longer. with the aid of my gun, i pushed the half-decomposed carcass into the lake; perhaps the current might carry it away. it did: i had the gratification to see it float off. "this circumstance led me into a train of reflections. why did the body of the alligator float? it was swollen--inflated with gases. ha! "an idea shot suddenly through my mind--one of those brilliant ideas, the children of necessity. i thought of the floating alligator, of its intestines--what if i inflated them? yes, yes! buoys and bladders, floats and life-preservers! that was the thought. i would open the alligators, make a buoy of their intestines, and that would bear me from the islet! "i did not lose a moment's time; i was full of energy: hope had given me new life. my gun was loaded--a huge crocodile that swam near the shore received the shot in his eye. i dragged him on the beach; with my knife i laid open his entrails. few they were, but enough for my purpose. a plume-quill from the wing of the ibis served me for a blow-pipe. i saw the bladder-like skin expand, until i was surrounded by objects like great sausages. those were tied together, and fastened to my body, and then, with a plunge, i entered the waters of the lake, and floated downward. i had tied on my life-preservers in such a way that i sat in the water in an upright position, holding my gun with both hands. this i intended to have, used as a club in case i should be attacked by the alligators; but i had chosen the hot hour of noon, when these creatures lie in a half-torpid state, and to my joy i was not molested. "half an hour's drifting with the current carried me to the end of the lake, and i found myself at the _debouchure_ of the bayou. here, to my great delight, i saw my boat in the swamp, where it had been caught and held fast by the sedge. a few minutes more, and i had swung myself over the gunwale, and was sculling with eager strokes down the smooth waters of the bayou. "of course my adventure was ended, and i reached the settlement in safety, but without the object of my excursion. i was enabled, however, to procure it some days after, and had the gratification of being able to keep my promise to my friend." besancon's adventure had interested all of us; the old hunter-naturalist seemed delighted with it. no doubt it revived within him the memories of many a perilous incident in his own life. it was evident that in the circle of the camp-fire there was more than one pair of lips ready to narrate some similar adventure, but the hour was late, and all agreed it would be better to go to rest. on to-morrow night, some other would take their turn; and, in fact, a regular agreement was entered into that each one of the party who had at any period of his life been the hero or participator in any hunting adventure should narrate the same for the entertainment of the others. this would bring out a regular "round of stories by the camp-fire," and would enable us to kill the many long evenings we had to pass before coming up with the buffalo. the conditions were, that the stories should exclusively relate to birds or animals--in fact, any hunted game belonging to the _fauna_ of the american continent: furthermore, that each should contribute his _quota_ of information about whatever animal should chance to be the subject of the narration--about its habits, its geographical range; in short, its general natural history, as well as the various modes of hunting it, practised in different places by different people. this, it was alleged, would render our camp conversation instructive as well as entertaining. the idea originated with the old hunter-naturalist, who very wisely reasoned that among so many gentlemen of large hunting experience he might collect new facts for his favourite science--for to just such men, and not to the closet-dreamer, is natural history indebted for its most interesting chapters. of course every one of us, guides and all, warmly applauded the proposal, for there was no one among us averse to receiving a little knowledge of so entertaining a character. no doubt to the naturalist himself we should be indebted for most part of it; and his mode of communicating was so pleasant, that even the rude trappers listened to him with wonder and attention. they saw that he was no "greenhorn" either in woodcraft or prairie knowledge, and that was a sufficient claim to their consideration. there is no character less esteemed by the regular "mountain-man" than a "greenhorn,"--that is, one who is new to the ways of their wilderness life. with the design of an early start, we once more crept into our several quarters, and went to sleep. chapter four. the passenger-pigeons. after an early breakfast we lit our pipes and cigars, and took to the road. the sun was very bright, and in less than two hours after starting we were sweltering under a heat almost tropical. it was one of those autumn days peculiar to america, where even a high latitude seems to be no protection against the sun, and his beams fall upon one with as much fervour as they would under the line itself. the first part of our journey was through open woods of black-jack, whose stunted forms afforded no shade, but only shut off the breeze which might otherwise have fanned us. while fording a shallow stream, the doctor's scraggy, ill-tempered horse took a fit of kicking quite frantical. for some time it seemed likely that either the doctor himself, or his saddle-bags, would be deposited in the bottom of the creek, but after a severe spell of whipping and kicking on the part of the rider, the animal moved on again. what had set it dancing? that was the question. it had the disposition to be "frisky," but usually appeared to be lacking in strength. the buzz of a horse-fly sounding in our ears explained all. it was one of those large insects--the "horse-bug,"--peculiar to the mississippi country, and usually found near watercourses. they are more terrible to horses than a fierce dog would be. i have known horses gallop away from them as if pursued by a beast of prey. there is a belief among western people that these insects are propagated by the horses themselves; that is, that the eggs of the female are deposited upon the grass, so that the horses may swallow them; that incubation goes on within the stomach of the animal, and that the chrysalis is afterwards voided. i have met with others who believed in a still stranger theory; that the insect itself actually sought, and found, a passage into the stomach of the horse, some said by passing down his throat, others by boring a hole through his abdomen; and that in such cases the horse usually sickened, and was in danger of dying! after the doctor's mustang had returned to proper behaviour, these odd theories became the subject of discussion. the kentuckian believed in them--the englishman doubted them--the hunter-naturalist could not endorse them--and besancon ignored them entirely. shortly after the incident we entered the bottom lands of a considerable stream. these were heavily-timbered, and the shadow of the great forest trees afforded us a pleasant relief from the hot sun. our guides told us we had several miles of such woods to pass through, and we were glad of the information. we noticed that most of the trees were beech, and their smooth straight trunks rose like columns around us. the beech (_fagus sylvatica_) is one of the most beautiful of american forest trees. unlike most of the others, its bark is smooth, without fissures, and often of a silvery hue. large beech-trees standing by the path, or near a cross road, are often seen covered with names, initials, and dates. even the indian often takes advantage of the bark of a beech-tree to signalise his presence to his friends, or commemorate some savage exploit. indeed, the beautiful column-like trunk seems to invite the knife, and many a souvenir is carved upon it by the loitering wayfarer. it does not, however, invite the axe of the settler. on the contrary, the beechen woods often remain untouched, while others fall around them--partly because these trees are not usually the indices of the richest soil, but more from the fact that clearing a piece of beech forest is no easy matter. the green logs do not burn so readily as those of the oak, the elm, the maple, or poplar, and hence the necessity of "rolling" them off the ground to be cleared--a serious thing where labour is scarce and dear. we were riding silently along, when all at once our ears were assailed by a strange noise. it resembled the clapping of a thousand pairs of hands, followed by a whistling sound, as if a strong wind had set suddenly in among the trees. we all knew well enough what it meant, and the simultaneous cry of "pigeons," was followed by half a dozen simultaneous cracks from the guns of the party, and several bluish birds fell to the ground. we had stumbled upon a feeding-place of the passenger-pigeon (_columba migratoria_). our route was immediately abandoned, and in a few minutes we were in the thick of the flock, cracking away at them both with shot-gun and rifle. it was not so easy, however, to bring them down in any considerable numbers. in following them up we soon strayed from each other, until our party was completely scattered, and nearly two hours elapsed before we got back to the road. our game-bag, however, made a fine show, and about forty brace were deposited in the waggon. with the anticipation of roast pigeon and "pot-pie," we rode on more cheerily to our night-camp. all along the route the pigeons were seen, and occasionally large flocks whirled over our heads under the canopy of the trees. satiated with the sport, and not caring to waste our ammunition, we did not heed them farther. in order to give lanty due time for the duties of the _cuisine_, we halted a little earlier than usual. our day's march had been a short one, but the excitement and sport of the pigeon-hunt repaid us for the loss of time. our dinner-supper--for it was a combination of both--was the dish known in america as "pot-pie," in which the principal ingredients were the pigeons, some soft flour paste, with a few slices of bacon to give it a flavour. properly speaking, the "pot-pie" is not a pie, but a stew. ours was excellent, and as our appetites wore in a similar condition, a goodly quantity was used up in appeasing them. of course the conversation of the evening was the "wild pigeon of america," and the following facts regarding its natural history-although many of them are by no means new--may prove interesting to the reader, as they did to those who listened to the relation of them around our camp-fire. the "passenger" is less in size than the house pigeon. in the air it looks not unlike the kite, wanting the forked or "swallow" tail. that of the pigeon is cuneiform. its colour is best described by calling it a nearly uniform slate. in the male the colours are deeper, and the neck-feathers present the same changeable hues of green, gold, and purple-crimson, generally observed in birds of this species. it is only in the woods, and when freshly caught or killed, that these brilliant tints can be seen to perfection. they fade in captivity, and immediately after the bird has been shot. they seem to form part of its life and liberty, and disappear when it is robbed of either. i have often thrust the wild pigeon, freshly killed, into my game-bag, glittering like an opal. i have drawn it forth a few hours after of a dull leaden hue, and altogether unlike the same bird. as with all birds of this tribe, the female is inferior to the male, both in size and plumage. the eye is less vivid. in the male it is of the most brilliant fiery orange, inclosed in a well-defined circle of red. the eye is in truth its finest feature, and never fails to strike the beholder with admiration. the most singular fact in the natural history of the "passenger," is their countless numbers. audubon saw a flock that contained "one billion one hundred and sixteen millions of birds!" wilson counted, or rather computed, another flock of "two thousand two hundred and thirty millions!" these numbers seem incredible. i have no doubt of their truth. i have no doubt that they are _under_ rather than _over_ the numbers actually seen by both these naturalists, for both made most liberal allowances in their calculations. where do these immense flocks come from? the wild pigeons breed in all parts of america. their breeding-places are found as far north as the hudson's bay, and they have been seen in the southern forests of louisiana and texas. the nests are built upon high trees, and resemble immense rookeries. in kentucky, one of their breeding-places was forty miles in length, by several in breadth! one hundred nests will often be found upon a single tree, and in each nest there is but one "squab." the eggs are pure white, like those of the common kind, and, like them, they breed several times during the year, but principally when food is plenty. they establish themselves in great "roosts," sometimes for years together, to which each night they return from their distant excursions--hundreds of miles, perhaps; for this is but a short fly for travellers who can pass over a mile in a single minute, and some of whom have even strayed across the atlantic to england! they, however, as i myself have observed, remain in the same woods where they have been feeding for several days together. i have also noticed that they prefer roosting in the low underwood, even when tall trees are close at hand. if near water, or hanging over a stream, the place is still more to their liking; and in the morning they may be seen alighting on the bank to drink, before taking to their daily occupation. the great "roosts" and breeding-places are favourite resorts for numerous birds of prey. the small vultures (_cathartes aura_ and _atratus_), or, as they are called in the west, "turkey buzzard," and "carrion crow," do not confine themselves to carrion alone. they are fond of live "squabs," which they drag out of their nests at pleasure. numerous hawks and kites prey upon them; and even the great white-headed eagle (_falco leucocephalus_) may be seen soaring above, and occasionally swooping down for a dainty morsel. on the ground beneath move enemies of a different kind, both biped and quadruped. fowlers with their guns and long poles; farmers with waggons to carry off the dead birds; and even droves of hogs to devour them. trees fall under the axe, and huge branches break down by the weight of the birds themselves, killing numbers in their descent. torches are used--for it is usually a night scene, after the return of the birds from feeding,-pots of burning sulphur, and other engines of destruction. a noisy scene it is. the clapping of a million pair of wings, like the roaring of thunder; the shots; the shouts; men hoarsely calling to each other; women and children screaming their delight; the barking of dogs; the neighing of horses; the "crashes" of breaking branches; and the "chuck" of the woodman's axe, all mingled together. when the men--saturated with slaughter, and white with ordure--have retired beyond the borders of the roost to rest themselves for the night, their ground is occupied by the prowling wolf and the fox; the racoon and the cougar; the lynx and the great black bear. with so many enemies, one would think that the "passengers" would soon be exterminated. not so. they are too prolific for that. indeed, were it not for these enemies, they themselves would perish for want of food. fancy what it takes to feed them! the flock seen by wilson would require eighteen million bushels of grain every day!--and it, most likely, was only one of many such that at the time were traversing the vast continent of america. upon what do they feed? it will be asked. upon the fruits of the great forest--upon the acorns, the nuts of the beech, upon buck-wheat, and indian corn; upon many species of berries, such as the huckleberry (_whortleberry_), the hackberry (_celtis crassifolia_), and the fruit of the holly. in the northern regions, where these are scarce, the berries of the juniper tree (_juniperus communis_) form the principal food. on the other hand, among the southern plantations, they devour greedily the rice, as well as the nuts of the chestnut-tree and several species of oaks. but their staple food is the beech-nut, or "mast," as it is called. of this the pigeons are fond, and fortunately it exists in great plenty. in the forests of western america there are vast tracts covered almost entirely with the beech-tree. as already stated, these beechen forests of america remain almost intact, and so long as they shower down their millions of bushels of "mast," so long will the passenger-pigeons flutter in countless numbers amidst their branches. their migration is semi-annual; but unlike most other migratory birds, it is far from being regular. their flight is, in fact, not a periodical migration, but a sort of nomadic existence--food being the object which keeps them in motion and directs their course. the scarcity in one part determines their movement to another. when there is more than the usual fall of snow in the northern regions, vast flocks make their appearance in the middle states, as in ohio and kentucky. this may in some measure account for the overcrowded "roosts" which have been occasionally seen, but which are by no means common. you may live in the west for many years without witnessing a scene such as those described by wilson and audubon, though once or twice every year you may see pigeons enough to astonish you. it must not be imagined that the wild pigeons of america are so "tame" as they have been sometimes represented. that is their character only while young at the breeding-places, or at the great roosts when confused by crowding upon each other, and mystified by torch-light. far different are they when wandering through the open woods in search of food. it is then both difficult to approach and hard to kill them. odd birds you may easily reach; you may see them perched upon the branches on all sides of you, and within shot-range; but the _thick_ of the flock, somehow or other, always keeps from one to two hundred yards off. the sportsman cannot bring himself to fire at single birds. no. there is a tree near at hand literally black with pigeons. its branches creak under the weight. what a fine havoc he will make if he can but get near enough! but that is the difficulty; there is no cover, and he must approach as he best can without it. he continues to advance; the birds sit silent, watching his movements. he treads lightly and with caution; he inwardly anathematises the dead leaves and twigs that make a loud rustling under his feet. the birds appear restless; several stretch out their necks as if to spring off. at length he deems himself fairly within range, and raises his gun to take aim; but this is a signal for the shy game, and before he can draw trigger they are off to another tree! some stragglers still remain; and at them he levels his piece and fires. the shot is a random one; for our sportsman, having failed to "cover" the flock, has become irritated and careless, and in all such cases the pigeons fly off with the loss of a few feathers. the gun is reloaded, and our amateur hunter, seeing the thick flock upon another tree, again endeavours to approach it, but with like success. chapter five. hunt with a howitzer. when the conversation about the haunts and habits of these birds began to flag, some one called for a "pigeon story." who could tell a pigeon story? to our surprise the doctor volunteered one, and all gathered around to listen. "yes, gentlemen," began the doctor, "i have a pigeon adventure, which occurred to me some years ago. i was then living in cincinnati, following my respectable calling, when i had the good fortune to set a broken leg for one colonel p--, a wealthy planter, who lived upon the bank of the river some sixty miles from the city. i made a handsome set of if, and won the colonel's friendship for ever. shortly after, i was invited to his house, to be present at a great pigeon-hunt which was to come off in the fall. the colonel's plantation stood among beech woods, and he had therefore an annual visitation of the pigeons, and could tell almost to a day when they would appear. the hunt he had arranged for the gratification of his numerous friends. "as you all know, gentlemen, sixty miles in our western travel is a mere bagatelle; and tired of pills and prescriptions, i flung myself into a boat, and in a few hours arrived at the colonel's stately home. a word or two about this stately home and its proprietor. "colonel p-was a splendid specimen of the backwoods' gentleman--you will admit there _are_ gentlemen in the backwoods." (here the doctor glanced good-humouredly, first at our english friend thompson, and then at the kentuckian, both of whom answered him with a laugh.) "his house was the type of a backwoods mansion; a wooden structure, both walls and roof. no matter. it has distributed as much hospitality in its time as many a marble palace; that was one of its backwoods' characteristics. it stood, and i hope still stands, upon the north bank of the ohio--that beautiful stream--`_la belle riviere_,' as the french colonists, and before their time the indians, used to call it. it was in the midst of the woods, though around it were a thousand acres of `clearing,' where you might distinguish fields of golden wheat, and groves of shining maize plants waving aloft their yellow-flower tassels. you might note, too, the broad green leaf of the nicotian `weed,' or the bursting pod of the snow-white cotton. in the garden you might observe the sweet potato, the common one, the refreshing tomato, the huge water-melon, cantelopes, and musk melons, with many other delicious vegetables. you could see pods of red and green pepper growing upon trailing plants; and beside them several species of peas and beans--all valuable for the colonel's _cuisine_. there was an orchard, too, of several acres in extent. it was filled with fruit-trees, the finest peaches in the world, and the finest apples--the newton pippins. besides, there were luscious pears and plums, and upon the espaliers, vines bearing bushels of sweet grapes. if colonel p-lived in the woods, it cannot be said that he was surrounded by a desert. "there were several substantial log-houses near the main building or mansion. they were the stable--and good horses there were in that stable; the cow-house, for milk cattle; the barn, to hold the wheat and maize-corn; the smoke-house, for curing bacon; a large building for the dry tobacco; a cotton-gin, with its shed of clap-boards; bins for the husk fodder, and several smaller structures. in one corner you saw a low-walled erection that reminded you of a kennel, and the rich music that from time to time issued from its apertures would convince you that it _was_ a kennel. if you had peeped into it, you would have seen a dozen of as fine stag-hounds as ever lifted a trail. the colonel was somewhat partial to these pets, for he was a `mighty hunter.' you might see a number of young colts in an adjoining lot; a pet deer, a buffalo-calf, that had been brought from the far prairies, pea-fowl, guinea-hens, turkeys, geese, ducks, and the usual proportion of common fowls. rail-fences zigzagged off in all directions towards the edge of the woods. huge trees, dead and divested of their leaves, stood up in the cleared fields. turkey buzzards and carrion, crows might be seen perched upon their grey naked limbs; upon their summit you might observe the great rough-legged falcon; and above all, cutting sharply against the blue sky, the fork-tailed kite sailing gently about." here the doctor's auditory interrupted him with a murmur of applause. the doctor was in fine spirits, and in a poetical mood. he continued. "such, gentlemen, was the sort of place i had come to visit; and i saw at a glance that i could spend a few days there pleasantly enough--even without the additional attractions of a pigeon-hunt. "on my arrival i found the party assembled. it consisted of a score and a half of ladies and gentlemen, nearly all young people. the pigeons had not yet made their appearance, but were looked for every hour. the woods had assumed the gorgeous tints of autumn, that loveliest of seasons in the `far west.' already the ripe nuts and berries were scattered profusely over the earth offering their annual banquet to god's wild creatures. the `mast' of the beech-tree, of which the wild pigeon is so fond, was showering down among the dead leaves. it was the very season at which the birds were accustomed to visit the beechen woods that girdled the colonel's plantation. they would no doubt soon appear. with this expectation everything was made ready; each of the gentlemen was provided with a fowling-piece, or rifle if he preferred it; and even some of the ladies insisted upon being armed. "to render the sport more exciting, our host had established certain regulations. they were as follows:--the gentlemen were divided into two parties, of equal numbers. these were to go in opposite directions, the ladies upon the first day of the hunt accompanying whichever they chose. upon all succeeding days, however, the case would be different. the ladies were to accompany that party which upon the day previous had bagged the greatest number of birds. the victorious gentlemen, moreover, were endowed with other privileges, which lasted throughout the evening; such as the choice of partners for the dinner-table and the dance. "i need not tell you, gentlemen, that in these conditions existed powerful motives for exertion. the colonel's guests were the _elite_ of western society. most of the gentlemen were young men or bachelors; and among the ladies there were _belles_; three or four of them rich and beautiful. on my arrival i could perceive signs of incipient flirtations. attachments had already arisen; and by many it would have been esteemed anything but pleasant to be separated in the manner prescribed. a strong _esprit du corps_ was thus established; and, by the time the pigeons arrived, both parties had determined to do their utmost. in fact, i have never known so strong a feeling of rivalry to exist between two parties of amateur sportsmen. "the pigeons at length arrived. it was a bright sunny morning, and yet the atmosphere was darkened, as the vast flock, a mile in breadth by several in length, passed across the canopy. the sound of their wings resembled a strong wind whistling among tree-tops, or through the rigging of a ship. we saw that they hovered over the woods, and settled among the tall beeches. "the beginning of the hunt was announced, and we set forth, each party taking the direction allotted to it. with each went a number of ladies, and even some of these were armed with light fowling-pieces, determined that the party of their choice should be the victorious one. after a short ride, we found ourselves fairly `in the woods,' and in the presence of the birds, and then the cracking commenced. "in our party we had eight guns, exclusive of the small fowling-pieces (two of those), with which a brace of our heroines were armed, and which, truth compels me to confess, were less dangerous to the pigeons than to ourselves. some of our guns were double-barrelled shot-guns, others were rifles. you will wonder at rifles being used in such a sport, and yet it is a fact that the gentlemen who carried rifles managed to do more execution than those who were armed with the other species. this arose from the circumstance that they were contented to aim at single birds, and, being good shots, they were almost sure to bring these down. the woods were filled with straggling pigeons. odd birds were always within rifle range; and thus, instead of wasting their time in endeavouring to approach the great flocks, our riflemen did nothing but load and fire. in this way they soon counted their game by dozens. "early in the evening, the pigeons, having filled their crops with the mast, disappeared. they flew off to some distant `roost.' this of course concluded our sport for the day. we got together and counted our numbers. we had 640 birds. we returned home full of hope; we felt certain that we had won for that day. our antagonists had arrived before us. they showed us 736 dead pigeons. we were beaten. "i really cannot explain the chagrin which this defeat occasioned to most of our party. they felt humiliated in the eyes of the ladies, whose company they were to lose on the morrow. to some there was extreme bitterness in the idea; for, as i have already stated, attachments had sprung up, and jealous thoughts were naturally their concomitants. it was quite tantalising, as we parted next morning, to see the galaxy of lovely women ride off with our antagonists, while we sought the woods in the opposite direction, dispirited and in silence. "we went, however, determined to do our best, and win the ladies for the morrow. a council was held, and each imparted his advice and encouragement; and then we all set to work with shot-gun and rifle. "on this day an incident occurred that aided our `count' materially. as you know, gentlemen, the wild pigeons, while feeding, sometimes cover the ground so thickly that they crowd upon each other. they all advance in the same direction, those behind continually rising up and fluttering to the front, so that the surface presents a series of undulations like sea-waves. frequently the birds alight upon each other's backs, for want of room upon the ground, and a confused mass of winged creatures is seen rolling through the woods. at such times, if the sportsman can only `head' the flock, he is sure of a good shot. almost every pellet tells, and dozens may be brought down at a single discharge. "in my progress through the woods, i had got separated from my companions, when i observed an immense flock approaching me after the manner described. i saw from their plumage that they were young birds, and therefore not likely to be easily alarmed. i drew my horse (i was mounted) behind a tree, and awaited their approach. this i did more from curiosity than any other motive, as, unfortunately i carried a rifle, and could only have killed one or two at the best. the crowd came `swirling' forward, and when they were within some ten or fifteen paces distant, i fired into their midst. to my surprise, the flock did not take flight, but continued to advance as before, until they were almost among the horse's feet. i could stand it no longer. i drove the spurs deeply, and galloped into their midst, striking right and left as they fluttered up round me. of course they were soon off; but of those that had been trodden upon by my horse, and others i had knocked down, i counted no less than twenty-seven! proud of my exploit, i gathered the birds into my bag, and rode in search of my companions. "our party on this day numbered over 800 head killed; but, to our surprise and chagrin, our antagonists had beaten us by more than a hundred! "the gentlemen of `ours' were wretched. the belles were monopolised by our antagonists; we were scouted, and debarred every privilege. "it was not to be endured; something must be done. what was to be done? counselled we. if fair means will not answer, we must try the opposite. it was evident that our antagonists were better shots than we. "the colonel, too, was one of them, and he was sure to kill every time he pulled trigger. the odds were against us; some plan must be devised; some _ruse_ must be adopted, and the idea of one had been passing through my mind during the whole of that day. it was this:--i had noticed, what has been just remarked, that, although the pigeons will not allow the sportsman to come within range of a fowling-piece, yet at a distance of little over a hundred yards they neither fear man nor beast. at that distance they sit unconcerned, thousands of them upon a single tree. it struck me that a gun large enough to throw shot among them would be certain of killing hundreds at each discharge; but where was such a gun to be had? as i reflected thus, `mountain howitzers' came into my mind. i remembered the small mountain howitzers i had seen at covington. one of these loaded with shot would be the very weapon. i knew there was a battery of them at the barracks. i knew that a friend of mine commanded the battery. by steamer, should one pass, it was but a few hours to covington. i proposed sending for a `mountain howitzer.' "i need hardly say that my proposal was hailed with a universal welcome on the part of my companions; and without dropping a hint to the other party, it was at once resolved that the design should be carried into execution. it was carried into execution. an `up-river' boat chanced to pass in the nick of time. a messenger was forthwith, despatched to covington, and before twelve o'clock upon the following day another boat on her down trip brought the howitzer, and we had it secretly landed and conveyed to a place in the woods previously agreed upon. my friend, captain c--, had sent a `live corporal' along with it, and we had no difficulty in its management. "as i had anticipated, it answered our purpose as though it had been made for it. every shot brought down a shower of dead birds, and after one discharge alone the number obtained was 123! at night our `game-bag' counted over three thousand birds! we were sure of the ladies for the morrow. "before returning home to our certain triumph, however, there were some considerations. to-morrow we should have the ladies in our company; some of the fair creatures would be as good as sure to `split' upon the howitzer. what was to be done to prevent this? "we eight had sworn to be staunch to each other. we had taken every precaution; we had only used our `great gun' when far off, so that its report might not reach the ears of our antagonists; but how about to-morrow? could we trust our fair companions with a secret? decidedly not. this was the unanimous conclusion. a new idea now came to our aid. we saw that we might dispense with the howitzer, and still manage to out-count our opponents. we would make a depository of birds in a safe place. there was a squatter's house near by: that would do. so we took the squatter into our council, and left some 1500 birds in his charge, the remainder being deemed sufficient for that day. from the 1500 thus left, we might each day take a few hundred to make up our game-bag just enough to out-number the other party. we did not send home the corporal and his howitzer. we might require him again; so we quartered him upon the squatter. "on returning home, we found that our opponents had also made a `big day's work of it;' but they were beaten by hundreds. the ladies were ours! "and we kept them until the end of the hunt, to the no little mortification of the gentlemen in the `minority:' to their surprise, as well; for most of them being crack-shots, and several of us not at all so, they could not comprehend why they were every day beaten so outrageously. we had hundreds to spare, and barrels of the birds were cured for winter use. "another thing quite puzzled our opponents, as well as many good people in the neighbourhood. that was the loud reports that had been heard in the woods. some argued they were thunder, while others declared they must have proceeded from an earthquake. this last seemed the more probable, as the events i am narrating occurred but a few years after the great earthquake in the mississippi valley, and people's minds were prepared for such a thing. "i need not tell you how the knowing ones enjoyed the laugh for several days, and it was not until the colonel's _reunion_ was about to break up, that our secret was let out, to the no small chagrin of our opponents, but to the infinite amusement of our host himself, who, although one of the defeated party, often narrates to his friends the story of the `hunt with a howitzer.'" chapter six. killing a cougar. although we had made a five miles' march from the place where we had halted to shoot the pigeons, our night-camp was still within the boundaries of the flock. during the night we could hear them at intervals at no great distance off. a branch occasionally cracked, and then a fluttering of wings told of thousands dislodged or frightened by its fall. sometimes the fluttering commenced without any apparent cause. no doubt the great-horned owl (_strix virginiana_), the wild cat (_felis rufa_), and the raccoon, were busy among them, and the silent attacks of these were causing the repeated alarms. before going to rest, a torch-hunt was proposed by way of variety, but no material for making good torches could be found, and the idea was abandoned. torches should be made of dry pine-knots, and carried in some shallow vessel. the common frying-pan, with a long handle, is best for the purpose. link-torches, unless of the best pitch-pine (_pinus resinosa_), do not burn with sufficient brightness to stultify the pigeons. they will flutter off before the hunter can get his long pole within reach, whereas with a very brilliant light, he may approach almost near enough to lay his hands upon them. as there were no pitch-pine-trees in the neighbourhood, nor any good torch-wood, we were forced to give up the idea of a night-hunt. during the night strange noises were heard by several who chanced to be awake. some said they resembled the howling of dogs, while others compared them to the screaming of angry cats. one party said they were produced by wolves; another, that the wild cats (lynxes) made them. but there was one that differed from all the rest. it was a sort of prolonged hiss, that all except ike believed to be the snort of the black bear, lice, however, declared that it was not the bear, but the "sniff," as he termed it, of the "painter" (cougar). this was probable enough, considering the nature of the place. the cougar is well-known to frequent the great roosts of the passenger-pigeon, and is fond of the flesh of these birds. in the morning our camp was still surrounded by the pigeons, sweeping about among the tree-trunks, and gathering the mast as they went. a few shots were fired, not from any inclination to continue the sport of killing them, but to lay in a fresh stock for the day's dinner. the surplus from yesterday's feast was thrown away, and left by the deserted camp--a banquet for the preying creatures that would soon visit the spot. we moved on, still surrounded by masses upon the wing. a singular incident occurred as we were passing through a sort of avenue in the forest. it was a narrow aisle, on both sides walled in by the thick foliage of the beeches. we were fairly within this hall-like passage, when it suddenly darkened at the opposite end. we saw that a cloud of pigeons had entered it, flying towards us. they were around our heads before they had noticed us. seeing our party, they suddenly attempted to diverge from their course, but there was no other open to them, except to rise upward in a vertical direction. this they did on the instant--the clatter of their wings producing a noise like the continued roar of thunder. some had approached so near, that the men on horseback, striking with their guns, knocked several to the ground; and the kentuckian, stretching upward his long arm, actually caught one of them on the wing. in an instant they were out of sight; but at that instant two great birds appeared before us at the opening of the forest, which were at once recognised as a brace of white-headed eagles (_falco leucocephalus_). this accounted for the rash flight of the pigeons; for the eagles had evidently been in pursuit of them, and had driven them to seek shelter under the trees. we were desirous of emptying our guns at the great birds of prey, and there was a simultaneous spurring of horses and cocking of guns: to no purpose, however. the eagles were on the alert. they had already espied us; and, uttering their maniac screams, they wheeled suddenly, and disappeared over the tree-tops. we had hardly recovered from this pleasant little bit of excitement, when the guide ike, who rode in the advance, was seen suddenly to jerk up, exclaiming-"painter, by god! i know'd i heard a painter." "where? where?" was hurriedly uttered by several voices, while all pressed forward to the guide. "yander!" replied ike, pointing to a thicket of young beeches. "he's tuk to the brush: ride round, fellers. mark, boy, round! quick, damn you!" there was a scramble of horsemen, with excited, anxious looks and gestures. every one had his gun cocked and ready, and in a few seconds the small copse of beeches, with their golden-yellow leaves, was inclosed by a ring of hunters. had the cougar got away, or was he still within the thicket? several large trees grew out of its midst. had he taken to one? the eyes of the party were turned upwards. the fierce creature was nowhere visible. it was impossible to see into every part of the jungle from the outside, as we sat in our saddles. the game might be crouching among the grass and brambles. what was to be done? we had no dogs. how was the cougar to be started? it would be no small peril to penetrate the thicket afoot. who was to do it? the question was answered by redwood, who was now seen dismounting from his horse. "keep your eyes about you," cried he. "i'll make the varmint show if he's thur. look sharp, then!" we saw redwood enter fearlessly, leaving his horse hitched over a branch. we heard him no longer, as he proceeded with that stealthy silence known only to the indian fighter. we listened, and waited in profound suspense. not even the crackling of a branch broke the stillness. full five minutes we waited, and then the sharp crack of a rifle near the centre of the copsewood relieved, us. the next moment was heard redwood's voice crying aloud-"look out thur? by god! i've missed him." before we had time to change our attitudes another rifle cracked, and another voice was heard, crying in answer to redwood-"but, by god! i hain't." "he's hyur," continued the voice; "dead as mutton. come this a way, an' yu'll see the beauty." ike's voice was recognised, and we all galloped to the spot where it proceeded from. at his feet lay the body of the panther quite dead. there was a red spot running blood between the ribs, where ike's bullet had penetrated. in trying to escape from the thicket, the cougar had halted a moment, in a crouching attitude, directly before ike's face, and that moment was enough to give the trapper time to glance through his sights, and send the fatal bullet. of course the guide received the congratulations of all, and though he pretended not to regard the thing in the light of a feat, he knew well that killing a "painter" was no everyday adventure. the skin of the animal was stripped off in a trice, and carried to the waggon. such a trophy is rarely left in the woods. the hunter-naturalist performed some farther operations upon the body for the purpose of examining the contents of the stomach. these consisted entirely of the half-digested remains of passenger-pigeons, an enormous quantity of which the beast had devoured during the previous night--having captured them no doubt upon the trees. this adventure formed a pleasant theme for conversation during the rest of our journey, and of course the cougar was the subject. his habits and history were fully discussed, and the information elicited is given below. chapter seven. the cougar. the cougar (_felis concolor_) is the only indigenous long-tailed cat in america north of the parallel of 30 degrees. the "wild cats" so called, are lynxes with short tails; and of these there are three distinct species. but there is only one true representative of the genus felis, and that is the animal in question. this has received many trivial appellations. among anglo-american hunters, it is called the panther--in their _patois_, "painter." in most parts of south america, as well as in mexico, it receives the grandiloquent title of "lion" (_leon_), and in the peruvian countries is called the "puma," or "poma." the absence of stripes, such as those of the tiger--or spots, as upon the leopard--or rosettes, as upon the jaguar, have suggested the name of the naturalists, _concolor_. _discolor_ was formerly in use; but the other has been generally adopted. there are few wild animals so regular in their colour as the cougar: very little variety has been observed among different specimens. some naturalists speak of spotted cougars--that is, having spots that may be seen in a certain light. upon young cubs, such markings do appear; but they are no longer visible on the full-grown animal. the cougar of mature age is of a tawny red colour, almost uniform over the whole body, though somewhat paler about the face and the parts underneath. this colour is not exactly the tawny of the lion; it is more of a reddish hue--nearer to what is termed calf-colour. the cougar is far from being a well-shaped creature: it appears disproportioned. its back is long and hollow; and its tail does not taper so gracefully as in some other animals of the cat kind. its legs are short and stout; and although far from clumsy in appearance, it does not possess the graceful _tournure_ of body so characteristic of some of its congeners. though considered the representative of the lion in the new world, its resemblance to the royal beast is but slight; its colour seems to be the only title it has to such an honour. for the rest, it is much more akin to the tigers, jaguars, and true panthers. cougars are rarely more than six feet in length, including the tail, which is usually about a third of that measurement. the range of the animal is very extensive. it is known from paraguay to the great lakes of north america. in no part of either continent is it to be seen every day, because it is for the most part not only nocturnal in its activity, but one of those fierce creatures that, fortunately, do not exist in large numbers. like others of the genus, it is solitary in its habits, and at the approach of civilisation betakes itself to the remoter parts of the forest. hence the cougar, although found in all of the united states, is a rare animal everywhere, and seen only at long intervals in the mountain-valleys, or in other difficult places of the forest. the appearance of a cougar is sufficient to throw any neighbourhood into an excitement similar to that which would be produced by the chase of a mad dog. it is a splendid tree-climber. it can mount a tree with the agility of a cat; and although so large an animal, it climbs by means of its claws--not by hugging, after the manner of the bears and opossums. while climbing a tree, its claws can be heard crackling along the bark as it mounts upward. it sometimes lies "squatted" along a horizontal branch, a lower one, for the purpose of springing upon deer, or such other animals as it wishes to prey upon. the ledge of a cliff is also a favourite haunt, and such are known among the hunters as "panther-ledges." it selects such a position in the neighbourhood of some watering-place, or, if possible, one of the salt or soda springs (licks) so numerous in america. here it is more certain that its vigil will not be a protracted one. its prey--elk, deer, antelope, or buffalo--soon appears beneath, unconscious of the dangerous enemy that cowers over them. when fairly within reach, the cougar springs, and pouncing down upon the shoulders of the victim, buries its claws in the flesh. the terrified animal starts forward, leaps from side to side, dashes into the papaw thickets, or breasts the dense cane-brake, in hopes of brushing off its relentless rider. all in vain! closely clasping its neck, the cougar clings on, tearing its victim in the throat, and drinking its blood throughout the wild gallop. faint and feeble, the ruminant at length totters and falls, and the fierce destroyer squats itself along the body, and finishes its red repast. if the cougar can overcome several animals at a time, it will kill them all, although but the twentieth part may be required to satiate its hunger. unlike the lion in this, even in repletion it will kill. with it, destruction of life seems to be an instinct. there is a very small animal, and apparently a very helpless one, with which the cougar occasionally quarrels, but often with ill success--this is the canada porcupine. whether the cougar ever succeeds in killing one of these creatures is not known, but that it attacks them is beyond question, and its own death is often the result. the quills of the canada porcupine are slightly barbed at their extremities; and when stuck into the flesh of a living animal, this arrangement causes them to penetrate mechanically deeper and deeper as the animal moves. that the porcupine can itself discharge them to some distance, is not true, but it is true that it can cause them to be easily _detached_; and this it does when rashly seized by any of the predatory animals. the result is, that these remarkable spines become fast in the tongue, jaws, and lips of the cougar, or any other creature which may make an attack on that seemingly unprotected little animal. the fisher (_mustela canadensis_) is said to be the only animal that can kill the porcupine with impunity. it fights the latter by first throwing it upon its back, and then springing upon its upturned belly, where the spines are almost entirely wanting. the cougar is called a cowardly animal: some naturalists even assert that it will not venture to attack man. this is, to say the least, a singular declaration, after the numerous well-attested instances in which men have been attacked, and even killed by cougars. there are many such in the history of early settlement in america. to say that cougars are cowardly now when found in the united states--to say they are shy of man, and will not attack him, may be true enough. strange, if the experience of 200 years' hunting, and by such hunters too, did not bring them to that. we may safely believe, that if the lions of africa were placed in the same circumstances, a very similar shyness and dread of the upright biped would soon exhibit itself. what all these creatures--bears, cougars, lynxes, wolves, and even alligators--are now, is no criterion of their past. authentic history proves that their courage, at least so far as regards man, has changed altogether since they first heard the sharp detonation of the deadly rifle. even contemporaneous history demonstrates this. in many parts of south america, both jaguar and cougar attack man, and numerous are the deadly encounters there. in peru, on the eastern declivity of the andes, large settlements and even villages have been abandoned solely on account of the perilous proximity of those fierce animals. in the united states, the cougar is hunted by dog and gun. he will run from the hounds, because he knows they are backed by the unerring rifle of the hunter; but should one of the yelping pack approach too near, a single blow of the cougar's paw is sufficient to stretch him out. when closely pushed, the cougar takes to a tree, and, halting in one of its forks, humps his back, bristles his hair, looks downward with gleaming eyes, and utters a sound somewhat like the purring of a cat, though far louder. the crack of the hunter's rifle usually puts an end to these demonstrations, and the cougar drops to the ground either dead or wounded. if only the latter, a desperate fight ensues between him and the dogs, with several of whom he usually leaves a mark that distinguishes them for the rest of their lives. the scream of the cougar is a common phrase. it is not very certain that the creature is addicted to the habit of screaming, although noises of this kind heard in the nocturnal forest have been attributed to him. hunters, however, have certainly never heard him, and they believe that the scream talked about proceeds from one of the numerous species of owls that inhabit the deep forests of america. at short intervals, the cougar does make himself heard in a note which somewhat resembles a deep-drawn sigh, or as if one were to utter with an extremely guttural expression the syllables "co-oa," or "cougar." is it from this that he derives his trivial name? chapter eight. old ike's adventure. now a panther story was the natural winding-up of this day, and it had been already hinted that old ike had "rubbed out" several of these creatures in his time, and no doubt could tell more than one "painter" story. "wal, strengers," began he, "it's true thet this hyur ain't the fust painter i've comed acrosst. about fifteen yeern ago i moved to loozyanny, an' thur i met a painter, an' a queer story it are." "let us have it by all means," said several of the party, drawing closer up and seating themselves to listen attentively. we all knew that a story from ike could not be otherwise than "queer," and our curiosity was on the _qui vive_. "wal then," continued he, "they have floods dowd thur in loozyanny, sich as, i guess, you've never seen the like o' in england." here ike addressed himself specially to our english comrade. "england ain't big enough to hev sich floods. one o' 'm ud kiver yur hul country, i hev heern said. i won't say that ar's true, as i ain't acquainted with yur jography. i know, howsomdever, they're mighty big freshets thur, as i hev sailed a skift more 'n a hundred mile acrosst one o' 'm, whur thur wan't nothin' to be seen but cypress tops peep in out o' the water. the floods, as ye know, come every year, but them ar big ones only oncest in a while. "wal, as i've said about fifeteen yeern ago, i located in the red river bottom, about fifty mile or tharabout below nacketosh, whur i built me a shanty. i hed left my wife an' two young critters in massissippi state, intendin' to go back for 'em in the spring; so, ye see, i wur all alone by meself, exceptin' my ole mar, a collins's axe, an' of coorse my rifle. "i hed finished the shanty all but the chinkin' an' the buildin' o' a chimbly, when what shed come on but one o' 'm tarnation floods. it wur at night when it begun to make its appearance. i wur asleep on the floor o' the shanty, an' the first warnin' i hed o' it wur the feel o' the water soakin' through my ole blanket. i hed been a-dreamin', an' thort it wur rainin', an' then agin i thort that i wur bein' drownded in the massissippi; but i wan't many seconds awake, till i guessed what it wur in raality; so i jumped to my feet like a started buck, an' groped my way to the door. "a sight that wur when i got thur. i hed chirred a piece o' ground around the shanty--a kupple o' acres or better--i hed left the stumps a good three feet high: thur wan't a stump to be seen. my clearin', stumps an' all, wur under water; an' i could see it shinin' among the trees all round the shanty. "of coorse, my fust thoughts wur about my rifle; an i turned back into the shanty, an' laid my claws upon that quick enough. "i next went in search o' my ole mar. she wan't hard to find; for if ever a critter made a noise, she did. she wur tied to a tree close by the shanty, an' the way she wur a-squealin' wur a caution to cats. i found her up to the belly in water, pitchin' an' flounderin' all round the tree. she hed nothin' on but the rope that she wur hitched by. both saddle an' bridle hed been washed away: so i made the rope into a sort o' halter, an' mounted her bare-backed. "jest then i begun to think whur i wur agoin'. the hul country appeared to be under water: an' the nearest neighbour i hed lived acrosst the parairy ten miles off. i knew that his shanty sot on high ground, but how wur i to get thur? it wur night; i mout lose my way, an' ride chuck into the river. "when i thort o' ibis, i concluded it mout be better to stay by my own shanty till mornin'. i could hitch the mar inside to keep her from bein' floated away; an' for meself, i could climb on the roof. "while i wur thinkin' on this, i noticed that the water wur a-deepenin', an' it jest kim into my head, that it ud soon be deep enough to drownd my ole mar. for meself i wan't frightened. i mout a clomb a tree, an' stayed thur till the flood fell; but i shed a lost the mar, an' that critter wur too valleyble to think o' such a sacryfize; so i made up my mind to chance crossin' the parairy. thur wan't no time to be wasted-ne'er a minnit; so i gin the mar a kick or two in the ribs an' started. "i found the path out to the edge of the parairy easy enough. i hed blazed it when i fust come to the place; an', as the night wur not a very dark one, i could see the blazes as i passed atween the trees. my mar knew the track as well as meself, an' swaltered through at a sharp rate, for she knew too thur wan't no time to be wasted. in five minnites we kim out on the edge o' the pairairy, an' jest as i expected, the hul thing wur kivered with water, an' lookin' like a big pond, i could see it shinin' clur acrosst to the other side o' the openin'. "as luck ud hev it, i could jest git a glimp o' the trees on the fur side o' the parairy. thur wur a big clump o' cypress, that i could see plain enough; i knew this wur clost to my neighbour's shanty; so i gin my critter the switch, an' struck right for it. "as i left the timmer, the mar wur up to her hips. of coorse, i expected a good grist o' heavy wadin'; but i hed no idee that the water wur a-gwine to git much higher; thur's whur i made my mistake. "i hedn't got more'n a kupple o' miles out when i diskivered that the thing wur a-risin' rapidly, for i seed the mar wur a-gettin' deeper an' deeper. "'twan't no use turnin' back now. i ud lose the mar to a dead sartinty, if i didn't make the high ground; so i spoke to the critter to do her best, an' kep on. the poor beast didn't need any whippin'--she knew as well's i did meself thur wur danger, an' she wur a-doin' her darndest, an' no mistake. still the water riz, an' kep a-risin', until it come clur up to her shoulder. "i begun to git skeart in airnest. we wan't more 'n half acrosst, an' i seed if it riz much more we ud hav to swim for it. i wan't far astray about that. the minnit arter it seemed to deepen suddintly, as if thur wur a hollow in the parairy: i heerd the mar give a loud gouf, an' then go down, till i wur up to the waist. she riz agin the next minnit, but i could tell from the smooth ridin' that she wur off o' the bottom. she wur swimmin', an' no mistake. "at fust i thort o' headin' her back to the shanty; an' i drew her round with that intent; but turn her which way i would, i found she could no longer touch bottom. "i guess, strengers, i wur in a quandairy about then. i 'gun to think that both my own an' my mar's time wur come in airnest, for i hed no idee that the critter could iver swim to the other side, 'specially with me on her back, an' purticklarly as at that time these hyur ribs had a sight more griskin upon 'em than they hev now. "wal, i wur about reckinin' up. i hed got to thinkin' o' mary an' the childer, and the old shanty in the mississippi, an' a heap o' things that i hed left unsettled, an' that now come into my mind to trouble me. the mar wur still plungin' ahead; but i seed she wur sinkin' deeper an' deeper an' fast loosin' her strength, an' i knew she couldn't hold out much longer. "i thort at this time that if i got off o' her back, an' tuk hold o' the tail, she mout manage a leetle hotter. so i slipped backwards over her hips, an' grupped the long hair. it did do some good, for she swum higher; but we got mighty slow through the water, an' i hed but leetle behopes we should reach land. "i wur towed in this way about a quarter o' a mile, when i spied somethin' floatin' on the water a leetle ahead. it hed growed considerably darker; but thur wur still light enough to show me that the thing wur a log. "an idee now entered my brain-pan, that i mout save meself by takin' to the log. the mar ud then have a better chance for herself; an' maybe, when eased o' draggin' my carcass, that wur a-keepin' her back, she mout make footin' somewhur. so i waited till she got a leetle closter; an' then, lettin' go o' her tail, i clasped the log, an' crawled on to it. "the mar swum on, appeerintly 'ithout missin' me. i seed her disappear through the darkness; but i didn't as much as say good-bye to her, for i wur afeard that my voice mout bring her back agin', an' she mout strike the log with her hoofs, an' whammel it about. so i lay quiet, an' let her hev her own way. "i wan't long on the log till i seed it wur a-driftin', for thur wur a current in the water that set tol'uble sharp acrosst the parairy. i hed crawled up at one eend, an' got stride-legs; but as the log dipped considerable, i wur still over the hams in the water. "i thort i mout be more comfortable towards the middle, an' wur about to pull the thing more under me, when all at once i seed thur wur somethin' clumped up on t'other eend o' the log. "'twan't very clur at the time, for it had been a-growin' cloudier ever since i left the shanty, but 'twur clur enough to show me that the thing wur a varmint: what sort, i couldn't tell. it mout be a bar, an' it mout not; but i had my suspects it wur eyther a bar or a painter. "i wan't left long in doubt about the thing's gender. the log kep makin' circles as it drifted, an' when the varmint kim round into a different light, i caught a glimp o' its eyes. i knew them eyes to be no bar's eyes: they wur painter's eyes, an' no mistake. "i reckin, strengers, i felt very queery jest about then. i didn't try to go any nearer the middle o' the log; but instead of that, i wriggled back until i wur right plum on the eend of it, an' could git no further. "thur i sot for a good long spell 'ithout movin' hand or foot. i dasen't make a motion, as i wur afeard it mout tempt the varmint to attackt me. "i hed no weepun but my knife; i hed let go o' my rifle when i slid from the mar's back, an' it hed gone to the bottom long since. i wan't in any condition to stand a tussle with the painter nohow; so i 'wur determined to let him alone as long's he ud me. "wal, we drifted on for a good hour, i guess, 'ithout eyther o' us stirrin'. we sot face to face; an' now an' then the current ud set the log in a sort o' up-an'-down motion, an' then the painter an' i kep bowin' to each other like a pair o' bob-sawyers. i could see all the while that the varmint's eyes wur fixed upon mine, an' i never tuk mine from hisn; i know'd 'twur the only way to keep him still. "i wur jest prospectin' what ud be the eendin' o' the business, when i seed we wur a-gettin' closter to the timmer: 'twan't more 'n two miles off, but 'twur all under water 'ceptin' the tops o' the trees. i wur thinkin' that when the log shed float in among the branches, i mout slip off, an' git my claws upon a tree, 'ithout sayin anythin' to my travellin' companion. "jest at that minnit somethin' appeared dead ahead o' the log. it wur like a island; but what could hev brought a island thur? then i recollects that i hed seed a piece o' high ground about that part o' the parairy--a sort o' mound that hed been made by injuns, i s'pose. this, then, that looked like a island, wur the top o' that mound, sure enough. "the log wur a-driftin' in sich a way that i seed it must pass within twenty yards o' the mound. i detarmined then, as soon as we shed git alongside, to put out for it, an' leave the painter to continue his voyage 'ithout me. "when i fust sighted the island i seed somethin' that; hed tuk for bushes. but thur wan't no bushes on the mound--that i knowd. "howsomdever, when we got a leetle closter, i diskivered that the bushes wur beests. they wur deer; for i spied a pair o' buck's horns atween me an' the sky. but thur wur a somethin' still bigger than a deer. it mout be a hoss, or it mout be an opelousa ox, but i thort it wur a hoss. "i wur right about that, for a horse it wur, sure enough, or rayther i shed say, a _mar_, an' that mar no other than my ole crittur! "arter partin' company, she hed turned with the current; an', as good luck ud hev it, hed swum in a beeline for the island, an' thur she stood lookin' as slick as if she hed been greased. "the log hed by this got nigh enough, as i kalklated; an', with as little rumpus as possible, i slipped over the eend an' lot go my hold o' it. i wan't right spread in the water, afore i heerd a plump, an' lookin' round a bit, i seed the painter hed left the log too, an' tuk to the water. "at fust, i thort he wur arter me; an' i drawed my knife with one hand, while i swum with the other. but the painter didn't mean fight that time. he made but poor swimmin' himself, an' appeared glad enough to get upon dry groun' 'ithout molestin' me; so we swum on side by side, an' not a word passed atween us. "i didn't want to make a race o' it; so i let him pass me, rayther than that he should fall behind, an' get among my legs. "of coorse, he landed fust; an' i could hear by the stompin' o' hoofs, that his suddint appearance hed kicked up a jolly stampede among the critters upon the island. i could see both deer and mar dancing all over the groun', as if old nick himself hed got among 'em. "none o' 'em, howsomdever, thort o' takin' to the water. they hed all hed enough o' that, i guess. "i kep a leetle round, so as not to land near the painter; an' then, touchin' bottom, i climbed quietly up on the mound. i hed hardly drawed my drippin' carcass out o' the water, when i heerd a loud squeal, which i knew to be the whigher o' my ole mar; an' jest at that minnit the critter kim runnin' up, an' rubbed her nose agin my shoulder. i tuk the halter in my hand, an' sidling round a leetle, i jumped upon her back, for i still wur in fear o' the painter; an' the mar's back appeared to me the safest place about, an' that wan't very safe, eyther. "i now looked all round to see what new company i hed got into. the day wur jest breakin', an' i could distinguish a leetle better every minnit. the top o' the mound which, wur above water wan't over half an acre in size, an' it wur as clur o' timmer as any other part o' the parairy, so that i could see every inch o' it, an' everythin' on it as big as a tumble-bug. "i reckin, strengers, that you'll hardly believe me when i tell you the concatenation o' varmints that wur then an' thur caucused together. i could hardly believe my own eyes when i seed sich a gatherin', an' i thort i hed got aboard o' noah's ark. thur wur--listen, strengers--fust my ole mar an' meself, an' i wished both o' us anywhur else, i reckin-then thur wur the painter, yur old acquaintance--then thur wur four deer, a buck an' three does. then kim a catamount; an' arter him a black bar, a'most as big as a buffalo. then thur wur a 'coon an' a 'possum, an' a kupple o' grey wolves, an' a swamp rabbit, an', darn the thing! a stinkin' skunk. perhaps the last wan't the most dangerous varmint on the groun', but it sartintly wur the most disagreeableest o' the hul lot, for it smelt only as a cussed polecat kin smell. "i've said, strengers, that i wur mightily tuk by surprise when i fust seed this curious clanjamfrey o' critters; but i kin tell you i wur still more dumbfounded when i seed thur behaveyur to one another, knowin' thur different naturs as i did. thur wur the painter lyin' clost up to the deer--its nat'ral prey; an' thur wur the wolves too; an' thur wur the catamount standin' within three feet o' the 'possum an' the swamp rabbit; an' thur wur the bar an' the cunnin' old 'coon; an' thur they all wur, no more mindin' one another than if they hed spent all thur days together in the same penn. "'twur the oddest sight i ever seed, an' it remembered me o' bit o' scripter my ole mother hed often read from a book called the bible, or some sich name--about a lion that wur so tame he used to squat down beside a lamb, 'ithout layin' a claw upon the innocent critter. "wal, stranger, as i'm sayin', the hul party behaved in this very way. they all appeared down in the mouth, an' badly skeart about the water; but for all that, i hed my fears that the painter or the bar--i wan't afeard o' any o' the others--mout git over thur fright afore the flood fell; an' thurfore i kept as quiet as any one o' them during the hul time i wur in thur company, an' stayin' all the time clost by the mar. but neyther bar nor painter showed any savage sign the hul o' the next day, nor the night that follered it. "strengers, it ud tire you wur i to tell you all the movements that tuk place among these critters durin' that long day an' night. ne'er a one o' 'em laid tooth or claw on the other. i wur hungry enough meself, and ud a liked to hev taken a steak from the buttocks o' one o' the deer, but i dasen't do it. i wur afeard to break the peace, which mout a led to a general shindy. "when day broke, next mornin' arter, i seed that the flood wur afallin'; and as soon as it wur shallow enough, i led my mar quietly into the water, an' climbin' upon her back, tuk a silent leave o' my companions. the water still tuk my mar up to the flanks, so that i knew none o' the varmint could follow 'ithout swimmin', an' ne'er a one seemed inclined to try a swim. "i struck direct for my neighbour's shanty, which i could see about three mile off, an', in a hour or so, i wur at his door. thur i didn't stay long, but borrowin' an extra gun which he happened to hev, an' takin' him along with his own rifle, i waded my mar back to the island. we found the game not exactly as i hed left it. the fall o' the flood hed given the painter, the cat, an' the wolves courage. the swamp rabbit an' the 'possum wur clean gone--all but bits o' thur wool--an' one o' the does wur better 'n half devoured. "my neighbour tuk one side, an' i the other, an' ridin' clost up, we surrounded the island. "i plugged the painter at the fust shot, an' he did the same for the bar. we next layed out the wolves, an' arter that cooney, an' then we tuk our time about the deer--these last and the bar bein' the only valley'ble things on the island. the skunk we kilt last, as we didn't want the thing to stink us off the place while we wur a-skinnin' the deer. "arter killin' the skunk, we mounted an' left, of coorse loaded with our bar-meat an' venison. "i got my rifle arter all. when the flood went down, i found it near the middle of the parairy, half buried in the sludge. "i saw i hed built my shanty in the wrong place; but i soon looked out a better location, an' put up another. i hed all ready in the spring, when i went back to massissippi, an' brought out mary and the two young uns." the singular adventure of old ike illustrates a point in natural history that, as soon as the trapper had ended, became the subject of conversation. it was that singular trait in the character of predatory animals, as the cougar, when under circumstances of danger. on such occasions fear seems to influence them so much as to completely subdue their ferocity, and they will not molest other animals sharing the common danger, even when the latter are their natural and habitual prey. nearly every one of us had observed this at some time or other; and the old naturalist, as well as the hunter-guides, related many incidents confirming the strange fact. humboldt speaks of an instance observed by him on the orinoco, where the fierce jaguar and some other creatures were seen quietly and peacefully floating together on the same log--all more or less frightened at their situation! ike's story had very much interested the doctor, who rewarded him with a "nip" from the pewter flask; and, indeed, on this occasion the flask was passed round, as the day had been one of unusual interest. the killing of a cougar is a rare adventure, even in the wildest haunts of the backwoods' country. chapter nine. the musquash. our next day's march was unenlivened by any particular incident. we had left behind us the heavy timber, and again travelled through the "oak openings." not an animal was started during the whole day, and the only one seen was a muskrat that took to the water of a small creek and escaped. this occurred at the spot where we had halted for our night-camp, and after the tents were pitched, several of the party went "rat-hunting." the burrow of a family of these curious little animals was discovered in the bank, and an attempt was made to dig them out, but without success. the family proved to be "not at home." the incident, however, brought the muskrat on the _tapis_. the "muskrat" of the states is the musquash of the fur-traders (_fiber sibethicus_). he is called muskrat, from his resemblance to the common rat, combined with the musky odour which he emits from glands situated near the anus. musquash is said to be an indian appellative--a strange coincidence, as the word, "musk" is of arabic origin, and "musquash" would seem a compound of the french _musque_, as the early canadian fur-traders were french, or of french descent, and fixed the nomenclature of most of the fur-bearing animals of that region. naturalists have used the name of "musk beaver" on account of the many points of resemblance which this animal bears to the true beaver (_castor fiber_). indeed, they seem to be of the same genus, and so linnaeus classed them; but later systematists have separated them, for the purpose, i should fancy, not of simplifying science, but of creating the impression that they themselves were very profound observers. the teeth--those great friends of the closet naturalist, which help him to whole pages of speculation--have enabled him to separate the beaver from the musquash, although the whole history and habits of these creatures prove them to be congeners, as much as a mastiff is the congener of a greyhound--indeed, far more. so like are they in a general sense, that the indians call them "cousins." in form the muskrat differs but little from the beaver. it is a thick, rounded, and flat-looking animal, with blunt nose, short ears almost buried in the fur, stiff whiskers like a cat, short legs and neck, small dark eyes, and sharply-clawed feet. the hinder ones are longest, and are half-webbed. those of the beaver are full-webbed. there is a curious fact in connection with the tails of these two animals. both are almost naked of hair, and covered with "scales," and both are flat. the tail of the beaver, and the uses it makes of this appendage, are things known to every one. every one has read of its trowel-shape and use, its great breadth, thickness, and weight, and its resemblance to a cricket-bat. the tail of the muskrat is also naked, covered with scales, and compressed or flattened; but instead of being horizontally so, as with the beaver, it is the reverse; and the thin edges are in a vertical plane. the tail of the former, moreover, is not of the trowel-shape, but tapers like that of the common rat. indeed, its resemblance to the house-rat is so great as to render it a somewhat disagreeable object to look upon. tail and all, the muskrat is about twenty inches in length; and its body is about half as big as that of a beaver. it possesses a strange power of contracting its body, so as to make it appear about half its natural size, and to enable it to pass through a chink that animals of much smaller dimensions could not enter. its colour is reddish-brown above, and light-ash underneath. there are eccentricities, however, in this respect. specimens have been found quite black, as also mixed and pure white. the fur is a soft, thick down, resembling that of the beaver, but not quite so fine. there are long rigid hairs, red-coloured, that overtop the fur; and these are also sparely scattered over the tail. the habits of the muskrat are singular--perhaps not less so than those of his "cousin" the beaver, when you strip the history of the latter of its many exaggerations. indeed the former animal, in the domesticated state, exhibits much greater intelligence than the latter. like the beaver, it is a water animal, and is only found where water exists; never among the dry hills. its "range" extends over the whole continent of north america, wherever "grass grows and water runs." it is most probable it is an inhabitant of the southern continent, but the natural history of that country is still but half told. unlike the beaver, the race of the muskrat is not likely soon to become extinct. the beaver is now found in america, only in the remotest parts of the uninhabited wilderness. although formerly an inhabitant of the atlantic states, his presence there is now unknown; or, if occasionally met with, it is no longer in the beaver dam, with its cluster of social domes, but only as a solitary creature, a "terrier beaver," ill-featured, shaggy in coat, and stunted in growth. the muskrat, on the contrary, still frequents the settlements. there is hardly a creek, pond, or watercourse, without one or more families having an abode upon its banks. part of the year the muskrat is a social animal; at other seasons it is solitary. the male differs but little from the female, though he is somewhat larger, and better furred. in early spring commences the season of his loves. his musky odour is then strongest, and quite perceptible in the neighbourhood of his haunt. he takes a wife, to whom he is for ever after faithful; and it is believed the connection continues to exist during life. after the "honeymoon" a burrow is made in the bank of a stream or pond; usually in some solitary and secure spot by the roots of a tree, and always in such a situation that the rising of the water cannot reach the nest which is constructed within. the entrance to this burrow is frequently under water, so that it is difficult to discover it. the nest within is a bed of moss or soft grasses. in this the female brings forth five or six "cubs," which she nourishes with great care, training them to her own habits. the male takes no part in their education; but during this period absents himself, and wanders about alone. in autumn the cubs are nearly full-grown, and able to "take care of themselves." the "old father" now joins the family party, and all together proceed to the erection of winter quarters. they forsake the "home of their nativity," and build a very different sort of a habitation. the favourite site for their new house, is a swamp not likely to freeze to the bottom, and if with a stream running through it, all the better. by the side of this stream, or often on a little islet in the midst, they construct a dome-shaped pile, hollow within, and very much like the house of the beaver. the materials used are grass and mud, the latter being obtained at the bottom of the swamp or stream. the entrance to this house is subterranean, and consists of one or more galleries debouching under the water. in situations where there is danger of inundation, the floor of the interior is raised higher, and frequently terraces are made to admit of a dry seat, in case the ground-floor should get flooded. of course there is free egress and ingress at all times, to permit the animal to go after its food, which consists of plants that grow in the water close at hand. the house being completed, and the cold weather having set in, the whole family, parents and all, enter it, and remain there during the winter, going out only at intervals for necessary purposes. in spring they desert this habitation and never return to it. of course they are warm enough during winter while thus housed, even in the very coldest weather. the heat of their own bodies would make them so, lying as they do, huddled together, and sometimes on top of one another, but the mud walls of their habitations are a foot or more in thickness, and neither frost nor rain can penetrate within. now, a curious fact has been observed in connection with the houses of these creatures. it shows how nature has adapted them to the circumstances in which they may be placed. by philosophers it is termed "instinct"; but in our opinion it is the same sort of instinct which enables mr hobbs to pick a "chubb" lock. it is this:-in southern climates--in louisiana, for instance--the swamps and rivers do not freeze over in winter. there the muskrat does not construct such houses as that described, but is contented all the year with his burrow in the banks. he can go forth freely and seek his food at all seasons. in the north it is different. there for months the rivers are frozen over with thick ice. the muskrat could only come out under the ice, or above it. if the latter, the entrance of his burrow would betray him, and men with their traps, and dogs, or other enemies, would easily get at him. even if he had also a water entrance, by which he might escape upon the invasion of his burrow, he would drown for want of air. although an amphibious animal, like the beaver and otter, he cannot live altogether under water, and must rise at intervals to take breath. the running stream in winter does not perhaps furnish him with his favourite food--the roots and stems of water-plants. these the swamp affords to his satisfaction; besides, it gives him security from the attacks of men and preying animals, as the wolverine and fisher. moreover, his house in the swamp cannot be easily approached by the hunter--man--except when the ice becomes very thick and strong. then, indeed, is the season of peril for the muskrat, but even then he has loopholes of escape. how cunningly this creature adapts itself to its geographical situation! in the extreme north--in the hyperborean regions of the hudson's bay company--lakes, rivers, and even springs freeze up in winter. the shallow marshes become solid ice, congealed to their very bottoms. how is the muskrat to get under water there? thus, then, he manages the matter:-upon deep lakes, as soon as the ice becomes strong enough to bear his weight, he makes a hole in it, and over this he constructs his dome-shaped habitation, bringing the materials up through the hole, from the bottom of the lake. the house thus formed sits prominently upon the ice. its entrance is in the floor--the hole which has already been made--and thus is kept open during the whole season of frost, by the care and watchfulness of the inmates, and by their passing constantly out and in to seek their food--the water-plants of the lake. this peculiar construction of the muskrat's dwelling, with its water-passage, would afford all the means of escape from its ordinary enemies--the beasts of prey--and, perhaps, against these alone nature has instructed it to provide. but with all its cunning it is, of course, outwitted by the superior ingenuity of its enemy--man. the food of the muskrat is varied. it loves the roots of several species of _nymphae_, but its favourite is _calamus_ root (_calamus_ or _acorus aromaticus_). it is known to eat shell-fish, and heaps of the shells of fresh-water muscles (_unios_) are often found near its retreat. some assert that it eats fish, but the same assertion is made with regard to the beaver. this point is by no means clearly made out; and the closet naturalists deny it, founding their opposing theory, as usual, upon the teeth. for my part, i have but little faith in the "teeth," since i have known horses, hogs, and cattle greedily devour both fish, flesh, and fowl. the muskrat is easily tamed, and becomes familiar and docile. it is very intelligent, and will fondly caress the hand of its master. indians and canadian settlers often have them in their houses as pets; but there is so much of the rat in their appearance, and they emit such a disagreeable odour in the spring, as to prevent them from becoming general favourites. they are difficult to cage up, and will eat their way out of a deal box in a single night. their flesh, although somewhat musky, is eaten by the indians and white hunters, but these gentry eat almost everything that "lives, breathes, and moves." many canadians, however, are fond of the flesh. it is not for its flesh that the muskrat is so eagerly hunted. its fur is the important consideration. this is almost equal to the fur of the beaver in the manufacture of hats, and sells for a price that pays the indians and white trappers for the hardships they undergo in obtaining it. it is, moreover, used in the making of boas and muffs, as it somewhat resembles the fur of the pine marten or american sable (_mustela martes_), and on account of its cheapness is sometimes passed off for the latter. it is one of the regular articles of the hudson's bay company's commerce, and thousands of muskrat skins are annually obtained. indeed, were it not that the animal is prolific and difficult to capture, its species would soon suffer extermination. the mode of taking it differs from that practised in trapping the beaver. it is often caught in traps set for the latter, but such a "catch" is regarded in the light of a misfortune, as until it is taken out the trap is rendered useless for its real object. as an amusement it is sometimes hunted by dogs, as the otter is, and dug out of its burrow; but the labour of laying open its deep cave is ill repaid by the sport. the amateur sportsman frequently gets a shot at the muskrat while passing along the bank near its haunts, and almost as frequently misses his aim. the creature is too quick for him, and dives almost without making a bubble. of course once in the pool it is seen no more. many tribes of indians hunt the muskrat both for its flesh and skin. they have peculiar modes of capturing it, of one of which the hunter-naturalist gave an account. a winter which he had spent at a fort in the neighbourhood of a settlement of ojibways gave him an opportunity of witnessing this sport in perfection. chapter ten. a rat-hunt. "chingawa," began he, "a chippeway or ojibway indian, better-known at the fort as `old foxey,' was a noted hunter of his tribe. i had grown to be a favourite with him. my well-known passion for the chase was a sort of masonic link between us; and our friendship was farther augmented by the present of an old knife for which i had no farther use. the knife was not worth twopence of sterling money, but it made `old foxey' my best friend; and all his `hunter-craft'--the gatherings of about sixty winters--became mine. "i had not yet been inducted into the mystery of `rat-catching,' but the season for that `noble' sport at length arrived, and the indian hunter invited me to join him in a muskrat hunt. "taking our `traps' on our shoulders, we set out for the place where the game was to be found. this was a chain of small lakes or ponds that ran through a marshy valley, some ten or twelve miles distant from the fort. "the traps, or implements, consisted of an ice-chisel with a handle some five feet in length, a small pickaxe, an iron-pointed spear barbed only on one side, with a long straight shaft, and a light pole about a dozen feet in length, quite straight and supple. "we had provided ourselves with a small stock of eatables as well as materials for kindling a fire--but no indian is ever without these. we had also carried our blankets along with us, as we designed to make a night of it by the lakes. "after trudging for several hours through the silent winter forests, and crossing both lakes and rivers upon the ice, we reached the great marsh. of course, this, as well as the lakes, was frozen over with thick ice; we could have traversed it with a loaded waggon and horses without danger of breaking through. "we soon came to some dome-shaped heaps rising above the level of the ice. they were of mud, bound together with grass and flags, and were hardened by the frost. within each of these rounded heaps, old foxey knew there was at least half a dozen muskrats--perhaps three times that number--lying snug and warm and huddled together. "since there appeared no hole or entrance, the question was how to get at the animals inside. simply by digging until the inside should be laid open, thought i. this of itself would be no slight labour. the roof and sides, as my companion informed me, were three feet in thickness; and the tough mud was frozen to the hardness and consistency of a fire-brick. but after getting through this shell, where should we find the inmates? why, most likely, we should not find them at all after all this labour. so said my companion, telling me at the same time that there were subterranean, or rather subaqueous, passages, by which the muskrats would be certain to make off under the ice long before he had penetrated near them. "i was quite puzzled to know how we should proceed. not so old foxey. he well knew what he was about, and pitching his traps down by one of the `houses,' commenced operations. "the one he had selected stood out in the lake, some distance from its edge. it was built entirely upon the ice; and, as the hunter well knew, there was a hole in its floor by which the animals could get into the water at will. how then was he to prevent them from escaping by the hole, while we removed the covering or roof? this was what puzzled me, and i watched his movements with interest. "instead of digging into the house, he commenced cutting a hole in the ice with his ice-chisel about two feet from the edge of the mud. that being accomplished, he cut another, and another, until four holes were pierced forming the corners of a square, and embracing the house of the muskrat within. "leaving this house, he then proceeded to pierce a similar set of holes around another that also stood out on the open lake. after that he went to a third one, and this and then a fourth were prepared in a similar manner. "he now returned to the first, this time taking care to tread lightly upon the ice and make as little stir as possible. having arrived there, he took out from his bag a square net made of twisted deer-thongs, and not much, bigger than a blanket. this in a most ingenious manner he passed under the ice, until its four corners appeared opposite the four holes; where, drawing them through, he made all last and `taut' by a line stretching from one corner to the other. "his manner of passing the net under the ice i have pronounced ingenious. it was accomplished by reeving a line from hole to hole by means of the long slender pole already mentioned. the pole, inserted through one of the holes, conducted the line, and was itself conducted by means of two forked sticks that guided it, and pushed it along to the other holes. the line being attached to the comers of the net made it an easy matter to draw the latter into its position. "all the details of this curious operation were performed with a noiseless adroitness which showed `old foxey' was no novice at `rat-catching.' "the net being now quite taut along the lower surface of the ice, must of course completely cover the hole in the `floor.' it followed, therefore, that if the muskrats were `at home,' they were now `in the trap.' "my companion assured me that they would be found inside. the reason why he had not used the net on first cutting the holes, was to give any member of the family that had been frightened out, a chance of returning; and this he knew they would certainly do, as these creatures cannot remain very long under the water. "he soon satisfied me of the truth of his statement. in a few minutes, by means of the ice-chisel and pickaxe, we had pierced the crust of the dome; and there, apparently half asleep,--because dazzled and blinded by the sudden influx of light--were no less than eight full-grown musquashes! "almost before i could count them, old foxey had transfixed the whole party, one after the other, with his long spear. "we now proceeded to another of the houses, at which the holes had been cut. there my companion went through a similar series of operations; and was rewarded by a capture of six more `rats.' "in the third of the houses only three were found. "on opening a fourth, a singular scene met our eyes. there was but, one muskrat alive, and that one seemed to be nearly famished to death. its body was wasted to mere `skin and bone;' and the animal had evidently been a long time without food. beside it lay the naked skeletons of several small animals that i at once saw were those of the muskrat. a glance at the bottom of the nest explained all. the hole, which in the other houses had passed through the ice, and which we found quite open, in this one was frozen up. the animals had neglected keeping it open, until the ice had got too thick for them to break through; and then, impelled by the cravings of hunger, they had preyed upon each other, until only one, the strongest, survived! "i found upon counting the skeletons that no less than eleven had tenanted this ice-bound prison. "the indian assured me that in seasons of very severe frost such an occurrence is not rare. at such times the ice forms so rapidly, that the animals--perhaps not having occasion to go out for some hours--find themselves frozen in; and are compelled to perish of hunger, or devour one another! "it was now near night--for we had not reached the lake until late in the day--and my companion proposed that we should leave farther operations until the following morning. of course i assented to the proposal, and we betook ourselves to some pine-trees that grew on a high bank near the shore, where we had determined to pass the night. "there we kindled a roaring fire of pine-knots; but we had grown very hungry, and i soon found that of the provisions i had brought, and upon which i had already dined, there remained but a scanty fragment for supper. this did not trouble my companion, who skinned several of the `rats,' gave them a slight warming over the fire, and then ate them up with as much _gout_ as if they had been partridges. i was hungry, but not hungry enough for that; so i sat watching him with some astonishment, and not without a slight feeling of disgust. "it was a beautiful moonlight night, one of the clearest i ever remember. there was a little snow upon the ground, just enough to cover it; and up against the white sides of the hills could be traced the pyramidal outlines of the pines, with their regular gradations of dark needle-clothed branches. they rose on all sides around the lake, looking like ships with furled sails and yards square-set. "i was in a reverie of admiration, when i was suddenly aroused by a confused noise, that resembled the howling and baying of hounds. i turned an inquiring look upon my companion. "`wolves!' he replied, unconcernedly, chawing away at his `roast rat.' "the howling sounded nearer and nearer; and then there was a rattling among dead trees, and the quickly-repeated `crunch, crunch,' as of the hoofs of some animal breaking through frozen snow. the next moment a deer dashed past in full run, and took to the ice. it was a large buck, of the `caribou' or reindeer species (_cervus tarandus_), and i could see that he was smoking with heat, and almost run down. "he had hardly passed the spot when the howl again broke out in a continued strain, and a string of forms appeared from out the bushes. they were about a dozen in all; and they were going at full speed like a pack of hounds on the view. their long muzzles, erect ears, and huge gaunt bodies, were outlined plainly against the snowy ground. i saw that they were wolves. they were white wolves, and of the largest species. "i had suddenly sprung to my feet, not with the intention of saving the deer, but of assisting in its capture; and for this purpose i seized the spear, and ran out. i heard my companion, as i thought, shouting some caution after me; but i was too intent upon the chase to pay any attention to what he said. i had at the moment a distinct perception of hunger, and an indistinct idea of roast venison for supper. "as i got down to the shore, i saw that the wolves had overtaken the deer, and dragged it down upon the ice. the poor creature made but poor running on the slippery track, sprawling at every bound; while the sharp claws of its pursuers enabled them to gallop over the ice like cats. the deer had, no doubt, mistaken the ice for water, which these creatures very often do, and thus become an easy prey to wolves, dogs, and hunters. "i ran on, thinking that i would soon scatter the wolves, and rob them of their prey. in a few moments i was in their midst, brandishing my spear; but to my surprise, as well as terror, i saw that, instead of relinquishing the deer, several of them still held on it, while the rest surrounded me with open jaws, and eyes glancing like coals of fire. "i shouted and fought desperately, thrusting the spear first at one and then at another; but the wolves only became more bold and fierce, incensed by the wounds i was inflicting. "for several minutes i continued this unexpected conflict. i was growing quite exhausted; and a sense of terrible dread coming over me, had almost paralysed me, when the tall, dark form of the indian, hurrying over the ice, gave me new courage; and i plied the spear with all my remaining strength, until several of my assailants lay pierced upon the ice. the others, now seeing the proximity of my companion with his huge ice-chisel, and frighted, moreover, by his wild indian yells, turned tail and scampered off. "three of them, however, had uttered their last howl, and the deer was found close by--already half devoured! "there was enough left, however, to make a good supper for both myself and my companion; who, although, he had already picked the bones of three muskrats, made a fresh attack upon the venison, eating of it as though he had not tasted food for a fortnight." chapter eleven. musquitoes and their antidote. our next day's journey brought us again into heavy timber--another creek bottom. the soil was rich and loamy, and the road we travelled was moist, and in some places very heavy for our waggon. several times the latter got stalled in the mud, and then the whole party were obliged to dismount, and put their shoulders to the wheel. our progress was marked by some noise and confusion, and the constant din made by jake talking to his team, his loud sonorous "woha!" as they were obliged to halt, and the lively "gee-up--gee-up" as they moved on again--frighted any game long before we could come up with it. of course we were compelled to keep by the waggon until we had made the passage of the miry flat. we were dreadfully annoyed by the mosquitoes, particularly the doctor, of whose blood they seemed to be especially fond! this is a curious fact in relation to the mosquitoes--of two persons sleeping in the same apartment, one will sometimes be bitten or rather punctured, and half bled to death, while the other remains untouched! is it the quality of the blood or the thickness of the skin that guides to this preference? this point was discussed amongst us--the doctor taking the view that it was always a sign of good blood when one was more than usually subject to the attack of mosquitoes. he was himself an apt illustration of the fact. this statement of course produced a general laugh, and some remarks at the doctor's expense, on the part of the opponents of his theory. strange to say, old ike was fiercely assailed by the little blood-suckers. this seemed to be an argument against the doctor's theory, for in the tough skinny carcass of the old trapper, the blood could neither have been very plenteous nor delicate. most of us smoked as we rode along, hoping by that means to drive off the ferocious swarm, but although tobacco smoke is disagreeable to the mosquitoes, they cannot be wholly got rid of by a pipe or cigar. could one keep a constant _nimbus_ of the smoke around his face it might be effective, but not otherwise. a sufficient quantity of tobacco smoke will kill mosquitoes outright, as i have more than once proved by a thorough fumigation of my sleeping apartment. these insects are not peculiar, as sometimes supposed, to the inter-tropical regions of america. they are found in great numbers even to the shores of the arctic sea, and as fierce and bloodthirsty as anywhere else--of course only in the summer season, when, as before remarked, the thermometer in these northern latitudes mounts to a high figure. their haunts are the banks of rivers, and particularly those of a stagnant and muddy character. there is another singular fact in regard to them. upon the banks of some of the south-american rivers, life is almost unendurable on account of this pest--the "_plaga de mosquitos_," as the spaniards term it-while upon other streams in the very same latitude musquitoes are unknown. these streams are what are termed "_rios negros_," or black-water rivers--a peculiar class of rivers, to which many tributaries of the amazon and orinoco belong. our english comrade, who had travelled all over south america, gave us this information as we rode along. he stated, that he had often considered it a great relief, a sort of escape from purgatory, while on his travels he parted from one of the yellow or white water streams, to enter one of the "_rios negros_." many indian tribes settled upon the banks of the latter solely to get clear of the "_plaga de mosquitos_." the indians who reside in the mosquito districts habitually paint their bodies, and smear themselves with oil, as a protection against their bites; and it is a common thing among the natives, when speaking of any place, to inquire into the "character" of its mosquitoes! on some tributaries of the amazon the mosquitoes are really a life torment, and the wretched creatures who inhabit such places frequently bury their bodies in the sand in order to get sleep! even the pigments with which they anoint themselves are pierced by the poisoned bills of their tormentors. besancon and the kentuckian both denied that any species of ointment would serve as a protection against mosquitoes. the doctor joined them in their denial. they asserted that they had tried everything that could be thought of--camphor, ether, hartshorn, spirits of turpentine, etcetera. some of us were of a different opinion, and ike settled the point soon after in favour of the dissentients by a practical illustration. the old trapper, as before stated, was a victim to the fiercest attacks, as was manifested by the slapping which he repeatedly administered to his cheeks, and an almost constant muttering of bitter imprecations. he knew a remedy he said in a "sartint weed," if he could only "lay his claws upon it." we noticed that from time to time as he rode along his eyes swept the ground in every direction. at length a joyous exclamation told that he had discovered the "weed." "thur's the darned thing at last," muttered he, as he flung himself to the ground, and commenced gathering the stalks of a small herb that grew plentifully about. it was an annual, with leaves very much of the size and shape of young garden box-wood, but of a much brighter green. of course we all knew well enough what it was, for there is not a village "common" in the western united states that is not covered with it. it was the well-known "penny-royal" (_hedcoma pulegioides_), not the english herb of that name, which is a species of _mentha_. redwood also leaped from his horse, and set to plucking the "weed." he too, from experience, knew its virtues. we all drew bridle, watching the guides. both operated in a similar manner. having collected a handful of the tenderest tops, they rubbed them violently between their palms--rough and good for such service--and then passed the latter over the exposed skin of their necks and laces. ike took two small bunches of the stalks, crushed them under his heel, and then stuck them beneath his cap, so that the ends hung down over his cheeks. this being done, he and his comrade mounted their horses and rode on. some of us--the hunter-naturalist, the englishman, and myself-dismounted and imitated ike--of course under a volley of laughter and "pooh-poohs" from besancon, the kentuckian, and the doctor; but we had not ridden two hundred paces until the joke changed sides. from that moment not a mosquito approached us, while our three friends were bitten as badly as ever. in the end they were convinced, and the torment of the mosquitoes proving stronger than the fear of our ridicule, all three sprang out of their saddles, and made a rush at the next bed of penny-royal that came in sight. whether it is the highly aromatic odour of the penny-royal that keeps off these insects, or whether the juice when touched by them burns the delicate nerves of their feet i am unable to say. certain it is they will not alight upon the skin which has been plentifully anointed with it. i have tried the same experiment often since that time with a similar result, and in fact have never since travelled through a mosquito country without a provision of the "essence of penny-royal." this is better than the herb itself, and can be obtained from any apothecary. a single drop or two spilled in the palm of the hand is sufficient to rub over all the parts exposed, and will often ensure sleep, where otherwise such a thing would be impossible. i have often lain with my face so smeared, and listened to the sharp hum of the mosquito as it approached, fancying that the next moment i should feel its tiny touch, as it settled down upon my cheek, or brow. as soon, however, as it came within the influence of the penny-royal i could hear it suddenly tack round and wing its way off again, until its disagreeable "music" was no longer heard. the only drawback in the use of the penny-royal lies in the burning sensation which the fluid produces upon the skin; and this in a climate where the thermometer is pointing to 90 degrees is no slight disqualification of the remedy. the use of it is sometimes little better than "hobbson's choice." the application of it on the occasion mentioned restored the spirits of our party, which had been somewhat kept under by the continuous attacks of the mosquitoes, and a lively little incident that occurred soon after, viz. the hunt and capture of a raccoon, made us all quite merry. cooney, though a night prowler, is sometimes abroad during the day, but especially in situations where the timber is high, and the woods dark and gloomy. on the march we had come so suddenly upon this one, that he had not time to strike out for his own tree, where he would soon have hidden from us in its deep cavity. he had been too busy with his own affairs--the nest of a wild turkey upon the ground, under some brush and leaves, the broken eggs in which told of the delicious meal he had made. taken by surprise--for the guides had ridden nearly on top of him--he galloped up the nearest tree, which fortunately contained neither fork nor cavity in which he could shelter himself; and a well-directed shot from redwood's rifle brought him with a heavy "thump" back to the ground again. we were all stirred up a little by this incident; in fact, the unusual absence of game rendered ever so trifling an occurrence an "event" with us. no one, however, was so pleased as the black waggoner jake, whose eyes fairly danced in his head at the sight of a "coon." the "coon" to jake was well-known game--natural and legitimate--and jake preferred "roast coon" to fried bacon at any time. jake knew that none of us would care to eat of his coonship. he was therefore sure of his supper; and the "varmint" was carefully deposited in the corner of the waggon. jake did not have it all to himself. the trappers liked fresh meat too, even "coon-meat;" and of course claimed their share. none of the rest of the party had any relish for such a fox-like carcass. after supper, cooney was honoured with a description, and for many of the facts of his history we are indebted to jake himself. chapter twelve. the 'coon, and his habits. foremost of all the wild creatures of america in point of being generally known is the raccoon (_procyon lotor_). none has a wider geographical distribution, as its "range" embraces the entire continent, from the polar sea to terra del fuego. some naturalists have denied that it is found in south america. this denial is founded on the fact, that neither ulloa nor molina have spoken of it. but how many other animals have these crude naturalists omitted to describe? we may safely assert that the raccoon exists in south america, as well in the tropical forests of guyana as in the colder regions of the table land--everywhere that there exists tree-timber. in most parts where the spanish language is spoken, it is known as the "_zorro negro_," or black fox. indeed, there are two species in south america, the common one (_procyon lotor_), and the crab-eater (_procyon cancrivorus_). in north america it is one of the most common of wild animals. in all parts you may meet with it. in the hot lowlands of louisiana--in the tropical "chapparals" of mexico--in the snowy regions of canada--and in the vernal valleys of california. unlike the deer, the wild cat, and the wolverine, it is never mistaken for any other animal, nor is any animal taken for it. it is as well-known in america as the red fox is in england, and with a somewhat similar reputation. although there is a variety in colour and size, there is no ambiguity about species or genus. wherever the english language is spoken, it has but one name, the "raccoon." in america, every man, woman and child knows the "sly ole 'coon." this animal has been placed by naturalists in the family _ursidae_, genus _procyon_. linnaeus made it a _bear_, and classed it with _ursus_. it has, in our opinion, but little in common with the bear, and far more resembles the fox. hence the spanish name of "_zorro negro_" (black fox). a writer quaintly describes it thus:--"the limbs of a bear, the body of a badger, the head of a fox, the nose of a dog, the tail of a cat, and sharp claws, by which it climbs trees like a monkey." we cannot admit the similarity of its tail to that of a cat. the tail of the raccoon is full and bushy, which is not true of the cat's tail. there is only a similarity in the annulated or banded appearance noticed in the tails of some cats, which in that of the raccoon is a marked characteristic. the raccoon, to speak in round terms, is about the size of an english fox, but somewhat thicker and "bunchier" in the body. its legs are short in proportion, and as it is _plantigrade_ in the hind-feet, it stands and runs low, and cat-like. the muzzle is extremely pointed and slender, adapted to its habit of prying into every chink and corner, in search of spiders, beetles, and other creatures. the general colour of the raccoon is dark brown (nearly black) on the upper part of the body, mixed with iron-grey. underneath it is of a lighter hue. there is, here and there, a little fawn colour intermixed. a broad black band runs across the eyes and unites under the throat. this band is surrounded and sharply defined with a margin of greyish-white, which gives a unique expression to the "countenance" of the "'coon." one of the chief beauties of this animal is its tail, which is characteristic in its markings. it exhibits twelve annulations or ring-bands, six black and six greyish-white, in regular alternation. the tip is black, and the tail itself is very full or "bushy." when the 'coon-skin is made into a cap--which it often is among hunters and frontiers-men--the tail is left to hang as a drooping plume; and such a head-dress is far from ungraceful. in some "settlements" the 'coon-skin cap is quite the fashion among the young "backwoodsmen." the raccoon is an animal of an extremely amorous disposition; but there is a fact connected with the sex of this creature which is curious: the female is larger than the male. not only larger, but in every respect a finer-looking animal. the hair, long on both, is more full and glossy upon the female, its tints deeper and more beautiful. this is contrary to the general order of nature. by those unacquainted with this fact, the female is mistaken for the male, and _vice versa_, as in the case of hawks and eagles. the fur of the raccoon has long been an article of commerce, as it is used in making beaver hats; but as these have given place in most countries to the silk article, the 'coon-skin now commands but a small price. the raccoon is a tree-climber of the first quality. it climbs with its sharp-curved claws, not by hugging, as is the case with the bear tribe. its lair, or place of retreat, is in a tree--some hollow, with its entrance high up. such trees are common in the great primeval forests of america. in this tree-cave it has its nest, where the female brings forth three, four, five, or six "cubs" at a birth. this takes place in early spring--usually the first week in april. the raccoon is a creature of the woods. on the prairies and in treeless regions it is not known. it prefers heavy "timber," where there are huge logs and hollow trees in plenty. it requires the neighbourhood of water, and in connection with this may be mentioned a curious habit it has, that of plunging all its food into the water before devouring it. it will be remembered that the otter has a similar habit. it is from this peculiarity that the raccoon derives its specific name of _lotor_ (washer). it does not always moisten its morsel thus, but pretty generally. it is fond, moreover, of frequent ablutions, and no animal is more clean and tidy in its habits. the raccoon is almost omnivorous. it eats poultry or wild fowls. it devours frogs, lizards, lame, and insects without distinction. it is fond of sweets, and is very destructive to the sugar-cane and indian corn of the planter. when the ear of the maize is young, or, as it is termed, "in the milk," it is very sweet. then the raccoon loves to prey upon it. whole troops at night visit the corn-fields and commit extensive havoc. these mischievous habits make the creature many enemies, and in fact it has but few friends. it kills hares, rabbits, and squirrels when it can catch them, and will rob a bird's nest in the most ruthless manner. it is particularly fond of shell-fish; and the _unios_, with which many of the fresh-water lakes and rivers of america abound, form part of its food. these it opens as adroitly with its claws as an oyster-man could with his knife. it is partial to the "soft-shell" crabs and small tortoises common in the american waters. jake told us of a trick which the 'coon puts in practice for catching the small turtles of the creek. we were not inclined to give credence to the story, but jake almost swore to it. it is certainly curious if true, but it smacks very much of buffon. it may be remarked, however, that the knowledge which the plantation negroes have of the habits of the raccoon surpasses that of any mere naturalist. jake boldly declares that the 'coon fishes for turtles! that it squats upon the bank of the stream, allowing its bushy tail to hang over into the water; that the turtles swimming about in search of food or amusement, spies the hairy appendage and lays hold of it; and that the 'coon, feeling the nibble, suddenly draws the testaceous swimmer upon dry land, and then "cleans out de shell" at his leisure! the 'coon is often domesticated in america. it is harmless as a dog or cat except when crossed by children, when it will snarl, snap, and bite like the most crabbed cur. it is troublesome, however, where poultry is kept, and this prevents its being much of a favourite. indeed, it is not one, for it is hunted everywhere, and killed--wherever this can be done--on sight. there is a curious connection between the negro and the raccoon. it is not a tie of sympathy, but a kind of antagonism. the 'coon, as already observed, is the negro's legitimate game. 'coon-hunting is peculiarly a negro sport. the negro is the 'coon's mortal enemy. he kills the 'coon when and wherever he can, and cats it too. he loves its "meat," which is pork-tasted, and in young 'coons palatable enough, but in old ones rather rank. this, however, our "darkie" friend does not much mind, particularly if his master be a "stingy old boss," and keeps him on rice instead of meat rations. the negro, moreover, makes an odd "bit" (twelve and a half cents) by the skin, which he disposes of to the neighbouring "storekeeper." the 'coon-hunt is a "nocturnal" sport, and therefore does not interfere with the negro's regular labour. by right the night belongs to him, and he may then dispose of his time as he pleases, which he often does in this very way. the negro is not, allowed to carry fire-arms, and for this reason the squirrel may perch upon a high limb, jerk its tail about and defy him; the hare may run swiftly away, and the wild turkey may tantalise him with its incessant "gobbling." but the 'coon can be killed without fire-arms. the 'coon can be overtaken and "treed." the negro is not denied the use of an axe, and no man knows better how to handle it than he. the 'coon, therefore, is his natural game, and much sport does he have in its pursuit. nearly the same may be said of the opossum (_didelphis virginiana_); but the "'possum" is more rare, and it is not our intention now to describe that very curious creature. from both 'coon and 'possum does the poor negro derive infinite sport--many a sweet excitement that cheers his long winter nights, and chequers with brighter spots the dull and darksome monotony of his slave-life. i have often thought what a pity it would be if the 'coon and the opossum should be extirpated before slavery itself became extinct. i had often shared in this peculiar sport of the negro, and joined in a real 'coon-chase, but the most exciting of all was the first in which i had been engaged, and i proffered my comrades an account of it. chapter thirteen. a 'coon-chase. "my 'coon-chase took place in tennessee, where i was sojourning for some time upon a plantation. it was the first affair of the kind i had been present at, and i was somewhat curious as to the mode of carrying it on. my companion and inductor was a certain `uncle abe,' a gentleman very much after the style and complexion of our own jake here. "i need not tell you, gentlemen, that throughout the western states every neighbourhood has its noted 'coon-hunter. he is usually a wary old `nigger,' who knows all the tricks and dodges of the 'coon. he either owns a dog himself, or has trained one of his master's, in that peculiar line. it is of little importance what breed the dog may be. i have known curs that were excellent `'coon-dogs.' all that is wanted is, that he have a good nose, and that he be a good runner, and of sufficient bulk to be able to bully a 'coon when taken. this a very small dog cannot do, as the 'coon frequently makes a desperate fight before yielding. mastiffs, terriers, and half-bred pointers make the best `'coon-dogs.' "uncle abe was the mighty hunter, the nimrod of the neighbourhood in which i happened to be; and uncle abe's dog--a stout terrier--was esteemed the `smartest 'coon-dog' in a circle of twenty miles. in going out with uncle abe, therefore, i had full confidence that i should see sport. "on one side of the plantation was a heavily-timbered `bottom', through which meandered a small stream, called, of course, a `creek.' this bottom was a favourite _habitat_ of the 'coons, as there were large trees growing near the water, many of which were hollow either in their trunks or some of their huge limbs. moreover, there were vast trellises of vines extending from tree to tree; some of them, as the fox and muscadine (_vitis labrusca_), yielding sweet grapes, of which the raccoons are very fond. "to this bottom, then, we directed our course, abe acting as guide, and holding his dog, pompo, in the leash abe carried no other weapon than an axe, while i had armed myself with a double-barrel. pompo knew as well as either of us the errand on which we were bent, as appeared from his flashing eyes and the impatient leaps which he now and then made to get free. "we had to cross a large corn-field, a full half-mile in breadth, before we reached the woods. between this and the timber was a zigzag fence-the common `rail' fence of the american farmer. for some distance beyond the fence the timber was small, but farther on was the creek `bottom,' where the 'coons were more likely to make their dwelling-place. "we did not, however, proceed direct to the bottom. abe knew better than that. the young corn was just then `in the milk,' and the 'coon-hunter expected to find his game nearer the field. it was settled, therefore, that we should follow the line of the fence, in hopes that the dog would strike a fresh trail, leading either to or from the corn-field. "it was now night--two hours after sundown. the 'coon-chase, i have already said, is a nocturnal sport. the raccoon does range by day, but rarely, and only in dark and solitary woods. he often basks by day upon high limbs, or the broken tops, of trees. i have shot several of his tribe while asleep, or sunning themselves in such situations. perhaps before they knew their great enemy man, they were less nocturnal in their activity. we had a fine moonlight; but so far as a view of the chase was concerned, that would benefit us but little. during the hunt there is not much to be seen of either dog or 'coon, as it is always a scramble through trees and underwood. the dog trusts altogether to his nose, and the hunter to his ears; for the latter has no other guide save the yelp or bark of his canine assistant. nevertheless, moonlight, or a clear night, is indispensable; without one or the other, it would be impossible to follow through the woods. a view of a 'coon-chase is a luxury enjoyed only by the hats and owls. "pompo was now let loose in the corn; while abe and i walked quietly along the fence, keeping on different sides. abe remained in the field for the purpose of handing over the dog, as the fence was high--a regular `ten rail, with stalks and riders.' a 'coon could easily cross it, but not a dog, without help. "we had not gone more than a hundred yards, when a quick sharp yelp from pompo announced that he had come suddenly upon something in the corn-field. "`a varmint!' cried abe; and the next moment appeared the dog, running up full tilt among the maize plants and up to the fence. i could see some dark object before him, that passed over the rails with a sudden spring, and bounded into the timbers. "`a varmint, massa!' repeated abe, as he lifted the dog over, and followed himself. "i knew that in abe's vocabulary--for that night at least--a `varmint' meant a 'coon; and as we dashed through the brushwood, following the dog, i felt all the excitement of a 'coon-chase. "it was not a long one--i should think of about five minutes' duration; at the end of which time the yelp of the dog which had hitherto guided us, changed into a regular and continuous harking. on hearing this, abe quietly announced-"`the varmint am treed.' "our only thought now was to get to the tree as speedily as possible, but another thought entered our minds as we advanced; that was, what sort of a tree had the 'coon taken shelter in? "this was an important question, and its answer involved the success or failure of our hunt. if a very large tree, we might whistle for the 'coon. abe knew this well, and as we passed on, expressed his doubts about the result. "the bark of pompo sounded some hundred yards off, in the very heaviest of the bottom timber. it was not likely, therefore, that the 'coon had taken to a small tree, while there were large ones near at hand. our only hope was that he had climbed one that was not `hollow.' in that case we might still have a chance with the double-barrel and buck-shot. abe had but little hope. "`he hab reach him own tree, massa; an' that am sartin to be a big un wi' a hole near um top. wagh! 'twar dat ar fence. but for de dratted fence ole pomp nebber let um reach um own tree. wagh!' "from this i learned that one point in the character of a good 'coon-dog was speed. the 'coon runs well for a few hundred yards. he rarely strays farther from his lair. if he can beat his pursuer for this distance he is safe, as his retreat is always in a hollow tree of great size. there is no way of getting at him there, except by felling the tree, and this the most zealous 'coon-hunter would not think of attempting. the labour of cutting down such a tree would be worth a dozen 'coons. a swift dog, therefore, will overtake the raccoon, and force him to the nearest tree--often a small one, where he is either shaken off or the tree cut down. sometimes the hunter climbs after and forces him to leap out, so as to fall into the very jaws of the watchful dog below. "in abe's opinion pompo would have `treed' his 'coon before reaching, the bottom, had not the fence interfered, but now-"`told ye so, massa!' muttered he, interrupting my thoughts. `look dar! dar's de tree--trunk thick as a haystack. wagh!' "i looked in the direction indicated by my companion. i saw pompo standing by the root of a very large tree, looking upward, shaking his tail, and barking at intervals. before i had time to make any farther observations abe's voice again sounded in my ears. "`gollies! it am a buttonwood! why, pomp, ole fellur, you hab made a mistake--de varmint ain't dar, 'cooney nebber trees upon buttonwood-nebber--you oughter know better'n dat, ole fool!' "abe's speech drew my attention to the tree. i saw that it was the american sycamore (_platanus occidentalis_), familiarly known by the trivial name, `buttonwood,' from the use to which its wood is sometimes put. but why should the 'coon not `tree' upon it, as well as any other? i put the question to my companion. "`'cause, massa, its bark am slickery. de varmint nebber takes to 'im. he likes de oak, an' de poplum, an' de scaly-bark. gosh! but he am dar!' continued abe, raising his voice, and looking outward--`look yonder, massa! he had climb by de great vine. dat's right, pomp! you am right after all, and dis nigga's a fool. hee--up, ole dog! hee--up!' "following the direction in which abe pointed, my eyes rested on a huge parasite of the lliana kind, that, rising out of the ground at some distance, slanted upward and joined the sycamore near its top. this had no doubt been the ladder by which the 'coon had climbed. "this discovery, however, did not mend the matter as far as we were concerned. the 'coon had got into the buttonwood, fifty feet from the ground, where the tree had been broken off by the lightning or the wind, and where the mouth of a large cavity was distinctly visible by the light of the moon. the trunk was one of the largest, and it would have been sheer folly (so we concluded) to have attempted felling it. "we left the spot without farther ado, and took our way back to the corn-field. "the dog had now been silent for some time, and we were in hopes that another `varmint' might have stolen into the corn. "our hopes were not doomed to disappointment. pompo had scarcely entered the field when a second 'coon was sprung, which, like the other, ran directly for the fence and the woods. "pomp followed as fast as he could be flung over; and this 'coon was also `treed' in a few minutes. "from the direction of the barking, we calculated that it must be near where the other had escaped us; but our astonishment equalled our chagrin, when upon arriving at the spot, we found that both the `varmints' had taken to the same tree! "with some rather emphatic ejaculations we returned to the corn-field, and after a short while a third 'coon was raised, which, like the others, made of course for the timber. "pomp ran upon his trail with an angry yelping, that soon changed into the well-known signal that he had treed the game. "we ran after through brush and brake, and soon came up with the dog. if our astonishment was great before, it was now beyond bounds. the identical buttonwood with its great parasite was before us, the dog barking at its foot! the third 'coon had taken shelter in its capacious cavity. "`wagh! massa!' ejaculated abe, in a voice of terror, `its de same varmint. it ain't no 'coon, it's de debil! for de lub o' god, massa, let's get away from here!' "of course i followed his advice, as to get at the 'coons was out of the question. "we returned once more to the corn-field, but we found that we had at last cleared it of 'coons. it was still early, however, and i was determined not to give up the hunt until i had assisted in killing a 'coon. by abe's advice, therefore, we struck into the woods with the intention of making a circuit where the trees were small. some 'coon might be prowling there in search of birds' nests. so thought abe. "he was right in his conjecture. a fourth was started, and off went pompo after him. in a few minutes the quick constant bark echoed back. this time we were sure, from the direction, in a new tree. "it proved to be so, and such a small one that, on coming up, we saw the animal squatted upon the branches, not twenty feet from the ground. "we were now sure of him, as we thought; and i had raised my gun to fire; when all at once, as if guessing my intent, the 'coon sprang into another tree, and then ran down to the ground and off again, with pompo veiling in his track. "of course we expected that the dog would speedily tree him again, which after a few minutes he did, but this time in the heavy timber. "we hastened forward, guided by the barking. to the extreme of my astonishment, and i fancy to the very extreme of abe's terror, we again found ourselves at the foot of the buttonwood. "abe's wool stood on end. superstition was the butt-end of his religion; and he not only protested, but i am satisfied that he believed, that all the four 'coons were one and the same individual, and that individual `de debil.' "great 'coon-hunter as he was, he would now have gone home, if i had let him. but i had no thoughts of giving up the matter in that easy way. i was roused by the repeated disappointment. a new resolve had entered my mind. i was determined to get the 'coons out of the buttonwood, cost what it might. the tree must come down, if it should take us till morning to fell it. "with this determination i caught hold of abe's axe, and struck the first blow. to my surprise and delight the tree sounded hollow. i repeated the stroke. the sharp axe went crashing inwards. the tree was hollow to the ground; on the side where i had commenced chopping, it was but a shell. "a few more blows, and i had made a hole large enough to put a head through. felling such a tree would be no great job after all, and i saw that it would hardly occupy an hour. the tree must come down. "abe seeing me so resolute, had somewhat recovered his courage and his senses, and now laid hold of the axe. abe was a `first hand' at `chopping,' and the hole soon gaped wider. "`if de hole run clar up, massa,' said he, resting for a moment, `we can smoke out de varmint--wid de punk and de grass here we can smoke out de debil himself. s'pose we try 'im, massa?' "`good!' cried i, catching at abe's suggestion; and in a few minutes we had made a fire in the hole, and covered it with leaves, grass, and weeds. "the smoke soon did its work. we saw it ooze out above at the entrance of the 'coon hole--at first in a slight filmy stream, and then in thick volumes. we heard a scraping and rattling within the hollow trunk, and a moment after a dark object sprang out upon the lliana, and ran a short way downward. another followed, and another, and another, until a string of no less than six raccoons squatted along the parasite threatening to run downward! "the scene that followed was indescribable. i had seized my gun, and both barrels were emptied in a `squirrel's jump.' two of the 'coons came to the ground, badly wounded. pompo tackled another, that had run down the lliana, and was attempting to get off; while abe with his axe clove the skull of a fourth, that had tried to escape in a similar manner. "the other two ran back into the `funnel,' but only to come out again just in time to receive a shot each from the reloaded gun, which brought both of them tumbling from the tree. we succeeded in bagging the whole family; and thus finished what abe declared to be the greatest `'coon-chase on de record.' "as it was by this time far in the night, we gathered up our game, and took the `back track to hum.'" chapter fourteen. wild hogs of the woods. next day while threading our way through a patch of oak forest--the ground covered thickly with fallen leaves--we were startled by a peculiar noise in front of us. it was a kind of bellows-like snort, exactly like that made by the domestic swine when suddenly affrighted. some of the party cried out "bear," and of course this announcement threw us all into a high state of excitement. even the buffalo itself would be but secondary game, when a bear was upon the ground. the "snuff" of the bear has a very considerable resemblance to that of terrified hogs, and even our guides were deceived. they thought it might be "bar" we had heard. it proved we were all wrong. no wonder we fancied the noise resembled that made by hogs. the animal that uttered it was nothing else than a wild boar. "what!" you will exclaim, "a wild boar in the forests of missouri? oh! a peccary i suppose." no, not a peccary; for these creatures do not range so far north as the latitude of missouri--not a wild boar, neither, if you restrict the meaning of the phrase to the true indigenous animal of that kind. for all that, it was a wild boar, or rather a boar _ran wild_. wild enough and savage too it appeared, although we had only a glimpse of its shaggy form as it dashed into the thicket with a loud grunt. half a dozen shots followed it. no doubt it was tickled with some of the "leaden hail" from the double-barrelled guns, but it contrived to escape, leaving us only the incident as a subject for conversation. throughout the backwoods there are large numbers of half-wild hogs, but they are usually the denizens of woods that are inclosed by a rail-fence, and therefore private property. one part of the year they are tamer, when a scarcity of food renders it necessary for them to approach the owner's house, and eat the corn placed for them in a well-known spot. at this season they answer to a call somewhat similar to the "milk oh!" of the london dairyman, but loud enough to be heard a mile or more through the woods. a traveller passing through the backwoods' settlements will often hear this singular call sounding afar off in the stillness of the evening. these hogs pick up most of their subsistence in the forest. the "mast" of the beech-tree, the nut of the hickory, the fruit of the chinquapin oak, the acorn, and many other seeds and berries, furnish them with food. many roots besides, and grasses, contribute to sustain them, and they make an occasional meal off a snake whenever they can get hold of one. indeed it may be safely asserted, that no other cause has contributed so much to the destruction of these reptiles, as the introduction of the domestic hog into the forests of america. wherever a tract of woods has been used as the "run" of a drove of hogs, serpents of every kind become exceedingly scarce, and you may hunt through such a tract for weeks without seeing one. the hog seems to have the strongest antipathy to the snake tribe; without the least fear of them. when one of the latter is discovered by a hog, and no crevice in the rocks, or hollow log, offers it a shelter, its destruction is inevitable. the hog rushes to the spot, and, bounding forward, crushes the reptile under his hoof's. should the first attempt not succeed, and the serpent glide away, the hog nimbly follows, and repeats his efforts until the victim lies helpless. the victor then goes to work with his powerful jaws, and quietly devours the prey. the fondness of the hog for this species of food proves that in a state of nature it is partially a carnivorous animal. the peccary, which is the true representative of the wild hog in america--has the very same habit, and is well-known to be one of the most fatal enemies of the serpent tribe to be found among american animals. the hog shows no fear of the snake. his thick hide seems to protect him. the "skin" of the rattle-snake or the "hiss" of the deadly "moccasin," are alike unheeded by him. he kills them as easily as he does the innocent "chicken snake" or the black constrictor. the latter often escapes from its dreaded enemy by taking to a bush or tree; but the rattle-snake and the moccasin are not tree-climbers, and either hide themselves in the herbage and dead leaves, or retreat to their holes. it is not true that the hog cats the body of the snake he has killed, leaving the head untouched, and thus avoiding the poisoned fangs. he devours the whole of the creature, head and all. the venom of the snake, like the "curari" poison of the south-american indians, is only effective when coming in contact with the blood. taken internally its effects are innoxious--indeed there are those who believe it to be beneficial, and the curari is often swallowed as a medicine. most of this information about the half-wild hogs of the backwoods was given by our kentucky comrade, who himself was the proprietor of many hundreds of them. an annual hog-hunt was part of the routine of his life. it was undertaken not merely for the sport of the thing--though that was by no means to be despised--and the season of the hog-hunting is looked forward to with pleasant anticipation by the domestics of the plantation, as well as a few select friends or neighbours who are invited to participate in it. when the time arrives, the proprietor, with his pack of hounds, and accompanied by a party mounted and armed with rifles, enters the large tract of woodland--perhaps miles in extent, and in many places covered with cane-brakes, and almost impenetrable thickets of undergrowth. to such places the hogs fly for shelter, but the dogs can penetrate wherever hogs can go; and of course the latter are soon driven out, and forced into the more open ground, where the mounted men are waiting to receive them with a volley of bullets. sometimes a keen pursuit follows, and the dogs in full cry are carried across the country, over huge logs, and through thickets and ravines, followed by the horsemen-just as if an old fox was the game pursued. a large waggon with drivers and attendants follows the chase, and in this the killed are deposited, to be "hauled" home when the hunt is over. this, however, often continues for several days, until all, or at least all the larger hogs, are collected and brought home, and then the sport terminates. the produce of the hunt sometimes amounts to hundreds-according to the wealth of the proprietor. of course a scene of slaughtering and bacon-curing follows. a part of the bacon furnishes the "smoke-house" for home consumption during the winter; while the larger part finds its way to the great pork-market of cincinnati. the kentuckian related to us a curious incident illustrating the instinct of the swinish quadruped; but which to his mind, as well as to ours, seemed more like a proof of a rational principle possessed by the animal. the incident he had himself been witness to, and in his own woodlands. he related it thus:-"i had strayed into the woods in search of a wild turkey with nothing but my shot-gun, and having tramped about a good bit, i sat down upon a log to rest myself. i had not been seated live minutes when i heard a rustling among the dead leaves in front of me. i thought it might be deer, and raised my gun; but i was greatly disappointed on seeing some half dozen of my own hogs make their appearance, rooting as they went along. "i paid no more heed to them at the time; but a few minutes after, my attention was again drawn to them, by seeing them make a sudden rush across a piece of open ground, as if they were in pursuit of something. "sure enough they were. just before their snouts, i espied the long shining body of a black snake doing its best to get out of their way. in this it succeeded, for the next moment i saw it twisting itself up a pawpaw sapling, until it had reached the top branches, where it remained looking down at its pursuers. "the snake may have fancied itself secure at the moment, and so thought i, at least so far as the hogs were concerned. i had made up my mind to be its destroyer myself, and was just about to sprinkle it with shot, when a movement on the part of one of the hogs caused me to hold back and remain quiet. i need not tell you i was considerably astonished to see the foremost of these animals seize the sapling in its jaws and jerk it about in a determined manner, as if with the intention of shaking off the snake! of course it did not succeed in this, for the latter was wound around the branches, and it would have been as easy to have shaken off the bark. "as you all know, gentlemen, the pawpaw--not the pawpaw (_carica papaya_), but a small tree of the _anonas_ or custard apple tribe, common in the woods of western america--is one of the softest and most brittle of our trees, and the hog seemed to have discovered this, for he suddenly changed his tactics, and instead of shaking at the sapling, commenced grinding it between his powerful jaws. the others assisted him, and the tree fell in a few seconds. as soon as the top branches touched the ground, the whole drove dashed forward at the snake; and in less than the time i take in telling it, the creature was crushed and devoured." after hearing the singular tale, our conversation now returned to the hog we had just "jumped." all agreed that it must be some stray from the plantations that had wandered thus far from the haunts of men, for there was no settlement within twenty miles of where we then were. our trapper guides stated that wild hogs are frequently found in remote parts, and that many of them are not "strays," but have been "littered" and brought up in the forest. these are as shy and difficult to approach as deer, or any other hunted animals. they are generally of a small breed, and it is supposed that they are identical with the species found throughout mexico, and introduced by the spaniards. chapter fifteen. treed by peccaries. talking of these spanish hogs naturally led us to the subject of the peccary--for this creature is an inhabitant only of those parts of north america which have been hitherto in possession of the spanish race. of the peccary (_dicotyles_), there are two distinct species known--the "collared," and the "white-lipped." in form and habits they are very similar to each other. in size and colour they differ. the "white-lipped" is the larger. its colour is dark brown, nearly black, while that of the collared peccary is a uniform iron-grey, with the exception of the band or collar upon its shoulders. the distinctive markings are, on the former species a greyish-white patch along the jaws, and on the other a yellowish-white belt, embracing the neck and shoulders, as a collar does a horse. these markings have given to each its specific name. they are farther distinguished, by the forehead of the white-lipped peccary being more hollowed or concave than that of its congener. in most other respects these creatures are alike. both feed upon roots, fruits, frogs, toads, lizards, and snakes. both make their lair in hollow logs, or in caves among the rocks, and both are gregarious in their habits. in this last habit, however, they exhibit some difference. the white-lipped species associate in troops to the number of hundreds, and even as many as a thousand have been seen together; whereas the others do not live in such large droves, but are oftener met with in pairs. yet this difference of habit may arise from the fact that in the places where both have been observed, the latter have not been so plentiful as the white-lipped species. as many as a hundred of the collared peccary have been observed in one "gang," and no doubt had there been more of them in the neighbourhood, the flock would have been still larger. the white-lipped species does not extend to the northern half of the american continent. its _habitat_ is in the great tropical forests of guyana and brazil, and it is found much farther south, being common in paraguay. it is there known as the "vaquira," whence our word "peccary." the other species is also found in south america, and is distinguished as the "vaquira de collar" (collared peccary). of course, they both have trivial indian names, differing in different parts of the country. the former is called in paraguay "tagnicati," while the latter is the "taytetou." neither species is so numerous as they were informer times. they have been thinned off by hunting--not for the value either of their flesh or their skins, not for the mere sport either, but on account of their destructive habits. in the neighbourhood of settlements they make frequent forays into the maize and mandioc fields, and they will lay waste a plantation of sugar-cane in a single night. for this reason it is that a war of extermination has long been waged against them by the planters and their dependents. as already stated, it is believed that the white-lipped species is not found in north america. probably it does exist in the forests of southern mexico. the natural history of these countries is yet to be thoroughly investigated. the mexicans have unfortunately employed all their time in making revolutions. but a new period has arrived. the panama railroad, the nicaragua canal, and the route of tehuantepec, will soon be open, when among the foremost who traverse these hitherto unfrequented regions, will be found troops of naturalists, of the audubon school, who will explore every nook and corner of central america. indeed, already some progress has been made in this respect. the two species of peccaries, although so much alike never associate together, and do not seem to have any knowledge of a relationship existing between them. indeed, what is very singular, they are never found in the same tract of woods. a district frequented by the one is always without the other. the collared peccary is the species found in north america; and of it we more particularly speak. it is met with when you approach the more southern latitudes westward of the mississippi river. in that great wing of the continent, to the eastward of this river, and now occupied by the united states, no such animal exists, nor is there any proof that it was ever known to exist there in its wild state. in the territory of texas, it is a common animal, and its range extends westward to the pacific, and south throughout the remainder of the continent. as you proceed westwards, the line of its range rises considerably; and in new mexico it is met with as high as the 38rd parallel. this is just following the isothermal line, and proves that the peccary cannot endure the rigours of a severe winter climate. it is a production of the tropics and the countries adjacent. some naturalists assert that it is a forest-dwelling animal, and is never seen in open countries. others, as buffon, state that it makes its _habitat_ in the mountains, never the low countries and plains; while still others have declared that it is never found in the mountains! none of these "theories" appears to be the correct one. it is well-known to frequent the forest-covered plains of texas, and emory (one of the most talented of modern observers) reports having met with a large drove of peccaries in the almost treeless mountains of new mexico. the fact is, the peccary is a wide "ranger," and frequents either plains or mountains wherever he can find the roots or fruits which constitute his natural food. the haunts he likes best appear to be the dry hilly woods, where he finds several species of nuts to his taste-such as the chinquapin (_castanea pumila_), the pecan (_juglans olivaformis_), and the acorns of several species of oak, with which the half-prairie country of western texas abounds. farther than to eat their fruit, the forest trees are of no use to the peccary. he is not a climber, as he is a hoofed animal. but in the absence of rocks, or crevices in the cliffs, he makes his lair in the bottoms of hollow trees, or in the great cavities so common in half-decayed logs. he prefers, however, a habitation among rocks, as experience has no doubt taught him that it is a safer retreat both from hunters and fire. the peccary is easily distinguished from the other forest animals by his rounded, hog-like form, and long, sharp snout. although pig-shaped, he is extremely active and light in his movements. the absence of a tail-for that member is represented only by a very small protuberance or "knob"--imparts a character of lightness to his body. his jaws are those of the hog, and a single pair of tusks, protruding near the angles of the mouth, gives him a fierce and dangerous aspect. these tusks are seen in the old males or "boars." the ears are short, and almost buried in the long harsh hairs or bristles that cover the whole body, but which are much longer on the back. these, when erected or thrown forward--as is the case when the peccary is incensed--have the appearance of a stiff mane rising all along the neck, shoulders, and spine. at such times, indeed, the rigid, bristling coat over the whole body gives somewhat of a porcupine appearance to the animal. the peccary, as already stated, is gregarious. they wander in droves of twenty, or sometimes more. this, however, is only in the winter. in the season of love, and during the period of gestation, they are met with only in pairs--a male and female. they are very true to each other, and keep close together. the female produces two young at a litter. these are of a reddish-brown colour, and at first not larger than young puppies; but they are soon able to follow the mother through the woods; and then the "family party" usually consists of four. later in the season, several of these families unite, and remain together, partly perhaps from having met by accident, and partly for mutual protection; for whenever one of their number is attacked, all the drove takes part against the assailant, whether he be hunter, cougar, or lynx. as they use both their teeth, tusks, and sharp fore-hoofs with rapidity and effect, they become a formidable and dangerous enemy. the cougar is often killed and torn to pieces by a drove of peccaries, that he has been imprudent enough to attack. indeed, this fierce creature will not often meddle with the peccaries when he sees them in large numbers. he attacks only single ones; but their "grunting," which can be heard to the distance of nearly a mile, summons the rest, and he is surrounded before he is aware of it, and seized by as many as can get around him. the texan hunter, if afoot, will not dare to disturb a drove of peccaries. even when mounted, unless the woods be open, he will pass them by without rousing their resentment. but, for all this, the animal is hunted by the settlers, and hundreds are killed annually. their ravages committed upon the corn-fields make them many enemies, who go after them with a desire for wholesale slaughter. hounds are employed to track the peccary and bring it to bay, when the hunters ride up and finish the chase by their unerring rifles. a flock of peccaries, when pursued, will sometimes take shelter in a cave or cleft of the rocks, one of their number standing ready at the mouth. when this one is shot by the hunter, another will immediately rush out and take its place. this too being destroyed, will be replaced by a third, and so on until the whole drove has fallen. should the hounds attack the peccary while by themselves, and without the aid and encouragement of the hunter, they are sure to be "routed," and some of their number destroyed. indeed, this little creature, of not more than two feet in length, is a match for the stoutest bull-dog! i have myself seen a peccary (a caged one, too)--that had killed no less than six dogs of bull and mastiff breed--all of them considered fighting dogs of first-rate reputation. the kentuckian had a peccary adventure which had occurred to him while on an excursion to the new settlements of texas. "it was my first introduction to these animals," began he, "and i am not likely soon to forget it. it gave me, among the frontier settlers of texas, the reputation of a `mighty hunter,' though how far i deserved that name you may judge for yourselves. "i was for some weeks the guest of a farmer or `planter,' who lived upon the trinity bottom. we had been out in the `timber' several times, and had filled both bear, deer, and turkeys, but had not yet had the luck to fall in with the peccary, although we never went abroad without seeing their tracks, or some other indications of what my friend termed `peccary sign.' the truth is, that these animals possess the sense of smell in the keenest degree; and they are usually hidden long before the hunter can see them or come near them. as we had gone without dogs, of course we were not likely to discover which of the nine hundred and ninety-nine hollow logs passed in a day, was the precise one in which the peccaries had taken shelter. "i had grown very curious about these creatures. bear i had often hunted--deer i had driven; and turkeys i had both trapped and shot. but i had never yet killed a peccary; in fact, had never seen one. i was therefore very desirous of adding the tusk of one of these wild boars to my trophies of the chase. "my desire was gratified sooner than i expected, and to an extent i had never dreamt of; for in one morning--before tasting my breakfast--i caused no less than nineteen of these animals to utter their last squeak! but i shall give the details of this `feat' as they happened. "it was in the autumn season--the most beautiful season of the forest-when the frondage obtains its tints of gold, orange, and purple. i was abed in the house of my friend, but was awakened out of my sleep by the `gobbling' of wild turkeys that sounded close to the place. "although there was not a window in my room, the yellow beams streaming in through the chinks of the log wall told me that it was after `sun-up.' "i arose, drew on my garments and hunting-habiliments, took my rifle, and stole out. i said nothing to any one, as there was no one--neither `nigger' nor white man--to be seen stirring about the place. i wanted to steal a march upon my friend, and show him how smart i was by bagging a fat young `gobbler' for breakfast. "as soon as i had got round the house, i saw the turkeys--a large `gang' of them. they were out in an old corn-field, feeding upon such of the seeds as had been dropped in the corn-gathering. they were too far off for my gun to reach them, and i entered among the corn-stalks to get near them. "i soon perceived that they were feeding towards the woods, and that they were likely to enter them at a certain point. could i only reach that point before them, reflected i, i should be sure of a fair shot. i had only to go back to the house and keep around the edge of the field, where there happened to be some `cover.' in this way i should be sure to `head' them--that is, could i but reach the woods in time. "i lost not a moment in setting out; and, running most of the way, i reached the desired point. "i was now about a mile from my friend's house--for the corn-field was a very large one--such as you may only see in the great plantations of the far western world. i saw that i had `headed' the turkeys, with some time to spare; and choosing a convenient log, i sat down to await their coming. i placed myself in such a situation that i was completely hidden by the broad green leaves of some bushy trees that grew over the log. "i had not been in that position over a minute i should think, when a slight rustling among the leaves attracted my attention. i looked, and saw issuing from under the rubbish the long body of a snake. as yet, i could not see its tail, which was hidden by the grass; but the form of the head and the peculiar chevron-like markings of the body, convinced me it was the `banded rattle-snake.' it was slowly gliding out into some open ground, with the intention of crossing to a thicket upon the other side. i had disturbed it from the log, where it had no doubt been sunning itself; and it was now making away from me. "my first thought was to follow the hideous reptile, and kill it; but reflecting that if i did so i should expose myself to the view of the turkeys, i concluded to remain where i was, and let it escape. "i watched it slowly drawing itself along--for this species makes but slow progress--until it was near the middle of the glade, when i again turned my attention to the birds that had now advanced almost within range of my gun. "i was just getting ready to fire, when a strange noise, like the grunt of a small pig, sounded in my ears from the glade, and again caused me to look in that direction. as i did so, my eyes fell upon a curious little animal just emerging from the bushes. its long, sharp snout--its pig-like form--the absence of a tail--the high rump, and whitish band along the shoulders, were all marks of description which i remembered. the animal could be no other than a peccary. "as i gazed upon it with curious eyes, another emerged from the bushes, and then another, and another, until a good-sized drove of them were in sight. "the rattle-snake, on seeing the first one, had laid his head flat upon the ground; and evidently terrified, was endeavouring to conceal himself in the grass. but it was a smooth piece of turf, and he did not succeed. the peccary had already espied him; and upon the instant his hinder parts were raised to their full height, his mane became rigid, and the hair over his whole body stood erect, radiating on all sides outwards. the appearance of the creature was changed in an instant, and i could perceive that the air was becoming impregnated with a disagreeable odour, which the incensed animal emitted from its dorsal gland. without stopping longer than a moment, he rushed forward, until he stood within three feet of the body of the snake. "the latter, seeing he could no longer conceal himself, threw himself into a coil, and stood upon his defence. his eyes glared with a fiery lustre: the skir-r-r of his rattles could be heard almost incessantly; while with his upraised head he struck repeatedly in the direction of his enemy. "these demonstrations brought the whole drove of peccaries to the spot, and in a moment a circle of them had formed around the reptile, that did not know which to strike at, but kept launching out its head recklessly in all directions. the peccaries stood with their backs highly arched and their feet drawn up together, like so many angry cats, threatening and uttering shrill grunts. then one of them, i think the first that had appeared, rose suddenly into the air, and with his four hoofs held close together, came pounce down upon the coiled body of the snake. another followed in a similar manner, and another, and another, until i could see the long carcase of the reptile unfolded, and writhing over the ground. "after a short while it lay still, crushed beneath their feet. the whole squad then seized it in their teeth, and tearing it to pieces, devoured it almost instantaneously. "from the moment the peccaries had appeared in sight, i had given up all thoughts about the turkeys. i had resolved to send my leaden messenger in quite a different direction. turkeys i could have at almost any time; but it was not every day that peccaries appeared. so i `slewed' myself round upon the log, raised my rifle cautiously, `marked' the biggest `boar' i could see in the drove, and fired. "i heard the boar squeak (so did all of them), and saw him fall over, either killed or badly wounded. but i had little time to tell which, for the smoke had hardly cleared out of my eyes, when i perceived the whole gang of peccaries, instead of running away, as i had expected, coming full tilt towards me. "in a moment i was surrounded by a dark mass of angry creatures, leaping wildly at my legs, uttering shrill grunts, and making their teeth crack like castanets. "i ran for the highest part of the log, but this proved no security. the peccaries leaped upon it, and followed. i struck with the butt of my clubbed gun, and knocked them off; but again they surrounded me, leaping upward and snapping at my legs, until hardly a shred remained of my trousers. "i saw that i was in extreme peril, and put forth all my energies. i swept my gun wildly around me; but where one of the fierce brutes was knocked over, another leaped into his place, as determined as he. still i had no help for it, and i shouted at the top of my voice, all the while battling with desperation. "i still kept upon the highest point of the log, as there they could not all come around me at once; and i saw that i could thus better defend myself. but even with this advantage, the assaults of the animals were so incessant, and my exertions in keeping them off so continuous, that i was in danger of falling into their jaws from very exhaustion. "i was growing weak and wearied--i was beginning to despair for my life--when on winding my gun over my head in order to give force to my blows, i felt it strike against something behind me. it was the branch of a tree, that stretched over the spot where i was standing. "a new thought came suddenly into my mind. could i climb the tree? i knew that they could not, and in the tree i should be safe. "i looked upward; the branch was within reach. i seized upon it and brought it nearer. i drew a long breath, and with all the strength that remained in my body sprang upward. "i succeeded in getting upon the limb, and the next moment i had crawled along it, and sat close in by the trunk. i breathed freely--i was safe. "it was some time before i thought of anything else than resting myself. i remained a full half-hour before i moved in my perch. occasionally i looked down at my late tormentors. i saw that instead of going off, they were still there. they ran around the root of the tree, leaping up against its trunk, and tearing the bark with their teeth. they kept constantly uttering their shrill, disagreeable grunts; and the odour, resembling the smell of musk and garlic, which they emitted from their dorsal glands, almost stifled me. i saw that they showed no disposition to retire, but, on the contrary, were determined to make me stand siege. "now and then they passed out to where their dead comrade lay upon the grass, but this seemed only to bind their resolution the faster, for they always returned again, grunting as fiercely as ever. "i had hopes that my friend would be up by this time, and would come to my rescue; but it was not likely neither, as he would not `miss' me until i had remained long enough to make my absence seem strange. as it was, that would not be until after night, or perhaps far in the next day. it was no unusual thing for me to wander off with my gun, and be gone for a period of at least twenty hours. "i sat for hours on my painful perch--now looking down at the spiteful creatures beneath--now bending my eyes across the great corn-field, in hopes of seeing some one. at times the idea crossed my mind, that even upon the morrow i might not be missed! "i might perish with hunger, with thirst--i was suffering from both at the moment--or even if i kept alive, i might become so weak as not to be able to hold on to the tree. my seat was far from being an easy one. the tree was small--the branch was slender. it was already cutting into my thighs. i might, in my feebleness, be compelled to let it go, and then--. "these reflections were terrible; and as they came across my mind, i shouted to the highest pitch of my voice, hoping i should be heard. "up to this time i had not thought of using my gun, although clinging to it instinctively. i had brought it with me into the tree. it now occurred to me to fire it, in hopes that my friend or some one might hear the report. "i balanced myself on the branch as well as i could, and loaded it with powder. i was about to fire it off in the air, when it appeared to me that i might just as well reduce the number of my enemies. i therefore rammed down a ball, took aim at the forehead of one, and knocked him over. "another idea now arose in my mind, and that was, that i might serve the whole gang as i had done this one. his fall had not frightened them in the least; they only came nearer, throwing up their snouts and uttering their shrill notes--thus giving me a better chance of hitting them. "i repeated the loading and firing. another enemy the less. "hope began to return. i counted my bullets, and held my horn up to the sun. there were over twenty bullets, and powder sufficient. i counted the peccaries. sixteen still lived, with three that i had done for. "i again loaded and fired--loaded and fired--loaded and fired. i aimed so carefully each time, that out of all i missed only one shot. "when the firing ceased, i dropped down from my perch in the midst of a scene that resembled a great slaughter-yard. nineteen of the creatures lay dead around the tree, and the ground was saturated with their blood! "the voice of my friend at this moment sounded in my ears, and turning, i beheld him standing, with hands uplifted and eyes as large as saucers. "the `feat' was soon reported through the settlement, and i was looked upon for the time as the greatest hunter in the `trinity bottom.'" chapter sixteen. a duck-shooting adventure. during our next day's journey we again fell in with flocks of the wild pigeon, and our stock was renewed. we were very glad of this, as we were getting tired of the dry salt bacon, and another "pot-pie" from lanty's _cuisine_ was quite welcome. the subject of the pigeons was exhausted, and we talked no more about them. ducks were upon the table in a double sense, for during the march we had fallen in with a brood of the beautiful little summer ducks (_anas sponsa_), and had succeeded in shooting several of them. these little creatures, however, did not occupy our attention, but the far more celebrated species known as the "canvas-back" (_anas vallisneria_). of the two dozen species of american wild-ducks, none has a wider celebrity than that known as the canvas-back; even the eider-duck is less thought of, as the americans care little for beds of down. but the juicy, fine-flavoured flesh of the canvas-back is esteemed by all classes of people; and epicures prize it above that of all other winged creatures, with the exception, perhaps, of the reed-bird or rice-hunting, and the prairie-hen. these last enjoy a celebrity almost if not altogether equal. the prairie-hen, however, is the _bon morceau_ of western epicures; while the canvas-back is only to be found in the great cities of the atlantic. the reed-bird--in the west indies called "ortolan"--is also found in the same markets with the canvas-back. the flesh of all three of these birds--although the birds themselves are of widely-different families--is really of the most delicious kind; it would be hard to say which of them is the greatest favourite. the canvas-back is not a large duck, rarely exceeding three pounds in weight. its colour is very similar to the pochard of europe: its head is a uniform deep chestnut, its breast black; while the back and upper parts of the wings present a surface of bluish-grey, so lined and mottled as to resemble--though very slightly--the texture of canvas: hence the trivial name of the bird. like most of the water-birds of america, the canvas-back is migratory. it proceeds in spring to the cold countries of the hudson's bay territory, and returns southward in october, appearing in immense flocks along the atlantic shores. it does not spread over the fresh-water lakes of the united states, but confines itself to three or four well-known haunts, the principal of which is the great chesapeake bay. this preference for the chesapeake bay is easily accounted for, as here its favourite food is found in the greatest abundance. hound the mouths of the rivers that run into this bay, there are extensive shoals of brackish water; these favour the growth of a certain plant of the genus _vallisneria_--a grass-like plant, standing several feet out of the water, with deep green leaves, and stems, and having a white and tender root. on this root, which is of such a character as to have given the plant, the trivial name of "wild celery," the canvas-back feeds exclusively; for wherever it is not to be found, neither does the bird make its appearance. diving for it, and bringing it up in its bill, the canvas-back readily breaks off the long lanceolate leaves, which float off, either to be eaten by another species--the pochard--or to form immense banks of wrack, that are thrown up against the adjacent shores. it is to the roots of the wild celery that the flesh of the canvas-back owes its esteemed flavour, causing it to be in such demand that very often a pair of these ducks will bring three dollars in the markets of new york and philadelphia. when the finest turkey can be had for less than a third of that sum, some idea may be formed of the superior estimation in which the web-footed favourites are held. of course, shooting the canvas-back duck is extensively practised, not only as an amusement, but as a professional occupation. various means are employed to slaughter these birds: decoys by means of dogs, duck boats armed with guns that resemble infernal-machines, and disguises of every possible kind. the birds themselves are extremely shy; and a shot at them is only obtained by great ingenuity, and after considerable dodging. they are excellent divers; and when only wounded, almost always make good their escape. their shyness is overcome by their curiosity. a dog placed upon the shore, near where they happen to be, and trained to run backwards and forwards, will almost always seduce them within shot. should the dog himself not succeed, a red rag wrapped around his body, or tied to his tail, will generally bring about the desired result. there are times, however, when the ducks have been much shot at, that even this decoy fails of success. on account of the high price the canvas-backs bring in the market, they are pursued by the hunters with great assiduity, and are looked upon as a source of much profit. so important has this been considered, that in the international treaties between the states bordering upon the chesapeake, there are several clauses or articles relating to them that limit the right of shooting to certain parties. an infringement of this right, some three or four years ago, led to serious collisions between the gunners of philadelphia and baltimore. so far was the dispute carried, that schooners armed, and filled with armed men, cruised for some time on the waters of the chesapeake, and all the initiatory steps of a little war were taken by both parties. the interference of the general government prevented what would have proved, had it been left to itself, a very sanguinary affair. it so chanced that i had met with a rather singular adventure while duck-shooting on the chesapeake bay, and the story was related thus: "i was staying for some days at the house of a friend--a planter--who lived near the mouth of a small river that runs into the chesapeake. i felt inclined to have a shot at the far-famed canvas-backs. i had often eaten of these birds, but had novel shot one, or even seen them in their natural _habitat_. i was, therefore, anxious to try my hand upon them, and i accordingly set out one morning for that purpose. "my friend lived upon the bank of the river, some distance above tide-water. as the wild celery grows only in brackish water--that is, neither in the salt sea itself nor yet in the fresh-water rivers--i had to pass down the little stream a mile or more before i came to the proper place for finding the ducks. i went in a small skiff, with no other companion than an ill-favoured cur-dog, with which i had been furnished, and which was represented to me as one of the best `duck-dogs' in the country. "my friend having business elsewhere, unfortunately could not upon that day give me his company; but i knew something of the place, and being _au fait_ in most of the dodges of duck-hunting, i fancied i was quite able to take care of myself. "floating and rowing by turns, i soon came in sight of the bay and the wild celery fields, and also of flocks of water-fowl of different species, among which i could recognise the pochards, the canvas-backs, and the common american widgeon. "seeking a convenient place near the mouth of the stream, i landed; and, tying the skiff to some weeds, proceeded in search of a cover. this was soon found--some bushes favoured me; and having taken my position, i set the dog to his work. the brute, however, took but little notice of my words and gestures of encouragement, i fancied that he had a wild and frightened look, but i attributed this to my being partially a stranger to him; and was in hopes that, as soon as we became better acquainted, he would work in a different manner. "i was disappointed, however, as, do what i might, he would not go near the water, nor would he perform the trick of running to and fro which i had been assured by my friend he would be certain to do. on the contrary, he cowered among the bushes, near where i had stationed myself, and seemed unwilling to move out of them. two or three times, when i dragged him forward, and motioned him toward the water, he rushed back again, and ran under the brushwood. "i was exceedingly provoked with this conduct of the dog, the more so that a flock of canvas-backs, consisting of several thousands, was seated upon the water not more than half a mile from the shore. had my dog done his duty, i have no doubt they might have been brought within range; and, calculating upon this, i had made sure of a noble shot. my expectations, however, were defeated by the waywardness of the dog, and i saw there was no hope of doing anything with him. "having arrived at this conclusion, after some hours spent to no purpose, i rose from my cover, and marched back to the skiff. i did not even motion the wretched cur to follow me; and i should have rowed off without him, risking the chances of my friend's displeasure, but it pleased the animal himself to trot after me without invitation, and, on arriving at the boat, to leap voluntarily into it. "i was really so provoked with the brute, that i felt much inclined to pitch him out, again. my vexation, however, gradually left me; and i stood up in the skiff, turning over in my mind what course i should pursue next. "i looked toward the flock of canvas-backs. it, was a tantalising sight. they sat upon the water as light as corks, and as close together as sportsman could desire for a shot. a well-aimed discharge could not have failed to kill a score of them at least. "was there no way of approaching them? this question i had put to myself for the twentieth time without being able to answer it to my satisfaction. "an idea at length flitted across my brain. i had often approached common mallards by concealing my boat under branches or furze, and then floating down upon them, impelled either by the wind or the current of a stream. might not this also succeed with the canvas-backs? "i resolved upon making the experiment. the flock was in a position to enable me to do so. they were to the leeward of a sedge of the _vallisneria_. the wind would carry my skiff through this; and the green bushes with which i intended to disguise it would not be distinguished from the sedge, which was also green. "the thing was feasible. i deemed it so. i set about cutting some leafy branches that grew near, and trying them along the gunwales of my little craft. in less than half an hour, i pushed her from the shore; and no one at a distance would have taken her for aught else than a floating raft of brushwood. "i now pulled quietly out until i had got exactly to windward of the ducks, at about half a mile's distance from the edge of the flock. i then took in the paddles, and permitted the skiff to glide before the wind. i took the precaution to place myself in such a manner that i was completely hidden, while through the branches i commanded a view of the surface on any side i might wish to look. "the bushes acted as a sail, and i was soon drifted down among the plants of the wild celery. i feared that this might stay my progress, as the breeze was light, and might not carry me through. but the sward, contrary to what is usual, was thin at the place where the skiff had entered, and i felt, to my satisfaction, that i was moving, though slowly, in the right direction. "i remember that the heat annoyed me at the time. it was the month of november; but it was that peculiar season known as `indian summer', and the heat was excessive--not under 90 degrees, i am certain. the shrubbery that encircled me prevented a breath of air from reaching my body; and the rays of the noonday sun fell almost vertically in that southern latitude, scorching me as i lay along the bottom of the boat. under other circumstances, i should not have liked to undergo such a roasting; but with the prospect of a splendid shot before me, i endured it as best i could. "the skiff was nearly an hour in pushing its way through the field of _vallisneria_, and once or twice it remained for a considerable time motionless. a stronger breeze, however, would spring up, and then the sound of the reeds rubbing the sides of the boat would gratefully admonish me that i was moving ahead. "i saw, at length, to my great gratification, that i was approaching the selvage of the sedge, and, moreover, that the flock itself was moving, as it were, to meet me! many of the birds were diving and feeding in the direction of the skiff. "i lay watching them with interest. i saw that the canvas-backs were accompanied by another species of a very different colour from themselves: this was the american widgeon. it was a curious sight to witness the constant warfare that was carried on between these two species of birds. the widgeon is but a poor diver, while the canvas-back is one of the very best. the widgeon, however, is equally fond of the roots of the wild celery with his congener; but he has no means of obtaining them except by robbing the latter. being a smaller and less powerful bird, he is not able to do this openly; and it was curious to observe the means by which he effected his purpose. it was as follows: when the canvas-back descends, he must perforce remain some moments under water. it requires time to seize hold of the plant, and pluck it up by the roots. in consequence of this, he usually reaches the surface in a state of half-blindness, holding the luscious morsel in his bill. the widgeon has observed him going down; and, calculating to a nicety the spot where he will reappear, seats himself in readiness. the moment the other emerges, and before he can fully recover his sight or his senses, the active spoliator makes a dash, seizes the celery in his horny mandibles, and makes off with it as fast as his webbed feet can propel him. the canvas-back, although chagrined at being plundered in this impudent manner, knows that pursuit would be idle, and, setting the root down as lost, draws a fresh breath, and dives for another. i noticed in the flock a continual recurrence of such scenes. "a third species of birds drew my attention. these were the pochards, or, as they are termed by the gunners of the chesapeake, `red-heads.' these creatures bear a very great resemblance to the canvas-backs, and can hardly be distinguished except by their bills: those of the former being concave along the upper surface, while the bills of the canvas-backs exhibit a nearly straight line. "i saw that the pochards did not interfere with either of the other species, contenting themselves with feeding upon what neither of the others cared for--the green leaves of the _vallisneria_, which, after being stripped of their roots, were floating in quantities on the surface of the water. yet these pochards are almost as much prized for the table as their cousins the canvas-backs; and, indeed, i have since learnt that they are often put off for the latter by the poulterers of new york and philadelphia. those who would buy a real canvas-back should know something of natural history. the form and colour of the bill would serve as a criterion to prevent their being deceived. in the pochard, the bill is of a bluish colour; that of the canvas-back is dark green; moreover, the eye of the pochard is yellow, while that of its congener is fiery red. "i was gratified in perceiving that i had at last drifted within range of a thick clump of the ducks. nothing now remained but to poke my gun noiselessly through the bushes, set the cocks of both barrels, take aim, and fire. "it was my intention to follow the usual plan--that is, fire one barrel at the birds while sitting, and give them the second as they rose upon the wing. this intention was carried out the moment after; and i had the gratification of seeing some fifteen or twenty ducks strewed over the water, at my service. the rest of the flock rose into the heavens, and the clapping of their wings filled the air with a noise that resembled thunder. "i say that there appeared to have been fifteen or twenty killed; how many i never knew: i never laid my hands upon a single bird of them. i became differently occupied, and with a matter that soon drove canvas-backs, and widgeons, and pochards as clean out of my head as if no such creatures had ever existed. "while drifting through the sedge, my attention had several times been attracted by what appeared to be strange conduct on the part of my canine companion. he lay cowering in the bottom of the boat near the bow, and half covered by the bushes; but every now and then he would start to his feet, look wildly around, utter a strange whimpering, and then resume his crouching attitude. i noticed, moreover, that at intervals he trembled as if he was about to shake out his teeth. all this had caused me wonder--nothing more. i was too much occupied in watching the game, to speculate upon causes; i believed, if i formed any belief on the subject, that these manoeuvres were caused by fear; that the cur had never been to sea, and that he was now either sea-sick or sea-scared. "this explanation had hitherto satisfied me, and i had thought no more upon the matter. i had scarcely delivered my second barrel, however, when my attention was anew attracted to the dog; and this time was so arrested, that in one half-second i thought of nothing else. the animal had arisen, and stood within three feet of me, whining hideously. his eyes glared upon me with a wild and unnatural expression, his tongue lolled out, and saliva fell copiously from his lips. _the dog was mad_! "i saw that the dog was mad, as certainly as i saw the dog. i had seen mad dogs before, and knew the symptoms well. it was hydrophobia of the most dangerous character. "fear, quick and sudden, came over me. fear is a tame word; horror i should call it; and the phrase would not be too strong to express my sensations at that moment. i knew myself to be in a situation of extreme peril, and i saw not the way out of it. death--death painful and horrid--appeared to be nigh, appeared to confront me, glaring from out the eyes of the hideous brute. "instinct had caused me to put myself in an attitude of defence. my first instinct was a false one. i raised my gun, at the same moment manipulating the lock, with the design of cocking her. in the confusion of terror, i had even forgotten that both barrels were empty, that i had just scattered their contents in the sea. "i thought of re-loading; but a movement of the dog towards me showed that that would be a dangerous experiment; and a third thought or instinct directed me to turn the piece in my hand, and defend myself, if necessary, with the butt. this instinct was instantly obeyed, and in a second's time i held the piece clubbed and ready to strike. "i had retreated backward until i stood in the stern of the skiff. the dog had hitherto lain close up to the bow, but after the shots, he had sprung up and taken a position nearer the centre of the boat. in fact, he had been within biting distance of me before i had noticed his madness. the position into which i had thus half involuntarily thrown myself, offered me but a trifling security. "any one who has ever rowed an american skiff will remember that these little vessels are `crank' to an extreme degree. although boat-shaped above, they are without keels, and a rude step will turn them bottom upward in an instant. even to stand upright in them, requires careful balancing; but to fight a mad dog in one without being bitten, would require the skill and adroitness of an acrobat. with all my caution, as i half stood, half crouched in the stern, the skiff rocked from side to side, and i was in danger of being pitched out. should the dog spring at me, i knew that any violent exertion to fend him off would either cause me to be precipitated into the water, or would upset the boat--a still more dreadful alternative. "these thoughts did not occupy half the time i have taken to describe them. short, however, as that time was in actual duration, to me it seemed long enough, for the dog still held a threatening attitude, his forepaws resting upon one of the seats, while his eyes continued to glare upon me with a wild and uncertain expression. "i remained for some moments in fearful suspense. i was half paralysed with terror, and uncertain what action it would be best to take. i feared that any movement would attract the fierce animal, and be the signal for him to spring upon me. i thought of jumping out of the skiff into the water. i could not wade in it. it was shallow enough--not over five feet in depth, but the bottom appeared to be of soft mud. i might sink another foot in the mud. no; i could not have waded. the idea was dismissed. "to swim to the shore? i glanced sideways in that direction: it was nearly half a mile distant. i could never reach it, cumbered with my clothes. to have stripped these off, would have tempted the attack. even could i have done so, might not the dog follow and seize me in the water? a horrible thought! "i abandoned all hope of escape, at least that might arise from any active measures on my part. i could do nothing to save myself; my only hope lay in passively awaiting the result. "impressed with this idea, i remained motionless as a statue; i moved neither hand nor foot from the attitude i had first assumed; i scarcely permitted myself to breathe, so much did i dread attracting the farther attention of my terrible companion, and interrupting the neutrality that existed. "for some minutes--they seemed hours--this state of affairs continued. the dog still stood up, with his forepaws raised upon the bench; the oars were among his feet. in this position he remained, gazing wildly, though it did not appear to me steadily, in my face. several times i thought he was about to spring on me; and, although i carefully avoided making any movement, i instinctively grasped my gun with a firmer hold. to add to my embarrassment, i saw that i was fast drifting seaward! the wind was from the shore; it was impelling the boat with considerable velocity, in consequence of the mass of bushes acting as sails. already it had cleared the sedge, and was floating out in open water. to my dismay, at less than a mile's distance, i descried a line of breakers! "a side-glance was sufficient to convince me, that unless the skiff was checked, she would drift upon these in the space of ten minutes. "a fearful alternative now presented itself: i must either drive the dog from the oars, or allow the skiff to be swamped among the breakers. the latter would be certain death, the former offered a chance for life; and, nerving myself with the palpable necessity for action, i instantly resolved to make the attack. "whether the dog had read my intention in my eyes; or observed my fingers taking a firmer clutch of my gun, i know not, but at this moment he seemed to evince sudden fear, and, dropping down from the seat, he ran backward to the bow, and cowered there as before. "my first impulse was to get hold of the oars, for the roar of the breakers already filled my ears. a better idea suggested itself immediately after, and that was to load my gun. this was a delicate business, but i set about it with all the caution i could command. "i kept my eyes fixed upon the animal, and _felt_ the powder, the wadding, and the shot, into the muzzle. i succeeded in loading one barrel, and fixing the cap. "as i had now something upon which i could rely, i proceeded with more confidence, and loaded the second barrel with greater care, the dog eyeing me all the while. had madness not obscured his intelligence, he would no doubt have interrupted my manipulations; as it was, he remained still until both barrels were loaded, capped, and cocked. "i had no time to spare; the breakers were nigh; their hoarse `sough' warned me of their perilous proximity; a minute more, and the little skiff would be dancing among them like a shell, or sunk for ever. "not a moment was to be lost, and yet i had to proceed with caution. i dared not raise the gun to my shoulder--i dared not glance along the barrels: the manoeuvre might rouse the dangerous brute. "i held the piece low, slanting along my thighs. i guided the barrels with my mind, and, feeling the direction to be true, i fired. "i scarcely heard the report, on account of the roaring of the sea; but i saw the dog roll over, kicking violently. i saw a livid patch over his ribs, where the shot had entered in a clump. this would no doubt have proved sufficient; but to make sure, i raised the gun to my shoulder, took aim, and sent the contents of the second barrel through the ribs of the miserable brute. his kicking ended almost instantly, and he lay dead in the bottom of the boat. "i dropped my gun and flew to the oars: it was a close `shave;' the skiff was already in white water, and dancing like a feather; but with a few strokes i succeeded in backing her out, and then heading her away from the breakers, i pulled in a direct line for the shore. "i thought not of my canvas-backs--they had floated by this time, i neither knew nor cared whither: the sharks might have them for me. my only care was to get away from the scene as quickly as possible, determined never again to go duck-shooting with a cur for my companion." chapter seventeen. hunting the vicuna. during our next day's march the only incident that befel us was the breaking of our waggon-tongue, which delayed our journey. there was plenty of good hickory-wood near the place, and jake, with a little help from redwood and ike and lanty, soon spliced it again, making it stronger than ever. of course it shortened our journey for the day, and we encamped at the end of a ten miles' march. strange to say, on the whole ten miles we did not meet with a single animal to give us a little sport, or to form the subject of our camp talk. we were not without a subject, however, as our english friend proposed giving us an account of the mode of hunting the vicuna, and the details of a week's hunting he had enjoyed upon the high table-lands of the peruvian andes. he also imparted to our camp-fire circle much information about the different species of that celebrated animal the llama or "camel-sheep" of peru, which proved extremely interesting, not only to the old hunter-naturalist, but to the "mountain-men," to whom this species of game, as well as the mode of hunting it, was something new. thompson began his narrative as follows:--"when pizarro and his spaniards first climbed the peruvian andes, they were astonished at seeing a new and singular species of quadrupeds, the camel-sheep, so called from their resemblance to these two kinds of animals. they saw the `llama' domesticated and trained to carrying burdens, and the `alpaca,' a smaller species, reared on account of its valuable fleece. "but there were still two other species of these odd animals only observed in a wild state, and in the more desolate and uninhabited parts of the cordilleras. these were the `guanaco' and `vicuna.' "up to a very late period the guanaco was believed to be the llama in its wild state, and by some the llama run wild. this, however, is not the case. the four species, llama, alpaca, guanaco, and vicuna as quite distinct from each other, and although the guanaco can be tamed and taught to carry burdens, its labour is not of sufficient value to render this worth while. the alpaca is never used as a beast of burden. its fleece is the consideration for which it is domesticated and reared, and its wool is much finer and more valuable than that of the llama. "the guanaco is, perhaps, the least prized of the four, as its fleece is of indifferent quality, and its flesh is not esteemed. the vicuna, on the contrary, yields a wool which is eagerly sought after, and which in the andes towns will sell for at least five times its weight in alpaca wool. ponchos woven out of it are deemed the finest made, and command the fabulous price of 20 pounds or 30 pounds sterling. a rich proprietor in the cordilleras is often seen with such a poncho, and the quality of the garment, the length of time it will turn rain, etcetera, are favourite subjects of conversation with the wearers of them. of course everybody in those parts possesses one, as everybody in england or the united states must have a great coat; but the ponchos of the poorer classes of peruvians--the indian labourers, shepherds, and miners--are usually manufactured out of the coarse wool of the llama. only the `ricos' can afford the beautiful fabric of the vicuna's fleece. "the wool of the vicuna being so much in demand, it will be easily conceived that hunting the animal is a profitable pursuit; and so it is. in many parts of the andes there are regular vicuna hunters, while, in other places, whole tribes of peruvian indians spend a part of every year in the chase of this animal and the guanaco. when we go farther south, in the direction of patagonia, we find other tribes who subsist principally upon the guanaco, the vicuna, and the rhea or south-american ostrich. "hunting the vicuna is by no means an easy calling. the hunter must betake himself to the highest and coldest regions of the andes--far from civilised life, and far from its comforts. he has to encamp in the open air, and sleep in a cave or a rude hut, built by his own hands. he has to endure a climate as severe as a lapland winter, often in places where not a stick of wood can be procured, and where he is compelled to cook his meals with the dry ordure of wild cattle. "if not successful in the chase he is brought to the verge of starvation, and must have recourse to roots and berries--a few species of which, such as the tuberous root `maca,' are found growing in these elevated regions. he is exposed, moreover, to the perils of the precipice, the creaking `soga' bridge, the slippery path, and the hoarse rushing torrent--and these among the rugged cordilleras of the andes are no mean dangers. a life of toil, exposure, and peril is that of the vicuna hunter. "during my travels in peru i had resolved to enjoy the sport of hunting the vicuna. for this purpose i set out from one of the towns of the lower sierra, and climbed up the high region known as the `puna,' or sometimes as the `despoblado' (the uninhabited region). "i reached at length the edge of a plain to which i had mounted by many a weary path--up many a dark ravine. i was twelve or fourteen thousand feet above sea level, and although i had just parted from the land of the palm-tree and the orange, i was now in a region cold and sterile. mountains were before and around me--some bleak and dark, others shining under a robe of snow, and still others of that greyish hue as if snow had freshly fallen upon them, but not enough to cover their stony surface. the plain before me was several miles in circumference. it was only part of a system of similar levels separated from each other by spurs of the mountains. by crossing a ridge another comes in view, a deep cleft leads you into a third, and so on. "these table plains are too cold for the agriculturist. only the cereal barley will grow there, and some of those hardy roots--the natives of an arctic zone. but they are covered with a sward of grass--the `ycha' grass, the favourite food of the llamas--and this renders them serviceable to man. herds of half-wild cattle may be seen, tended by their wilder-looking shepherds. flocks of alpacas, female llamas with their young, and long-tailed peruvian sheep, stray over them, and to some extent relieve their cheerless aspect. the giant vulture--the condor, wheels above all, or perches on the jutting rock. here and there, in some sheltered nook, may be seen the dark mud hut of the `vaquero' (cattle herd), or the man himself, with his troop of savage curs following at his heels, and this is all the sign of habitation or inhabitant to be met with for hundreds of miles. this bleak land, up among the mountain tops of the andes, as i have already said, is called the `puna.' "the puna is the favourite haunt of the vicuna, and, of course, the home of the vicuna hunter. i had directions to find one of these hunters, and an introduction to him when found, and after spending the night at a shepherd's hut, i proceeded next morning in search of him--some ten miles farther into the mountains. "i arrived at the house, or rather hovel, at an early hour. notwithstanding, my host had been abroad, and was just returned with full hands, having a large bundle of dead animals in each. they were chinchillas and viscachas, which he had taken out of his snares set overnight. he said that most of them had been freshly caught, as their favourite time of coming out of their dens to feed is just before daybreak. "these two kinds of animals, which in many respects resemble our rabbits, also resemble each other in habits. they make their nests in crevices of the rocks, to which they retreat, when pursued, as rabbits to their burrows. of course, they are snared in a very similar manner-by setting the snares upon, their tracks, and at the entrances to their holes. one difference i noted. the peruvian hunter used snares made of twisted horse-hair, instead of the spring wire employed by our gamekeepers and poachers. the chinchilla is a much more beautiful creature than the viscacha, and is a better-known animal, its soft and beautifully-marbled fur being an article of fashionable wear in the cities of europe. "as i approached his hut, the hunter had just arrived with the night's produce of his snares, and was hanging them up to the side of the building, skinning them one by one. not less than half a score of small, foxy-looking dogs were around him--true native dogs of the country. "of the disposition of these creatures i was soon made aware. no sooner had they espied me, than with angry yelps the whole pack ran forward to meet me, and came barking and grinning close around the feet of my horse. several of them sprang upward at my legs, and would, no doubt, have bitten them, had i not suddenly raised my feet up to the withers, and for some time held them in that position. i have no hesitation in saying that had i been afoot, i should have been badly torn by the curs; nor do i hesitate to say, that of all the dogs in the known world, these peruvian mountain dogs are the most vicious and spiteful. they will bite even the friends of their own masters, and very often their masters themselves have to use the stick to keep them in subjection. i believe the dogs found among many tribes of your north-american indians have a very similar disposition, though by no means to compare in fierceness and savage nature with their cousins of the cold puna. "the masters of these dogs are generally indians, and it is a strange fact, that they are much more spiteful towards the whites than indians. it is difficult for a white man to get on friendly terms with them. "after a good deal of kicking and cuffing, my host succeeded in making his kennel understand that i had not come there to be eaten up. i then alighted from my horse, and walked (i should say crawled) inside the hut. "this was, as i have already stated, a mere hovel. a circular wall of mud and stone, about five feet high, supported a set of poles that served as rafters. these poles were the flower stalks of the great american aloe, or maguey-plant--the only thing resembling wood that grew near. over these was laid a thick layer of puna grass, which was tied with strong ropes of the same material, to keep it from flying off when the wind blew violently, which it there often does. a few blocks of stone in the middle of the floor constituted the fireplace, and the smoke got out the best way it could through a hole in the roof. "the owner of this mansion was a true indian, belonging to one of those tribes of the mountains that could not be said ever to have been conquered by the spaniards. living in remote districts, many of these people never submitted to the _repartimientos_, yet a sort of religious conquest was made of some of them by the missionaries, thus bringing them under the title of `indios mansos' (tame indians), in contradistinction to the `indios bravos,' or savage tribes, who remain unconquered and independent to this day. "as already stated, i had come by appointment to share the day's hunt. i was invited to partake of breakfast. my host, being a bachelor, was his own cook, and some parched maize and `macas,' with a roasted chinchilla, furnished the repast. "fortunately, i carried with me a flask of catalan brandy; and this, with a cup of water from the icy mountain spring, rendered our meal more palatable i was not without some dry tobacco, and a husk to roll it in, so that we enjoyed our cigar; but what our hunter enjoyed still more was a `coceada,' for he was a regular chewer of `coca.' he carried his pouch of chinchilla skin filled with the dried leaves of the coca plant, and around his neck was suspended the gourd bottle, filled with burnt lime and ashes of the root of the `molle' tree. "all things arranged, we started forth. it was to be a `still' hunt, and we went afoot, leaving our horses safely tied by the hut. the indian took with him only one of his dogs--a faithful and trusty one, on which, he could rely. "we skirted the plain, and struck into a defile in the mountains. it led upwards, among rocky boulders. a cold stream gurgled in its bottom, now and then leaping over low falls, and churned into foam. at times the path was a giddy one, leading along narrow ledges, rendered more perilous by the frozen snow, that lay to the depth of several inches. our object was to reach the level of a plain still higher, where my companion assured me we should be likely to happen upon a herd of vicunas. "as we climbed among the rocks, my eye was attracted by a moving object, higher up. on looking more attentively, several animals were seen, of large size, and reddish-brown colour. i took them at first for deer, as i was thinking of that animal. i saw my mistake in a moment. they were not deer, but creatures quite as nimble. they were bounding from rock to rock, and running along the narrow ledges with the agility of the chamois. these must be the vicunas, thought i. "`no,' said my companion; `guanacos--nothing more.' "i was anxious to have a shot at them. "`better leave them now,' suggested the hunter; `the report would frighten the vicunas, if they be in the plain--it is near. i know these guanacos. i know where they will retreat to--a defile close by--we can have a chance at them on our return.' "i forbore firing, though i certainly deemed the guanacos within shot, but the hunter was thinking of the more precious skin of the vicunas, and we passed on. i saw the guanacos run for a dark-looking cleft between two mountain spurs. "`we shall find them in there,' muttered my companion, `that is their haunt.' "noble game are these guanacos--large fine animals--noble game as the red deer himself. they differ much from the vicunas. they herd only in small numbers, from six to ten or a dozen: while as many as four times this number of vicunas may be seen together. there are essential points of difference in the habits of the two species. the guanacos are dwellers among the rocks, and are most at home when bounding from cliff to cliff, and ledge to ledge. they make but a poor run upon the level grassy plain, and their singular contorted hoofs seem to be adapted for their favourite haunts. the vicunas, on the contrary, prefer the smooth turf of the table plains, over which they dart with the swiftness of the deer. both are of the same family of quadrupeds, but with this very essential difference--the one is a dweller of the level plain, the other of the rocky declivity; and nature has adapted each to its respective _habitat_." here the narrator was interrupted by the hunter-naturalist, who stated that he had observed this curious fact in relation to other animals of a very different genus, and belonging to the _fauna_ of north america. "the animals i speak of," said he, "are indigenous to the region of the rocky mountains, and well-known to our trapper friends here. they are the big horn (_ovis montana_) and the prong-horned antelope (_a. furcifer_). the big horn is usually denominated a sheep, though it possesses far more of the characteristics of the deer and antelope families. like the chamois, it is a dweller among the rocky cliffs and declivities, and only there does it feel at home, and in the full enjoyment of its faculties for security. place it upon a level plain, and you deprive it of confidence, and render its capture comparatively easy. at the base of these very cliffs on which the _ovis montana_ disports itself, roams the prong-horn, not very dissimilar either in form, colour, or habits; and yet this creature, trusting to its heels for safety, feels at home and secure only on the wide open plain where it can see the horizon around it! such is the difference in the mode of life of two species of animals almost cogenerie, and i am not surprised to hear you state that a somewhat like difference exists between the guanaco and vicuna." the hunter-naturalist was again silent, and the narrator continued. "a few more strides up the mountain pass brought us to the edge of the plain, where we expected to see the vicunas. we were not disappointed. a herd was feeding upon it, though at a good distance off. a beautiful sight they were, quite equalling in grace and stateliness the lordly deer. in fact, they might have passed for the latter to an unpractised eye, particularly at that season when deer are `in the red.' indeed the vicuna is more deer-like than any other animal except the antelope--much more so than its congeners the llama, alpaca, or guanaco. its form is slender, and its gait light and agile, while the long tapering neck and head add to the resemblance. the colour, however, is peculiarly its own, and any one accustomed to seeing the vicuna can distinguish the orange-red of its silky coat at a glance, and at a great distance. so peculiar is it, that in peru the `_colour de vicuna_' (vicuna colour) has become a specific name. "my companion at once pronounced the animals before us a herd of vicunas. there were about twenty in all, and all except one were quietly feeding on the grassy plain. this one stood apart, his long neck raised high in air, and his head occasionally turning from side to side, as though he was keeping watch for the rest. such was in fact the duty he was performing; he was the leader of the herd--the patriarch, husband and father of the flock. all the others were ewes or young ones. so affirmed my companion. "the vicuna is polygamous--fights for his harem with desperate fierceness, watches over its number while they feed or sleep, chooses the ground for browsing and rest--defends them against enemies--heads them in the advance, and covers their retreat with his own `person'-such is the domestic economy of the vicuna. "`now, senor,' said the hunter, eyeing the herd, `if i could only kill him (he pointed to the leader) i would have no trouble with the rest. i should get every one of them.' "`how?' i inquired. "`oh!--they would!--ha! the very thing i wished for!' "`what?' "`they are heading towards yonder rocks.' he pointed to a clump of rocky boulders that lay isolated near one side of the plain--`let us get there, comrade--_vamos_!' "we stole cautiously round the edge of the mountain until the rocks lay between us and the game; and then crouched forward and took our position among them. we lay behind a jagged boulder, whose seamed outline looked as if it had been designed for loop-hole firing. it was just the cover we wanted. "we peeped cautiously through the cracks of the rock. already the vicunas were near, almost within range of our pieces. i held in my hands a double-barrel, loaded in both barrels with large-sized buck-shot; my companion's weapon was a long spanish rifle. "i received his instructions in a whisper. i was not to shoot until he had fired. both were to aim at the leader. about this he was particular, and i promised obedience. "the unconscious herd drew near. the leader, with the long white silky hair hanging from his breast, was in the advance, and upon him the eyes of both of us were fixed. i could observe his glistening orbs, and his attitude of pride, as he turned at intervals to beckon his followers on. "`i hope he has got the worms,' muttered my companion; `if he has, he'll come to rub his hide upon the rocks.' "some such intention was no doubt guiding the vicuna, for at that moment it stretched forth its neck, and trotted a few paces towards us. it suddenly halted. the wind was in our favour, else we should have been scented long ago. but we were suspected. the creature halted, threw up its head, struck the ground with its hoof, and uttered a strange cry, somewhat resembling the whistling of a deer. the echo of that cry was the ring of my companion's rifle, and i saw the vicuna leap up and fall dead upon the plain. "i expected the others to break off in flight, and was about to fire at them though they were still at long range. my companion prevented me. "`hold!' he whispered, `you'll have a better chance--see there!--now, if you like, senor!' "to my surprise, the herd, instead of attempting to escape, came trotting up to where the leader lay, and commenced running around at intervals, stooping over the body, and uttering plaintive cries. "it was a touching sight, but the hunter is without pity for what he deems his lawful game. in an instant i had pulled both triggers, and both barrels had sent forth their united and deadly showers. "deadly indeed--when the smoke blew aside, nearly half of the herd were seen lying quiet or kicking on the plain. "the rest remained as before! another ring of the long rifle, and another fell--another double detonation of the heavy deer-gun, and several came to the ground; and so continued the alternate fire of bullets and shot, until the whole herd were strewn dead and dying upon the ground! "our work was done--a great day's work for my companion, who would realise nearly a hundred dollars for the produce of his day's sport. "this, however, he assured me was a very unusual piece of good luck. often for days and even weeks, he would range the mountains without killing a single head--either vicuna or guanaco, and only twice before had he succeeded in thus making a _battue_ of a whole herd. once he had approached a flock of vicunas disguised in the skin of a guanaco, and killed most of them before they thought of retreating. "it was necessary for us to return to the hut for our horses in order to carry home the game, and this required several journeys to be made. to keep off the wolves and condors my companion made use of a very simple expedient, which i believe is often used in the north--among your prairie trappers here. several bladders were taken from the vicunas and inflated. they were then tied upon poles of maguey, and set upright over the carcasses, so as to dangle and dance about in the wind. cunning as is the andes wolf this `scare' is sufficient to keep him off, as well as his ravenous associate, the condor. "it was quite night when we reached the indian hut with our last load. both of us were wearied and hungry, but a fresh vicuna cutlet, washed down by the catalan, and followed by a cigarette, made us forget our fatigues. my host was more than satisfied with his day's work, and promised me a guanaco hunt for the morrow." chapter eighteen. a chacu of vicunas. "well, upon the morrow," continued the englishman, "we had our guanaco hunt, and killed several of the herd we had seen on the previous day. there was nothing particular in regard to our mode of hunting--farther than to use all our cunning in getting within shot, and then letting fly at them. "it is not so easy getting near the guanaco. he is among the shyest game i have ever hunted, and his position is usually so far above that of the hunter, that he commands at all times a view of the movements of the latter. the over-hanging rocks, however, help one a little, and by diligent creeping he is sometimes approached. it requires a dead shot to bring him down, for, if only wounded, he will scale the cliffs, and make off--perhaps to die in some inaccessible haunt. "while sojourning with my hunter-friend, i heard of a singular method practised by the indians, of capturing the vicuna in large numbers. this was called the `chacu.' "of course i became very desirous of witnessing a `chacu,' and the hunter promised to gratify me. it was now the season of the year for such expeditions, and one was to come off in a few days. it was the annual hunt got up by the tribe to which my host belonged; and, of course, he, as a practised and professional hunter, was to bear a distinguished part in the ceremony. "the day before the expedition was to set out, we repaired to the village of the tribe--a collection of rude huts, straggling along the bottom of one of the deep clefts or valleys of the cordilleras. this village lay several thousand feet below the level of the puna plains, and was therefore in a much warmer climate. in fact, the sugar-cane and yucca plant (_jatropha mainhot_) were both seen growing in the gardens of the villagers, and indian corn flourished in the fields. "the inhabitants were `_indios mansos_' (civilised indians). they attended part of the year to agriculture, although the greater part of it was spent in idleness, amusements, or hunting. they had been converted--that is nominally--to christianity; and a church with its cross was a prominent feature of the village. "the cure, or priest, was the only white man resident in the place, and he was white only by comparison. though of pure spanish blood, he would have passed for a `coloured old gentleman' in any part of europe or the states. "my companion introduced me to the padre, and i was at once received upon terms of intimacy. to my surprise i learnt that he was to accompany the chacu--in fact to take a leading part in it. he seemed to be as much interested in the success of the hunt as any of them--more so, perhaps, and with good reason too. i afterwards learnt why. the produce of the annual hunt was part of the padre's income. by an established law, the skins of the vicunas were the property of the church, and these, being worth on the spot at least a dollar a-piece, formed no despicable tithe. after hearing this i was at no loss to understand the padre's enthusiasm about the chacu. all the day before he had been bustling about among his parishioners, aiding them with his counsel, and assisting them in their preparations. i shared the padre's dwelling, the best in the village; his supper too--a stewed fowl, killed for the occasion, and rendered fiery hot with `aji,' or capsicum. this was washed down with `chica,' and afterwards the padre and i indulged in a cigarette and a chat. "he was a genuine specimen of the south-american missionary priest; rather more scrupulous about getting his dues than about the moral welfare of his flock; fat, somewhat greasy, fond of a good dinner, a glass of `yea' brandy, and a cigarette. nevertheless, his rule was patriarchal in a high degree, and he was a favourite with the simple people among whom he dwelt. "morning came, and the expedition set forth; not, however, until a grand mass had been celebrated in the church, and prayers offered up for the success of the hunt. the cavalcade then got under weigh, and commenced winding up the rugged path that led toward the `altos,' or puna heights. we travelled in a different direction from that in which my companion and i had come. "the expedition itself was a picturesque affair. there were horses, mules, and llamas, men, women, children, and dogs; in fact, almost every living thing in the village had turned out. a chacu is no common occasion--no one day affair. it was to be an affair of weeks. there were rude tents carried along; blankets and cooking utensils; and the presence of the women was as necessary as any part of the expedition. their office would be to do the cooking, and keep the camp in order! as well as to assist in the hunt. "strung out in admirable confusion, we climbed up the mountain--a picturesque train--the men swinging along in their coloured ponchos of llama wool, and the women dressed in bright mantas of `bayeta' (a coarse cloth, of native manufacture). i noticed several mules and llamas packed with loads of a curious character. some carried large bundles of rags--others were loaded with coils of rope--while several were `freighted' with short poles, tied in bunches. i had observed these cargoes being prepared before leaving the village, and could not divine the use of them. that would no doubt be explained when we had reached the scene of the chacu, and i forbore to trouble my companions with any interrogatories, as i had enough to do to guide my horse along the slippery path we were travelling. "about a mile from the village there was a sudden halt. i inquired the cause. "`the _huaro_,' was the reply. "i knew the huaro to be the name of a peculiar kind of bridge, and i learnt that one was here to be crossed. i rode forward, and found myself in front of the huaro. a singular structure it was. i could scarcely believe in the practicability of our getting over it. the padre, however, assured me it was a good one, and we should all be on the other side in a couple of hours! "i at first felt inclined to treat this piece of information as a joke: but it proved that the priest was in earnest. it was full two hours before we were all crossed with our bag and baggage. "the huaro was nothing more than a thick, rope stretched across the chasm, and made fast at both ends. on this rope was a strong piece of wood, bent into the shape of the letter u, and fastened to a roller which rested upon the rope, and moved along it when pulled by a cord from either side. there were two cords, or ropes, attached to the roller, one leading to each side of the chasm, and their object was to drag the passenger across: of course, only one of us could be carried over at a time. no wonder we were so long in making the crossing, when there were over one hundred in all, with numerous articles of baggage. "i shall never forget the sensations i experienced in making the passage of the huaro. i had felt giddy enough in going over the `soga' bridges and `barbacoas' common throughout peru, but the passage of the huaro is really a gymnastic feat of no easy accomplishment. i was first tied, back downwards, with my back resting in the concavity of the bent wood; my legs were then crossed over the main rope--the bridge itself--with nothing to hold them there farther than my own muscular exertion. with my hands i clutched the vertical side of the wooden yoke, and was told to keep my head in as upright a position as possible. without farther ado i felt myself jerked out until i hung in empty air over a chasm that opened at least two hundred feet beneath, and through the bottom of which a white torrent was foaming over black rocks! my ankles slipped along the rope, but the sensation was so strange, that i felt several times on the point of letting them drop off. in that case my situation would have been still more painful, as i should have depended mainly on my arms for support. indeed, i held on tightly with both hands, as i fancied that the cord with which i had been tied to the yoke would every minute give way. "after a good deal of jerking and hauling, i found myself on the opposite side, and once more on my feet! "i was almost repaid for the fright i had gone through, by seeing the great fat padre pulled over. it was certainly a ludicrous sight, and i laughed the more, as i fancied the old fellow had taken occasion to laugh at me. he took it all in good part, however, telling me that it caused him no fear, as he had long been accustomed to those kind of bridges. "this slow and laborious method of crossing streams is not uncommon in many parts of the andes. it occurs in retired and thinly-populated districts, where there is no means for building bridges of regular construction. of course, the traveller himself only can be got over by the huaro. his horse, mule, or llamas must swim the stream, and in many instances these are carried off by the rapid current, or dashed against the rocks, and killed. "the whole _cavallada_ of the expedition got safely over, and in a short while we were all _en route_, once more climbing up toward the `altos.' i asked my companion why we could not have got over the stream at some other point, and thus have saved the time and labour. the answer was, that it would have cost us a twenty miles' journey to have reached a point no nearer our destination than the other end of the huaro rope! no wonder such pains had been taken to ferry the party across. "we reached the heights late in the evening. the hunt would not begin until the next day. "that evening was spent in putting up tents, and getting everything in order about the camp. the tent of the padre was conspicuous--it was the largest, and i was invited to share it with him. the horses and other animals were picketted or hoppled upon the plain, which was covered with a short brown grass. "the air was chill--cold, in fact--we were nearly three miles above ocean level. the women and youths employed themselves in collecting _taquia_ to make fires. there was plenty of this, for the plain where we had halted was a pasture of large flocks of llamas and horned cattle. it was not there we expected to fall in with the vicunas. a string of `altos,' still farther on were their favourite haunts. our first camp was sufficiently convenient to begin the hunt. it would be moved farther on when the plains in its neighbourhood had been hunted, and the game should grow scarce. "morning arrived; but before daybreak, a large party had set off, taking with them the ropes, poles, and bundles of rags i have already noticed. the women and boys accompanied this party. their destination was a large table plain, contiguous to that on which we had encamped. "an hour afterwards the rest of the party set forth--most of them mounted one way or other. these were the real hunters, or `drivers.' along with them went the dogs--the whole canine population of the village. i should have preferred riding with this party, but the padre took me along with himself, promising to guide me to a spot where i should get the best view of the chacu. he and i rode forward alone. "in half an hour we reached the plain where the first party had gone. they were all at work as we came up--scattered over the plain--and i now saw the use that was to be made of the ropes and rags. with them a pound, or `corral,' was in process of construction. part of it was already finished, and i perceived that it was to be of a circular shape. the poles, or stakes, were driven into the ground in a curving line at the distance of about a rod from each other. when thus driven, each stake stood four feet high, and from the top of one to the other, ropes were ranged and tied, thus making the inclosure complete. along these ropes were knotted the rags and strips of cotton, so as to hang nearly to the ground, or flutter in the wind; and this slight semblance of a fence was continued over the plain in a circumference of nearly three miles in length. one side, for a distance of several hundred yards, was left unfinished, and this was the entrance to the corral. of course, this was in the direction from which the drove was to come. "as soon as the inclosure was ready, those engaged upon it withdrew in two parties to the opposite flanks, and then deployed off in diverging lines, so as to form a sort of funnel, at least two miles in width. in this position they remained to await the result of the drive, most of them squatting down to rest themselves. "meanwhile the drive was proceeding, although the hunters engaged in it were at a great distance--scarcely seen from our position. they, too, had gone out in two parties, taking opposite directions, and skirting the hills that surrounded the plain. their circuit could not have been less than a dozen miles; and, as soon as fairly round, they deployed themselves into a long arc, with its concavity towards the rope corral. then, facing inward, the forward movement commenced. whatever animals chanced to be feeding between them and the inclosure were almost certain of being driven into it. "the padre had led me to an elevated position among the rocks. it commanded a view of the rope circle; but we were a long while waiting before the drivers came in sight. at length we descried the line of mounted men far off upon the plain, and, on closely scrutinising the ground between them and us, we could distinguish several reddish forms gliding about: these were the vicunas. there appeared to be several bands of them, as we saw some at different points. they were crossing and recrossing the line of the drive, evidently startled, and not knowing in what direction to run. every now and then a herd, led by its old male, could be seen shooting in a straight line--then suddenly making a halt--and the next minute sweeping off in a contrary direction. their beautiful orange-red flanks, glistening in the sun, enabled us to mark them at a great distance. "the drivers came nearer and nearer, until we could distinguish the forms of the horsemen as they rose over the swells of the plain. we could now hear their shouts--the winding of their ox-horns, and even the yelping of their dogs. but what most gratified my companion was to see that several herds of vicunas were bounding backwards and forwards in front of the advancing line. "`_mira_!' he cried exultingly, `_mira! senor_, one, two, three, four-four herds, and large ones--ah! _carrambo_! jesus!' continued he, suddenly changing tone, `_carrambo! esos malditos guanacos_!' (those cursed guanacos). i looked as he was pointing. i noticed a small band of guanacos springing over the plain. i could easily distinguish them from the vicunas by their being larger and less graceful in their motions, but more particularly by the duller hue of brownish red. but what was there in their presence to draw down the maledictions of the padre, which he continued to lavish upon them most unsparingly? i put the question. "`ah! senor,' he answered with a sigh, `these guanacos will spoil all-they will ruin the hunt. caspita!' "`how? in what manner, mio padre?' i asked in my innocence, thinking that a fine herd of guanacos would be inclosed along with their cousins, and that `all were fish,' etcetera. "`ah!' exclaimed the padre, `these guanacos are _hereticos_--reckless brutes, they pay no regard to the ropes--they will break through and let the others escape--_santissima virgen_! what is to be done?' "nothing could be done except leave things to take their course, for in a few minutes the horsemen were seen advancing, until their line closed upon the funnel formed by the others. the vicunas, in several troops, now rushed wildly from side to side, turning sharply as they approached the figures of the men and women, and running in the opposite direction. there were some fifty or sixty in all, and at length they got together in a single but confused clump. the guanacos, eight or ten in number, became mixed up with them, and after several quarterings, the whole flock, led by one that thought it had discovered the way of escape, struck off into a gallop, and dashed into the inclosure. "the hunters, who were afoot with the women, now rushed to the entrance, and in a short while new stakes were driven in, ropes tied upon them, rags attached, and the circle of the chacu was complete. "the mounted hunters at the same time had galloped around the outside, and flinging themselves from their horses, took their stations, at intervals from each other. each now prepared his `holas,' ready to advance and commence the work of death, as soon as the corral should be fairly surrounded by the women and boys who acted as assistants. "the hunters now advanced towards the centre, swinging their bolas, and shouting to one another to direct the attack. the frightened vicunas rushed from side to side, everywhere headed by an indian. now they broke into confused masses and ran in different directions--now they united again and swept in graceful curves over the plain. everywhere the bolas whizzed through the air, and soon the turf was strewed with forms sprawling and kicking. a strange picture was presented. here a hunter stood with the leaden balls whirling around his head--there another rushed forward upon a vicuna hoppled and falling--a third bent over one that was already down, anon he brandished a bleeding knife, and then, releasing the thong from the limbs of his victim, again swung his bolas in the air, and rushed forward in the chase. "an incident occurred near the beginning of the _melee_, which was very gratifying to my companion the padre, and at once restored the equanimity of his temper. the herd of guanacos succeeded in making their escape, and without compromising the success of the hunt. this, however, was brought about by a skilful manoeuvre on the part of my old friend the puna hunter. these animals had somehow or other got separated from the vicunas, and dashed off to a distant part of the inclosure. seeing this, the hunter sprang to his horse, and calling his pack of curs after him, leaped over the rope fence and dashed forward after the guanacos. he soon got directly in their rear, and signalling those who stood in front to separate and let the guanacos pass, he drove them out of the inclosure. they went head foremost against the ropes, breaking them free from the stakes; but the hunter, galloping up, guarded the opening until the ropes and rags were freshly adjusted. "the poor vicunas, nearly fifty in number, were all killed or captured. when pursued up to the `sham-fence' they neither attempted to rush against it or leap over, but would wheel suddenly round, and run directly in the faces of their pursuers! "the sport became even more interesting when all but a few were _hors de combat_. then the odd ones that remained were each attacked by several hunters at once, and the rushing and doubling of the animals--the many headings and turnings--the shouts of the spectators--the whizzing of the bolas--sometimes two or three of these missiles hurled at a single victim--all combined to furnish a spectacle to me novel and exciting. "about twenty minutes after the animals had entered the rope inclosure the last of them was seen to `bite the dust,' and the chacu of that day was over. then came the mutual congratulations of the hunters, and the joyous mingling of voices. the slain vicunas were collected in a heap-the skins stripped off, and the flesh divided among the different families who took part in the chacu. "the skins, as we have said, fell to the share of the `church,' that is, to the church's representative--the padre, and this was certainly the lion's share of the day's product. "the ropes were now unfastened and coiled--the rags once more bundled, and the stakes pulled up and collected--all to be used on the morrow in some other part of the puna. the meat was packed on the horses and mules, and the hunting party, in a long string, proceeded to camp. then followed a scene of feasting and merriment--such as did not fall to the lot of these poor people every day in the year. "this chacu lasted ten days, during which time i remained in the company of my half-savage friends. the whole game killed amounted to five hundred and odd vicunas, with a score or two guanacos, several tarush, or deer of the andes (_cervus antisensis_) and half a dozen black bears (_ursus ornatus_). of course only the vicunas were taken in the chacu. the other animals were started incidentally, and killed by the hunters either with their bolas, or guns, with which a few of them were armed." the "chacu" of the andes indians corresponds to the "surround" of the indian hunters on the great plains of north america. in the latter case, however, buffaloes are usually the objects of pursuit, and no fence is attempted--the hunters trusting to their horses to keep the wild oxen inclosed. the "pound" is another mode of capturing wild animals practised by several tribes of indians in the hudson's bay territory. in this case the game is the caribou or reindeer, but no rope fence would serve to impound these. a good substantial inclosure of branches and trees is necessary, and the construction of a "pound" is the work of time and labour. i know of no animal except the vicuna itself, that could be captured after the manner practised in the "chacu." chapter nineteen. squirrel-shooting. we were now travelling among the spurs of the "ozark hills," and our road was a more difficult one. the ravines were deeper, and as our course obliged us to cross the direction in which most of them ran, we were constantly climbing or descending the sides of steep ridges. there was no road except a faint indian trail, used by the kansas in their occasional excursions to the borders of the settlements. at times we were compelled to cut away the underwood, and ply the axe lustily upon some huge trunk that had fallen across the path and obstructed the passage of our waggon. this rendered our progress but slow. during such halt most of the party strayed off into the woods in search of game. squirrels were the only four-footed creatures found, and enough of these were shot to make a good-sized "pot-pie;" and it may be here remarked, that no sort of flesh is better for this purpose than that of the squirrel. the species found in these woods was the large "cat-squirrel" (_sciurus cinereus_), one of the noblest of its kind. of course at that season, amid the plenitude of seeds, nuts, and berries, they were as plump as partridges. this species is usually in good condition, and its flesh the best flavoured of all. in the markets of new york they bring three times the price of the common grey squirrel. as we rode along, the naturalist stated many facts in relation to the squirrel tribe, that were new to most of us. he said that in north america there were not less than twenty species of true squirrels, all of them dwellers in the trees, and by including the "ground" and "flying" squirrels (_tamias_ and _pteromys_), the number of species might be more than forty. of course there are still new species yet undescribed, inhabiting the half-explored regions of the western territory. the best-known of the squirrels is the common "grey squirrel," as it is in most parts of the united states the most plentiful. indeed it is asserted that some of the other species, as the "black squirrel" (_sciurus niger_), disappear from districts where the grey squirrels become numerous--as the native rat gives place to the fierce "norway." the true fox squirrel (_sciurus vulpinus_) differs essentially from the "cat," which is also known in many states by the name of fox squirrel. the former is larger, and altogether a more active animal, dashing up to the top of a pine-tree in a single run. the cat-squirrel, on the contrary, is slow and timid among the branches, and rarely mounts above the first fork, unless when forced higher by the near approach of its enemy. it prefers concealing itself behind the trunk, dodging round the tree as the hunter advances upon it. it has one peculiarity, however, in its mode of escape that often saves it, and disappoints its pursuer. unless very hotly pursued by a dog, or other swift enemy, it will not be treed until it has reached the tree that contains its nest, and, of course, it drops securely into its hole, bidding defiance to whatever enemy--unless, indeed, that enemy chance to be the pine-martin, which is capable of following it even to the bottom of its dark tree-cave. now most of the other squirrels make a temporary retreat to the nearest large tree that offers. this is often without a hole where they can conceal themselves, and they are therefore exposed to the small shot or rifle-bullet from below. it does not always follow, however, that they are brought down from their perch. in very heavy bottom timber the squirrel often escapes among the high twigs, even where there are no leaves to conceal it, nor any hole in the tree. twenty shots, and from good marksmen too, have been fired at a single squirrel in such situations, without bringing it to the ground, or seriously wounding it! a party of hunters have often retired without getting such game, and yet the squirrel has been constantly changing place, and offering itself to be sighted in new positions and attitudes! the craft of the squirrel on these occasions is remarkable. it stretches its body along the upper part of a branch, elongating it in such a manner, that the branch, not thicker than the body itself, forms almost a complete shield against the shot. the head, too, is laid close, and the tail no longer erect, but flattened along the branch, so as not to betray the whereabouts of the animal. squirrel-shooting is by no means poor sport. it is the most common kind practised in the united states, because the squirrel is the most common game. in that country it takes the place that snipe or partridge shooting holds in england. in my opinion it is a sport superior to either of these last, and the game, when killed, is not much less in value. good fat squirrel can be cooked in a variety of ways, and many people prefer it to feathered game of any kind. it is true the squirrel has a rat-like physiognomy, but that is only in the eyes of strangers to him. a residence in the backwoods, and a short practice in the eating of squirrel pot-pie, soon removes any impression of that kind. a hare, as brought upon the table-cloth in england, is far more likely to produce _degout_--from its very striking likeness to "puss," that is purring upon the hearth-rug. in almost all parts of the united states, a day's squirrel-shooting may be had without the necessity of making a very long journey. there are still tracts of woodland left untouched, where these animals find a home. in the western states a squirrel-hunt may be had simply by walking a couple of hundred yards from your house, and in some places you may shoot the creatures out of the very door. to make a successful squirrel-hunt two persons at least are necessary. if only one goes out, the squirrel can avoid him simply by "dodging" round the trunk, or any large limb of the tree. when there are two, one remains stationary, while the other makes a circuit, and drives the game from the opposite side. it is still better when three or four persons make up the party, as then the squirrel is assailed on all sides, and can find no resting-place, without seeing a black tube levelled upon him, and ready to send forth its deadly missile. some hunt the squirrel with shot-guns. these are chiefly young hands. the old hunter prefers the rifle; and in the hands of practised marksmen this is the better weapon. the rifle-bullet, be it ever so small, kills the game at once; whereas a squirrel severely peppered with shot will often escape to the tree where its hole is, and drop in, often to die of its wounds. no creature can be more tenacious of life--not even a cat. when badly wounded it will cling to the twigs to its last breath, and even after death its claws sometimes retain their hold, and its dead body hangs suspended to the branch! the height from which a squirrel will leap to the ground without sustaining injury, is one of those marvels witnessed by every squirrel-hunter. when a tree in which it has taken refuge is found not to afford sufficient shelter, and a neighbouring tree is not near enough for it to leap to, it then perceives the necessity of returning to the ground, to get to some other part of the woods. some species, as the cat-squirrel, fearing to take the dreadful leap (often nearly a hundred feet), rush down by the trunk. not so the more active squirrels, as the common grey kind. these run to the extremity of a branch, and spring boldly down in a diagonal direction. the hunter--if a stranger to the feat--would expect to see the creature crushed or crippled by the fall. no danger of that. even the watchful dog that is waiting for such an event, and standing close to the spot, has not time to spring upon it, until it is off again like a flying bird, and, almost as quick as sight can follow, is seen ascending some other tree. there is an explanation required about this precipitous leap. the squirrel is endowed with the capability of spreading out its body to a great extent, and this in the downward rush it takes care to do--thus breaking its fall by the resistance of the air. this alone accounts for its not killing itself. nearly all squirrels possess this power, but in different degrees. in the flying squirrels it is so strongly developed, as to enable them to make a flight resembling that of the birds themselves. the squirrel-hunter is often accompanied by a dog--not that the dog ever by any chance catches one of these creatures. of him the squirrel has but little fear, well knowing that he cannot climb a tree. the office of the dog is of a different kind. it is to "tree" the squirrel, and, by remaining at the root, point out the particular tree to his master. the advantage of the dog is obvious. in fact, he is almost as necessary as the pointer to the sportsman. first, by ranging widely, he beats a greater breadth of the forest. secondly, when a squirrel is seen by him, his swiftness enables him to hurry it up some tree _not its own_. this second advantage is of the greatest importance. when the game has time enough allowed it, it either makes to its own tree (with a hole in it of course), or selects one of the tallest near the spot. in the former case it is impossible, and in the latter difficult, to have a fair shot at it. if there be no dog, and the hunter trusts to his own eyes, he is often unable to find the exact tree which the squirrel has climbed, and of course loses it. a good squirrel-dog is a useful animal. the breed is not important. the best are usually half-bred pointers. they should have good sight as well as scent; should range widely, and run fast. when well trained they will not take after rabbits, or any other game. they will bark only when a squirrel is treed, and remain staunchly by the root of the tree. the barking is necessary, otherwise the hunter, often separated from them by the underwood, would not know when they had succeeded in "treeing." the squirrel seems to have little fear of the dog, and rarely ascends to a great height. it is often seen only a few feet above him, jerking its tail about, and apparently mocking its savage enemy below. the coming up of the hunter changes the scene. the squirrel then takes the alarm, and shooting up, conceals itself among the higher branches. taking it all in all, we know none of the smaller class of field sports that requires greater skill, and yields more real amusement, than hunting the squirrel. our kentuckian comrade gave us an account of a grand squirrel-hunt got up by himself and some neighbours, which is not an uncommon sort of thing in the western states. the hunters divided themselves into two parties of equal numbers, each taking its own direction through the woods. a large wager was laid upon the result, to be won by that party that could bring in the greatest number of squirrels. there were six guns on each side, and the numbers obtained at the end of a week--for the hunt lasted so long--were respectively 5000, and 4780! of course the sport came off in a tract of country where squirrels were but little hunted, and were both tame and plenty. such hunts upon a grand scale are, as already stated, not uncommon in some parts of the united states. they have another object besides the sport--that of thinning off the squirrels for the protection of the planter's corn-field. so destructive are these little animals to the corn and other grains, that in some states there has been at times a bounty granted, for killing them. in early times such a law existed in pennsylvania, and there is a registry that in one year the sum of 8000 pounds was paid out of the treasury of this bounty-money, which at threepence a head--the premium--would make 640,000, the number of the squirrels killed in that year! the "migration of the squirrels" is still an unexplained fact. it is among the grey squirrels it takes place; hence the name given to that species, _sciurus migratorius_. there is no regularity about these migrations, and their motive is not known. immense bands of the squirrels are observed in a particular neighbourhood, proceeding through the woods or across tracts of open ground, all in one direction. nothing stays their course. narrow streams and broad rivers are crossed by them by swimming, and many are drowned in the attempt. under ordinary circumstances, these little creatures are as much afraid of water as cats, yet when moving along their track of migration they plunge boldly into a river, without calculating whether they will ever reach the other side. when found upon the opposite bank, they are often so tired with the effort, that one may overtake them with a stick; and thousands are killed in this way when a migration has been discovered. it is stated that they roll pieces of dry wood, or bark, into the water, and, seating themselves on these, are wafted across, their tails supplying them with a sail: of course this account must be held as apocryphal. but the question is, what motive impels them to undertake these long and perilous wanderings, from which it is thought they never return to their original place of abode? it cannot be the search of food, nor the desire to change from a colder to a warmer climate. the direction of the wanderings forbids us to receive either of these as the correct reason. no light has been yet thrown upon this curious habit. it would seem as if some strange instinct propelled them, but for what purpose, and to what end, no one can tell. chapter twenty. treeing a bear. the doctor was the only one not taking part in the conversation. even the rude guides listened. all that related to game interested them, even the scientific details given by the hunter-naturalist. the doctor had ridden on in front of us. some one remarked that he wanted water to mix with the contents of his flask, and was therefore searching for a stream. be this as it may, he was seen suddenly to jerk his spare horse about, and spur back to us, his countenance exhibiting symptoms of surprise and alarm. "what is it, doctor?" inquired one. "he has seen indians," remarked another. "a bear--a bear!" cried the doctor, panting for breath; "a grizzly bear! a terrible-looking creature i assure you." "a bar! d'you say?" demanded ike, shooting forward on his old mare. "a bar!" cried redwood, breaking through the bushes in pursuit. "a bear!" shouted the others, all putting spurs to their horses, and galloping forward in a body. "where, doctor? where?" cried several. "yonder," replied the doctor, "just by that great tree. i saw him go in there--a grizzly, i'm sure." it was this idea that had put the doctor in such affright, and caused him to ride back so suddenly. "nonsense, doctor," said the naturalist, "we are yet far to the east of the range of the grizzly bear. it was a black bear you saw." "as i live," replied the doctor, "it was not black, anything but that. i should know the black bear. it was a light brown colour--almost yellowish." "oh! that's no criterion. the black bear is found with many varieties of colour. i have seen them of the colour you describe. it must be one of them. the grizzly is not found so far to the eastward, although it is possible we may see them soon; but not in woods like these." there was no time for farther explanation. we had come up to the spot where the bear had been seen; and although an unpractised eye could have detected no traces of the animal's presence, old ike, redwood, and the hunter-naturalist could follow its trail over the bed of fallen leaves, almost as fast as they could walk. both the guides had dismounted, and with their bodies slightly bent, and leading their horses after them, commenced tracking the bear. from ike's manner one would have fancied that he was guided by scent rather than by sight. the trail led us from our path, and we had followed it some hundred yards into the woods. most of us were of the opinion that the creature had never halted after seeing the doctor, but had run off to a great distance. if left to ourselves, we should have given over the chase. the trappers, however, knew what they were about. they asserted that the bear had gone away slowly--that it had made frequent halts--that they discovered "sign" to lead them to the conclusion that the animal's haunt was in the neighbourhood--that its "nest" was near. we were, therefore, encouraged to proceed. all of us rode after the trackers. jake and lanty had been left with the waggon, with directions to keep on their route. after a while we heard the waggon moving along directly in front of us. the road had angled as well as the bear's trail, and the two were again converging. just at that moment a loud shouting came from the direction of the waggon. it was lanty's voice, and jake's too. "och! be the vargin mother! luck there! awch, mother o' moses, jake, such a haste!" "golly, massa lanty, it am a bar!" we all heard this at once. of course we thought of the trail no longer, but made a rush in the direction of the voices, causing the branches to fly on every side. "whar's the bar?" cried redwood, who was first up to the waggon, "whar did ye see't?" "yander he goes!" cried lanty, pointing to a pile of heavy timber, beset with an undergrowth of cane, but standing almost isolated from the rest of the forest on account of the thin open woods that were around it. we were too late to catch a glimpse of him, but perhaps he would halt in the undergrowth. if so we had a chance. "surround, boys, surround!" cried the kentuckian, who understood bear-hunting as well as any of the party. "quick, round and head him;" and, at the same time, the speaker urged his great horse into a gallop. several others rode off on the opposite side, and in a few seconds we had surrounded the cane-brake. "is he in it?" cried one. "do you track 'im thur, mark?" cried ike to his comrade from the opposite side. "no," was the reply, "he hain't gone out this away." "nor hyur," responded ike. "nor here," said the kentuckian. "nor by here," added the hunter-naturalist. "belike, then, he's still in the timmor," said redwood. "now look out all of yees. keep your eyes skinned; i'll hustle him out o' thar." "hold on, mark, boy," cried ike, "hold on thur. damn the varmint! hyur's his track, paddled like a sheep pen. wagh, his den's hyur--let me rout 'im." "very wal, then," replied the other, "go ahead, old fellow--i'll look to my side--thu'll no bar pass me 'ithout getting a pill in his guts. out wi' 'im!" we all sat in our saddles silent and watchful. ike had entered the cane, but not a rustle was heard. a snake could not have passed through it with less noise than did the old trapper. it was full ten minutes before the slightest sound warned of what he was about. then his voice reached us. "this way, all of you! the bar's treed." the announcement filled all of us with pleasant anticipations. the sport of killing a bear is no everyday amusement, and now that the animal was "treed" we were sure of him. some dismounted and hitched their horses to the branches; others boldly dashed into the cane, hurrying to the spot, with the hope of having first shot. why was ike's rifle not heard if he saw the bear treed? this puzzled some. it was explained when we got up. ike's words were figurative. the bear had not taken shelter in a tree, but a hollow log, and, of course, ike had not yet set eyes on him. but there was the log, a huge one, some ten or more feet in thickness, and there was the hole, with the well-beaten track leading into it. it was his den. he was there to a certainty. how to get him out? that was the next question. several took their stations, guns in hand, commanding the entrance to the hollow. one went back upon the log, and pounded it with the butt of his gun. to no purpose. bruin was not such a fool as to walk out and be peppered by bullets. a long pole was next thrust up the hollow. nothing could be felt. the den was beyond reach. smoking was next tried, but with like success. the bear gave no sign of being annoyed with it. the axes were now brought from the waggon. it would be a tough job--for the log (a sycamore) was sound enough except near the heart. there was no help for it, and jake and lanty went to work as if for a day's rail splitting. redwood and the kentuckian, both good axemen, relieved them, and a deep notch soon began to make its appearance on each side of the log. the rest of us kept watch near the entrance, hoping the sound of the axe might drive out the game. we were disappointed in that hope, and for full two hours the chopping continued, until the patience and the arms of those that plied the axe were nearly tired out. it is no trifling matter to lay open a tree ten feet in diameter. they had chosen the place for their work guided by the long pole. it could not be beyond the den, and if upon the near side, of it, the pole would then be long enough to reach the bear, and either destroy him with a knife-blade attached to it, or force him out. this was our plan, and therefore we were encouraged to proceed. at length the axes broke through the wood and the dark interior lay open. they had cut in the right place, for the den of the bear was found directly under, but no bear! poles were inserted at both openings, but no bear could be felt either way. the hollow ran up no farther, so after all there was no bear in the log. there were some disappointed faces about--and some rather rough ejaculations were heard. i might say that ike "cussed a few," and that would be no more than the truth. the old trapper seemed to be ashamed of being so taken in, particularly as he had somewhat exultingly announced that the "bar was treed." "he must have got off before we surrounded," said one. "are you sure he came into the timber?" asked another--"that fool, lanty, was so scared, he could hardly tell where the animal went." "be me soul! gintlemen, i saw him go in wid my own eyes, oil swear--" "cussed queer!" spitefully remarked redwood. "damn the bar!" ejaculated ike, "whur kid the varmint a gone?" where was a--? all eyes were turned to look for the hunter-naturalist, as if he could clear up the mystery. he was nowhere to be seen. he had not been seen for some time! at that moment, the clear sharp ring of a rifle echoed in our ears. there was a moment's silence, and the next moment a loud "thump" was heard, as of a heavy body falling from a great height to the ground. the noise startled even our tired horses, and some of them broke their ties and scampered off. "this way, gentlemen!" said a quiet voice, "here's the bear!" the voice was a--'s; and we all, without thinking of the horses, hurried up to the spot. sure enough, there lay the great brute, a red stream oozing out of a bullet-hole in his ribs. a-pointed to a tree--a huge oak that spread out above our heads. "there he was, in yonder fork," said he. "we might have saved ourselves a good deal of trouble had we been more thoughtful. i suspected he was not in the log when the smoke failed to move him. the brute was too sagacious to hide there. it is not the first time i have known the hunter foiled by such a trick." the eyes of redwood were turned admiringly on the speaker, and even old ike could not help acknowledging his superior hunter-craft. "mister," he muttered, "i guess you'd make a darned fust-rate mountain-man. he's a gone injun when you look through sights." all of us were examining the huge carcass of the bear--one of the largest size. "your sure it's no grizzly?" inquired the doctor. "no, doctor," replied the naturalist, "the grizzly never climbs a tree." chapter twenty one. the black bear of america. after some time spent in recovering the horses, we lifted the bear into jake's waggon, and proceeded on our journey. it was near evening, however, and we soon after halted and formed camp. the bear was skinned in a trice,--ike and redwood performing this operation with the dexterity of a pair of butchers; of course "bear-meat" was the principal dish for supper; and although some may think this rather a savage feast, i envy those who are in the way of a bear-ham now. of course for that evening nothing was talked of but bruin, and a good many anecdotes were related about the beast. with the exception of the doctor, jake and lanty, all of us had something to say upon that subject, for all the rest had more or less practice in bear-hunting. the black or "american bear" (_ursus americanus_) is one of the best-known of his tribe. it is he that is oftenest seen in menageries and zoological gardens, for the reason, perhaps, that he is found in great plenty in a country of large commercial intercourse with other nations. hence he is more frequently captured and exported to all parts. any one at a glance may distinguish him from the "brown bear" of europe, as well as the other bears of the eastern continent--not so much by his colour (for he is sometimes brown too), as by his form and the regularity and smoothness of his coat. he may be as easily distinguished, too, from his congeners of north america--of which there are three--the grizzly (_ursus ferox_), the brown (_ursus arctus_), and the "polar" (_ursus maritimus_). the hair upon other large bears (the polar excepted) is what may be termed "tufty," and their forms are different, being generally more uncouth and "chunkier." the black bear is, in fact, nearer to the polar in shape, as well as in the arrangement of his fur,--than to any other of the tribe. he is much smaller, however, rarely exceeding two-thirds the weight of large specimens of the latter. his colour is usually a deep black all over the body, with a patch of rich yellowish red upon the muzzle, where the hair is short and smooth. this ornamental patch is sometimes absent, and varieties of the black bear are seen of very different colours. brown ones are common in some parts, and others of a cinnamon colour, and still others with white markings, but these last are rare. they are all of one species, however, the assertion of some naturalists to the contrary notwithstanding. the proof is, that the black varieties have been seen followed by coloured cubs, and _vice versa_. the black bear is omnivorous--feeds upon flesh as well as fruit, nuts, and edible roots. habitually his diet is not carnivorous, but he will eat at times either carrion or living flesh. we say living flesh, for on capturing prey he does not wait to kill it, as most carnivorous animals, but tears and destroys it while still screaming. he may be said to swallow some of his food alive! of honey he is especially fond, and robs the bee-hive whenever it is accessible to him. it is not safe from him even in the top of a tree, provided the entrance to it is large enough to admit his body; and when it is not, he often contrives to make it so by means of his sharp claws. he has but little fear of the stings of the angry bees. his shaggy coat and thick hide afford him ample protection against such puny weapons. it is supposed that he spends a good deal of his time ranging the forest in search of "bee trees." of course he is a tree-climber--climbs by the "hug," not by means of his claws, as do animals of the cat kind; and in getting to the ground again descends the trunk, stern-foremost, as a hod-carrier would come down a ladder. in this he again differs from the _felidae_. the range of the black bear is extensive--in fact it may be said to be colimital with the forest, both in north and south america--though in the latter division of the continent, another species of large black bear exists, the _ursus ornatas_. in the northern continent the american bear is found in all the wooded parts from the atlantic to the pacific, but not in the open and prairie districts. there the grizzly holds dominion, though both of them range together in the wooded valleys of the rocky mountains. the grizzly, on the other hand, is only met with west of the mississippi, and affects the dry desert countries of the uninhabited west. the brown bear, supposed to be identical with the _ursus arctus_ of north europe, is only met with in the wild and treeless track known as "barren grounds," which stretch across nearly the whole northern part of the continent from the last timber to the shores of the arctic sea, and in this region the black bear is not found. the zone of the polar bear joins with that of the brown, and the range of the former extends perhaps to the pole itself. at the time of the colonisation of america, the area of the present united states was the favourite home of the black bear. it was a country entirely covered with thick forests, and of course a suitable _habitat_ for him. even to this day a considerable number of bears is to be found within the limits of the settlements. scarcely a state in which some wild woodlands or mountain fastnesses do not afford shelter to a number of bears, and to kill one of them is a grand object of the hunter's ambition. along the whole range of the alleghanies black bears are yet found, and it will be long ere they are finally extirpated from such haunts. in the western states they are still more common, where they inhabit the gloomy forests along the rivers, and creek bottoms, protected alike by the thick undergrowth and the swampy nature of the soil. their den is usually in a hollow tree--sometimes a prostrate log if the latter be large enough, and in such a position as is not likely to be observed by the passing hunter. a cave in the rocks is also their favourite lair, when the geological structure of the country offers them so secure a retreat. they are safer thus; for when a bear-tree or log has been discovered by either hunter or farmer the bear has not much chance of escape. the squirrel is safe enough, as his capture will not repay the trouble of felling the tree; but such noble game as a bear will repay whole hours of hard work with the axe. the black bear lies torpid during several months of the winter. the time of his hibernation depends upon the latitude of the place and the coldness of the climate. as you approach the south this period becomes shorter and shorter, until in the tropical forests, where frost is unknown, the black bear ranges throughout the year. the mode of hunting the black bear does not differ from that practised with the fox or wild cat. he is usually chased by dogs, and forced into his cave or a tree. if the former, he is shot down, or the tree, if hollow, is felled. sometimes smoking brings him out. if he escapes to a cave, smoking is also tried; but if that will not succeed in dislodging him, he must be left alone, as no dogs will venture to attack him there. the hunter often tracks and kills him in the woods with a bullet from his rifle. he will not turn upon man unless when wounded or brought to bay. then his assault is to be dreaded. should he grasp the hunter between his great forearms, the latter will stand a fair chance of being hugged to death. he does not attempt to use his teeth like the grizzly bear, but relies upon the muscular power of his arms. the nose appears to be his tenderest part, and his antagonist, if an old bear-hunter, and sufficiently cool, will use every effort to strike him there. a blow upon the snout has often caused the black bear to let go his hold, and retreat terrified! the log trap is sometimes tried with success. this is constructed in such a way that the removal of the bait operates upon a trigger, and a large heavy log comes down on the animal removing it--either crushing it to death or holding it fast by pressure. a limb is sometimes only caught; but this proves sufficient. the same kind of trap is used throughout the northern regions of america by the fur trappers--particularly the sable hunters and trappers of the white weasel (_mustela erminea_). of course that for the bear is constructed of the heaviest logs, and is of large dimensions. redwood related an adventure that had befallen him while trapping the black bear at an earlier period of his life. it had nearly cost him his life too, and a slight halt in his gait could still be observed, resulting from that very adventure. we all collected around the blazing logs to listen to the trapper's story. chapter twenty two. the trapper trapped. "well, then," began redwood, "the thing i'm agoin' to tell you about, happened to me when i war a younker, long afore i ever thought i was a coming out hyar upon the parairas. i wan't quite growed at the time, though i was a good chunk for my age. "it war up thar among the mountains in east tennessee, whar this child war raised, upon the head waters of the tennessee river. "i war fond o' huntin' from the time that i war knee high to a duck, an' i can jest remember killin' a black bar afore i war twelve yeer old. as i growed up, the bar had become scacer in them parts, and it wan't every day you could scare up such a varmint, but now and then one ud turn up. "well, one day as i war poking about the crik bottom (for the shanty whar my ole mother lived war not on the tennessee, but on a crik that runs into it), i diskivered bar sign. there war tracks o' the bar's paws in this mud, an' i follered them along the water edge for nearly a mile--then the trail turned into about as thickety a bottom as i ever seed anywhar. it would a baffled a cat to crawl through it. "after the trail went out from the crik and towards the edge o' this thicket, i lost all hopes of follerin' it further, as the ground was hard, and covered with donicks, and i couldn't make the tracks out no how. i had my idea that the bar had tuk the thicket, so i went round the edge of it to see if i could find whar he had entered. "for a long time i couldn't see a spot whar any critter as big as a bar could a-got in without makin' some sort o' a hole, and then i begun to think the bar had gone some other way, either across the crik or further down it. "i war agoin' to turn back to the water, when i spied a big log lyin' half out o' the thicket, with one eend buried in the bushes. i noticed that the top of this log had a dirty look, as if some animal had tramped about on it; an' on goin' up and squintin' at it a little closter, i seed that that guess war the right one. "i clomb the log, for it war a regular rouster, bigger than that 'n we had so much useless trouble with, and then i scrammelled along the top o' it in the direction of the brush. thar i seed the very hole whar the bar had got into the thicket, and thar war a regular beaten-path runnin' through the brake as far as i could see. "i jumped off o' the log, and squeezed myself through the bramble. it war a trail easy enough to find, but mighty hard to foller, i can tell ye. thar war thistles, and cussed stingin' nettles, and briars as thick as my wrist, with claws upon them as sharp as fish-hooks. i pushed on, howsomever, feelin' quite sartin that sich a well-used track must lead to the bar's den, an' i war safe enough to find it. in coorse i reckoned that the critter had his nest in some holler tree, and i could go home for my axe, and come back the next morning--if smoking failed to git him out. "well, i poked on through the thicket a good three hundred yards, sometimes crouching, and sometimes creeping on my hands and knees. i war badly scratched, i tell you, and now and then i jest thought to myself, what would be the consyquince if the bar should meet me in that narrow passage. we'd a had a tough tussel, i reckon--but i met no bar. "at last the brash grew thinner, and jest as i was in hopes i might stumble on the bar tree, what shed i see afore me but the face o' a rocky bluff, that riz a consid'able height over the crik bottom. i begun to fear that the varmint had a cave, and so, cuss him! he had--a great black gulley in the rocks was right close by, and thar was his den, and no mistake. i could easily tell it by the way the clay and stones had been pattered over by his paws. "of coorse, my tracking for that day war over, and i stood by the mouth of the cave not knowin' what to do. i didn't feel inclined to go in. "after a while i bethought me that the bar mout come out, an' i laid myself squat down among the bushes facing the cave. i had my gun ready to give him a mouthful of lead, as soon as he should show his snout outside o' the hole. "'twar no go. i guess he had heard me when i first come up, and know'd i war thar. i laid still until 'twar so dark i thought i would never find my way back agin to the crik; but, after a good deal of scramblin' and creepin' i got out at last, and took my way home. "it warn't likely i war agoin' to give that bar up. i war bound to fetch him out o' his boots if it cost me a week's hunting. so i returned the next morning to the place, and lay all day in front o' the cave. no bar appeared, an' i went back home a cussin'. "next day i come again, but this time i didn't intend to stay. i had fetched my axe with me wi' the intention of riggin' up a log trap near the mouth o' the cave. i had also fetched a jug o' molasses and some yeers o' green corn to bait the trap, for i know'd the bar war fond o' both. "well, i got upon the spot, an' makin' as leetle rumpus as possible, i went to work to build my trap. i found some logs on the ground jest the scantlin, and in less than an hour i hed the thing rigged an' the trigger set. 'twan't no small lift to get up the big log, but i managed it wi' a lever i had made, though it took every pound o' strength in my body. if it come down on the bar i knew it would hold him. "well, i had all ready except layin' the bait; so i crawled in, and was fixin' the green yeers and the 'lasses, when, jest at that moment, what shed i hear behind me but the `sniff' o' the bar! "i turned suddently to see. i had jest got my eye on the critter standin' right in the mouth o' his cave, when i feeled myself struck upon the buttocks, and flattened down to the airth like a pancake! "at the first stroke i thought somebody had hit me a heavy blow from behind, and i wish it had been that. it war wusser than that. it war the log had hit me, and war now lying with all its weight right acrosst my two leg's. in my hurry to git round i had sprung the trigger, and down comed the infernal log on my hams. "at fust i wan't scared, but i war badly hurt. i thought it would be all right as soon as i had crawled out, and i made an attempt to do so. it was then that i become scared in airnest; for i found that i couldn't crawl out. my legs were held in such a way that i couldn't move them, and the more i pulled the more i hurt them. they were in pain already with the heavy weight pressin' upon them, and i couldn't bear to move them. no more could i turn myself. i war flat on my face, and couldn't slew myself round any way, so as to get my hands at the log. i war fairly catched in my own trap! "it war jest about then i began to feel scared. thar wan't no settlement in the hul crik bottom but my mother's old shanty, an' that were two miles higher up. it war as unlikely a thing as could happen that anybody would be passing that way. and unless some one did i saw no chance of gettin' clar o' the scrape i war in. i could do nothin' for myself. "i hollered as loud as i could, and that frightened the bar into his cave again. i hollered for an hour, but i could hear no reply, and then i war still a bit, and then i hollered again, an' kept this up pretty much for the hul o' that blessed day. "thar wan't any answer but the echo o' my own shoutin', and the whoopin' of the owls that flew about over my head, and appeared as if they war mockin' me. "i had no behopes of any relief comin' from home. my ole mother had nobody but myself, and she wan't like to miss me, as i'd often stayed out a huntin' for three or four days at a time. the only chance i had, and i knew it too, war that some neighbour might be strayin' down the crik, and you may guess what sort o' chance that war, when i tell you thar wan't a neighbour livin' within less than five mile o' us. if no one come by i knew i must lay there till i died o' hunger and rotted, or the bar ate me up. "well, night come, and night went. 'twar about the longest night this child remembers. i lay all through it, a sufferin' the pain, and listening to the screechin' owls. i could a screeched as loud as any of them if that would a done any good. i heerd now and then the snuffin' o' the bar, and i could see thar war two o' them. i could see thar big black bodies movin' about like shadows, and they appeared to be gettin' less afeerd o' me, as they come close at times, and risin' up on their hind-quarters stood in front o' me like a couple o' black devils. "i begun to get afeerd they would attack me, and so i guess they would a-done, had not a circumstance happened that put them out o' the notion. "it war jest grey day, when one o' them come so clost that i expected to be attacked by him. now as luck would have it, my rifle happened to be lyin' on the ground within reach. i grabbed it without saying a word, and slewin' up one shoulder as high as i could, i was able to sight the bar jest behind the fore leg. the brute wan't four feet from the muzzle, and slap into him went wad and all, and down he tumbled like a felled ox. i seed he war as dead as a buck. "well, badly as i war fixed, i contrived to get loaded again, for i knowed that bars will fight for each other to the death; and i thought the other might attack me. it wan't to be seen at the time, but shortly after it come upon the ground from the direction of the crik. "i watched it closely as it shambled up, having my rifle ready all the while. when it first set eyes on its dead comrade it gave a loud snort, and stopped. it appeared to be considerably surprised. it only halted a short spell, and then, with a loud roar, it run up to the carcass, and sniffed at it. "i hain't the least o' a doubt that in two seconds more it would a-jumped me, but i war too quick for it, and sent a bullet right plum into one of its eyes, that come out again near the back o' its neck. that did the business, and i had the satisfaction to see it cowollop over nearly on top o' the other 'n. "well, i had killed the bars, but what o' that. that wouldn't get me from under the log; and what wi' the pain i was sufferin', and the poor prospect o' bein' relieved, i thought i mout as well have let them eat me. "but a man don't die so long as he can help it, i b'lieve, and i detarmined to live it out while i could. at times i had hopes and shouted, and then i lost hope and lay still again. "i grew as hungry as a famished wolf. the bars were lying right before me, but jest beyond reach, as if to tantylise me. i could have ate a collop raw if i could a-got hold of it, but how to reach it war the difeeculty. "needcesity they say is the mother o' invention; and i set myself to invent a bit. thar war a piece o' rope i had brought along to help me wi' the trap, and that i got my claws on. "i made a noose on one eend o' it, and after about a score o' trials i at last flung the noose over the head o' one o' the bars, and drew it tight. i then sot to work to pull the bar nearer. if that bar's neck wan't well stretched i don't know what you'd call stretchin', for i tugged at it about an hour afore i could get it within reach. i did get it at last, and then with my knife i cut out the bar's tongue, and ate it raw. "i had satisfied one appetite, but another as bad, if not wusser, troubled me. that war thirst--my throat war as dry as a corn cob, and whar was the water to come from. it grew so bad at last that i thought i would die of it. i drawed the bar nearer me, and cut his juglar to see if thar war any relief from that quarter. thar wan't. the blood war froze up thick as liver. not a drop would run. "i lay coolin' my tongue on the blade o' my knife an' chawin' a bullet, that i had taken from my pouch. i managed to put in the hul of the next day this away, now and then shoutin' as hard as i could. towards the evenin' i grew hungry again, and ate a cut out o' the cheek o' the bar; but i thought i would a-choked for want o' water. "i put in the night the best way i could. i had the owls again for company, and some varmint came up and smelt at the bars; but was frightened at my voice, and run away again. i suppose it war a fox or wolf, or some such thing, and but for me would a-made a meal off o' the bar's carcass. "i won't trouble you with my reflexshuns all that night; but i can assure ye they war anything but pleasant. i thought of my ole mother, who had nobody but me, and that helped to keep up my spirits. i detarmined to cut away at the bar, and hold out as long as possible. "as soon as day broke i set up my shoutin' again, restin' every fifeteen minutes or so, and then takin' afresh start. about an hour after sun-up, jest as i had finished a long spell o' screechin', i thought i heerd a voice. i listened a bit with my heart thumpin' against my ribs. thar war no sound; i yelled louder than ever, and then listened. thar war a voice. "`damn ye! what are ye hollowin' about?' cried the voice. "i again shouted `holloa!' "`who the hell's thar?' inquired the voice. "`casey!' i called back, recognising the voice as that of a neighbour who lives up the crik; `for god's sake this way.' "`i'm a-comin',' he replied; `'taint so easy to get through hyar--that you, redwood? what the hell's the matter? damn this brush!' "i heard my neighbour breakin' his way through the thicket, and strange i tell ye all, but true it is, i couldn't believe i war goin' to get clar even then until i seed casey standin' in front o' me. "well, of coorse, i was now set free again, but couldn't put a foot to the ground. casey carried me home to the shanty, whar i lay for well nigh six weeks, afore i could go about, and damn the thing! i han't got over it yet." so ended redwood's story. chapter twenty three. the american deer. during our next day's journey we fell in with and killed a couple of deer--a young buck and doe. they were the first of these animals we had yet seen, and that was considered strange, as we had passed through a deer country. they were of the species common to all parts of the united states' territory--the "red" or "fallow" deer (_cervus virginianus_). it may be here remarked that the common deer of the united states, sometimes called "red deer," is the fallow deer of english parks, that the "elk" of america is the red deer of europe, and the "elk" of europe is the "moose" of america. many mistakes are made in relation to this family of animals on account of these misapplied names. in north america there are six well-defined species of deer--the moose (_cervus alces_); the elk (_cervus canadensis_); the caribou (_tarandus_); the black-tail or "mule" deer (_macrotis_); the long-tail (_leucurus_); and the virginian, or fallow deer (_virginianus_). the deer of louisiana (_cervus nemoralis_) is supposed by some to be a different species from any of the above; so also is the "mazama" of mexico (_cervus mexicanus_). it is more probable that these two kinds are only varieties of the _genus virginianus_--the difference in colour, and other respects, resulting from a difference in food, climate, and such like causes. it is probable, too, that a small species of deer exists in the russian possessions west of the rocky mountains, quite distinct from any of the six mentioned above; but so little is yet known of the natural history of these wild territories, that this can only be taken as conjecture. it may be remarked, also that of the caribou (_cervus tarandus_) there are two marked varieties, that may almost be regarded in the light of species. one, the larger, is known as the "woodland caribou," because it inhabits the more southern and wooded districts of the hudson's bay territory; the other, the "barren ground caribou," is the "reindeer" of the arctic voyagers. of the six well-ascertained species, the last-mentioned (_cervus virginianus_) has the largest geographical range, and is the most generally known. indeed, when the word "deer" is mentioned, it only is meant. it is the deer of the united states. the "black-tails" and "long-tails" are two species that may be called new. though long known to trappers and hunters, they have been but lately described by the scientific naturalist. their _habitat_ is the "far west" in california, oregon, the high prairies, and the valleys of the rocky mountains. up to a late period naturalists have had but little to do with these countries. for this reason their _fauna_ has so long remained comparatively unknown. the geographical disposition of the other four species is curious. each occupies a latitudinal zone. that of the caribou, or rein deer, extends farthest north. it is not found within the limits of the united states. the zone of the moose overlaps that of the caribou, but, on the other side, goes farther south, as this species is met with along the extreme northern parts of the united states. the elk is next in order. his range "dovetails" into that of the moose, but the elk roves still farther into the temperate regions, being met with almost as far south as texas. the fourth, the common deer, embraces in his range the temperate and torrid zones of both north and south america, while he is not found in higher latitudes than the southern frontier of canada. the common deer, therefore, inhabits a greater area than any of his congeners, and is altogether the best-known animal of his kind. most persons know him by sight. he is the smallest of the american species, being generally about five feet in length by three in height, and a little more than 100 pounds in weight. he is exceedingly well formed and graceful; his horns are not so large as those of the stag, but, like his, they are annually caducous, falling off in the winter and returning in the spring. they are rounded below, but in the upper part slightly flattened or palmated. the antlers do not rise upward, but protrude forward over the brow in a threatening manner. there is no regular rule, however, for their shape and "set," and their number also varies in different individuals. the horns are also present only in the male or buck; the doe is without them. they rise from a rough bony protuberance on the forehead, called the "burr." in the first year they grow in the shape of two short straight spikes; hence the name "spike-bucks" given to the animals of that age. in the second season a small antler appears on each horn, and the number increases until the fourth year, when they obtain a full head-dress of "branching honours." the antlers, or, as they are sometimes called, "points," often increase in number with the age of the animal, until as many as fifteen make their appearance. this, however, is rare. indeed, the food of the animal has much to do with the growth of his horns. in an ill-fed specimen they do not grow to such size, nor branch so luxuriantly as in a well-fed fat buck. we have said that the horns fall annually. this takes place in winter-in december and january. they are rarely found, however, as they are soon eaten up by the small-gnawing animals. the new horns begin to grow as soon as the old ones have dropped off. during the spring and summer they are covered with a soft velvety membrane, and they are then described as being "in the velvet." the blood circulates freely through this membrane, and it is highly sensitive, so that a blow upon the horns at this season produces great pain. by the time the "rutting" season commences (in october), the velvet has peeled off, and the horns are then in order for battle--and they need be, for the battles of the bucks during this period are terrible indeed.--frequently their horns get "locked" in such conflicts, and, being unable to separate them, the combatants remain in this situation until both perish by hunger, or fall a prey to their natural enemy--the wolf. many pairs of horns have been found in the forest thus locked together, and there is not a museum in america without this singular souvenir of mutual destruction! the hair of the american deer is thickly set and smooth on the surface. in winter it grows longer and is of a greyish hue; the deer is then, according to hunter phraseology, "in the grey." in the summer a new coat is obtained, which is reddish, or calf-coloured. the deer is then "in the red." towards the end of august, or in autumn, the whole coat has a blue tinge. this is called "in the blue." at all times the animal is of a whitish appearance on the throat and belly and insides of the legs. the skin is toughest when "in the red," thickest "in the blue," and thinnest "in the grey." in the blue it makes the best buckskin, and is, therefore, most valuable when obtained in autumn. the fawns of this species are beautiful little creatures; they are fawn-coloured, and showered all over with white spots which disappear towards the end of their first summer, when they gradually get into the winter grey. the american deer is a valuable animal. much of the buckskin of commerce is the product of its hides, and the horns are put to many uses. its flesh, besides supplying the tables of the wealthy, has been for centuries almost the whole sustenance of whole nations of indians. its skins have furnished them with tents, beds, and clothing; its intestines with bowstrings, ball "raquets," and snow-shoes; and in the chase of this creature they have found almost their sole occupation as well as amusement. with so many enemies, it is a matter of wonder that this species has not long been extirpated; not only has man been its constant and persevering destroyer, but it has a host of enemies besides, in the cougar, the lynxes, the wolverine, and the wolves. the last are its worst foes. hunters state that for one deer killed by themselves, five fall a prey to the wolves. these attack the young and feeble, and soon run them down. the old deer can escape from a wolf by superior speed; but in remote districts, where the wolves are numerous, they unite in packs of eight or ten, and follow the deer as hounds do, and even with a somewhat similar howling. they run by the nose, and unless the deer can reach water, and thus escape them, they will tire it down in the end. frequently the deer, when thus followed in winter, makes for the ice, upon which he is soon overtaken by his hungry pursuers. notwithstanding all this, the american deer is still common in most of the states, and in some of them even plentiful. where the wolves have been thinned off by "bounty" laws, and the deer protected during the breeding season by legislative enactments, as is the case in new york, their number is said to be on the increase. the markets of all the great cities in america are supplied with venison almost as cheap as beef, which shows that the deer are yet far from being scarce. the habits of this creature are well-known. it is gregarious in its natural _habitat_. the herd is usually led by an old buck, who watches over the safety of the others while feeding. when an enemy approaches, this sentinel and leader strikes the ground sharply with his hoofs, snorts loudly, and emits a shrill whistle; all the while fronting the danger with his horns set forward in a threatening manner. so long as he does not attempt to run, the others continue to browse with confidence; but the moment their leader starts to fly, all the rest follow, each trying to be foremost. they are timid upon ordinary occasions, but the bucks in the rutting season are bold, and when wounded and brought "to bay," are not to be approached with impunity. they can inflict terrible blows, both with their hoofs and antlers; and hunters who have come too near them on such occasions have with difficulty escaped being gored to death. they are foes to the snake tribe, and kill the most venomous serpents without being bitten. the rattle-snake hides from their attack. their mode of destroying these creatures is similar to that employed by the peccary (_dicotyles_): that is, by pouncing down upon them with the four hoofs held close together, and thus crushing them to death. the hostility of the peccary to snakes is easily understood, as no sooner has it killed one than it makes a meal of it. with the deer, of course, such is not the case, as they are not carnivorous. its enmity to the reptile race can be explained only by supposing that it possesses a knowledge of their dangerous qualities, and thinks they should therefore be got rid of. the food of the american deer consists of twigs, leaves of trees, and grass. they are fonder of the tree-shoots than the grass; but their favourite morsels are the buds and flowers of _nymphae_, especially those of the common pond-lily. to get these, they wade into the lakes and rivers like the moose, and, like them, are good swimmers. they love the shady forest better than the open ground, and they haunt the neighbourhood of streams. these afford them protection, as well as a means of quenching thirst. when pursued, their first thought is to make for water, in order to elude the pursuer, which they often succeed in doing, throwing both dogs and wolves off the scent. in summer, they seek the water to cool themselves, and get free from flies and mosquitoes, that pester them sadly. they are fond of salt, and repair in great numbers to the salines, or salt springs, that abound in all parts of america. at these they lick up quantities of earth along with the salt efflorescence, until vast hollows are formed in the earth, termed, from this circumstance, salt "licks." the consequence of this "dirt-eating" is, that the excrement of the animal comes forth in hard pellets; and by seeing this, the hunters can always tell when they are in the neighbourhood of a "lick." the does produce in spring--in may or june, according to the latitude. they bring forth one, two, and very rarely three fawns at a birth. their attachment to their young is proverbial. the mothers treat them with the greatest tenderness, and hide them while they go to feed. the bleating of the fawn at once recalls the mother to its side. the hunter often imitates this with success, using either his own voice, or a "call," made out of a cane-joint. an anecdote, told by parry, illustrates this maternal fondness:--"the mother, finding her young one could not swim as fast as herself, was observed to stop repeatedly, so as to allow, the fawn to come up with her; and, having landed first, stood watching it with trembling anxiety as the boat chased it to the shore. she was repeatedly fired at, but remained immovable, until her offspring landed in safety, when they both cantered out of sight." the deer to which parry refers is the small "caribou;" but a similar affection exists between the mother and fawns of the common deer. the american deer is hunted for its flesh, its hide, and "the sport." there are many modes of hunting it. the simplest and most common is that which is termed "still" hunting. in this, the hunter is armed with his rifle or deer-gun--a heavy fowling-piece--and steals forward upon the deer, as he would upon any other game. "cover" is not so necessary as silence in such a hunt. this deer, like some antelopes, is of a "curious" disposition, and will sometimes allow the hunter to approach in full view without attempting to run off. but the slightest noise, such as the rustling of dry leaves, or the snapping of a stick, will alarm him. his sense of hearing is extremely acute. his nose, too, is a keen one, and he often scents the hunter, and makes off long before the latter has got within sight or range. it is necessary in "still" hunting to leave the dog at home; unless, indeed, he be an animal trained to the purpose. another species of hunting is "trailing" the deer in snow. this is done either with dogs or without them. the snow must be frozen over, so as to cut the feet of the deer, which puts them in such a state of fear and pain, that the hunter can easily get within shot. i have assisted in killing twenty in a single morning in this way; and that, too, in a district where deer were not accounted plentiful. the "drive" is the most exciting mode of hunting deer; and the one practised by those who hunt for "the sport." this is done with hounds, and the horsemen who follow them also carry guns. in fact, there is hardly a species of hunting in america in which fire-arms are not used. several individuals are required to make up a "deer drive." they are generally men who know the "lay" of the country, with all its ravines and passes. one or two only accompany the hounds as "drivers," while the rest get between the place where the dogs are beating the cover and some river towards which it is "calculated" the startled game will run. they deploy themselves into a long line, which sometimes extends for miles through the forest. each, as he arrives at his station, or "stand," as it is called, dismounts, ties his horse in a thicket, and takes his stand, "covering" himself behind a log or tree. the stands are selected with reference to the configuration of the ground, or by paths which the deer are accustomed to take; and as soon as all have so arranged themselves, the dogs at a distant point are set loose, and the "drive" begins. the "stand men" remain quiet, with their guns in readiness. the barking of the dogs, afar off through the woods, usually admonishes them when a deer has been "put up;" and they watch with eager expectation, each one hoping that the game may come his way. hours are sometimes passed without the hunter either seeing or hearing a living thing but himself and his horse; and many a day he returns home from such a "chase" without having had the slightest glimpse of either buck, doe, or fawn. this is discouraging; but at other times he is rewarded for his patient watching. a buck comes bounding forward, the hounds after him in full cry. at intervals he stops, and throws himself back on his haunches like a halted hare. his eyes are protruded, and watching backward. his beautiful neck is swollen with fear and rage, and his branching antlers tower high in the air. again he springs forward, and approaches the silent hunter, who, with a beating heart, holds his piece in the attitude of "ready." he makes another of his pauses. the gun is levelled, the trigger pulled; the bullet speeds forth, and strikes into his broad chest, causing him to leap upward in the spasmodic effort of death. the excitement of a scene like this rewards the hunter for his long and lonely vigil. "torch-hunting," or "fire-hunting," as it is sometimes termed, is another method of capturing the fallow deer. it is done by carrying a torch in a very dark night through woods where deer are known to frequent. the torch is made of pine-knots, well dried. they are not tied in bunches, as represented by some writers, but carried in a vessel of hard metal. a frying-pan with a long handle, as already stated, is best for the purpose. the "knots" are kindled within the pan, and, if good ones, yield a blaze that will light the woods for a hundred yards around. the deer seeing this strange object, and impelled by curiosity, approaches within range; and the "glance" of his eyes, like two burning coals, betrays him to the hunter, who with his deadly rifle "sights" between the shining orbs and fire. while we were on the subject of torch-hunting the doctor took up the cue, and gave us an account of a torch-hunt he had made in tennessee. "i will tell you of a `torch-hunt,'" said he, "of which _pars magna fui_, and which ended with a `catastrophe.' it took place in tennessee, where i was for a while sojourning. i am not much of a hunter, as you all know; but happening to reside in a `settlement,' where there were some celebrated hunters, and in the neighbourhood of which was an abundance of game, i was getting very fond of it. i had heard, among other things, of this `torch-hunting,'--in fact, had read many interesting descriptions of it, but i had never witnessed the sport myself; and was therefore eager, above all things, to join in a torch-hunt. "the opportunity at length offered. a party was made up to go hunting, of which i was one. "there were six of us in all; but it was arranged that we should separate into three pairs, each taking its own torch and a separate course through the woods. in each pair one was to carry the light, while the other managed the `shooting iron.' we were all to meet at an appointed rendezvous when the hunt was over. "these preliminaries being arranged, and the torches made ready, we separated. my partner and i soon plunged into the deep forest. "the night was dark as pitch--dark nights are the best--and when we entered the woods we had to grope our way. of course, we had not yet set fire to our torch, as we had not reached the place frequented by the deer. "my companion was an old hunter, and by right should have carried the gun; but it was arranged differently, out of compliment to me--the stranger, he held in one hand the huge frying-pan, while in a bag over his shoulder was a bushel or more of dry pine-knots. "on arriving at the place where it was expected deer would be found, we set fire to our torch, and in a few moments the blaze threw its glaring circle around us, painting with vermilion tints the trunks of the great trees. "in this way we proceeded onward, advancing slowly, and with as little noise as possible. we talked only in whispers, keeping our eyes turned upon all sides at once. but we walked and walked, up hill and down hill, for, i should say, ten miles at the least; and not a single pair of bright orbs answered to our luminary. not a deer's eye reflected the blaze of our torch. "we had kept the fire replenished and burning vividly to no purpose, until hardly a knot remained in the bag. "i had grown quite tired in this fruitless search. so had my companion, and both of us felt chagrin and disappointment. we felt this the more keenly as there had been a `supper-wager' laid between us and our friends, as to what party would kill the greatest number of deer, and we fancied once or twice that we heard shots far off in the direction the others had gone. we were likely to come back empty-handed, while they, no doubt, would bring a deer each, perhaps more. "we were returning towards the point from which we had started, both of us in a most unamiable mood, when all at once an object right before us attracted my attention, and brought me to a sudden halt. i did not wait to ask any questions. a pair of small round circles glistened in the darkness like two little discs of fire. of course they were eyes. of course, they were the eyes of a deer. "i could see no body, for the two luminous objects shone as if set in a ground of ebony. but i did not stay to scan in what they were set. my piece was up. i glanced hastily along the barrel. i sighted between the eyes. i pulled the trigger. i fired. "as i did so, i fancied that i heard my companion shouting to me, but the report hindered me from hearing what he said. "when the echoes died away, however, his voice reached me, in a full, clear tone, pronouncing these words:-"`tarnation, doctor! you've shot squire robbins's bull!' "at the same time the bellowing of the bull, mingling with his own loud laugh, convinced me that the hunter had spoken the truth. "he was a good old fellow, and promised to keep dark; but it was necessary to make all right with `squire robbins.' so the affair soon got wind, and my torch-hunt became, for a time, the standing joke of the settlement." chapter twenty four. deer hunt in a "dug-out." as we were now approaching the regions where the common fallow deer ceased to be met with, and where its place is supplied by two other species, these last became the subject of our talk. the species referred to are the "black-tails," and "long-tails" (_cervus macrotis_ and _leucurus_). ike and redwood were well acquainted with both kinds, as they had often trapped beaver in the countries where these deer are found; and they gave us a very good account of the habits of these animals, which showed that both species were in many respects similar to the _cervus virginianus_. their form, however, as well as their size, colour, and markings, leave no doubt of their being specifically distinct not only from the latter, but from each other. indeed, there are two varieties of the black-tails, differing in some respects, although both have the dark hair upon the tail, and the long ears, which so much distinguish them from other deer. the great length of their ears gives to their heads something of a "mulish" look--hence they are often known among the trappers by the name of "mule deer." ike and redwood spoke of them by this name, although they also knew them as "black-tails," and this last is the designation most generally used. they receive it on account of the colour of the hair upon the upper side of their tail-tips, which is of a jetty blackness, and is very full and conspicuous. the two species have been often confounded with each other, though in many respects they are totally unlike. the black-tails are larger, their legs shorter and their bodies more "chunky," and altogether of stouter build. in running, they bound with all their feet raised at once; while those of the long-tailed species run more like the common fallow deer--by trotting a few steps, then giving a bound, and trotting as before. the ears of the black-tails stand up full half the height of their antlers, and their hair, of a reddish-brown colour, is coarser than the hair of the _cervus virginianus_, and more like the coat of the elk (_cervus canadensis_). their hoofs, too, are shorter and wider, and in this respect there is also a similarity to the elk. the flesh of the black-tails is inferior to that of the fallow deer, while the long-tailed kind produces a venison very similar to the latter. both species inhabit woodlands occasionally, but their favourite _habitat_ is the prairie, or that species of undulating country where prairie and forest alternate, forming a succession of groves and openings. both are found only in the western half of the continent-that is, in the wild regions extending from the mississippi to the pacific. in longitude, as far east as the mississippi, they are rarely seen; but as you travel westward, either approaching the rocky mountains, or beyond these to the shores of the pacific, they are the common deer of the country. the black-tailed kind is more southern in its range. it is found in the californias, and the valleys of the rocky mountains, as far south as texas; while to the north it is met with in oregon, and on the eastern side of the rocky mountains, as high as the fifty-fourth parallel. the long-tailed species is the most common deer of oregon and the columbia river, and its range also extends east of the rocky mountains, though not so far as the longitude of the mississippi. the hunter-naturalist, who had some years before made a journey to oregon, and of course had become well acquainted with the habits of the _cervus leucurus_, gave us a full account of them, and related a stirring adventure that had befallen him while hunting "long-tails" upon the columbia. "the long-tailed deer," began he, "is one of the smallest of the deer kind. its weight rarely exceeds 100 pounds. it resembles in form and habits the common fallow deer, the chief distinction being the tail, which is a very conspicuous object. this appendage is often found to measure eighteen inches in length! "while running, the tail is held erect, and kept constantly switching from side to side, so as to produce a singular and somewhat ludicrous effect upon the mind of the spectator. "the gait of this animal is also peculiar. it first takes two ambling steps that resemble a trot, after these it makes a long bound, which carries it about twice the distance of the steps, and then it trots again. no matter how closely pursued, it never alters this mode of progression. "like the fallow deer, it produces spotted fawns, which are brought forth in the spring, and change their colour to that of the deer itself in the first winter. about the month of november they gather into herds, and remain together until april, when they separate, the females secreting themselves to bring forth their young. "the long-tailed deer is often found in wooded countries; though its favourite haunts are not amid the heavy timber of the great forests, but in the park-like openings that occur in many parts of the rocky mountain valleys. "sometimes whole tracts of country are met with in these regions, whose surface exhibits a pleasing variety of woodland and prairie; sloping hills appear with coppices upon their crests and along their sides. among these natural groves may be seen troops of the long-tailed deer, browsing along the declivities of the hills, and, by their elegant attitudes and graceful movements, adding to the beauty of the landscape. "some years ago i had an opportunity of hunting the long-tailed, deer. i was on my way across the rocky mountains to fort vancouver, when circumstances rendered it necessary that i should stop for some days at a small trading-post on one of the branches of the columbia. i was, in fact, detained, waiting for a party of fur-traders with whom i was to travel, and who required some time to get their packs in readiness. "the trading-post was a small place, with miserable accommodations, having scarcely room enough in its two or three wretched log-cabins to lodge half the company that happened at the time to claim its hospitality. as my business was simply to wait for my travelling companions, i was of course _ennuye_ almost to death in such a place. there was nothing to be seen around but packs of beaver, otter, mink, fox, and bear skins; and nothing to be heard but the incessant chattering of canadian voyageurs, in their mixed jargon of french, english, and indian. to make matters still more unpleasant, there was very little to eat, and nothing to drink but the clear water of the little mountain-stream upon which the fort was built. "the surrounding country, however, was beautiful; and the lovely landscapes that on every side met the eye almost compensated for the discomforts of the post. the surface of the country was what is termed rolling--gentle undulations here and there rising into dome-shaped hills of low elevation. these were crowned with copses of shrubby trees, principally of the wild filbert or hazel (_corylus_), with several species of _rosa_ and raspberry (rubus), and bushes of the june-berry (_amelanchier_), with their clusters of purplish-red fruit. the openings between were covered with a sward of short gramma grass, and the whole landscape presented the appearance of a cultivated park; so that one involuntarily looked along the undulating outlines of the hills for some noble mansion or lordly castle. "it is just in such situations that the fallow deer delights to dwell; and these are the favourite haunts of its near congeners, the long-tails. i had ascertained this from the people at the post; and the fact that fresh venison formed our staple and daily food was proof sufficient that some species of deer was to be found in the neighbourhood. i was not long, therefore, after my arrival, in putting myself in train for a hunt. "unfortunately, the gentlemen of the company were too busy to go along with me; so also were the numerous _engages_; and i set out, taking only my servant, a _bois brule_, or half-breed, who happened, however, to be a good guide for such an expedition, as well as a first-rate hunter. "setting out, we kept down the stream for some distance, walking along its bank. we saw numerous deer-tracks in the mud, where the animals had gone to and from the water. these tracks were almost fresh, and many of them, as my servant averred, must have been made the previous night by the animals coming to drink--a common habit with them, especially in hot weather. "but, strange to say, we walked a mile or more without getting a glimpse of a single deer, or any other sort of animal. i was becoming discouraged, when my man proposed that we should leave the stream, and proceed back among the hills. the deer, he believed, would be found there. "this was resolved upon; and we accordingly struck out for the high ground. we soon climbed up from the river bottom, and threaded our way amidst the fragrant shrubbery of amelanchiers and wild-roses, cautiously scrutinising every new vista that opened before us. "we had not gone far before we caught sight of several deer; we could also hear them at intervals, behind the copses that surrounded us, the males uttering a strange whistling sound, similar to that produced by blowing into the barrel of a gun, while this was occasionally replied to by the goat-like bleat of the females. "strange to say, however, they were all very shy, and notwithstanding much cautious crouching and creeping among the bushes, we wandered about for nearly two-thirds of the day without getting a shot at any of them. "what had made them so wary we could not at the time, tell, but we afterwards learned that a large party of flathead indians had gone over the ground only a few days before, and had put the deer through a three days chase, from which they had not yet recovered. indeed, we saw indian `sign' all along the route, and at one place came upon the head and horns of a fine buck, which, from some fancy or other of the hunter, had been left suspended from the branch of a tree, and had thus escaped being stripped by the wolves. "at sight of this trophy, my companion appeared to be in ecstasies. i could not understand what there was in a worthless set of antlers to produce such joyful emotions; but as blue dick--such was the _soubriquet_ of my servant--was not much given to idle exhibitions of feeling, i knew there must be something in it. "`now, master,' said he, addressing me, `if i had something else, i could promise you a shot at the long-tails, shy as they are.' "`something else! what do you want?' i inquired. "`something that ought to grow about yar, else i'm mightily mistaken in the sign. let me try down yonder,'--and dick pointed to a piece of low swampy ground that lay to one side of our course. "i assented, and followed him to the place. "we had hardly reached the border of the wet ground, when an exclamation from my companion told me that the `something' he wanted was in sight. "`yonder, master; the very weed: see yonder.' "dick pointed to a tall herbaceous plant that grew near the edge of the swamp. its stem was fully eight feet in height, with large lobed leaves, and a wide-spreading umbel of pretty white flowers. i knew the plant well. it was that which is known in some places as master-wort, but more commonly by the name of cow parsnip. its botanical name is _heracleum lanatum_. i knew that its roots possessed stimulant and carminative properties; but that the plant had anything to do with deer-hunting, i was ignorant. "dick, however, was better acquainted with its uses in that respect; and his hunter-craft soon manifested itself. "drawing his knife from its sheath, he cut one of the joints from the stem of the heracleum, about six inches in length. this he commenced fashioning somewhat after the manner of a penny-trumpet. "in a few minutes he had whittled it to the proper form and dimensions, after which he put up his knife, and applying the pipe to his lips, blew into it. the sound produced was so exactly like that which i had already heard to proceed from the deer, that i was startled by the resemblance. "not having followed his manoeuvres, i fancied for a moment that we had got into close proximity with one of the long-tails. my companion laughed, as he pointed triumphantly to his new made `call.' "`now, master,' said he, `we'll soon "rub out" one of the long-tail bucks.' "so saying, he took up the antlers, and desired me to follow him. "we proceeded as before, walking quickly but cautiously among the thickets, and around their edges. we had gone only a few hundred paces farther, when the hollow whistle of a buck sounded in our ears. "`now,' muttered dick, `we have him. squat down, master, under the bush--so.' "i did as desired, hiding myself under the leafy branches of the wild rose-trees. my companion cowered down beside me in such an attitude that he himself was concealed, while the buck's head and antlers were held above the foliage, and visible from several points where the ground was open. "as soon as we were fairly placed, dick applied the call to his lips, and blew his mimic note several times in succession. we heard what appeared to be an echo, but it was the response of a rival; and shortly after we could distinguish a hoof-stroke upon the dry turf, as if some animal was bounding towards us. "presently appeared a fine buck, at an opening between two copses, about one hundred paces from the spot where we lay. it had halted, thrown back upon its flanks until its haunches almost touched the ground, while its full large eye glanced over the opening, as if searching for some object. "at this moment dick applied the reed to his lips, at the same time moving the horns backward and forward, in imitation of a buck moving his head in a threatening manner. "the stranger now perceived what appeared to him the branching horns of a rival, hearing, at the same time, the well-known challenge. this was not to be borne, and rising erect on all-fours, with his brow-antlers set forward, he accepted the challenge, and came bounding forward. "at the distance of twenty paces or so, be again baited, as if still uncertain of the character of his enemy; but that halt was fatal to him, for by dick's directions i had made ready my rifle, and taking sight at his breast, i pulled trigger. the result was as my companion had predicted, and the buck was `rubbed out.' "after skinning our game, and hanging the meat out of reach of the barking wolves, we proceeded as before; and soon after another buck was slain in a manner very similar to that described. "this ended our day's hunt, as it was late before dick had bethought him of the decoy; and taking the best parts of both the long-tails upon our shoulders, we trudged homeward to the post. "part of our road, as we returned, lay along the stream, and we saw several deer approaching the water, but, cumbered as we were, we failed in getting a shot. an idea, however, was suggested to my companion that promised us plenty of both sport and venison for the next hunt--which was to take place by night. "this idea he communicated to me for my approval. i readily gave my consent, as i saw in the proposal the chances of enjoying a very rare sport. that sport was to be a fire-hunt; but not as usually practised among backwoodsmen, by carrying a torch through the woods. our torch was to float upon the water, while we were snugly seated beside it; in other words, we would carry our torch in a canoe, and, floating down stream, would shoot the deer that happened to be upon the banks drinking or cooling their hoofs in the water. i had heard of the plan, but had never practised it, although i was desirous of so doing. dick had often killed deer in this way, and therefore knew all about it. it was agreed, then, that upon the following night we should try the experiment. "during the next day, dick and i proceeded in our preparations without saying anything to any one. it was our design to keep our night-hunt a secret, lest we might be unsuccessful, and get laughed at for our pains. on the other hand, should we succeed in killing a goodly number of long-tails, it would be time enough to let it be known how we had managed matters. "we had little difficulty in keeping our designs to ourselves. every one was busy with his own affairs, and took no heed of our manoeuvres. "our chief difficulty lay in procuring a boat; but for the consideration of a few loads of powder, we at length borrowed an old canoe that belonged to one of the flathead indians--a sort of hanger-on of the post. "this craft was simply a log of the cotton-wood, rudely hollowed out by means of an axe, and slightly rounded at the ends to produce the canoe-shape. it was that species of water craft popularly known throughout western america as a `dug-out,' a phrase which explains itself. it was both old and ricketty, but after a short inspection, blue dick declared it would do `fust-rate.' "our next move was to prepare our torch. for this we had to make an excursion to the neighbouring hills, where we found the very material we wanted--the dry knots of the pitch-pine-tree. "a large segment of birch-bark was then sought for and obtained, and our implements were complete. "at twilight all was ready, and stepping into our dug-out, we paddled silently down stream. "as soon as we had got out of the neighbourhood of the post, we lighted our torch. this was placed in a large frying-pan out upon the bow, and was in reality rather a fire of pine-knots than a torch. it blazed up brightly, throwing a glare over the surface of the stream, and reflecting in red light every object upon both banks. we, on the other hand, were completely hidden from view by means of the birch-bark screen, which stood up between us and the torch. "as soon as we were fairly under way, i yielded up the paddle to dick, who now assigned to himself the double office of guiding the dug-out and keeping the torch trimmed. i was to look to the shooting; so, placing my trusty rifle across my thighs, i sat alternately scanning both banks as we glided along. "i shall never forget the romantic effect which was produced upon my mind during that wild excursion. the scenery of the river upon which we had launched our craft was at all times of a picturesque character: under the blaze of the pine-wood--its trees and rocks tinted with a reddish hue, while the rippling flood below ran like molten gold--the effect was heightened to a degree of sublimity which could not have failed to impress the dullest imagination. it was the autumn season, too, and the foliage, which had not yet commenced falling, had assumed those rich varied tints so characteristic of the american _sylva_-various hues of green and golden, and yellow and deep red were exhibited upon the luxuriant frondage that lined the banks of the stream, and here and there drooped like embroidered curtains down to the water's edge. it was a scene of that wild beauty, that picturesque sublimity, which carries one to the contemplation of its creator. "`yonder!' muttered a voice, that roused me from my reverie. it was dick who spoke; and in the dark shadow of the birch-bark i could see one of his arms extended, and pointing to the right bank. "my eyes followed the direction indicated; they soon rested upon two small objects, that from the darker background of the foliage appeared bright and luminous. these objects were round, and close to each other; and at a glance i knew them to be the eyes of some animal, reflecting the light of our torch. "my companion whispered me that they were the eyes of a deer. i took sight with my rifle, aiming as nearly as i could midway between the luminous spots. i pulled trigger, and my true piece cracked like a whip. "the report was not loud enough to drown the noises that came back from the shore. there was a rustling of leaves, followed by a plunge, as of some body felling in the water. "dick turned the head of the dug-out, and paddled her up to the bank. the torch, blazing brightly, lit up the scene ahead of us, and our eyes were gratified by the sight of a fine buck, that had fallen dead into the river. he was about being drawn into the eddy of the current, but dick prevented this, and, seizing him by the antlers, soon deposited him safely in the bottom of the dug-out. "our craft was once more headed down stream, and we scrutinised every winding of the banks in search of another pair of gleaming eyes. in less than half an hour these appeared, and we succeeded in killing a second long-tail--a doe--and dragged her also into the boat. "shortly after, a third was knocked over, which we found standing out in the river upon a small point of sand. this proved to be a young spike-buck, his horns not having as yet branched off into antlers. "about a quarter of a mile farther down, a fourth, deer was shot at, and missed, the dug-out having grazed suddenly against a rock just as i was pulling trigger, thus rendering my aim unsteady. "i need hardly say that this sport was extremely exciting; and we had got many miles from the post, without thinking either of the distance or the fact that we should be under the disagreeable necessity of paddling the old flathead's canoe every inch of the way back again. down stream it was all plain sailing; and dick's duty was light enough, as it consisted merely in keeping the dug-out head foremost in the middle of the river. the current ran at the rate of three miles an hour, and therefore drifted us along with sufficient rapidity. "the first thing that suggested a return to either of us, was the fact that our pine-knots had run out: dick had just piled the last of them in the frying-pan. "at this moment, a noise sounded in our ears that caused us some feelings of alarm: it was the noise of falling water. it was not new to us, for, since leaving the post, we had passed the mouths of several small streams that debouched into the one upon which we were, in most cases over a jumble of rocks, thus forming a series of noisy rapids. but that which we now heard was directly ahead of us, and must, thought we, be a rapid or fall of the stream itself; moreover, it sounded louder than any we had hitherto passed. "we lost little time in conjectures. the first impulse of my companion, upon catching the sound, was to stop the progress of the dug-out, which in a few seconds he succeeded in doing; but by this time our torch had shown us that there was a sharp turning in the river, with a long reach of smooth water below. the cascade, therefore, could not be in our stream, but in some tributary that fell into it near the bend. "on seeing this, dick turned his paddle, and permitted the dug-out once more to float with the current. "the next moment we passed the mouth of a good-sized creek, whose waters, having just leaped a fall of several feet, ran into the river, covered with white froth and bubbles. we could see the fall at a little distance, through the branches of the trees; and as we swept on, its foaming sheet reflected the light of our torch like shining metal. "we had scarcely passed this point, when my attention was attracted by a pair of fiery orbs that glistened out of some low bushes upon the left bank of the river. i saw that they were the eyes of some animal, but what kind of animal i could not guess. i know they were not the eyes of a deer. their peculiar scintillation, their lesser size, the wide space between them all convinced me they were not deer's eyes. moreover, they moved at times, as if the head of the animal was carried about in irregular circles. this is never the case with the eyes of the deer, which either pass hurriedly from point to point, or remain with a fixed and steadfast gaze. "i knew, therefore, it was no deer; but no matter what--it was some wild creature, and all such are alike the game of the prairie-hunter. "i took aim, and pulled trigger. while doing so, i heard the voice of my companion warning me, as i thought, not to fire. i wondered at this admonition, but it was then too late to heed it, for it had been uttered almost simultaneously with the report of my rifle. "i first looked to the bank, to witness the effect of my shot. to my great surprise, the eyes were still there, gleaming from the bushes as brightly as ever. "had i missed my aim? it is true, the voice of my companion had somewhat disconcerted me; but i still believed that my bullet must have sped truly, as it had been delivered with a good aim. "as i turned to dick for an explanation, a new sound fell upon my ears that explained all, at the same time causing me no slight feeling of alarm. it was a sound not unlike that sometimes uttered by terrified swine, but still louder and more threatening. i knew it well--i knew it was the snort of the grizzly bear! "of all american animals, the grizzly bear is the most to be dreaded. armed or unarmed, man is no match for him, and even the courageous hunter of these parts shuns the encounter. this was why my companion had admonished me not to fire. i thought i had missed: it was not so. my bullet had hit and stung the fierce brute to madness; and a quick cracking among the bushes was immediately followed by a heavy plunge: the bear was in the water! "`good heavens, he's after us!' cried dick in accents of alarm, at the same time propelling the dug-out with all his might. "it proved true enough that the bear was after us, and the very first plunge had brought his nose almost up to the side of the canoe. however, a few well-directed strokes of the paddle set us in quick motion, and we were soon gliding rapidly down stream, followed by the enraged animal, that every now and then uttered one of his fierce snorts. "what rendered our situation a terrible one was, that we could not now see the bear, nor tell how far he might be from us. all to the rear of the canoe was of a pitchy darkness, in consequence of the screen of birch-bark. no object could be distinguished in that direction, and it was only by hearing him that we could tell he was still some yards off. the snorts, however, were more or less distinct, as heard amid the varying roar of the waterfall; and sometimes they seemed as if the snout from which they proceeded was close up to our stern. "we knew that if he once laid his paw upon the canoe, we should either be sunk or compelled to leap out and swim for it. we knew, moreover, that such an event would be certain death to one of us at least. "i need hardly affirm, that my companion used his paddle with all the energy of despair. i assisted him as much as was in my power with the butt-end of my gun, which was now empty. on account of the hurry and darkness, i had not attempted to re-load it. "we had shot down stream for a hundred yards or so, and were about congratulating ourselves on the prospect of an escape from the bear, when a new object of dread presented itself to our terrified imaginations. this object was the sound of falling water; but not as before, coming from some tributary stream. no. it was a fall of the river upon which we were floating, and evidently only a very short distance below us! "we were, in fact, within less than one hundred yards of it. our excitement, in consequence of being pursued by the bear, as well as the fact that the sough of the cascade above still filled our ears, had prevented us from perceiving this new danger until we had approached it. "a shout of terror and warning from my companion seemed the echo of one i had myself uttered. both of us understood the peril of our situation, and both, without speaking another word, set about attempting to stop the boat. "we paddled with all our strength--he with the oar, whilst i used the flat butt of my rifle. we had succeeded in bringing her to a sort of equilibrium, and were in hopes of being able to force her toward the bank, when all at once we heard a heavy object strike against the stern. at the same moment, the bow rose up into the air, and a number of the burning pine-knots fell back into the bottom of the canoe. they still continued to blaze; and their light now falling towards the stern, showed us a fearful object. the bear had seized hold of the dug-out, and his fierce head and long curving claws were visible over the edge! "although the little craft danced about upon the water, and was likely to be turned keel upward, the animal showed no intention of relaxing its hold; but, on the contrary, seemed every moment mounting higher into the canoe. "our peril was now extreme. we knew it, and the knowledge half paralysed us. "both of us started up, and for some moments half sat, half crouched, uncertain how to act. should we use the paddles, and get the canoe ashore, it would only be to throw ourselves into the jaws of the bear. on the other hand, we could not remain as we were, for in a few seconds we should be drifted over the falls; and how high these were we knew not. we had never heard of them: they might be fifty feet--they might be a hundred! high enough, they were, no doubt, to precipitate us into eternity. "the prospect was appalling, and our thoughts ran rapidly. quick action was required. i could think of no other than to lean sternward, and strike at the bear with my clubbed rifle, at the same time calling upon my companion to paddle for the shore. we preferred, under all circumstances, risking the chances of a land encounter with our grizzly antagonist. "i had succeeded in keeping the bear out of the canoe by several well-planted blows upon the snout; and dick was equally successful in forcing the dug-out nearer to the bank, when a sharp crack reached my ears, followed by a terrified cry from my companion. "i glanced suddenly round, to ascertain the cause of these demonstrations. dick held in his hands a short round stick, which i recognised as the shaft of the paddle. the blade had snapped off, and was floating away on the surface! "we were now helpless. the _manege_ of the canoe was no longer possible. over the falls she must go! "we thought of leaping out, but it was too late. we were almost upon the edge, and the black current that bore our craft swiftly along would have carried our bodies with like velocity. we could not make a dozen strokes before we should be swept to the brink: it was too late. "we both saw this; and each knew the feelings of the other, for we felt alike. neither spoke; but, crouching down and holding the gunwales of the canoe, we awaited the awful moment. "the bear seemed to have some apprehension as well as ourselves; for, instead of continuing his endeavours to climb into the canoe, he contented himself with holding fast to the stern, evidently under some alarm. "the torch still blazed, and the canoe was catching fire; perhaps this it was that alarmed the bear. "the last circumstance gave us at the moment but little concern; the greater danger eclipsed the less. we had hardly noticed it, when we felt that we were going over! "the canoe shot outward as if propelled by some projectile force; then came a loud crash, as though we had dropped upon a hard rock. water, and spray, and froth were dashed over our bodies; and the next moment, to our surprise as well as delight, we felt ourselves still alive, and seated in the canoe, which was floating gently in still smooth water. "it was quite dark, for the torch had been extinguished; but even in the darkness we could perceive the bear swimming and floundering near the boat. to our great satisfaction, we saw him heading for the shore, and widening the distance between himself and us with all the haste he could make. the unexpected precipitation over the falls had cooled his courage, if not his hostility. "dick and i headed the canoe, now half full of water, for the opposite bank, which we contrived to reach by using the rifle and our hands for paddles. here we made the little vessel fast to a tree, intending to leave it there, as we could not by any possibility get it back over the fall. having hung our game out of reach of the wolves, we turned our faces up-stream, and, after a long and wearisome walk, succeeded in getting back to the post. "next morning, a party went down for the venison, with the intention also of carrying the canoe back over the fall. the craft, however, was found to be so much injured, that it would not hang together during the portage, and was therefore abandoned. this was no pleasant matter to me, for it afterwards cost me a considerable sum before i could square with the old flathead for his worthless dug-out." chapter twenty five. old ike and the grizzly. a--'s adventure ending in a grizzly bear story, drew the conversation upon that celebrated animal, and we listened to the many curious facts related about it, with more than usual interest. the grizzly bear (_ursus ferox_) is, beyond all question, the most formidable of the wild creatures inhabiting the continent of america-jaguar and cougar not excepted. did he possess the swiftness of foot of either the lion or tiger of the old world, he would be an assailant as dangerous as either; for he is endowed with the strength of the former, and quite equals the latter in ferocity. fortunately, the horse outruns him; were it not so, many a human victim would be his, for he can easily overtake a man on foot. as it is, hundreds of well-authenticated stories attest the prowess of this fierce creature. there is not a "mountain-man" in america who cannot relate a string of perilous adventures about the "grizzly bar;" and the instances are far from being few, in which human life has been sacrificed in conflicts with this savage beast. the grizzly bear is an animal of large dimensions; specimens have been killed and measured quite equal to the largest size of the polar bear, though there is much variety in the sizes of different individuals. about 500 pounds might be taken as the average weight. in shape, the grizzly bear is a much more compact animal than either the black or polar species: his ears are larger, his arms stouter, and his aspect fiercer. his teeth are sharp and strong; but that which his enemies most dread is the armature of his paws. the paws themselves are so large, as frequently to leave in the mud a track of twelve inches in length, by eight in breadth; and from the extremities of these formidable fists protrude horn-like claws full six inches long! of course, we are speaking of individuals of the largest size. these claws are crescent-shaped, and would be still longer, but in all cases nearly an inch is worn from their points. the animal digs up the ground in search of marmots, burrowing squirrels, and various esculent roots; and this habit accounts for the blunted condition of his claws. they are sharp enough, notwithstanding, to peel the hide from a horse or buffalo, or to drag the scalp from a hunter--a feat which has been performed by grizzly bears on more than one occasion. the colour of this animal is most generally brownish, with white hairs intermixed, giving that greyish or grizzled appearance--whence the trivial name, grizzly. but although this is the most common colour of the species, there are many varieties. some are almost white, others yellowish red, and still others nearly black. the season, too, has much to do with the colour; and the pelage is shaggier and longer than that of the _ursus americanus_. the eyes are small in proportion to the size of the animal, but dark and piercing. the geographical range of the grizzly bear is extensive. it is well-known that the great chain of the rocky mountains commences on the shores of the arctic ocean, and runs southwardly through the north-american continent. in those mountains, the grizzly bear is found, from their northern extremity, at least as far as that point where the rio grande makes its great bend towards the gulf of mexico. in the united states and canada, this animal has never been seen in a wild state. this is not strange. the grizzly bear has no affinity with the forest. previous to the settling of these territories, they were all forest-covered. the grizzly is rarely found under heavy timber, like his congener the black bear; and, unlike the latter, he is not a tree-climber. the black bear "hugs" himself up a tree, and usually destroys his victim by compression. the grizzly does not possess this power, so as to enable him to ascend a tree-trunk; and for such a purpose, his huge dull claws are worse than useless. his favourite haunts are the thickets of _corylus rubus_, and _amelanchiers_, under the shade of which he makes his lair, and upon the berries of which he partially subsists. he lives much by the banks of streams, hunting among the willows, or wanders along the steep and rugged bluffs, where scrubby pine and dwarf cedar (_juniperus prostrata_), with its rooting branches, forms an almost impenetrable underwood. in short, the grizzly bear of america is to be met with in situations very similar to those which are the favourite haunts of the african lion, which, after all, is not so much the king of the forest, as of the mountain and the open plain. the grizzly bear is omnivorous. fish, flesh, and fowl are eaten by him apparently with equal relish. he devours frogs, lizards, and other reptiles. he is fond of the larvae of insects; these are often found in large quantities adhering to the under sides of decayed logs. to get at them, the grizzly bear will roll over logs of such size and weight, as would try the strength of a yoke of oxen. he can "root" like a hog, and will often plough up acres of prairie in search of the wapatoo and indian turnip. like the black bear, he is fond of sweets; and the wild-berries, consisting of many species of currant, gooseberry, and service berry, are greedily gathered into his capacious maw. he is too slow of foot to overtake either buffalo, elk, or deer, though he sometimes comes upon these creatures unawares; and he will drag the largest buffalo to the earth, if he can only get his claws upon it. not unfrequently he robs the panther of his repast, and will drive a whole pack of wolves from the carrion they have just succeeded in killing. several attempts have been made to raise the young grizzlies, but these have all been abortive, the animals proving anything but agreeable pets. as soon as grown to a considerable size, their natural ferocity displays itself, and their dangerous qualities usually lead to the necessity for their destruction. for a long time the great polar bear has been the most celebrated animal of his kind; and most of the bear-adventures have related to him. many a wondrous tale of his prowess and ferocity has been told by the whaler and arctic voyager, in which this creature figures as the hero. his fame, however, is likely to be eclipsed by his hitherto less-known congener--the grizzly. the golden lure which has drawn half the world to california, has also been the means of bringing this fierce animal more into notice; for the mountain-valleys of the sierra nevada are a favourite range of the species. besides, numerous "bear scrapes" have occurred to the migrating bands who have crossed the great plains and desert tracts that stretch from the mississippi to the shores of the south sea. hundreds of stories of this animal, more or less true, have of late attained circulation through the columns of the press and the pages of the traveller's note-book, until the grizzly bear is becoming almost as much an object of interest as the elephant, the hippopotamus, or the king of beasts himself. speaking seriously, he is a dangerous assailant. white hunters never attack him unless when mounted and well armed; and the indians consider the killing a grizzly bear a feat equal to the scalping of a human foe. these never attempt to hunt him, unless when a large party is together; and the hunt is, among some tribes, preceded by a ceremonious feast and a bear-dance. it is often the lot of the solitary trapper to meet with this four-footed enemy, and the encounter is rated as equal to that with two hostile indians. of course, both redwood and old ike had met with more than one "bar scrape," and the latter was induced to relate one of his best. "strengers," began he, "when you scare up a grizzly, take my advice, and gie 'im a wide berth--that is, unless yur unkimmun well mounted. ov coorse, ef yur critter kin be depended upon, an' thur's no brush to 'tangle him, yur safe enuf; as no grizzly, as ever i seed, kin catch up wi' a hoss, whur the ground's open an' clur. f'r all that, whur the timmer's clost an' brushy, an' the ground o' that sort whur a hoss mout stummel, it are allers the safest plan to let ole eph'm slide. i've seed a grizzly pull down as good a hoss as ever tracked a parairy, whur the critter hed got bothered in a thicket. the fellur that straddled him only saved himself by hookin' on to the limb o' a tree. 'twant two minnits afore this child kim up--hearin' the rumpus. i hed good sight o' the bar, an' sent a bullet--sixty to the pound--into the varmint's brain-pan, when he immediately cawalloped over. but 'twur too late to save the hoss. he wur rubbed out. the bar had half skinned him, an' wur tarrin' at his guts! wagh!" here the trapper unsheathed his clasp-knife, and having cut a "chunk" from a plug of real "jeemes's river," stuck it into his cheek, and proceeded with his narration. "i reck'n, i've seed a putty consid'able o' the grizzly bar in my time. ef them thur chaps who writes about all sorts o' varmint hed seed as much o' the grizzly as i hev, they mout a gin a hul book consarnin' the critter. ef i hed a plug o' bacca for every grizzly i've rubbed out, it 'ud keep my jaws waggin' for a good twel'month, i reck'n. ye-es, strengers, i've done some bar-killin'--i hev that, an' no mistake! hain't i, mark? "wal, i wur a-gwine to tell you ov a sarcumstance that happened to this child about two yeern ago. it wur upon the platte, atween chimbly rock an' laramies'. "i wur engaged as hunter an' guide to a carryvan o' emigrant folks that wur on thur way to oregon. "ov coorse i allers kept ahead o' the carryvan, an' picked the place for thur camp. "wal, one arternoon i hed halted whur i seed some timmer, which ur a scace article about chimbly rock. this, thort i, 'll do for campin'-ground; so i got down, pulled the saddle off o' my ole mar, an' staked the critter upon the best patch o' grass that wur near, intendin' she shed hev her gut-full afore the camp cattle kim up to bother her. "i hed shot a black-tail buck, an' after kindlin' a fire, i roasted a griskin' o' him, an' ate it. "still thur wan't no sign o' the carryvan, an' arter hangin' the buck out o' reach o' the wolves, i tuk up my rifle, an' set out to rackynoiter the neighbourhood. "my mar bein' some'at jaded, i let her graze away, an' went afoot; an' that, let me tell you, strengers, ar about the foolichest thing you kin do upon a parairy. i wan't long afore i proved it; but i'll kum to that by 'm by. "wal, i fust clomb a conside'able hill, that gin me a view beyont. thur war a good-sized parairy layin' torst the south an' west. thur wur no trees 'ceptin' an odd cotton-wood hyur an' thur on the hillside. "about a mile off i seed a flock of goats--what you'd call antelopes, though goats they ur, as sure as goats is goats. "thur waunt no kiver near them--not a stick, for the parairy wur as bar as yur hand; so i seed, at a glimp, it 'ud be no use a tryin' to approach, unless i tuk some plan to decoy the critters. "i soon thort o' a dodge, an' went back to camp for my blanket, which wur a red mackinaw. this i knew 'ud be the very thing to fool the goats with, an' i set out torst them. "for the fust half-a-mile or so, i carried the blanket under my arm. then i spread it out, an' walked behind it until i wur 'ithin three or four hundred yards o' the animals. i kept my eye on 'em through a hole in the blanket. they wur a-growin' scary, an' hed begun to run about in circles; so when i seed this, i knew it wur time to stop. "wal, i hunkered down, an' still keepin' the blanket spread out afore me, i hung it upon a saplin' that i had brought from the camp. i then stuck the saplin' upright in the ground; an' mind ye, it wan't so easy to do that, for the parairy wur hard friz, an' i hed to dig a hole wi' my knife. howsomdever, i got the thing rigged at last, an' the blanket hangin' up in front kivered my karkidge most complete. i hed nothin' more to do but wait till the goats shed come 'ithin range o' my shootin'-iron. "wal, that wan't long. as ye all know, them goats is a mighty curious animal--as curious as weemen is--an arter runnin' backward an' forrard a bit, an' tossin' up thur heads, an' sniffin' the air, one o' the fattest, a young prong-horn buck, trotted up 'ithin fifty yards o' me. "i jest squinted through the sights, an' afore that goat hed time to wink twice, i hit him plum atween the eyes. ov coorse he wur throwed in his tracks. "now, you'd a-jumped up, an' frightened the rest away--that's what you'd a done, strengers. but you see i knowd better. i knowd that so long's the critters didn't see my karkidge, they wan't a-gwine to mind the crack o' the gun. so i laid still, in behopes to git a wheen more o' them. "as i hed calc'lated at fust, they didn't run away, an' i slipped in my charge as brisk as possible. but jest as i wur raisin' to take sight on a doe that hed got near enough, the hull gang tuk scare, an' broke off as ef a pack of parairy-wolves wur arter 'em. "i wur clean puzzled at this, for i knowd i hedn't done anythin' to frighten 'em, but i wan't long afore i diskivered the pause o' thur alarm. jest then i heerd a snift, like the coughin' o' a glandered hoss; an' turnin' suddintly round, i spied the biggest bar it hed ever been my luck to set eyes on. he wur comin' direct torst me, an' at that minnit wan't over twenty yards from whur i lay. i knowd at a glimp he wur a grizzly! "'tain't no use to say i wan't skeart; i wur skeart, an' mighty bad skeart, i tell ye. "at fust, i thort o' jumpin' to my feet, an' makin' tracks; but a minnit o' reflexshun showed me that 'ud be o' little use. thur wur a half o' mile o' clur parairy on every side o' me, an' i knowd the grizzly laid catch up afore i hed made three hundred yards in any direction. i knowd, too, that ef i started, the varmint 'ud be sartin to foller. it wur plain to see the bar meant mischief; i kud tell that from the glint o' his eyes. "thur wan't no time to lose in thinkin' about it. the brute wur still comin' nearer; but i noticed that he wur a-gwine slower an' slower, every now an' agin risin' to his hind-feet, clawin' his nose, an' sniffin' the air. "i seed that it wur the red blanket that puzzled him; an' seein' this, i crep' closter behint it, an' cached as much o' my karkidge as it 'ud kiver. "when the bar hed got 'ithin about ten yards o' the spot, he kim to a full stop, an' reared up as he hed did several times, with his belly full torst me. the sight wur too much for this niggur, who never afore had been bullied by eyther injun or bar. "'twur a beautiful shot, an' i kudn't help tryin' it, ef 't hed been my last; so i poked my rifle through the hole in the blanket, an' sent a bullet atween the varmint's ribs. "that wur, perhaps, the foolichest an' wust shot this child ever made. hed i not fired it, the bar mout a gone off, feard o' the blanket; but i did fire, an' my narves bein' excited, i made a bad shot. "i had ta'en sight for the heart, an' i only hit the varmint's shoulder. "ov coorse, the bar bein' now wounded, bekim savage, and cared no longer for the blanket. he roared out like a bull, tore at the place whur i hed hit him, an' then kim on as fast as his four legs 'ud carry him. "things looked squally. i throwed away my emp'y gun, an' drawed my bowie, expectin' nothin' else than a regular stand-up tussle wi' the bar. i knowd it wur no use turnin' tail now; so i braced myself up for a desp'rate fight. "but jest as the bar hed got 'ithin ten feet o' me, an idee suddintly kim into my head. i hed been to santa fe, among them yaller-hided mexikins, whur i hed seed two or three bull-fights. i hed seed them mattydoors fling thur red cloaks over a bull's head, jest when you'd a thort they wur a-gwine to be gored to pieces on the fierce critter's horns. "jest then, i remembered thur trick; an' afore the bar cud close on me, i grabbed the blanket, spreadin' it out as i tuk holt. "strangers, that wur a blanket an' no mistake! it wur as fine a five-point mackinaw as ever kivered the hump-ribs o' a nor'-west trader. i used to wear it mexikin-fashun when it rained; an' in coorse, for that purpose, thur wur a hole in the middle to pass the head through. "wal, jest as the bar sprung at me, i flopped the blanket straight in his face. i seed his snout a passin' through the hole, but i seed no more; for i feeled the critter's claws touchin' me, an' i let go. "now, thunk i, wur my time for a run. the blanket mout blin' him a leetle, an' i mout git some start. "with this thort, i glid past the animal's rump, an' struck out over the parairy. "the direction happened to be that that led torst the camp, half a mile off; but thur wur a tree nearer, on the side o' the hill. ef i kud reach that, i knowd i 'ud be safe enuf, as the grizzly bar it don't climb. "for the fust hundred yards i never looked round; then i only squinted back, runnin' all the while. "i kud jest see that the bar appeared to be still a tossin' the blanket, and not fur from whur we hed parted kumpny. "i thort this some'at odd; but i didn't stay to see what it meant till i hed put another hundred yards atween us. then i half turned, an' tuk a good look; an' if you believe me, strangers, the sight i seed thur 'ud a made a mormon larf. although jest one minnit afore, i wur putty nigh skeart out o' my seven senses, that sight made me larf till i wur like to bring on a colic. "thur wur the bar wi' his head right a-through the blanket. one minnit, he 'ud rear up on his hind-feet, an' then the thing hung roun' him like a mexikin greaser. the next minnit, he 'ud be down on all-fours, an' tryin' to foller me; an' then the mackinaw 'ud trip him up, an' over he 'ud whammel, and kick to get free--all the while routin' like a mad buffalo. jehosophat! it wur the funniest sight this child ever seed. wagh! "wal, i watched the game awhile--only a leetle while; for i knowd that if the bar could git clur o' the rag, he mout still overtake me, an' drive me to the tree. that i didn't wan't, eyther, so i tuk to my heels agin' and soon reached camp. "thur i saddled my mar, an' then rid back to git my gun, an', perhaps, to give ole eph'm a fresh taste o' lead. "when i clomb the hill agin, the bar wur still out on the parairy, an' i cud see that the blanket wur a-hanging around 'im. howsomdever, he wur makin' off torst the hills, thinkin', maybe, he'd hed enuf o' my kumpny. "i wan't a-gwine to let 'im off so easy, for the skear he hed 'gin me; besides, he wur traillin' my mackinaw along wi' 'im. so i galluped to whur my gun lay, an' havin' rammed home a ball, i then galluped arter ole grizzly. "i soon overhauled him, an' he turned on me as savagerous as ever. but this time, feeling secure on the mar's back, my narves wur steadier; an' i shot the bar plum through the skull, which throwed him in his tracks wi' the blanket wropped about 'im. "but sich a blanket as that wur then--ay, sich a blanket! i never seed sich a blanket! thur wunt a square foot o' it that wan't torn to raggles. ah, strangers, you don't know what it are to lose a five-point mackinaw; no, that you don't. cuss the bar!" chapter twenty six. a battle with grizzly bears. as adventure with grizzly bears which had befallen the "captain" was next related. he had been travelling with a strange party--the "scalp-hunters,"--in the mountains near santa fe, when they were overtaken by a sudden and heavy fall of snow that rendered farther progress impossible. the "canon," a deep valley in which they had encamped, was difficult to get through at any time, but now the path, on account of the deep soft snow, was rendered impassable. when morning broke they found themselves fairly "in the trap." "above and below, the valley was choked up with snow five fathoms deep. vast fissures--_barrancas_--were filled with the drift; and it was perilous to attempt penetrating in either direction. two men had already disappeared. "on each side of our camp rose the walls of the canon, almost vertical, to the height of a hundred feet. these we might have climbed had the weather been soft, for the rock was a trap formation, and offered numerous seams and ledges; but now there was a coating of ice and snow upon them that rendered the ascent impossible. the ground had been frozen hard before the storm came on, although it was now freezing no longer, and the snow would not bear our weight. all our efforts to get out of the valley proved idle; and we gave them over, yielding ourselves, in a kind of reckless despair, to wait for--we scarce knew what. "for three days we sat shivering around the fires, now and then casting looks of gloomy inquiry around the sky. the same dull grey for an answer, mottled with flakes slanting earthward, for it still continued to know. not a bright spot cheered the aching eye. "the little platform on which we rested--a space of two or three acres-was still free from the snow-drift, on account of its exposure to the wind. straggling pines, stunted and leafless, grew over its surface, in all about fifty or sixty trees. from these we obtained our fires; but what were fires when we had no meat to cook upon them! "we were now in the third day without food! without food, though not absolutely without eating--the men had bolted their gun-covers and the cat-skin flaps of their bullet-pouches, and were now seen--the last shift but one--stripping the _parfleche_ from the soles of their moccasins! "the women, wrapped in their _tilmas_, nestled closely in the embrace of father, brother, husband, and lover; for all these affections were present. the last string of _tasajo_, hitherto economised for their sake, had been parcelled out to them in the morning. that was gone, and whence was their next morsel to come? at long intervals, `_ay da mi! dios de mi alma_!' were heard only in low murmurs, as some colder blast swept down the canon. in the faces of those beautiful creatures might be read that uncomplaining patience--that high endurance--so characteristic of the hispano-mexican women. "even the stern men around them bore up with less fortitude. rude oaths were muttered from time to time, and teeth ground together, with that strange wild look that heralds insanity. once or twice i fancied that i observed a look of still stranger, still wilder expression, when the black ring forms around the eye--when the muscles twitch and quiver along gaunt, famished jaws--when men gaze guilty-like at each other. o god! it was fearful! the half-robber discipline, voluntary at the best, had vanished under the levelling-rod of a common suffering, and i trembled to think-"`it clars a leetle, out tharawa!' "it was the voice of the trapper, garey, who had risen and stood pointing toward the east. "in an instant we were all upon our feet, looking in the direction, indicated. sure enough, there was a break in the lead-coloured sky--a yellowish streak, that widened out as we continued gazing--the flakes fell lighter and thinner, and in two hours more it had ceased snowing altogether. "half-a-dozen of us, shouldering our rifles, struck down the valley. we would make one more attempt to trample a road through the drift. it was a vain one. the snow was over our heads, and after struggling for two hours, we had not gained above two hundred yards. here we caught a glimpse of what lay before us. as far as the eye could reach, it rested upon the same deep impassable masses. despair and hunger paralysed our exertions, and, dropping off one by one, we returned to the camp. we fell down around the fires in sullen silence. garey continued pacing back and forth, now glancing up at the sky, and at times kneeling down, and running his hand over the surface of the snow. at length he approached the fire, and in his slow, drawling manner, remarked-"`it's a-gwine to friz, i reckin.' "`well! and if it does?' asked one of his comrades, without caring for an answer to the question. "`wal, an iv it does,' repeated the trapper, `we'll walk out o' this hyar jug afore sun-up, an' upon a good hard trail too.' "the expression of every face was changed, as if by magic. several leaped to their feet. gode, the canadian, skilled in snow-craft, ran to a bank, and drawing his hand along the combing, shouted back-"`_c'est vrai; il gele; il gele_!' "a cold wind soon after set in, and, cheered by the brightening prospect, we began to think of the fires, that, during our late moments of reckless indifference, had been almost suffered to burn out. the delawares, seizing their tomahawks, commenced hacking at the pines, while others dragged forward the fallen trees, lopping off their branches with the keen scalping-knife. "at this moment a peculiar cry attracted our attention, and, looking around, we perceived one of the indians drop suddenly upon his knees, striking the ground with his hatchet. "`what is it? what is it?' shouted several voices, in almost as many languages. "`_yam-yam! yam-yam_!' replied the indian, still digging at the frozen ground. "`the injun's right; it's _man-root_!' said garey, picking up some leaves which the delaware had chopped off. "i recognised a plant well-known to the mountain-men--a rare, but wonderful convolvulus, the _iponea leptophylla_. the name of `man-root' is given to it by the hunters from the similarity of its root in shape, and sometimes in size, to the body of a man. it is esculent, and serves to sustain human life. "in an instant, half-a-dozen men were upon their knees, chipping and hacking the hard clay, but their hatchets glinted off as from the surface of a rock. "`look hyar!' cried garey; `ye're only spoilin' yer tools. cut down a wheen o' these pine saplin's, and make a fire over him!' "the hint was instantly followed, and in a few minutes a dozen pieces of pine were piled upon the spot, and set on fire. "we stood around the burning branches with eager anticipation. should the root prove a `full-grown man,' it would make a supper for our whole party; and with the cheering idea of supper, jokes were ventured upon-the first we had heard for some time--the hunters tickled with the novelty of unearthing the `old man' ready roasted, and speculating whether he would prove a `fat old hoss.' "a hollow crack sounded from above, like the breaking of a dead tree. we looked up. a large object--an animal--was whirling outward and downward from a ledge that projected half-way up the cliff. in an instant it struck the earth, head foremost, with a loud `bump,' and, bounding to the height of several feet, came back with a somersault on its legs, and stood firmly. "an involuntary `hurrah!' broke from the hunters, who all recognised, at a glance, the `carnero cimmaron,' or `bighorn.' he had cleared the precipice at two leaps, alighting each time on his huge crescent-shaped horns. "for a moment, both parties--hunters and game--seemed equally taken by surprise, and stood eyeing each other in mute wonder. it was but for a moment. the men made a rush for their rifles, and the animal, recovering from his trance of astonishment, tossed back his horns, and bounded across the platform. in a dozen springs he had readied the selvedge of the snow, and plunged into its yielding bank; but, at the same instant, several rifles cracked, and the white wreath was crimsoned behind him. he still kept on, however, leaning and breaking through the drift. "we struck into his track, and followed with the eagerness of hungry wolves. we could tell by the numerous _gouts_ that he was shedding his life-blood, and about fifty paces farther on we found him dead. "a shout apprised our companions of our success, and we had commenced dragging back the prize, when wild cries reached us from the platform,-the yells of men, the screams of women, mingled with oaths and exclamations of terror! "we ran on towards the entrance of the track. on reaching it, a sight was before us that caused the stoutest to tremble. hunters, indians, and women were running to and fro in frantic confusion, uttering their varied cries, and pointing upward. we looked in that direction--a row of fearful objects stood upon the brow of the cliff. we knew our enemy at a glance,--the dreaded monsters of the mountains--the grizzly bears! "there were; five of them--five in sight--there might be others in the background. five were enough to destroy our whole party, caged as we were, and weakened by famine. "they had reached the cliff in chase of the cimmaron, and hunger and disappointment were visible in their horrid aspects. two of them had already crawled close to the scarp, and were pawing over and snuffing the air, as if searching for a place to descend. the other three reared themselves up on their hams, and commenced manoeuvring with their forearms, in a human-like and comical pantomime! "we were in no condition to relish this amusement. every man hastened to arm himself, those who had emptied their rifles hurriedly re-loading them. "`for your life don't!' cried garey, catching at the gun of one of the hunters. "the caution came too late: half-a-dozen bullets were already whistling upwards. "the effect was just what the trapper had anticipated. the bears, maddened by the bullets, which had harmed them no more than the pricking of as many pins, dropped to their all-fours again, and, with fierce growls, commenced descending the cliff. "the scene of confusion was now at its height. several of the men, less brave than their comrades, ran off to hide themselves in the snow, while others commenced climbing the low pine-trees! "`cache the gals!' cried garey. `hyar, yer darned spanish greasers! if yer won't light, hook on to the weemen a wheen o' yer, and toat them to the snow. cowardly slinks,--wagh!' "`see to them, doctor,' i shouted to the german, who, i thought, might be best spared from the fight; and the next, moment, the doctor, assisted by several mexicans, was hurrying the terrified girls towards the spot where we had left the cimmaron. "many of us knew that to hide, under the circumstances, would be worse than useless. the fierce but sagacious brutes would have discovered, us one by one, and destroyed, us in detail. `they must, be met and fought!' that was the word; and we resolved to carry it into execution. "there were about a dozen of us who `stood up to it'--all the delaware and shawanoes, with garey and the mountain-men. "we kept firing at the bears as they ran along the ledges in their zigzag descent, but our rifles were out of order, our fingers were numbed with cold, and our nerves weakened with hunger. our bullets drew blood from the hideous brutes, yet not a shot proved deadly. it only stung them into fiercer rage. "it was a fearful moment when the last shot was fired, and still not an enemy the less. we flung away the guns, and, clutching the hatchets and hunting-knives, silently awaited our grizzly foes. "we had taken our stand close to the rock. it was our design to have the first blow, as the animals, for the most part, came stern-foremost down the cliff. in this we were disappointed. on reaching a ledge some ten feet from the platform, the foremost bear halted, and, seeing our position, hesitated to descend. the next moment, his companions, maddened with wounds, came tumbling down upon the same ledge, and, with fierce growls, the five huge bodies were precipitated into our midst. "then came the desperate struggle, which i cannot describe,--the shouts of the hunters, the wilder yells of our indian allies, the hoarse worrying of the bears, the ringing of tomahawks from skulls like flint, the deep, dull `thud' of the stabbing-knife, and now and then a groan, as the crescent claw tore up the clinging muscle. o god! it was a fearful scene! "over the platform bears and men went rolling and struggling, in the wild battle of life and death. through the trees, and into the deep drift, staining the snow with their mingled blood! here, two or three men were engaged with a single foe--there, some brave hunter stood battling alone. several were sprawling upon the ground. every moment, the bears were lessening the number of their assailants! "i had been struck down at the commencement of the struggle. on regaining my feet, i saw the animal that had felled me hugging the prostrate body of a man. "it was gode. i leaned over the bear, clutching its shaggy skin. i did this to steady myself; i was weak and dizzy; so were we all. i struck with all my force, stabbing the animal on the ribs. "letting go the frenchman, the bear turned suddenly, and reared upon me. i endeavoured to avoid the encounter, and ran backward, fending him off with my knife. "all at once i came against the snow-drift, and fell over on my back. next moment, the heavy body was precipitated upon me, the sharp claws pierced deep into my shoulder,--i inhaled the monster's fetid breath; and striking wildly with my right arm, still free, we rolled over and over in the snow. "i was blinded by the dry drift. i felt myself growing weaker and weaker; it was the loss of blood. i shouted--a despairing shout--but it could not have been heard at ten paces' distance. then there was a strange hissing sound in my ears,--a bright light flashed across my eyes; a burning object passed over my face, scorching the skin; there was a smell as of singeing hair; i could hear voices, mixed with the roars of my adversary; and all at once the claws were drawn out of my flesh, the weight was lifted from my breast, and i was alone! "i rose to my feet, and, rubbing the snow out of my eyes, looked around. i could see no one. i was in a deep hollow made by our struggles, but i was alone! "the snow all around me was dyed to a crimson; but what had become of my terrible antagonist? who had rescued me from his deadly embrace? "i staggered forward to the open ground. here a new scene met my gaze: a strange-looking man was running across the platform, with a huge firebrand,--the bole of a burning pine-tree,--which he waved in the air. he was chasing one of the hears, that, growling with rage and pain, was making every effort to reach the cliffs. two others were already half-way up, and evidently clambering with great difficulty, as the blood dripped back from their wounded flanks. "the bear that was pursued soon took to the rocks, and, urged by the red brand scorching his shaggy hams, was soon beyond the reach of his pursuer. the latter now made towards a fourth, that was still battling with two or three weak antagonists. this one was `routed' in a twinkling, and with yells of terror followed his comrades up the bluff. the strange man looked around for the fifth. it had disappeared. prostrate, wounded men were strewed over the ground, but the bear was nowhere to be seen. he had doubtless escaped through the snow. "i was still wondering who was the hero of the firebrand, and where he had come from. i have said he was a strange-looking man. he was so-and like no one of our party that i could think of. his head was bald,--no, not bald, but naked,--there was not a hair upon it, crown or sides, and it glistened in the clear light like polished ivory. i was puzzled beyond expression, when a man--garey--who had been felled upon the platform by a blow from one of the bears, suddenly sprang to his feet, exclaiming,-"`go it, doc! three chyars for the doctor!' "to my astonishment, i now recognised the features of that individual, the absence of whose brown locks had produced such a metamorphosis as, i believe, was never effected by means of borrowed hair. "`here's your scalp, doc,' cried garey, running up with the wig, `by the livin' thunder! yer saved us all;' and the hunter seized the german in his wild embrace. "wounded men were all around, and commenced crawling together. but where was the fifth of the bears? four only had escaped by the cliff. "`yonder he goes!' cried a voice, as a light spray, rising above the snow-wreath, showed that some animal was struggling through the drift. "several commenced loading their rifles, intending to follow, and, if possible, secure him. the doctor armed himself with a fresh pine; but before these, arrangements were completed, a strange cry came from the spot, that caused our blood to run cold again. the indians leaped to their feet, and, seizing their tomahawks, rushed to the gap. they knew the meaning of that cry--it was the death-yell of their tribe! "they entered the road that we had trampled down in the morning, followed by those who had loaded their guns. we watched them from the platform with anxious expectation, but before they had reached the spot, we could see that, the `stoor' was slowly settling down. it was plain that the struggle had ended. "we still stood waiting in breathless silence, and watching the floating spray that noted their progress through the drift. at length they had reached the scene of the struggle. there was an ominous stillness, that lasted for a moment, and then the indian's fate was announced in the sad, wild note that came wailing up the valley. it was the dirge of a shawano warrior! "they had found their brave comrade dead, with his scalping-knife buried in the heart of his terrible antagonist! "it was a costly supper, that bear-meat, but, perhaps, the sacrifice had saved many lives. we would keep the `cimmaron' for to-morrow; next day, the man-root; and the next,--what next? perhaps--the man! "fortunately, we were not, driven to this extremity. the frost, had again set in, and the surface of the snow, previously moistened by the sun and rain, soon became caked into ice strong enough to bear us, and upon its firm crust we escaped out of the perilous pass, and gained the warmer region of the plains in safety." chapter twenty seven. the swans of america. in our journey we had kept far enough to the north to avoid the difficult route of the ozark hills; and we at length encamped upon the marais de cygnes, a branch of the osage river. beyond this we expected to fall in with the buffalo, and of course we were full of pleasant anticipation. near the point where we had pitched our camp, the banks of the river were marshy, with here and there small lakes of stagnant water. in these a large number of swans, with wild geese and other aquatic birds, were swimming and feeding. of course our guns were put in requisition, and we succeeded in killing a brace of swans, with a grey goose (anser _canadensis_), and a pair of ducks. the swans were very large ones--of the trumpeter species--and one of them was cooked for supper. it was in excellent condition, and furnished a meal for the whole of our party! the other swan, with the goose and ducks, were stowed away for another occasion. while "discussing" the flesh of this great and noble bird, we also discussed many of the points in its natural history. "white as a swan" is a simile old as language itself. it would, no doubt, puzzle an australian, used to look upon those beautiful and stately birds as being of a very different complexion. the simile holds good, however, with the north-american species, all three of which--for there are three of them--are almost snow-white. we need not describe the form or general appearance of the swan. these are familiar to every one. the long, upright, and gracefully-curving neck; the finely-moulded breast, the upward-tending tail-tip, the light "dip," and easy progression through the water, are points that everybody has observed, admired, and remembered. these are common to all birds of the genus _cygnus_, and are therefore not peculiar to the swans of america. many people fancy there are but two kinds of swans--the white and black. it is not long since the black ones have been introduced to general notoriety, as well as to general admiration. but there are many distinct species besides--species differing from each other in size, voice, and other peculiarities. in europe alone, there are four native swans, specifically distinct. it was long believed that the common american swan (_cygnus americanus_) was identical with the common european species, so well-known in england. it is now ascertained, however, not only that these two are specifically distinct, but that in north america there exist two other species, differing from the _cygnus americanus_, and from each other. these are the trumpeter (_cygnus buccinnator_) and the small swan of bewick (_cygnus bewickii_), also an inhabitant of european countries. the common american species is of a pure white, with black hill, logs, and feet. a slight tinge of brownish red is found on some individuals on the crown of the head, and a small patch of orange-yellow extends from the angles of the mouth to the eye. on the base of the bill is a fleshy tubercle or knob, and the upper mandible is curved at the tip. the young of this species are of a bluish-grey colour, with more of the brown-red tinge upon the head. the naked yellow patch, extending from the angles of the mouth to the eye, in the young birds, is covered with feathers, and their bills are flesh-coloured. this description answers in every respect for the swan of bewick; but the latter species is only three-fourths the size of the former; and, besides, it has only eighteen tail feathers, while the american swan has twenty. their note is also entirely unlike. the "trumpeter" is different from either. he is the largest, being frequently met with of nearly six feet in length, while the common swan rarely exceeds five. the bill of the trumpeter is not tuberculated; and the yellow patch under the eye is wanting. the bill, legs, and feet are entirely black. all the rest is white, with the exception of the head, which is usually tinged with chestnut or red-brown. when young, he is of a greyish-white, with a yellow mixture, and the head of deeper red-brown. his tail feathers are twenty-four in number; but there is a material difference between him and his congeners in the arrangement of the windpipe. in the trumpeter this enters a protuberance that stands out on the dorsal aspect of the sternum, which is wanting in both the other kinds. it may be that this arrangement has something to do with his peculiar note, which differs altogether from that of the others. it is much fuller and louder, and at a distance bears a considerable resemblance to the trumpet or french horn. hence the trivial name by which this species is known to the hunters. all the american swans are migratory--that is, they pass from north to south, every autumn, and back again from south to north in the beginning of spring. the period of their migration is different with the three species. the trumpeter is the earliest, preceding all other birds, with the exception of the eagles. the _cygnus americanus_ comes next; and, lastly, the small swans, that are among the very latest of migratory birds. the trumpeters seek the north at the breaking up of the ice. sometimes they arrive at a point in their journey where this has not taken place. in such cases they fly back again until they reach some river or lake from which the ice has disappeared, where they remain a few days, and wait the opening of the waters farther north. when they are thus retarded and sent back, it is always in consequence of some unusual and unseasonable weather. the swans go northward to breed. why they do so is a mystery. perhaps they feel more secure in the inhospitable wastes that lie within the arctic circle. the trumpeters breed as far south as latitude 61 degrees, but most of them retire within the frigid zone. the small swans do not nest so far south, but pursue their course still onward to the polar sea. here they build immense nests by raising heaps of peat moss, six feet in length by four in width, and two feet high. in the top of these heaps is situated the nest, which consists of a cavity a foot deep, and a foot and a half in diameter. the trumpeters and american swans build in marshes and the islands of lakes. where the muskrat (_fiber zibethicus_) abounds, his dome-shaped dwelling--at that season, of course, deserted--serves often as the breeding-place boll? for the swans and wild geese. on the top of this structure, isolated in the midst of great marshes, these birds are secure from all their enemies--the eagle excepted. the eggs of the trumpeter are very large, one of them being enough to make a good meal for a man. the eggs of the american species are smaller and of a greenish appearance, while those of the bewick swan are still smaller and of a brownish-white colour, with a slight clouding of darker hue. six or seven eggs is the usual "setting." the cygnets, when half or full-grown, are esteemed good eating, and are much sought after by the hunters and indians of the fur countries. when the cygnets are full-grown, and the frost makes its appearance upon the lakes and rivers of the hyperborean regions, the swans begin to shift southwards. they do not migrate directly, as in the spring, but take more time on their journey, and remain longer in the countries through which they pass. this no doubt arises from the fact that a different motive or instinct now urges them. in the spring they are under the impulse of philo-progenitiveness. now they range from lake to lake and stream to stream in search only of food. again, as in the spring, the trumpeters lead the van--winging their way to the great lakes, and afterwards along the atlantic coast, and by the line of the mississippi, to the marshy shores of the mexican sea. it may be remarked that this last-mentioned species--the trumpeter--is rare upon the atlantic coast, where the common swan is seen in greatest plenty. again, the trumpeter does not appear on the pacific or by the colombia river, where the common swan is met with, but the latter is there outnumbered by the small species (_cygnus bewickii_) in the ratio of five to one. this last again is not known in the fur countries of the interior, where the _cygnus americanus_ is found, but where the trumpeter exists in greatest numbers. indeed the skins of the trumpeter are those which are mostly exported by the hudson's bay company, and which form an important article of their commerce. the swan is eagerly hunted by the indians who inhabit the fur countries. its skin brings a good price from the traders, and its quills are valuable. besides, the flesh is a consideration with these people, whose life, it must be borne in mind, is one continuous struggle for food; and who, for one-half the year, live upon the very verge of starvation. the swan, therefore, being a bird that weighs between twenty and thirty pounds, ranks among large game, and is hunted with proportionate ardour. every art the indian can devise is made use of to circumvent these great birds, and snares, traps, and decoys of all kinds are employed in the pursuit. but the swans are among the shyest of god's creatures. they fly so rapidly, unless when beating against the wind, that it requires a practised shot to hit them on the wing. even when moulting their feathers, or when young, they can escape--fluttering over the surface of the water faster than a canoe can be paddled. the most usual method of hunting them is by snares. these are set in the following manner:-a lake or river is chosen, where it is known the swans are in the habit of resting for some time on their migration southward--for this is the principal season of swan-catching. some time before the birds make their appearance, a number of wicker hedges are constructed, running perpendicularly out from the bank, and at the distance of a few yards from each other. in the spaces between, as well as in openings left in the fences themselves, snares are set. these snares are made of the intestines of the deer, twisted into a round shape, and looped. they are placed so that several snares may embrace the opening, and the swans cannot pass through without being caught. the snare is fastened to a stake, driven into the mud with sufficient firmness to hold the bird when caught and struggling. that the snare may not be blown out of its proper place by the wind, or carried astray by the current, it is attached to the wattles of the hedge by some strands of grass. these, of course, are easily broken, and give way the moment a bird presses against the loop. the fences or wattle-hedges are always constructed projecting out from the shore--for it is known that the swans must keep close in to the land while feeding. whenever a lake or river is sufficiently shallow to make it possible to drive in stakes, the hedges are continued across it from one side to the other. swans are also snared upon their nests. when a nest is found, the snare is set so as to catch the bird upon her return to the eggs. these birds, like many others, have the habit of entering the nest on one side, and going out by the other, and it is upon the entrance side that the snare is set. the indians have a belief that if the hands of the persons setting the snare be not clean, the bird will not approach it, but rather desert her eggs, even though she may have been hatching them for some time. it is, indeed, true that this is a habit of many birds, and may be so of the wild swan. certain it is that the nest is always reconnoitred by the returning bird with great caution, and any irregularity appearing about it will render her extremely shy of approaching it. swans are shot, like other birds, by "approaching" them under cover. it requires very large shot to kill them--the same that is used for deer, and known throughout america as "buck-shot." in england this size of shot is termed "swan shot." it is difficult to get within range of the wild swan, he is by nature a shy bird; and his long neck enables him to see over the sedge that surrounds him. where there happens to be no cover--and this is generally the case where he haunts--it is impossible to approach him. sometimes the hunter floats down upon him with his canoe hidden by a garniture of reeds and bushes. at other times he gets near enough in the disguise of a deer or other quadruped--for the swan, like most wild birds, is less afraid of the lower animals than of man. during the spring migration, when the swan is moving northward, the hunter, hidden under some rock, bank, or tree, frequently lures him from his high flight by the imitation of his well-known "hoop." this does not succeed so well in the autumn. when the swans arrive prematurely on their spring journey, they resort sometimes in considerable flocks to the springs and waterfalls, all other places being then ice-bound. at this time the hunters concealing themselves in the neighbourhood, obtain the desired proximity, and deal destruction with their guns. a-related an account of a swan hunt by torch-light, which he had made some years before. "i was staying some days," said he, "at a remote, settlement upon one of the streams that run into the red river of the north, it was in the autumn season, and the trumpeter-swans had arrived in the neighbourhood on their annual migration to the south. i had been out several times after them with my gun, but was unable to get a shot at them in consequence of their shyness. i had adopted every expedient i could think of--calls, disguises, and decoys--but all to no purpose. i resolved, at length, to try them by torch-light. "it so happened that none of the hunters, at the settlement had ever practised this method; but as most of them had succeeded, by some means or other, in decoying and capturing several swans by other means, my hunter-pride was touched, and i was most anxious to show that i could kill swans as well as they. i had never seen swans shot by torch-light, but i had employed the plan for killing deer, as you already know, and i was determined to make a trial of it upon the swans. "i set secretly about it, resolved to steal a march upon my neighbours, if possible. my servant alone was admitted into my confidence, and we proceeded to make the necessary arrangements. "these were precisely similar to those already described in my limit of the long-tails, except that the canoe, instead of being `a dug-out,' was a light craft of birch-bark, such as are in use among the chippowas and other indians of the northern countries. the canoe was obtained from a settler, and tilled with torch-wood and other necessary articles, but these were clandestinely put on board. "i was now ready, and a dark night was all that was wanted to enable me to carry out my plan. "fortunately i soon obtained this to my heart's satisfaction. a night arrived as dark as erebus; and with my servant using the paddle, we pushed out and shot swiftly down stream. "as soon as we had cleared the `settlement,' we lit our pine-knots in the frying-pan. the blaze refracted from the concave and blackened surface of the bark, cast a brilliant light over the semicircle ahead of us, at the same time that we, behind the screen of birch-bark, were hid in utter darkness. i had heard that the swans, instead of being frightened by torch-light, only became amazed, and even at times curious enough to approach it, just as the deer and some other animals do. this proved to be correct, as we had very soon a practical illustration of it. "we had not gone a mile down the river when we observed several white objects within the circle of our light; and paddling a little nearer, we saw that they were swans. we could distinguish their long, upright necks; and saw that they had given up feeding, and were gazing with wonder at the odd object that was approaching them. "there were five of them in the flock; and i directed my servant to paddle towards that which seemed nearest, and to use his oar with as much silence as possible. at the same time i looked to the caps of my double-barrelled gun. "the swans for a time remained perfectly motionless, sitting high in the water, with their long necks raised far above the surface. they appeared to be more affected by surprise than fear. "when we had got within about a hundred yards of them, i saw that they began to move about, and close in to one another; at the same time was heard proceeding from them a strange sound resembling very much the whistle of the fallow deer. i had heard of the singing of the swan, as a prelude to its death, and i hoped that which now reached my ears was a similar foreboding. "in order to make it so, i leaned forward, levelled my double-barrel-both barrels being cocked--and waited the _moment_. "the birds had `clumped' together, until their long serpent-like necks crossed each other. a few more noiseless strokes of the paddle brought me within reach, and aiming for the heads of three that `lined,' i pulled both triggers at once. "the immense recoil flung me back, and the smoke for a moment prevented us from seeing the effect. "as soon as it had been wafted aside, our eyes were feasted by the sight of two large white objects floating down the current, while a third, evidently wounded, struggled along the surface, and beating the water into foam with its broad wings. "the remaining two had risen high into the air, and were heard uttering their loud trumpet-notes as they winged their flight through the dark heavens. "we soon bagged our game, both dead and wounded, and saw that they were a large `gander' and two young birds. "it was a successful beginning; and having replenished our torch, we continued to float downward in search of more. half a mile farther on, we came in sight of three others, one of which we succeeded in killing. "another `spell' of paddling brought us to a third flock, out of which i got one for each barrel of my gun; and a short distance below i succeeded in killing a pair of the grey wild geese. "in this way we kept down the river for at least ten miles i should think, killing both swans and geese as we went. indeed, the novelty of the thing, the wild scenery through which we passed--rendered more wild and picturesque by the glare of the torch--and the excitement of success, all combined to render the sport most attractive; and but that our `pine-knots' had run out, i would have continued it until morning. "the failure of these at length brought our shooting to a termination, and we were compelled to put about, and undertake the much less pleasant, and much more laborious, task, of paddling ten miles up-stream. the consciousness, however, of having performed a great feat--in the language of the canadian hunters, a grand `_coup_,' made the labour seem more light, and we soon arrived at the settlement, and next morning triumphantly paraded our game-bag in front of our `lodge.' "its contents were twelve trumpeter-swans, besides three of the `hoopers.' we had also a pair of canada geese; a snow-goose, and three brant,--these last being the produce of a single shot. "the hunters of the settlement were quite envious, and could not understand what means i had employed to get up such a `game-bag.' i intended to have kept that for some time a secret; but the frying-pan and the piece of blackened bark were found, and these betrayed my stratagem; so that on the night after, a dozen canoes, with torches at their bows, might have been seen floating down the waters of the stream." chapter twenty eight. hunting the moose. while crossing the marshy bottom through which our road led, a singular hoof-track was observed in the mud. some were of opinion that it was a track of the great moose-deer, but the hunter-naturalist, better informed, scouted the idea--declaring that moose never ranged, so far to the south. it was no doubt a very large elk that had made the track, and to this conclusion all at length came. the great moose-deer, however, was an interesting theme, and we rode along conversing upon it. the moose (_cervus alces_) is the largest of the deer kind. the male is ordinarily as large as a mule; specimens have been killed of still greater dimensions. one that has been measured stood seventeen bands, and weighed 1200 pounds; it was consequently larger than most horses. the females are considerably smaller than the males. the colour of the moose, like that of other animals of the deer kind, varies with the season; it varies also with the sex. the male is tawny-brown over the back, sides, head, and thighs; this changes to a darker hue in winter, and in very old animals it is nearly black; hence the name "black elk," which is given in some districts to the moose. the under parts of the body are light-coloured, with a tinge of yellow or soiled white. the female is of a sandy-brown colour above, and beneath almost white. the calves are sandy-brown, but never spotted, as are the fawns of the common deer. the moose is no other than the elk of northern europe; but the elk of america (_cervus canadensis_), as already stated, is altogether a different animal. these two species may be mistaken for each other, in the season when their antlers are young, or in the velvet; then they are not unlike to a superficial observer. but the animals are rarely confounded--only the names. the american elk is not found indigenous in the eastern hemisphere, although he is the ornament of many a lordly park. the identity of the moose with the european elk is a fact that leads to curious considerations. a similar identity exists between the caribou of canada and the reindeer of northern europe--they are both the _cervus tarandus_ of pliny. so also with the polar hear of both hemispheres, the arctic, fox, and several other animals. hence we infer, that there existed at some period either a land connection, or some other means of communication, between the northern parts of both continents. besides being the largest, the moose is certainly the most ungraceful of the deer family. his head is long, out of all proportion; so, too, are his legs; while his neck is short in an inverse ratio. his ears are nearly a foot in length, asinine, broad, and slouching; his eyes are small; and his muzzle square, with a deep _sulcus_ in the middle, which gives it the appearance of being bifid. the upper lip overhangs the under by several inches, and is highly prehensile. a long tuft of coarse hair grows out of an excrescence on the throat, in the angle between the head and neck. this tuft is observed both in the male and female, though only when full-grown. in the young, the excrescence is naked. an erect mane, somewhat resembling that of a cropped shetland pony, runs from the base of the horns over the withers, and some way down the back. this adds to the stiff and ungainly appearance of the animal. the horns of the moose are a striking characteristic: they are palmated or flattened out like shovels, while along the edge rise the points or antlers. the width from horn to horn at their tops is often more than four feet, and the breadth of a single one, antlers included, is frequently above thirty inches. a single pair has been known to weigh as much as 60 pounds avoirdupois! of course this stupendous head-dress gives the moose quite an imposing appearance; and it is one of the wonders of the naturalist what can be its object. the horns are found only on the males, and attain their full size only when these have reached their seventh year. in the yearlings appear two knobs, about an inch in length; in two-year-olds, these knobs have become spikes a foot high; in the third year they begin to palmate, and antlers rise along their edges; and so on, until the seventh year, when they become fully developed. they are annually caducous, however, as with the common deer, so that these immense appendages are the growth of a few weeks! the haunts and habits of the moose differ materially from those of other deer. he cannot browse upon level ground without kneeling or widening his legs to a great extent: this difficulty arises from the extreme length of his legs, and the shortness of his neck. he can do better upon the sides of steep hills, and he is often seen in such places grazing _upward_. grass, however, is not his favourite food: he prefers the twigs and leaves of trees--such as birch, willow, and maple. there is one species of the last of which he is extremely fond; it is that known as striped maple (_acer striatum_), or, in the language of hunters, "moose-wood." he peels off the bark from old trees of this sort, and feeds upon it, as well as upon several species of mosses with which the arctic regions abound. it will be seen that in these respects he resembles the giraffe: he may be regarded as the giraffe of the frigid zone. the moose loves the forest; he is rarely found in the open ground--on the prairie, never. on open level ground, he is easily overtaken by the hunter, as he makes but a poor run in such a situation. his feet are tender, and his wind short; besides, as we have already said, he cannot browse there without great inconvenience. he keeps in the thick forest and the impenetrable swamp, where he finds the food most to his liking. in summer, he takes to the water, wading into lakes and rivers, and frequently swimming across both. this habit renders him at that season an easy prey to his enemies, the indian hunters, for in the water he is easily killed. nevertheless, he loves to bury himself in the water, because along the shores of lakes and margins of rivers he finds the tall reed-grass, and the pond-lily--the latter a particular favourite with him. in this way, too, he rids himself of the biting gnats and stinging mosquitoes that swarm there; and also cools his blood, fevered by parasites, larvae, and the hot sun. the female moose produces one, two, and sometimes three calves at a birth; this is in april or may. the period of gestation is nine-months. during the summer, they are seen in families--that is, a bull, a cow, and two calves. sometimes the group includes three or four cows; but this is rare. occasionally, when the winter comes on, several of these family parties unite, and form herds of many individuals. when the snow is deep, one of these herds will tread down a space of several acres, in which they will be found browsing on the bark and twigs of the trees. a place of this sort is termed by the hunters a "moose-yard;" and in such a situation the animals become an easy prey. they are shot down on the spot, and those that attempt to escape through the deep snow are overtaken and brought to bay by dogs. this can only happen, however, when the snow is deep and crusted with frost; otherwise, the hunters and their dogs, as well as their heavier game, would sink in it. when the snow is of old standing, it becomes icy on the surface through the heat of the sun, rain, and frost; then it will bear the hunter, but not the deer. the latter break through it, and as these animals are tender-hoofed, they are lacerated at every jump. they soon feel the pain, give up the attempt to escape, and come to bay. it is dangerous for dogs to approach them when in this mood. they strike with the hoofs of their forefeet, a single blow of which often knocks the breath out of the stoutest deer-hound. there are many records of hunters having been sacrificed in a similar manner. where the moose are plentiful, the indians hunt them by pounding. this is done simply by inclosing a large tract of woods, with a funnel-shaped entrance leading into the inclosure. the wide mouth of the entrance embraces a path which the deer habitually take; upon this they are driven by the indians, deployed in a wide curve, until they enter the funnel, and the pound itself. here there are nooses set, in which many are snared, while others are shot down by the hunters who follow. this method is more frequently employed with the caribou, which are much smaller, and more gregarious than the moose-deer. we have already said that the moose are easily captured in summer, when they resort to the lakes and rivers to wade and swim. the biting of gnats and mosquitoes renders them less fearful of the approach of man. the indians then attack them in their canoes, and either shoot or spear them while paddling alongside. they are much less dangerous to assail in this way than the elk or even the common deer (_cervus virginianus_), as the latter, when brought in contact with the frail birch-canoe, often kick up in such a manner as to upset it, or break a hole through its side. on the contrary, the moose is frequently caught by the antlers while swimming, and in this way carried alongside without either difficulty or danger. although in such situations these huge creatures are easily captured, it is far otherwise as a general rule. indeed, few animals are more shy than the moose. its sight is acute; so, too, with its sense of smell; but that organ in which it chiefly confides is the ear. it can hear the slightest noise to a great distance; and the hunter's foot among the dead leaves, or upon the frozen snow-crust, often betrays him long before he can creep within range. they are, however, frequently killed by the solitary hunter stealing upon them, or "approaching," as it is termed. to do this, it is absolutely necessary to keep to leeward of them, else the wind would carry to their quick ears even the cautious tread of the indian hunter. there is one other method of hunting the moose often practised by the indians--that is, trailing them with _rackets_, or snow-shoes, and running them down. as i had partaken of this sport i was able to give an account of it to my companions. "in the winter of 18--, i had occasion to visit a friend who lived in the northern part of the state of maine. my friend was a backwood settler; dwelt in a comfortable log-house; raised corn, cattle, and hogs; and for the rest, amused himself occasionally with a hunt in the neighbouring woods. this he could do without going far from home, as the great forests of pine, birch, and maple trees on all sides surrounded his solitary clearing, and his nearest neighbour was about twenty miles off. literally, my friend lived in the woods, and the sports of the chase were with him almost a necessity; at all events, they were an everyday occupation. "up to the time of my visit, i had never seen a moose, except in museums. i had never been so far north upon the american continent; and it must be remembered, that the geographical range of the moose is confined altogether to the cold countries. it is only in the extreme northern parts of the united states that he appears at all. canada, with the vast territories of the hudson's bay company, even to the shores of the arctic sea, is the proper _habitat_ of this animal. "i was familiar with bears; cougars i had killed; elk and fallow deer i had driven; 'coons and 'possums i had treed; in short, i had been on hunting terms with almost every game in america except the moose. i was most eager, therefore, to have a shot at one of these creatures, and i well remember the delight i experienced when my friend informed me there were moose in the adjacent woods. "on the day after my arrival, we set forth in search of them, each armed with a hunting-knife and a heavy deer-gun. we went afoot; we could not go otherwise, as the snow lay to the depth of a yard, and a horse would have plunged through it with difficulty. it was an old snow, moreover, thickly crusted, and would have maimed our horses in a few minutes. we, with our broad rackets, could easily skim along without sinking below the surface. "i know not whether you have ever seen a pair of rackets, or indian snow-shoes, but their description is easy. you have seen the rackets used in ball-play. well, now, fancy a hoop, not of circular form, but forced into an elongated pointed ellipse, very much after the shape of the impression that a capsized boat would make in snow; fancy this about three feet long, and a foot across at its widest, closely netted over with gut or deer-thong, with bars in the middle to rest the foot upon, and a small hole to allow play to the toes, and you will have some idea of a snow-shoe. two of these--right and left--make a pair. they are simply strapped on to your boots, and then their broad surface sustains you, even when the snow is comparatively soft, but perfectly when it is frozen. "thus equipped, my friend and i set out _a pied_, followed by a couple of stout deer-hounds. we made directly for a part of the woods where it was known to my friend that the striped maple grew in great plenty. it has been stated already, that the moose are particularly fond of these trees, and there we would be most likely to fall in with them. "the striped maple is a beautiful deciduous little tree or shrub, growing to the height of a dozen feet or so in its natural _habitat_. when cultivated, it often reaches thirty feet. there is one at schonbrunn, near vienna, forty feet high, but this is an exception, and is the largest known. the usual height is ten or twelve feet, and it is more often the underwood of the forest than the forest itself. when thus situated, under the shade of loftier trees, it degenerates almost to the character of a shrub. "the trunk and branches of the striped maple are covered with a smooth green bark, longitudinally marked with light and dark stripes, by which the tree is easily distinguished from others, and from which it takes its name. it has other trivial names in different parts of the country. in new york state, it is called `dogwood;' but improperly so, as the real dogwood (_cornus florida_) is a very different tree. it is known also as `false dogwood,' and `snake-barked maple.' the name `moose-wood' is common among the hunters and frontiers-men for reasons already given. where the striped maple is indigenous, it is one of the first productions that announces the approach of spring. its buds and leaves, when beginning to unfold, are of a roseate hue, and soon change to a yellowish green; the leaves are thick, cordate, rounded at the base, with three sharp lobes at the other extremity, and finely serrated. they are usually four or five inches in length and breadth. the tree flowers in may and june, and its flowers are yellow-green, grouped on long peduncles. the fruit, like all other maples, consists of _samarae_ or `keys;' it is produced in great abundance, and is ripe in september or october. "the wood is white and finely grained; it is sometimes used by cabinet-makers as a substitute for holly, in forming the lines with which they inlay mahogany. "in canada, and those parts of the united states where it grows in great plenty, the farmers in spring turn out their cattle and horses to feed upon its leaves and young shoots, of which these animals are extremely fond; the more so, as it is only in very cold regions that it grows, and the budding of its foliage even precedes the springing of the grass. such is the tree which forms the favourite browsing of the moose. "to return to my narrative. "after we had shuffled about two miles over the snow, my friend and i entered a tract of heavy timber, where the striped maple formed the underwood. it did not grow regularly, but in copses or small thickets. we had already started some small game, but declined following it, as we were bent only on a moose-chase. "we soon fell in with signs that indicated the propinquity of the animals we were in search of. in several of the thickets, the maples were stripped of their twigs and bark, but this had been done previous to the falling of the snow. as yet, there were no tracks: we were not long, however, before this welcome indication was met with. on crossing a glade where there was but little snow, the prints of a great split hoof were seen, which my friend at once pronounced to be those of the moose. "we followed this trail for some distance, until it led into deeper snow and a more retired part of the forest. the tracks were evidently fresh ones, and those, as my friend asserted, of an old bull. "half-a-mile farther on, they were joined by others; and the trail became a broken path through the deep snow, as if it had been made by farm-cattle following each other in single file. four moose had passed, as my friend--skilled in woodcraft--confidently asserted, although i could not have told that from the appearance of the trail. he went still farther in his `reckoning,' and stated that they were a bull, a cow, and two nine-months' calves. "`you shall soon see,' he said, perceiving that i was somewhat incredulous. `look here!' he continued, bending down and pressing the broken snow with his fingers; `they are quite fresh--made within the hour. speak low--the cattle can't be far off. yonder, as i live! yonder they are--hush!' "my friend, as he spoke, pointed to a thicket about three hundred yards distant; i looked in that direction, but at first could perceive nothing more than the thickly-growing branches of the maples. "after a moment, however, i could trace among the twigs the long dark outlines of a strange animal's back, with a huge pair of palmated horns rising above the underwood. it was the bull-moose--there was no mistaking him for any other creature. near him other forms--three of them--were visible: these were of smaller stature, and i could see that they were hornless. they were the cow and calves; and the herd was made up, as my companion had foretold, of these four individuals. "we had halted on the moment, each of us holding one of the dogs, and endeavouring to quiet them, as they already scented the game. we soon saw that it was of no use remaining where we were, as the herd was fully three hundred yards from us, far beyond the reach of even our heavy deer-guns. "it would be of no use either to attempt stealing forward. there was no cover that would effectually conceal us, for the timber around was not large, and we could not, therefore, make shift with the tree-trunks. "there was no other mode, then, but to let the dogs free of their leashes, and dash right forward. we knew we should not get a shot until after a run; but this would not be long, thought we, as the snow was in perfect order for our purpose. "our dogs were therefore unleashed, and went off with a simultaneous `gowl,' while my friend and i followed as fast as we could. "the first note of the deer-hounds was a signal for the herd, and we could hear their huge bodies crashing through the underwood, as they started away. "they ran across some open ground, evidently with the intention of gaining the heavy timber beyond. on this ground there was but little snow; and as we came out through the thicket we had a full view of the noble game. the old bull was in the lead, followed by the others in a string. i observed that none of them galloped--a gait they rarely practise--but all went in a shambling trot, which, however, was a very fast one, equal to the speed of a horse. they carried their heads horizontally, with their muzzles directed forward, while the huge antlers of the bull leaned back upon his shoulders as he ran. another peculiarity that struck me--the divisions of their great split hoofs, as they lifted them from the ground, met with a cracking sound, like the bursting of percussion-caps; and the four together rattled as they ran, as though a string of christmas crackers had been touched off. i have often heard a similar cracking from the hoofs of farm-cattle; but with so many hoofs together, keeping up the fire incessantly, it produced a very odd impression upon me. "in a short time they were out of sight, but we could hear the baying of the dogs as the latter closed upon them, and we followed, guided by the trail they had made. "we had skated along for nearly a mile, when the howl of the hounds began to sound through the woods with more abrupt and fiercer echoes. we knew by this that the moose had been brought to bay, and we hurried forward, eager to have a shot. "on arriving at the place, we found that only the old bull had made stand, and he was successfully engaged in keeping off the dogs, both with feet and horns. the others had gone forward, and were out of view. "the bull, on seeing us approach, once more took the trot, and, followed by the dogs, was soon out of sight. "on reaching the spot where he had made his temporary halt, we found that his trail there parted from that of the other three, as he had taken almost an opposite direction. whether he had done so considerately, in order to lead the dogs away from his weaker companions, i know not; perhaps our sudden appearance had terrified him into confusion, and he had struck out without looking before him. "we did not reflect on these points at the time. my friend, who probably was thinking more about the meat than the sport, without halting a moment, followed the trail of the cow and calves; while i, guided by different motives, took after the bull. i was in too great a hurry to heed some admonitions which were given by my friend as we parted company. as our trails separated, i heard him shouting to me to mind what i was about; but the courses we followed soon carried us beyond earshot or sight of each other. "i followed the chase about half a mile farther, guided by the tracks, as well as by the baying of the hounds. again this assumed the fierce angry tone that denoted a battle going on between the dogs and the deer. "as i neared the spot, the voices of the former seemed to grow feebler; then there was a continued howling, as if the hounds were being roughly handled, and one of them i noticed was altogether silent. "on arriving on the scene, which i did soon after, i learned the cause of this change of tune. one of the dogs met me running back on the trail on three legs only, and woefully mangled. the moose was standing in a snow-pit, which had been trodden out by the animals while battling, and near his feet lay the other dog, mutilated in a most fearful manner, and evidently quite dead. the bull, in his rage, still continued to assail the dead body of the hound, rising and pouncing down upon it with his fore-hoofs until the ribs cracked under the concussion! "on seeing me, he again struck into the snow, and made off; i saw, however, that his limbs were much lacerated by the frozen crust, and that he ran slowly, leaving red tracks behind him. "i did not stop by the dogs--one being dead, and the survivor but little better--but kept on after the game. "we had now got into a tract where the snow lay of more than usual depth, and my snow-shoes enabled me to skim along faster than the moose himself, that i could easily perceive was growing feebler at every plunge. i saw that i was gaining upon him, and would soon be alongside. the woods through which we were passing were pretty open, and i could note every movement of the chase. "i had got within a hundred yards of him, and was thinking of firing at him as he ran, when all at once he came to a stop, and wheeling suddenly round, stood facing me. his huge antlers were thrown back until they touched his withers; his mane stood erect; all the hair upon his body seemed to bristle forward; and his whole attitude was one of rage and defiance: he was altogether as formidable-looking an enemy as it had ever been my lot to encounter. "my first thought, on getting near enough, was to raise my rifle and fire, which i did. i aimed for his chest, that was fair before me; but i shot wide, partly because my fingers were numbed with cold, and partly because the sun at the moment flashed in my eyes as i glanced along the barrel. i hit the moose, however, but in a part that was not mortal--in the shoulder. "the shot enraged him, and without waiting for me to re-load, he dashed madly forward and towards me; a few plunges brought him up, and i had no resource but to get behind a tree. "fortunately there were some large pines in the neighbourhood, and behind one of these i took shelter--not, however, before the enraged animal had almost impaled me upon his antlers. as i slipped behind the trunk, he was following me so close that his horns came in contact with the tree, causing it to vibrate by the terrific shock. he himself drew back a pace or two, and then stopped and stood fast, eyeing the tree with sullen rage; his eyes glared, and his long stiff hair seemed to quiver as he threatened. "in the hope that he would allow me time, i again bethought me of re-loading my gun. what was my chagrin to find that i had not a grain of powder about me! my friend and i had started with but one powder-flask, and that he had carried with him. my gun was as useless as a bar of iron. "what was to be done? i dared not, approach the bull with my knife: my life would not have been worth five minutes' purchase. his horns and great sharp hoofs were weapons superior to mine. he might throw me down at the first outset, gore me to death, or trample me in the snow. i dared not risk such an encounter. "after reflecting for some time, i concluded that it would be wiser for me to leave the moose where he was, and take the back track without him. but how was i to get away from the spot? i was still behind the tree, and the enraged bull was within three feet of it on the other side, without showing any symptoms of retiring. should i step either to one side or the other, he would launch himself upon me, and the result would be my certain destruction. "i now began to perceive that i was in a fix--regularly `treed,' in fact; and the knowledge was anything but cheering. i did not know how long i might be kept so; perhaps the moose might not leave me at all, or until hunger had done its work. the wound i had given him had certainly rendered him desperate and vengeful, and he appeared as if determined to protract the siege indefinitely. "after remaining nearly an hour in this situation, i began to grow angry and impatient. i had shouted to frighten the bull, but to no purpose; i had shouted, and at the top of my voice, in hopes that i might be heard by my friend, but there was no response except the echoes of my own voice borne hoarsely through the aisles of the winter forest. i grew impatient of my odd captivity, and determined to stand it no longer. "on stealing a glance behind me, i perceived a tree as large as the one which sheltered me. i resolved to make for that one, as it would at least not render my situation worse should i reach it in safety. this i effected, but not without having my speed put to the test, for the moose followed so close as almost to touch me with his brow-antlers. once behind this new tree, i was no better off than before, except that it brought me some twenty paces nearer home. the moose--still stood in front of me only a few feet distant, and threatening as fiercely as ever. "after waiting some minutes for my breath, i selected a third tree in the right direction, and made for it in a similar manner, the moose following as before. "another rest and another run brought me behind a fresh tree, and another and another, until i must have made a full mile through the woods, still followed by my implacable and untiring enemy. i knew, however, that i was going homeward, for i guided myself by the trail which we had made in the chase. "i was in hopes that i might make the whole back-journey in this way, when all at once i perceived that the heavy timber came to an end, and a wide, almost open tract intersected the country, over this the trees were small stunted pines, far apart, and offering no hope of shelter from my relentless persecutor. "i had no alternative now but to remain where i was, and await the arrival of my friend, who, i presumed, would come after me as soon as he had finished his own hunt. "with this dubious hope, i kept my stand, although i was ready to drop with fatigue. to add to my misery, it commenced snowing. i saw this with feelings akin to terror, for i knew that the snow would soon blind the trail; and how, then, was my friend to follow it, and find me? the bull still stood before me in the same threatening attitude, occasionally snorting, striking the ground with his hoofs, and ready to spring after me whenever i should move. ever as i changed the attitude of my body, he would start forward again, until i could almost touch him with the muzzle of my gun. "these manoeuvres on his part suggested to me an experiment, and i wondered that i had not thought of it before. i was not long in resolving to carry it out. i was armed with a stout hunting-knife, a bowie; it was pointed as sharp as a needle; and could i only have ventured near enough to the bull, i would soon have settled the dispute with him. the idea now occurred to me of converting my bowie into a lance by splicing it upon the barrel of my gun. with this i had hopes of being able to reach my powerful assailant without coming within range either of his hoofs or horns. "the lance was soon made, a pair of buckskin gaiters which i wore furnished me with thongs. my gun happened to be a long rifle; and the knife, spliced firmly to the muzzle, rendered it a formidable weapon, so that in a few minutes i stood in a better attitude than i had assumed for hours before. "the affair soon came to an issue. as i had anticipated, by showing myself a little to one side of the tree, the bull sprang forward, and i was enabled, by a dexterous thrust, to plant the knife between his ribs. it entered his heart, and the next moment i saw him rolling over, and kicking the crimsoned snow around him in the struggles of death. "i had scarcely completed my victory, when a loud whoop sounded in my ears, and looking up, i saw my friend making towards me across the open ground. he had completed his chase, having killed all three, cut them up, and hung their meat upon the trees, to be sent for on our return to the house. "by his aid the bull was disposed of in a similar manner; and being now satisfied with our day's sport--though my friend very much regretted the loss of his fine dog--we commenced shuffling homeward." chapter twenty nine. the prairie-wolf and wolf-killer. after crossing the marais de cygnes river the country became much more open. there was a mixture of timber and prairie-land--the latter, however, constantly gaining the ascendancy as we advanced farther west. the openings became larger, until they assumed the appearance of vast meadows, inclosed by groves, that at a distance resembled great hedges. now and then there were copses that stood apart from the larger tracts of forests, looking like islands upon the surface of a green sea, and by the name of "islands" these detached groves are known among the hunters and other denizens of prairie-land. sometimes the surface was undulating or, as it is there termed, "rolling," and our road was varied, ascending or descending, as we crossed the gentle declivities. the timber through which we had up to this time been passing consisted of ash, burr oak, black walnut, chestnut oak, buck eye, the american elm, hickory, hackberry, sumach, and, in low moist places, the sycamore, and long-leaved willow. these trees, with many others, form the principal growth of the large forests, upon the banks of the mississippi, both cast and west. as we advanced westward, besancon called our attention to the fact, that all these kinds of timber, one by one, disappeared from the landscape, and in their place a single species alone made up the larger growth of the forest. this was the celebrated "cotton-wood," a species of poplar (_populus angulatus_). i say celebrated, because, being almost the only tree of large size which is found throughout the region of the great plains, it is well-known to all hunters and prairie travellers, who regard it with a peculiar veneration. a grove of cotton-wood is always a glad sight to those who traverse the limitless levels of the prairie. it promises shelter from the wind or sun, wood for the camp-fire, and, above all, water to slake the thirst. as the ocean mariner regards the sight of the welcome port, with similar feelings of joy the mariner of the "prairie-sea" beholds, over the broad waste, the silvery foliage of the cotton-wood grove, regarding it as his temporary home--his place of rest and refuge. after travelling through hundreds of small prairies, separated from each other by groves of cotton-wood, we arrived at a high point on the waters of the "little osage," another tributary of the larger river of that name. as yet we had met with no traces of the buffalo, and were beginning to doubt the correctness of the information we had received at saint louis, when we fell in with a band of kansas indians--a friendly tribe--who received us in the most courteous manner. from them we learned that the buffalo had been upon the little osage at an earlier period in that same year, but that harassed and decimated by their own hunters, they had roamed much farther west, and were now supposed to be on the other side of the "neosho," or grand river--a northern tributary of the arkansas. this was anything but pleasant news. we should have at least another hundred miles to travel before coming up with our game; but there was no thought of going back, until we had done so. no. one and all declared that rather than give up the object of our expedition, we would travel on to the rocky mountains themselves, risking the chances of being scalped by hostile indians. there was a good deal of bravado in this, it is true; but we were fully determined that we would not go back without our buffalo-hunt. thanking our kansas friends for their courtesy, we parted from them, and headed westward for the neosho. as we proceeded, timber became scarce, until at length it was found only on the banks of streams widely distant from each other. sometimes not a tree was in sight for the whole day's journey. we were now fairly on the prairies. we crossed the neosho at length--still no buffalo. we kept on, and crossed several other large streams, all flowing south-eastwardly to the arkansas. still no buffalo. we began to yearn exceedingly for a sight of the great game. the few deer that were killed from time to time offered us but poor sport, and their meat was not sufficient for our supply. of bacon we were heartily tired, and we longed for fresh buffalo-beef. the praises lavished by our guides upon the delicacy of this viand-their talk over the camp-fire, about "fat cow" and "_boudins_" and "hump-ribs," quite tantalised our palates, and we were all eager to try our teeth upon these vaunted tit-bits. no buffalo appeared yet, and we were forced to chew our bacon, as well as our impatience, for several days longer. a great change now took place in the appearance of the country. the timber became still more scarce, and the soil drier and more sandy. species of cactus (_opuntia_) appeared along the route, with several other plants new to the eyes of most of us, and which to those of besancon were objects of extreme interest. but that which most gratified us was the appearance of a new herbage, different entirely from what we had been passing over, and this was hailed by our guides with exclamations of joy. it was the celebrated "buffalo grass." the trappers declared we should not have much farther to go until we found the buffaloes themselves, for, wherever this grass existed in plenty, the buffalo, unless driven off by hunting, were sure to be found. the buffalo grass is a short grass, not more than a few inches in height, with crooked and pointed culms, often throwing out suckers that root again, and produce other leaves and culms, and in this way form a tolerably thick sward. when in flower or seed, it is headed by numerous spikes of half an inch in length, and on these the spikelets are regular and two rowed. it is a species of _sesleria_ (_sesleria dactyloides_), but besancon informed us that it possesses characters that cause it to differ from the genus, and to resemble the _chondrosium_. the buffalo grass is not to be confounded with, another celebrated grass of the texan and north mexican prairies, the "gramma" of the spaniards. this last is a true chondrosium, and there are several species of it. the _chondrosium foeneum_ is one of the finest fodders in the world for the food of cattle, almost equal to unthrashed oats. the buffalo grass forms the favourite and principal fodder of the buffaloes whenever it is in season, and these animals roam over the prairies in search of it. of course with this knowledge we were now on the _qui vive_. at every new rise that we made over the swells of the prairie our eyes were busy, and swept the surface on every side of us, and in the course of a few days we encountered several false alarms. there is an hallucination peculiar to the clear atmosphere of these regions. objects are not only magnified, but frequently distorted in their outlines, and it is only an old hunter that knows a buffalo when he sees one. brothers a bush is often taken for a wild bull, and with us a brace of carrion crows, seated upon the crest of a ridge, were actually thought to be buffaloes, until they suddenly took wing and rose into the air, thus dispelling the illusion! long before this time we had encountered that well-known animal of the great plains--the "prairie-wolf,"--(_lupus latrans_). the prairie-wolf inhabits the vast and still unpeopled territories that lie between the mississippi river and the shores of the pacific ocean. its range extends beyond what is strictly termed "the prairies." it is found in the wooded and mountainous ravines of california and the rocky mountain districts. it is common throughout the whole of mexico, where it is known as the "coyote." i have seen numbers of this species on the battle-field, tearing at corpses, as far south as the valley of mexico itself. its name of prairie-wolf is, therefore, in some respects inappropriate, the more so as the larger wolves are also inhabitants of the prairie. no doubt this name was given it, because the animal was first observed in the prairie country west of the mississippi by the early explorers of that region. in the wooded countries east of the great river, the common large wolf only is known. whatever doubt there may be of the many varieties of the large wolf being distinct species, there can be none with regard to the _lupus latrans_. it differs from all the others in size, and in many of its habits. perhaps it more nearly resembles the jackal than any other animal. it is the new world representative of that celebrated creature. in size, it is just midway between the large wolf and fox. with much of the appearance of the former, it combines all the sagacity of the latter. it is usually of a greyish colour, lighter or darker, according to circumstances, and often with a tinge of cinnamon or brown. as regards its cunning, the fox is "but a fool to it." it cannot be trapped. some experiments made for the purpose, show results that throw the theory of instinct quite into the background. it has been known to burrow under a "dead fall," and drag off the bait without springing the trap. the steel-trap it avoids, no matter how concealed; and the cage-trap has been found "no go." farther illustrations of the cunning of the prairie-wolf might be found in its mode of decoying within reach the antelopes and other creatures on which it preys. of course this species is as much fox as wolf, for in reality a small wolf is a fox, and a large fox is a wolf. to the traveller and trapper of the prairie regions, it is a pest. it robs the former of his provisions--often stealing them out of his very tent; it unbaits the traps of the latter, or devours the game already secured in them. it is a constant attendant upon the caravans or travelling-parties that cross prairie-land. a pack of prairie-wolves will follow such a party for hundreds of miles, in order to secure the refuse left at the camps. they usually he down upon the prairie, just out of range of the rifles of the travellers; yet they do not observe this rule always, as they know there is not much danger of being molested. hunters rarely shoot them, not deeming their hides worth having, and not caring to waste a charge upon them. they are more cautious when following a caravan of california emigrants, where there are plenty of "greenhorns" and amateur-hunters ready to fire at anything. prairie-wolves are also constant attendants upon the "gangs" of buffalo. they follow these for hundreds of miles--in fact, the outskirts of the buffalo herd are, for the time being, their home. they he down on the prairie at a short distance from the buffaloes, and wait and watch, in hopes that some of these animals may get disabled or separated from the rest, or with the expectation that a cow with her new-dropped calf may fall into the rear. in such cases, the pack gather round the unfortunate individual, and worry it to death. a wounded or superannuated bull sometimes "falls out," and is attacked. in this case the fight is more desperate, and the bull is sadly mutilated before he can be brought to the ground. several wolves, too, are laid _hors de combat_ during the struggle. the prairie traveller may often look around him without seeing a single wolf; but let him fire off his gun, and, as if by magic, a score of them will suddenly appear. they start from their hiding-places, and rush forward in hopes of sharing in the produce of the shot. at night, they enliven the prairie-camp with their dismal howling, although most travellers would gladly dispense with such music. their note is a bark like that of a terrier-dog repeated three times, and then prolonged into a true wolf's howl. i have heard farm-house dogs utter a very similar bark. from this peculiarity, some naturalists prefer calling them the "barking wolf," and that (_lupus latrans_) is the specific appellation given by say, who first described them. prairie-wolves have all the ferocity of their race, but no creature could be more cowardly. of course no one fears them under ordinary circumstances, but they have been known to make a combined attack upon persons disabled, and in severe weather, when they themselves were rendered unusually savage by hunger, as already stated. but they are not regarded with fear either by traveller or hunter; and the latter disdains to waste his charge upon such worthless game. our guide, ike, was an exception to this rule. he was the only one of his sort that shot prairie-wolves, and he did so "on sight." i believe if it had been the last bullet in his pouch, and an opportunity had offered of sending it into a prairie-wolf, he would have despatched the leaden missile. we asked him how many he had killed in his time. he drew a small notched stick from his "possible sack," and desired us to count the notches upon it. we did so. there were one hundred and forty-five in all. "you have killed one hundred and forty-five, then?" cried we, astonished at the number. "yes, i'deed," replied he, with a quiet chuckle, "that many dozen; for every 'un of them nutches count twelve. i only make a nutch when i've throwed the clur dozen." "a hundred and forty-five dozen!" we repeated in astonishment; and yet i have no doubt of the truth of the trapper's statement, for he had no interest in deceiving us. i am satisfied from what i knew of him, that he had slain the full number stated--one thousand seven hundred and forty! of course we became curious to learn the cause of his antipathy to the prairie-wolves; for we knew he had an antipathy, and it was that that had induced him to commit such wholesale havoc among these creatures. it was from this circumstance he had obtained the soubriquet of "wolf-killer." by careful management, we at last got him upon the edge of the stray, and quietly pushed him into it. he gave it to us as follows:-"wal, strengers, about ten winters agone, i wur travellin' from bent's fort on the arkensaw, to 'laramie on the platte, all alone by myself. i had undertuk the journey on some business for bill bent--no matter now what. "i had crossed the divide, and got within sight o' the black hills, when one night i had to camp out on the open parairy, without either bush or stone to shelter me. "that wur, perhaps, the coldest night this nigger remembers; thur wur a wind kim down from the mountains that wud a froze the bar off an iron dog. i gathered my blanket around me, but that wind whistled through it as if it had been a rail-fence. "'twan't no use lyin' down, for i couldn't a slep, so i sot up. "you may ask why i hadn't a fire? i'll tell you why. fust, thur wan't a stick o' timber within ten mile o' me; and, secondly, if thur had been i dasen't a made a fire. i wur travellin' as bad a bit o' injun ground as could been found in all the country, and i'd seen injun sign two or three times that same day. it's true thur wur a good grist o' buffler-chips about, tol'ably dry, and i mout have made some sort o' a fire out o' that; an' at last i did make a fire arter a fashion. i did it this a way. "seeing that with the cussed cold i wan't agoin' to get a wink o' sleep, i gathered a wheen o' the buffler-chips. i then dug a hole in the ground with my bowie, an' hard pickin' that wur; but i got through the crust at last, and made a sort o' oven about a fut, or a fut and a half deep. at the bottom i laid some dry grass and dead branches o' sage plant, and then settin' it afire, i piled the buffler-chips on top. the thing burnt tol'able well, but the smoke o' the buffler-dung would a-choked a skunk. "as soon as it had got fairly under way, i hunkered, an' sot down over the hole, in sich a position as to catch all the heat under my blanket, an' then i was comf'table enough. of coorse no injun kud see the smoke arter night, an it would a tuk sharp eyes to have sighted the fire, i reckon. "wal, strengers, the critter i rode wur a young mustang colt, about half-broke. i had bought him from a mexikin at bent's only the week afore, and it wur his fust journey, leastwise with me. of coorse i had him on the lariat; but up to this time i had kept the eend o' the rope in my hand, because i had that same day lost my picket pin; an' thinkin' as i wan't agoin' to sleep, i mout as well hold on to it. "by 'm by, however, i begun to feel drowsy. the fire 'atween my legs promised to keep me from freezin', an' i thort i mout as well take a nap. so i tied the lariat round my ankles, sunk my head atween my knees, an' in the twinklin' o' a goat's tail i wur sound. i jest noticed as i wur goin' off, that the mustang wur out some yards, nibbling away at the dry grass o' the parairy. "i guess i must a slep about an hour, or tharabouts--i won't be sartint how long. i only know that i didn't wake o' my own accord. i wur awoke; an' when i did awoke, i still thort i wur a-dreamin'. it would a been a rough dream; but unfort'nately for me, it wan't a dream, but a jenwine reality. "at fust, i cudn't make out what wur the matter wi' me, no how; an' then i thort i wur in the hands o' the injuns, who were draggin' me over the parairy; an' sure enough i wur a draggin' that a way, though not by injuns. once or twice i lay still for jest a second or two, an' then away i went agin, trailin' and bumpin' over the ground, as if i had been tied to the tail o' a gallopin' hoss. all the while there wur a yellin' in my ears as if all the cats an' dogs of creation were arter me. "wal, it wur some time afore i compre'nded what all this rough usage meant. i did at last. the pull upon my ankles gave me the idea. it wur the lariat that wur round them. my mustang had stampedoed, and wur draggin' me at full gallop acrosst the parairy! "the barkin', an' howlin', an' yelpin' i heerd, wur a pack o' parairy-wolves. half-famished, they had attacked the mustang, and started him. "all this kim into my mind at once. you'll say it wur easy to lay hold on the rope, an' stop the hoss. so it mout appear; but i kin tell you that it ain't so easy a thing. it wan't so to me. my ankles wur in a noose, an' wur drawed clost together. of coorse, while i wur movin' along, i couldn't get to my feet; an' whenever the mustang kim to a halt, an' i had half gathered myself, afore i laid reach the rope, away went the critter agin, flingin' me to the ground at full length. another thing hindered me. afore goin' to sleep, i had put my blanket on mexikin-fashion--that is, wi' my head through a slit in the centre-an' as the drag begun, the blanket flopped about my face, an' half-smothered me. prehaps, however, an' i thort so arterwurd, that blanket saved me many a scratch, although it bamfoozled me a good bit. "i got the blanket off at last, arter i had made about a mile, i reckon, and then for the fust time i could see about me. such a sight! the moon wur up, an' i kud see that the ground wur white with snow. it had snowed while i wur asleep; but that wan't the sight--the sight war, that clost up an' around me the hul parairy wur kivered with wolves--cussed parairy-wolves! i kud see their long tongues lollin' out, an' the smoke steamin' from their open mouths. "bein' now no longer hampered by the blanket, i made the best use i could o' my arms. twice i got hold o' the lariat, but afore i kud set myself to pull up the runnin' hoss, it wur jerked out o' my hand agin. "somehow or other, i had got clutch o' my bowie, and at the next opportunity i made a cut at the rope, and heerd the clean `snig' o' the knife. arter that i lay quiet on the parairy, an' i b'lieve i kinder sort o' fainted. "'twan't a long faint no how; for when i got over it, i kud see the mustang about a half a mile off, still runnin' as fast as his legs could carry him, an' most of the wolves howlin' arter him. a few of these critters had gathered about me, but gettin' to my feet, i made a dash among them wi' the shinin' bowie, an' sent them every which way, i reckon. "i watched the mustang until he wur clur out o' sight, an' then i wur puzzled what to do. fust, i went back for my blanket, which i soon rekivered, an' then i follered the back track to get my gun an' other traps whur i had camped. the trail wur easy, on account o' the snow, an' i kud see whur i had slipped through it all the way. "having got my possibles, i then tuk arter the mustang, and follered for at least ten miles on his tracks, but i never see'd that, mustang agin. whether the wolves hunted him down or not, i can't say, nor i don't care if they did, the scarey brute! i see'd their feet all the way arter him in the snow, and i know'd it wur no use follering further. it wur plain i wur put down on the parairy, so i bundled my possibles, and turned head for laramies afoot. i had a three days' walk o' it, and prehaps i didn't cuss a few! "i wur right bad used. thur wan't a bone in my body that didn't ache, as if i had been passed through a sugar-mill; and my clothes and skin were torn consid'ably. it mout a been wuss but for the blanket an' the sprinkle o' snow that made the ground a leetle slickerer. "howsomever, i got safe to the fort, whur i wur soon rigged out in a fresh suit o' buckskin an' a hoss. "but i never arterward see'd a parairy-wolf within range o' my rifle, that i didn't let it into him, an' as you see, i've throwed a good wheen in their tracks since then. wagh! hain't i, mark?" chapter thirty. hunting the tapir. at one of our prairie-camps our english comrade furnished us with the following account of that strange creature, the tapir. "no one who has turned over the pages of a picture-book of mammalia will be likely to forget the odd-looking animal known as the tapir. its long proboscis-like snout, its stiff-maned neck, and clumsy hog-like body, render the _tout ensemble_ of this creature so peculiar, that there is no mistaking it for any other animal. "when full-grown, the tapir, or anta, as it is sometimes called, is six feet in length by four in height--its weight being nearly equal to that of a small bullock. its teeth resemble those of the horse; but instead of hoofs, its feet are toed--the fore ones having four toes, while the hind-feet have only three each. the eyes are small and lateral, while the ears are large and pointed. the skin is thick, somewhat like that of the hippopotamus, with a very thin scattering of silky hairs over it; but along the ridge of the neck, and upon the short tail, the hairs are longer and more profuse. the upper jaw protrudes far beyond the extremity of the under one. it is, moreover, highly prehensile, and enables the tapir to seize the roots upon which it feeds with greater ease. in fact, it plays the part of the elephant's proboscis to a limited degree. "although the largest quadruped indigenous to south america, the tapir is not very well-known to naturalists. its haunts are far beyond the borders of civilisation. it is, moreover, a shy and solitary creature, and its active life is mostly nocturnal; hence no great opportunity is offered for observing its habits. the chapter of its natural history is therefore a short one. "the tapir is an inhabitant of the tropical countries of america, dwelling near the banks of rivers and marshy lagoons. it is the american representative of the rhinoceros and hippopotamus, or, more properly, of the _maiba_, or indian tapir (_tapirus indicus_) of sumatra, which has but lately become known to naturalists. the latter, in fact, is a near congener, and very much, resembles the tapir of south america. "the tapir is amphibious--that is, it frequents the water, can swim and dive well, and generally seeks its food in the water or the soft marshy sedge; but when in repose, it is a land animal, making its haunt in thick coverts of the woods, and selecting a dry spot for its lair. here it will remain couched and asleep during the greater part of the day. at nightfall, it steals forth, and following an old and well-used path, it approaches the bank of some river, and plunging in, swims off in search of its food--the roots and stems of several species of water-plants. in this business it occupies most of the hours of darkness; but at daybreak, it swims back to the place where it entered the water, and going out, takes the `backtrack' to its lair, where it sleeps until sunset again warns it forth. "sometimes during rain, it leaves its den even at midday. on such occasions, it proceeds to the river or the adjacent swamp, where it delights to wallow in the mud, after the manner of hogs, and often for hours together. unlike the hog, however, the tapir is a cleanly animal. after wallowing, it never returns to its den until it has first plunged into the clear water, and washed the mud thoroughly from its skin. "it usually travels at a trot, but when hard pressed it can gallop. its gallop is peculiar. the fore-legs are thrown far in advance, and the head is carried between them in a very awkward manner, somewhat after the fashion of a frolicsome donkey. "the tapir is strictly a vegetable feeder. it lives upon flags and roots of aquatic plants. several kinds of fruits, and young succulent branches of trees, form a portion of its food. "it is a shy, timid animal, without any malice in its character; and although possessed of great strength, never uses it except for defence, and then only in endeavours to escape. it frequently suffers itself to be killed without making any defence, although with its great strength and well-furnished jaws it might do serious hurt to an enemy. "the hunt of the tapir is one of the amusements, or rather employments, of the south-american indians. not that the flesh of this animal is so eagerly desired by them: on the contrary, it is dry, and has a disagreeable taste, and there are some tribes who will not eat of it, preferring the flesh of monkeys, macaws, and the armadillo. but the part most prized is the thick, tough skin, which is employed by the indians in making shields, sandals, and various other articles. this is the more valuable in a country where the thick-skinned and leather-yielding mammalia are almost unknown. "slaying the tapir is no easy matter. the creature is shy; and, having the advantage of the watery clement, is often enabled to dive beyond the reach of pursuit, and thus escape by concealing itself. among most of the native tribes of south america, the young hunter who has killed a tapir is looked upon as having achieved something to be proud of. "the tapir is hunted by bow and arrow, or by the gun. sometimes the `gravatana,' or blow-tube, is employed, with its poisoned darts. in any case, the hunter either lies in wait for his prey, or with a pack of dogs drives it out of the underwood, and takes the chances of a `flying shot.' "when the trail of a tapir has been discovered, its capture becomes easy. it is well-known to the hunter that this animal, when proceeding from its lair to the water and returning, always follows its old track until a beaten-path is made, which is easily discernible. "this path often betrays the tapir, and leads to its destruction. "sometimes the hunter accomplishes this by means of a pitfall, covered with branches and palm-leaves; at other times, he places himself in ambuscade, either before twilight or in the early morning, and shoots the unsuspecting animal as it approaches on its daily round. "sometimes, when the whereabouts of a tapir has been discovered, a whole tribe sally out, and take part in the hunt. such a hunt i myself witnessed on one of the tributaries of the amazon. "in the year 18--, i paid a visit to the jurunas up the xingu. their _malaccas_ (palm-hut villages) lie beyond the falls of that river. although classed as `wild indians,' the jurunas are a mild race, friendly to the traders, and collect during a season considerable quantities of _seringa_ (indian-rubber), sarsaparilla, as well as rare birds, monkeys, and brazil-nuts--the objects of portuguese trade. "i was about to start back for para, when nothing would serve the _tuxava_, or chief of one of the maloccas, but that i should stay a day or two at his village, and take part in some festivities. he promised a tapir-hunt. "as i knew that among the jurunas were some skilled hunters, and as i was curious to witness an affair of this kind, i consented. the hunt was to come off on the second day of my stay. "the morning arrived, and the hunters assembled, to the number of forty or fifty, in an open space by the malocca; and having got their arms and equipments in readiness, all repaired to the _praya_, or narrow beach of sand, which separated the river from the thick underwood of the forest. here some twenty or thirty _ubas_ (canoes hollowed out of tree-trunks) floated on the water, ready to receive the hunters. they were of different sizes; some capable of containing half a dozen, while others were meant to carry only a single person. "in a few minutes the ubas were freighted with their living cargoes, consisting not only of the hunters, but of most of the women and boys of the malocca, with a score or two of dogs. "these dogs were curious creatures to look at. a stranger, ignorant of the customs of the jurunas, would have been at some loss to account for the peculiarity of their colour. such dogs i had never seen before. some were of a bright scarlet, others were yellow, others blue, and some mottled with a variety of tints! "what could it mean? but i knew well enough. _the dogs were dyed_! "yes, it is the custom among many tribes of south-american indians to dye not only their own bodies, but the hairy coat of their dogs, with brilliant colours obtained from vegetable juices, such as the huitoc, the yellow raucau (_annato_), and the blue of the wild indigo. the light grey, often white, hair of these animals favours the staining process; and the effect produced pleases the eye of their savage masters. "on my eye the effect was strange and fantastical. i could not restrain my laughter when i first scanned these curs in their fanciful coats. picture to yourself a pack of scarlet, and orange, and purple dogs! "well, we were soon in the ubas, and paddling up-stream. the tuxava and i occupied a canoe to ourselves. his only arms were a light fusil, which i had given him as a present. it was a good piece, and he was proud of it. this was to be its first trial. i had a rifle for my own weapon. the rest were armed variously: some had guns, others the native bow and arrows; some carried the gravatana, with arrows dipped in curari poison; some had nothing but machetes, or cutlasses--for clearing the underwood, in case the game had to be driven from the thickets. "there was a part of the river, some two or three miles above the malocca, where the channel was wider than elsewhere--several miles in breadth at this place. here it was studded with islands, known to be a favourite resort of the tapirs. this was to be the scene of our hunt. "we approached the place in about an hour; but on the way i could not help being struck with the picturesqueness of our party. no `meet' in the hunting-field of civilised countries could have equalled us in that respect. the ubas, strung out in a long irregular line, sprang up-stream in obedience to the vigorous strokes of the rowers, and these sang in a sort of irregular concert as they plied their paddles. the songs were improvised: they told the feats of the hunters already performed, and promised others yet to be done. i could hear the word `tapira' (tapir), often repeated. the women lent their shrill voices to the chorus; and now and then interrupted the song with peals of merry laughter. the strange-looking flotilla--the bronzed bodies of the indians, more than half nude--their waving black hair--their blue-head belts and red cotton armlets--the bright _tangas_ (aprons) of the women--their massive necklaces--the macaw feathers adorning the heads of the hunters--their odd arms and equipments--all combined to form a picture which, even to me, accustomed to such sights, was full of interest. "at length we arrived among the islands, and then the noises ceased. the canoes were paddled as slowly and silently as possible. "i now began to understand the plan of the hunt. it was first to discover an island upon which a tapir was supposed to be, and then encompass it with the hunters in their canoes, while a party landed with the dogs, to arouse the game and drive it toward the water. "this plan promised fair sport. "the canoes now separated; and in a short while each of them were seen coursing quietly along the edge of some islet, one of its occupants leaning inward, and scrutinising the narrow belt of sand that bordered the water. "in some places no such sand-belt appeared. the trees hung over, their branches even dipping into the current, and forming a roofed and dark passage underneath. in such places a tapir could have hidden himself from the sharpest-eyed hunters, and herein lies the chief difficulty of this kind of hunt. "it was not long before a low whistle was heard from one of the ubas, a sign for the others to come up. the traces of a tapir had been discovered. "the chief, with a stroke or two of his palm-wood paddle, brought our canoe to the spot. "there, sure enough, was the sign--the tracks of a tapir in the sand-leading to a hole in the thick underwood, where a beaten-path appeared to continue onward into the interior of the island, perhaps to the tapir-den. the tracks were fresh--had been made that morning in the wet sand--no doubt the creature was in its lair. "the island was a small one, with some five or six acres of surface. the canoes shot off in different directions, and in a few minutes were deployed all around it. at a given signal, several hunters leaped ashore, followed by their bright-coloured assistants--the dogs; and then the chopping of branches, the shouts of the men, and the yelping of their canine companions, were all heard mingling together. "the island was densely wooded. the _uaussu_ and _piriti_ palms grew so thickly, that their crowned heads touched each other, forming a close roof. above these, rose the taller summits of the great forest trees, _cedrelas, zamangs_, and the beautiful long-leaved silk-cotton (_bombax_); but beneath, a perfect net-work of sipos or creepers and llianas choked up the path, and the hunters had to clear every step of the way with their machetes. even the dogs, with all their eagerness, could make only a slow and tortuous advance among the thorny vines of the smilax, and the sharp spines that covered the trunks of the palms. "in the circle of canoes that surrounded the island, there was perfect silence; each had a spot to guard, and each hunter sat, with arms ready, and eyes keenly fixed on the foliage of the underwood opposite his station. "the uba of the chief had remained to watch the path where the tracks of the tapir had been observed. we both sat with guns cocked and ready; the dogs and hunters were distinctly heard in the bushes approaching the centre of the islet. the former gave tongue at intervals, but their yelping grew louder, and was uttered with a fiercer accent. several of them barked at once, and a rushing was heard towards the water. "it came in our direction, but not right for us; still the game was likely to issue at a point within range of our guns. a stroke of the paddle brought us into a better position. at the same time several other canoes were seen shooting forward to the spot. "the underwood crackled and shook; reddish forms appeared among the leaves; and the next moment a dozen animals, resembling a flock of hogs, tumbled out from the thicket, and flung themselves with a splashing into the water. "`no--tapir no--capivara,' cried the chief; but his voice was drowned by the reports of guns and the twanging of bowstrings. half a dozen of the capivaras were observed to fall on the sandy margin, while the rest plunged forward, and, diving beyond the reach of pursuit, were seen no more. "this was a splendid beginning of the day's sport; for half a dozen at a single volley was no mean game, even among indians. "but the nobler beast, the tapir, occupied all our thoughts; and leaving the capivaras to be gathered in by the women, the hunters got back to their posts in a few seconds. "there was no doubt that a tapir would be roused. the island had all the appearance of being the haunt of one or more of these creatures, besides the tracks were evidence of their recent presence upon the spot. the beating, therefore, proceeded as lively as ever, and the hunters and dogs now penetrated to the centre of the thicket. "again the quick angry yelping of the latter fell upon the ear; and again the thick cover rustled and shook. "`this time the tapir,' said the chief to me in an undertone, adding the next moment in a louder voice, `look yonder!' "i looked in the direction pointed out. i could perceive something in motion among the leaves--a dark brown body, smooth and rounded, the body of a tapir! "i caught only a glimpse of it, as it sprang forward into the opening. it was coming at full gallop, with its head carried between its knees. the dogs were close after, and it looked not before it, but dashed out and ran towards us as though blind. "it made for the water, just a few feet from the bow of our canoe. the chief and i fired at the same time. i thought my bullet took effect, and so thought the chief did his; but the tapir, seeming not to heed the shots, plunged into the stream, and went under. "the next moment the whole string of dyed dogs came sweeping out of the thicket, and leaped forward to where the game had disappeared. "there was blood upon the water. the tapir is hit, then, thought i; and was about to point out the blood to the chief, when on turning i saw the latter poising himself knife in hand, near the stern of the canoe. he was about to spring out of it. his eye was fixed on some object under the water. "i looked in the same direction. the waters of the xingu are as clear as crystal: against the sandy bottom, i could trace the dark brown body of the tapir. it was making for the deeper channel of the river, but evidently dragging itself along with difficulty. one of its legs was disabled by our shots. "i had scarcely time to get a good view of it before the chief sprang into the air, and dropped head foremost into the water. i could see a struggle going on at the bottom--turbid water came to the surface--and then up came the dark head of the savage chief. "`ugh!' cried he, as he shook the water from his thick tresses, and beckoned me to assist him--`ugh! senhor, you eat roast tapir for dinner. si--bueno--here tapir.' "i pulled him into the boat, and afterwards assisted to haul up the huge body of the slain tapir. "as was now seen, both our shots had taken effect; but it was the rifle-bullet that had broken the creature's leg, and the generous savage acknowledged that he would have had but little chance of overtaking the game under water, had it not been previously crippled. "the hunt of the day proved a very successful one. two more tapirs were killed; several capivaras; and a paca--which is an animal much prized by the indians for its flesh, as well as the teeth--used by them in making their blow-guns. we also obtained a pair of the small peccaries, several macaws, and no less than a whole troop of guariba monkeys. we returned to the malocca with a game-bag as various as it was full, and a grand dance of the juruna women wound up the amusements of the day." chapter thirty one. the buffaloes at last. the long looked for day at length arrived when the game were to be met with, and i had myself the "distinguished honour" of being the first not only to see the great buffalo, but to throw a couple of them "in their tracks." this incident, however, was not without an "adventure," and one that was neither very pleasant nor without peril. during several late days of our journey we had been in the habit of straggling a good deal in search of game--deer if we could find it, but more especially in hopes of falling in with the buffalo. sometimes we went in twos or threes, but as often one of the party rode off alone to hunt wherever his inclination guided him. sometimes these solitary expeditions took place while the party was on the march, but oftener during the hours after we had pitched our night-camp. one evening, after we had camped as usual, and my brave horse had eaten his "bite" of corn, i leaped into the saddle and rode off in hopes of finding something fresh for supper. the prairie where we had halted was a "rolling" one, and as the camp had been fixed on a small stream, between two great swells, it was not visible at any great distance. as soon, therefore, as i had crossed one of the ridges, i was out of sight of my companions. trusting to the sky for my direction, i continued on. after riding about a mile, i came upon buffalo "sign," consisting of several circular holes in the ground, five or six feet in diameter, known as buffalo wallows i saw at a glance that the sign was fresh. there were several wallows; and i could tell by the tracks, in the dusk, there had been bulls in that quarter. so i continued on in hopes of getting a sight of the animals that had been wallowing. shortly after, i came to a place where the ground was ploughed up, as if a drove of hogs had been rooting it. here there had been a terrible fight among the bulls--it was the rutting season, when such conflicts occur. this augured well. perhaps they are still in the neighbourhood, reasoned i, as i gave the spur to my horse, and galloped forward with more spirit. i had ridden full five miles from camp, when my attention was attracted by an odd noise ahead of me. there was a ridge in front that prevented me from seeing what produced the noise; but i knew what it was--it was the bellowing of a buffalo-bull. at intervals, there were quick shocks, as of two hard substances coming in violent contact with each other. i mounted the ridge with caution, and looked over its crest. there was a valley beyond; a cloud of dust was rising out of its bottom, and in the midst of this i could distinguish two huge forms--dark and hirsute. i saw at once that they were a pair of buffalo-bulls engaged in a fierce fight. they were alone; there were no others in sight, either in the valley or on the prairie beyond. i did not halt longer than to see that the cap was on my rifle, and to cock the piece. occupied as the animals were, i did not imagine they would heed me: or, if they should attempt flight, i knew i could easily overtake one or other; so, without farther hesitation or precaution, i rode towards them. contrary to my expectation, they both "winded" me, and started off. the wind was blowing freshly towards them, and the sun had thrown my shadow between them, so as to draw their attention. they did not run, however, as if badly scared; on the contrary, they went off, apparently indignant at being disturbed in their fight; and every now and then both came round with short turnings, snorted, and struck the prairie with their hoofs in a violent and angry manner. once or twice, i fancied they were going to charge upon me; and had i been otherwise than well mounted, i should have been very chary of risking such an encounter. a more formidable pair of antagonists, as far as appearance went, could not have been well conceived. their huge size, their shaggy fronts, and fierce glaring eyeballs, gave them a wild and malicious seeming, which was heightened by their bellowing, and the threatening attitudes in which they continually placed themselves. feeling quite safe in my saddle, i galloped up to the nearest, and sent my bullet into his ribs. it did the work. he fell to his knees--rose again--spread out his legs, as if to prevent a second fall--rocked from side to side like a cradle--again came to his knees; and after remaining in this position for some minutes, with the blood running from his nostrils, rolled quietly over on his shoulder, and lay dead. i had watched these manoeuvres with interest, and permitted the second bull to make his escape; a side-glance had shown me the latter disappearing over the crest of the swell. i did not care to follow him, as my horse was somewhat jaded, and i knew it would cost me a sharp gallop to come up with him again; so i thought no more of him at that time, but alighted, and prepared to deal with the one already slain. there stood a solitary tree near the spot--it was a stunted cotton-wood. there were others upon the prairie, but they were distant; this one was not twenty yards from the carcass. i led my horse up to it, and taking the trail-rope from the horn of the saddle, made one end fast to the bit-ring, and the other to the tree. i then went back, drew my knife, and proceeded to cut up the buffalo. i had hardly whetted my blade, when a noise from behind caused me to leap to an upright attitude, and look round; at the first glance, i comprehended the noise. a huge dark object was passing the crest of the ridge, and rushing down the hill towards the spot where i stood. it was the buffalo-bull, the same that had just left me. the sight, at first thought, rather pleased me than otherwise. although i did not want any more meat, i should have the triumph of carrying two tongues instead of one to the camp. i therefore hurriedly sheathed my knife, and laid hold of my rifle, which, according to custom, i had taken the precaution to re-load. i hesitated a moment whether to run to my horse and mount him, or to fire from where i stood. that question, however, was settled by the buffalo. the tree and the horse were to one side of the direction in which he was running, but being attracted by the loud snorting of the horse, which had begun to pitch and plunge violently, and deeming it perhaps a challenge, the buffalo suddenly swerved from his course, and ran full tilt upon the horse. the latter shot out instantly to the full length of the trail-rope--a heavy "pluck" sounded in my ears, and the next instant i saw my horse part from the tree, and scour off over the prairie, as if there had been a thistle under his tail. i had knotted the rope negligently upon the bit-ring, and the knot had "come undone." i was chagrined, but not alarmed as yet. my horse would no doubt follow back his own trail, and at the worst i should only have to walk to the camp. i should have the satisfaction of punishing the buffalo for the trick he had served me; and with this design i turned towards him. i saw that he had not followed the horse, but was again heading himself in my direction. now, for the first time, it occurred to me that i was in something of a scrape. the bull was coming furiously on. should my shot miss, or even should it only wound him, how was i to escape? i knew that he could overtake me in a three minutes' stretch; i knew that well. i had not much time for reflection--not a moment, in fact: the infuriated animal was within ten paces of me. i raised my rifle, aimed at his fore-shoulder, and fired. i saw that i had hit him; but, to my dismay, he neither fell nor stumbled, but continued to charge forward more furiously than ever. to re-load was impossible. my pistols had gone off with my horse and holsters. even to reach the tree was impossible; the bull was between it and me. to make off in the opposite direction was the only thing that held out the prospect of five minutes' safety; i turned and ran. i can run as fast as most men, and upon that occasion i did my best. it would have put "gildersleeve" into a white sweat to have distanced me; but i had not been two minutes at it, when i felt conscious that the buffalo gained upon me, and was almost treading upon my heels! i knew it only by my ears--i dared not spare time to look back. at this moment, an object appeared before me, that promised, one way or another, to interrupt the chase; it was a ditch or gully, that intersected my path at right angles. it was several feet in depth, dry at the bottom, and with perpendicular sides. i was almost upon its edge before i noticed it, but the moment it came under my eye, i saw that it offered the means of a temporary safety at least. if i could only leap this gully, i felt satisfied that the buffalo could not. it was a sharp leap--at least, seventeen feet from cheek to cheek; but i had done more than that in my time; and, without halting in my gait, i ran forward to the edge, and sprang over. i alighted cleverly upon the opposite bank, where i stopped, and turned round to watch my pursuer. i now ascertained how near my end i had been: the bull was already up to the very edge of the gully. had i not made my leap at the instant i did, i should have been by that time dancing upon his horns. he himself had balked at the leap; the deep chasm-like cleft had cowed him. he saw that he could not clear it; and now stood upon the opposite bank with head lowered, and spread nostrils, his tail lashing his brown flanks, while his glaring black eyes expressed the full measure of his baffled rage. i remarked that my shot had taken effect in his shoulder, as the blood trickled from his long hair. i had almost begun to congratulate myself on having escaped, when a hurried glance to the right, and another to the left, cut short my happiness. i saw that on both sides, at a distance of less than fifty paces, the gully shallowed out into the plain, where it ended; at either end it was, of course, passable. the bull observed this almost at the same time as myself; and, suddenly turning away from the brink, he ran along the edge of the chasm, evidently with the intention of turning it. in less than a minute's time we were once more on the same side, and my situation appeared as terrible as ever; but, stepping back for a short run, i re-leaped the chasm, and again we stood on opposite sides. during all these manoeuvres i had held on to my rifle; and, seeing now that i might have time to load it, i commenced feeling for my powder-horn. to my astonishment, i could not lay my hands upon it: i looked down to my breast for the sling--it was not there; belt and bullet-pouch too--all were gone! i remembered lifting them over my head, when i set about cutting the dead bull. they were lying by the carcass. this discovery was a new source of chagrin; but for my negligence, i could now have mastered my antagonist. to reach the ammunition would be impossible; i should be overtaken before i had got half-way to it. i was not allowed much time to indulge in my regrets; the bull had again turned the ditch, and was once more upon the same side with me, and i was compelled to take another leap. i really do not remember how often i sprang backwards and forwards across that chasm; i should think a dozen times at least, and i became wearied with the exercise. the leap was just as much as i could do at my best; and as i was growing weaker at each fresh spring, i became satisfied that i should soon leap short, and crush myself against the steep rocky sides of the chasm. should i fall to the bottom, my pursuer could easily reach me by entering at either end, and i began to dread such a finale. the vengeful brute showed no symptoms of retiring; on the contrary, the numerous disappointments seemed only to render him more determined in his resentment. an idea now suggested itself to my mind, i had looked all round to see if there might not be something that offered a better security. there were trees, but they were too distant: the only one near was that to which my horse had been tied. it was a small one, and, like all of its species (it was a cotton-wood), there were no branches near the root. i knew that i could clamber up it by embracing the trunk, which was not over ten inches in diameter. could i only succeed in reaching it, it would at least shelter me better than the ditch, of which i was getting heartily tired. but the question was, could i reach it before the bull? it was about three hundred yards off. by proper manoeuvring, i should have a start of fifty. even, with that, it would be a "close shave;" and it proved so. i arrived at the tree, however, and sprang up it like a mountebank; but the hot breath of the buffalo steamed after me as i ascended, and the concussion of his heavy skull against the trunk almost shook me back upon his horns. after a severe effort of climbing, i succeeded in lodging myself among the branches. i was now safe from all immediate danger, but how was the affair to end? i knew from the experience of others, that my enemy might stay for hours by the tree--perhaps for days! hours would be enough. i could not stand it long. i already hungered, but a worse appetite began to torture me: thirst. the hot sun, the dust, the violent exercise of the past hour, all contributed to make me thirsty. even then, i would have risked life for a draught of water. what would it come to should i not be relieved? i had but one hope--that my companions would come to my relief; but i knew that that would not be before morning. they would miss me of course. perhaps my horse would return to camp--that would send them out in search for me--but not before night had fallen. in the darkness they could not follow my trail. could they do so in the light? this last question, which i had put to myself, startled me. i was just in a condition to look upon the dark side of everything, and it now occurred to me that they might not be able to find me! there were many possibilities that they might not. there were numerous horse-trails on the prairie, where indians had passed. i saw this when tracking the buffalo. besides, it might rain in the night, and obliterate them all--my own with the rest. they were not likely to find me by chance. a circle of ten miles diameter is a large tract. it was a rolling prairie, as already stated, full of inequalities, ridges with valleys between. the tree upon which i was perched stood in the bottom of one of the valleys--it could not be seen from any point over three hundred yards distant. those searching for me might pass within hail without perceiving either the tree or the valley. i remained for a long time busied with such gloomy thoughts and forebodings. night was coming on, but the fierce and obstinate brute showed no disposition to raise the siege. he remained watchful as ever, walking round and round at intervals, lashing his tail, and uttering that snorting sound so well-known, to the prairie-hunter, and which so much resembles the grunting of hogs when suddenly alarmed. occasionally he would bellow loudly like the common bull. while watching his various manoeuvres, an object on the ground drew my attention--it was the trail-rope left by my horse. one end of it was fastened round the trunk by a firm knot--the other lay far out upon the prairie, where it had been dragged. my attention had been drawn to it by the bull himself, that in crossing over it had noticed it, and now and then pawed it with his hoofs. all at once a bright idea flashed upon me--a sudden hope arose within me--a plan of escape presented itself, so feasible and possible, that i leaped in my perch as the thought struck me. the first step was to get possession of the rope. this was not such an easy matter. the rope was fastened around the tree, but the knot had slipped down the trunk and lay upon the ground. i dared not descend for it. necessity soon suggested a plan. my "picker"--a piece of straight wire with a ring-end--hung from one of my breast buttons. this i took hold of, and bent into the shape of a grappling-hook. i had no cord, but my knife was still sate in its sheath; and, drawing this, i cut several thongs from the skirt or my buckskin shirt, and knotted them together until they formed a string long enough to reach the ground. to one end i attached the picker; and then letting it down, i commenced angling for the rope. after a few transverse drags, the hook caught the latter, and i pulled it up into the tree, taking the whole of it in until i held the loose end in my hands. the other end i permitted to remain as it was; i saw it was securely knotted around the trunk, and that was just what i wanted. it was my intention to lasso the bull; and for this purpose i proceeded to make a running-noose on the end of the trail-rope. this i executed with great care, and with all my skill. i could depend upon the rope; it was raw hide, and a hotter was never twisted; but i knew that if anything should chance to slip at a critical moment, it might cost me my life. with this knowledge, therefore, i spliced the eye, and made the knot as firm as possible, and then the loop was reeved through, and the thing was ready. i could throw a lasso tolerably well, but the branches prevented me from winding it around my head. it was necessary, therefore, to get the animal in a certain position under the tree, which, by shouts and other demonstrations, i at length succeeded in effecting. the moment of success had arrived. he stood almost directly below me. the noose was shot down--i had the gratification to see it settle around his neck; and with a quick jerk i tightened it. the rope ran beautifully through the eye, until both eye and loop were buried beneath the shaggy hair of the animal's neck. it embraced his throat in the right place, and i felt confident it would hold. the moment the bull felt the jerk upon his throat, he dashed madly out from the tree, and then commenced running in circles around it. contrary to my intention, the rope had slipped from my hands at the first drag upon it. my position was rather an unsteady one, for the branches were slender, and i could not manage matters as well as i could have wished. but i now felt confident enough. the bull was tethered, and it only remained for me to get out beyond the length of his tether, and take to my heels. my gun lay on one side, near the tree, where i had dropped it in my race: this, of course, i meant to carry off with me. i waited then until the animal, in one of his circles, had got round to the opposite side, and slipping silently down the trunk, i sprang out, picked up my rifle, and ran. i knew the trail-rope to be about twenty yards in length, but i ran a hundred, at least, before making halt. i had even thoughts of continuing on, as i still could not help some misgivings about the rope. the bull was one of the largest and strongest. the rope might break, the knot upon the tree might give way, or the noose might slip over his head. curiosity, however, or rather a desire to be assured of my safety, prompted me to look around, when, to my joy, i beheld the huge monster stretched upon the plain. i could see the rope as taut as a bow-string; and the tongue protruding from the animal's jaws showed me that he was strangling himself as fast as i could desire. at the sight, the idea of buffalo-tongue for supper returned in all its vigour; and it now occurred to me that i should eat that very tongue, and no other. i immediately turned in my tracks, ran towards my powder and balls-which, in my eagerness to escape, i had forgotten all about--seized the horn and pouch, poured in a charge, rammed down a bullet, and then stealing nimbly up behind the still struggling bull, i placed the muzzle within three feet of his brisket, and fired. he gave a death-kick or two, and then lay quiet: it was all over with him. i had the tongue from between his teeth in a twinkling; and proceeding to the other bull, i finished the operations i had commenced upon him. i was too tired to think of carrying a very heavy load; so i contented myself with the tongues, and slinging these over the barrel of my rifle, i shouldered it, and set out to grope my way back to camp. the moon had risen, and i had no difficulty in following my own trail; but before i had got half-way, i met several of my companions shouting, and at intervals firing off their guns. my horse had got back a little before sunset. his appearance had, of course, produced alarm, and the camp had turned out in search of me. several who had a relish for fresh meat galloped back to strip the two bulls of the remaining tit-bits; but before midnight all had returned; and to the accompaniment of the hump-ribs spurting in the cheerful blaze, i recounted the details of my adventure. chapter thirty two. the bison. the bison--universally, though improperly, called buffalo--is, perhaps, the most interesting animal in america. its great size and strength-the prodigious numbers in which it is found--its peculiar _habitat_--the value of its flesh and hide to the traveller, as well as to the many tribes of indians--the mode of its chase and capture--all these circumstances render the buffalo an interesting and highly-prized animal. besides, it is the largest ruminant indigenous to america, exceeding in weight even the moose-deer, which latter, however, equals it in height. with the exception of the musk-ox, it is the only indigenous animal of the bovine tribe, but the latter being confined to a very limited range, near the arctic sea, has been less subject to the observation and attention of the civilised world. the buffalo, therefore, may be regarded as the representative of the ox in america. the appearance of the animal is well-known; pictorial illustration has rendered it familiar to the eyes of every one. the enormous head, with its broad triangular front--the conical hump on the shoulders--the small but brilliantly-piercing eyes--the short black horns, of crescent shape--the profusion of shaggy hair about, the neck and foreparts of the body--the disproportioned bulk of the smaller hind-quarters--the short tail, with its tufted extremity; all these are characteristics. the hind-quarters are covered with a much shorter and smoother coat of hair, which adds to their apparent disproportion, and this, with the long hirsute covering of the breast, neck, hump, and shoulders, gives to the buffalo--especially when seen in a picture--a somewhat lion-like figure. the naked tail, with its tuft at the end, strengthens this similarity. some of the characteristics above enumerated belong only to the bull. the cow is less shaggy in front, has a smaller head, a less fierce appearance, and is altogether more like the common black cattle. the buffalo is of a dark brown colour--sometimes nearly black--and sometimes of a burnt or liver hue; but this change depends on the season. the young coat of hair is darker, but changes as the season advances. in autumn it is nearly black, and then the coat of the animal has a shiny appearance; but as winter comes on, and the hair lengthens, it becomes lighter and more bleached-like. in the early part of summer it has a yellowish brown hue, and at this time, with rubbing and wallowing, part of it has already come off, while large flakes hang raggled and loose from the flanks, ready at any moment to drop off. in size, the american buffalo competes with the european species (_bos aurochs_), now nearly extinct. these animals differ in shape considerably, but the largest individuals of each species would very nearly balance one another in weight. either of them is equal in size and weight to the largest specimens of the common ox--prize oxen, of course, excepted. a full-grown buffalo-bull is six feet high at the shoulders, eight feet from the snout to the base of the tail, and will weigh about 1500 pounds. rare individuals exist whose weight much exceeds this. the cows are, of course, much smaller than the bulls, and scarcely come up to the ordinary standard of farm-cattle. the flesh of the buffalo is juicy and delicious, equal, indeed superior, to well-fed beef. it may be regarded as beef with a _game flavour_. many people--travellers and hunters--prefer it to any other species of meat. the flesh of the cow, as may be supposed, is more tender and savoury than that of the bull; and in a hunt when "meat" is the object, the cow is selected as a mark for the arrow or bullet. the parts most esteemed are the tongue, the "hump-ribs" (the long spinous processes of the first dorsal vertebra), and the marrow of the shank bones. "boudins" (part of the intestines) are also favourite "tit-bits" among the indians and trappers. the tongues, when dried, are really superior to those of common beeves, and, indeed, the same may be said of the other parts, but there is a better and worse in buffalo-beef, according to the age and sex of the animal. "fat cow" is a term for the super-excellent, and by "poor bull," or "old bull," is meant a very unpalatable article, only to be eaten by the hunter in times of necessity. the range of the buffalo is extensive, though not as it once was. it is gradually being restricted by hunter-pressure, and the encroachments of civilisation. it now consists of a longitudinal strip, of which the western boundary may be considered the rocky mountains, and the eastern the mississippi river, though it is only near the head waters of the latter that the range of this animal extends so far east. below the mouth of the missouri no buffalo are found near the mississippi, nor within two hundred miles of it--not, in fact, until you have cleared the forests that fringe this stream, and penetrated a good distance into the prairie tract. at one period, however, they roamed as far to the east as the chain of the alleghanies. in texas, the buffalo yet extends its migrations to the head waters of the brazos and colorado, but it is not a mexican animal. following the rocky mountains from the great bend of the rio grande, northward, we find no buffalo west of them until we reach the higher latitudes near the sources of the saskatchewan. there they have crossed the mountains, and are now to be met with in some of the plains that lie on the other side. this, however, is a late migration, occasioned by hunter-pressure upon the eastern slope. the same has been observed at different periods, at other points in the rocky mountain chain, where the buffalo had made a temporary lodgment on the pacific side of the mountains, but where they are now entirely extinct. it is known, from the traditional history of the tribes on the west side, that the buffalo was only a newcomer among them, and was not indigenous to that division of the continent. following the buffaloes north, we find their range co-terminous with the prairies. the latter end in an angle between the peace river and the great slave lake, and beyond this the buffalo does not run. there is a point, however, across an arm of the slave lake where buffalo are found. it is called slave point, and although contiguous to the primitive rocks of the "barren grounds" it is of a similar geology (_stratified_ limestone) with the buffalo prairies to the west. this, to the geologist, is an interesting fact. from the slave lake, a line drawn to the head waters of the mississippi, and passing through lake winnipeg, will shut in the buffalo country along the north-east. they are still found in large bands upon the western shores of winnipeg, on the plains of the saskatchewan and the red river of the north. in fact, buffalo-hunting is one of the chief employments of the inhabitants of that half-indian colony known as the "red river settlements." one of the most singular facts in relation to the buffalo is their enormous numbers. nothing but the vast extent of their pasturage could have sustained such droves as have from time to time been seen. thousands frequently feed together, and the plain for miles is often covered with a continuous drove. sometimes they are seen strung out into a long column, passing from place to place, and roads exist made by them that resemble great highways. sometimes these roads, worn by the rains, form great hollows that traverse the level plain, and they often guide the thirsty traveller in the direction of water. another curious fact about the buffalo is their habit of wallowing. the cause of this is not well-ascertained. it may be that they are prompted to it, as swine are, partly to cool their blood by bringing their bodies in contact with the colder earth, and partly to scratch themselves as other cattle do, and free their skins from the annoying insects and parasites that prey upon them. it must be remembered that in their pasturage no trees or "rubbing posts" are to be found, and in the absence of these they are compelled to resort to wallowing. they fling themselves upon their sides, and using their hunch and shoulder as a pivot, spin round and round for hours at a time. in this rotatory motion they aid themselves by using the legs freely. the earth becomes hollowed out and worn into a circular basin, often of considerable depth, and this is known as a "buffalo wallow." such curious circular concavities are seen throughout the prairies where these animals range; sometimes grown over with grass, sometimes freshly hollowed out, and not unfrequently containing water, with which the traveller assuages his thirst, and so, too, the buffalo themselves. this has led to the fanciful idea of the early explorers that there existed on the american continent an animal who _dug its own wells_! the buffaloes make extensive migrations, going in large "gangs." these are not periodical, and are only partially influenced by climate. they are not regular either in their direction. sometimes the gangs will be seen straying southward, at other times to the north, east, or west. the search of food or water seems partially to regulate these movements, as with the passenger-pigeon, and some other migratory creatures. at such times the buffaloes move forward in an impetuous march which nothing seems to interrupt. ravines are passed, and waterless plains traversed, and rivers crossed without hesitation. in many cases broad streams, with steep or marshy banks, are attempted, and thousands either perish in the waters or become mired in the swamp, and cannot escape, but die the most terrible of deaths. then is the feast of the eagles, the vultures, and the wolves. sometimes, too, the feast of the hunter; for when the indians discover a gang of buffaloes in a difficulty of this kind, the slaughter is immense. hunting the buffalo is, among the indian tribes, a profession rather than a sport. those who practise it in the latter sense are few indeed, as, to enjoy it, it is necessary to do as we had done, make a journey of several hundred miles, and risk our scalps, with no inconsiderable chance of losing them. for these reasons few amateur-hunters ever trouble the buffalo. the true professional hunters--the white trappers and indians--pursue these animals almost incessantly, and thin their numbers with lance, rifle, and arrow. buffalo-hunting is not all sport without peril. the hunter frequently risks his life; and numerous have been the fatal results of encounters with these animals. the bulls, when wounded, cannot be approached, even on horseback, without considerable risk, while a dismounted hunter has but slight chance of escaping. the buffalo runs with a gait apparently heavy and lumbering--first heaving to one side, then to the other, like a ship at sea; but this gait, although not equal in speed to that of a horse, is far too fast for a man on foot, and the swiftest runner, unless favoured by a tree or some other object, will be surely overtaken, and either gored to death by the animal's horns, or pounded to a jelly under its heavy hoofs. instances of the kind are far from being rare, and could amateur-hunters only get at the buffalo, such occurrences would be fearfully common. an incident illustrative of these remarks is told by the traveller and naturalist richardson, and may therefore be safely regarded as a fact. "while i resided at charlton house, an incident of this kind occurred. mr finnan mcdonald, one of the hudson's bay company's clerks, was descending the saskatchewan in a boat, and one evening, having pitched his tent for the night, he went out in the dusk to look for game. "it had become nearly dark when he fired at a bison bull, which was galloping over a small eminence; and as he was hastening forward to see if the shot had taken effect, the wounded beast made a rush at him. he had the presence of mind to seize the animal by the long hair on his forehead, as it struck him on the side with its horn, and being a remarkably tall and powerful man, a struggle ensued, which continued until his wrist was severely sprained, and his arm was rendered powerless; he then fell, and after receiving two or three blows, became senseless. "shortly after, he was found by his companions lying bathed in blood, being gored in several places; and the bison was couched beside him, apparently waiting to renew the attack, had he shown any signs of life. mr mcdonald recovered from the immediate effects of the injuries he received, but died a few months after." dr richardson adds:--"many other instances might be mentioned of the tenaciousness with which this animal pursues its revenge; and i have been told of a hunter having been detained for many hours in a tree, by an old bull which had taken its post below to watch him." the numbers of the buffalo, although still very great, are annually on the decrease. their woolly skins, when dressed, are of great value as an article of commerce. among the canadians they are in general use; they constitute the favourite wrappers of the traveller in that cold climate: they line the cariole, the carriage, and the sleigh. thousands of them are used in the northern parts of the united states for a similar purpose. they are known as buffalo-robes, and are often prettily trimmed and ornamented, so as to command a good price. they are even exported to europe in large quantities. of course this extensive demand for the robes causes a proportionate destruction among the buffaloes. but this is not all. whole tribes of indians, amounting to many thousands of individuals, subsist entirely upon these animals, as the laplander upon the reindeer, or the guarani indian upon the _moriche_ palm. their blankets are buffalo-robes, part of their clothing buffalo-leather, their tents are buffalo-hides, and buffalo-beef is their sole food for three parts of the year. the large prairie tribes--as the sioux, the pawnees, the blackfeet, the crows, the chiennes, the arapahoes, and the comanches, with several smaller bands-live upon the buffalo. these tribes, united, number at least 100,000 souls. no wonder the buffalo should be each year diminishing in numbers! it is predicted that in a few years the race will become extinct. the same has been often said of the indian. the _soi-disant_ prophet is addicted to this sort of melancholy foreboding, because he believes by such babbling he gains a character for philanthropic sympathy; besides, it has a poetic sound. believe me, there is not the slightest danger of such a destiny for the indian: his race is not to become extinct; it will be on the earth as long as that of either black or white. civilisation is removing the seeds of decay; civilisation will preserve the race of the red man yet to multiply. civilisation, too, may preserve the buffalo. the hunter races must disappear, and give place to the more useful agriculturist. the prairies are wide--vast expanses of that singular formation must remain in their primitive wildness, at least for ages, and these will still be a safe range for the buffalo. chapter thirty three. trailing the buffalo. after a breakfast of fresh buffalo-meat we took the road in high spirits. the long-expected sport would soon come off. every step showed us "buffalo sign"--tracks, wallows, fresh ordure. none of the animals were yet in sight, but the prairie was filled with undulations, and no doubt "a gang" would be found in some of the valleys. a few miles farther on, and we came suddenly upon a "buffalo road," traversing the prairie nearly at right angles to our own direction. this caused a halt and consultation. should we follow the road? by all means thought every one. the tracks were fresh--the road a large one-thousands of buffaloes must have passed over it; where were they now? they might be a hundred miles off, for when these animals get upon one of those regular roads they often journey at great speed, and it is difficult to overtake them. when merely browsing over the prairie the case is different. then they travel only a few miles a day, and a hunter trailing them soon comes up with the gang. ike and redwood were consulted as to what was best to be done. they had both closely examined the trail, bending down to the ground, and carefully noting every symptom that would give them a clue to the condition of the herd--its numbers--its time of passing--the rate of its speed, etcetera. "thur's a good grist o' 'em," said ike, "leastways a kupple o' thousand in the gang--thur's bulls, cows, yearlins, an' young calf too, so we'll have a choice o' meat--either beef or veal. kin we do better than foller 'em up? eh, mark?" "wal! i don't think we can, ole boss," replied redwood. "they passed hyur yesterday, jest about noon--that is the thick o' the drove passed then." "how do you tell that?" inquired several. "oh, that's easy made out," replied the guide, evidently regarding the question as a very simple one; "you see most o' these hyur tracks is a day old, an' yet thur not two." "and why not?" "why how could they be two," asked the guide in astonishment, "when it rained yesterday before sun-up? thur made since the rain, yu'll admit that?" we now remembered the rain, and acknowledged the truth of this reasoning. the animals must have passed since it rained; but why not immediately after, in the early morning? how could redwood tell that it was the hour of noon? how? "easy enough, comrades," replied he. "any greenhorn mout do that," added ike. the rest, however, were puzzled and waited the explanation. "i tells this a way," continued the guide. "ef the buffler had passed by hyur, immediately after the rain, thar tracks wud a sunk deeper, and thar wud a been more mud on the trail. as thar ain't no great slobber about, ye see, i make my kalklations that the ground must a been well dried afore they kim along, and after such a wet, it could not a been afore noon at the least--so that's how i know the buffler passed at that hour." we were all interested in this craft of our guides, for without consulting each other they had both arrived at the same conclusion by the same process of mental logic. they had also determined several other points about the buffalo--such as that they had not all gone together, but in a straggling herd; that some had passed more rapidly than the rest; that no hunters were after them; and that it was probable they were not bound upon any distant migration, but only in search of water; and the direction they had taken rendered this likely enough. indeed most of the great buffalo roads lead to watering-places, and they have often been the means of conducting the thirsty traveller to the welcome rivulet or spring, when otherwise he might have perished upon the dry plain. whether the buffalo are guided by some instinct towards water, is a question not satisfactorily solved. certain it is, that their water paths often lead in the most direct route to streams and ponds, of the existence of which they could have known nothing previously. it is certain that many of the lower animals possess either an "instinct," or a much keener sense in these matters than man himself. long before the thirsty traveller suspects the propinquity of water, his sagacious mule, by her joyful hinney, and suddenly altered bearing, warns him of its presence. we now reasoned that if the buffalo had been making to some watering-place, merely for the purpose of drinking and cooling their flanks, they would, of course, make a delay there, and so give us a chance of coming up. they had a day the start of us, it is true, but we should do our best to overhaul them. the guides assured us we were likely to have good sport before we came up with the great gang. there were straggling groups they had no doubt, some perhaps not over thirsty, that had hung in the rear. in high hopes, then, we turned our heads to the trail, and travelled briskly forward. we had not gone many hundred yards when a very singular scene was presented to our eyes. we had gained the crest of a ridge, and were looking down into a little valley through which ran the trail. at the bottom of the valley a cloud of dust was constantly rising upward, and very slowly moving away, as the day was quite calm. although there had been rain a little over thirty hours before, the ground was already parched and dry as pepper. but what caused the dust to rise? not the wind--there was none. some animal then, or likely more than one! at first we could perceive no creature within the cloud, so dun and thick was it; but after a little a wolf dashed out, ran round a bit, and then rushed in again, and then another and another, all of them with open jaws, glaring eyes, manes erect, and tails switching about in a violent and angry manner. now and then we could only see part of their bodies, or their bushy tails flung upward, but we could hear by their yelping barks that they were engaged in a fierce contest either among themselves, or with some other enemy. it was not among themselves, as ike and redwood both affirmed. "an old bull 's the game," said they; and without waiting a moment, the two trappers galloped forward, followed closely by the rest of our party. we were soon in the bottom of the little valley. ike already cracking away at the wolves--his peculiar enemies. several others, led away by the excitement, also emptied their pieces at these worthless creatures, slaying a number of them, while the rest, nearly a dozen in all, took to their heels, and scampered off over the ridges. the dust gradually began to float off, and through the thinner cloud that remained we now saw what the wolves had been at. standing in the centre of a ring, formed by its own turnings and struggles, was the huge form of a buffalo-bull. its shape indicated that it was a very old one, lank, lean, and covered with long hair, raggled and torn into tufts. its colour was that of the white dust, but red blood was streaming freshly down its hind flanks, and from its nose and mouth. the cartilage of the nose was torn to pieces by the fierce enemies it had so lately encountered, and on observing it more closely we saw that its eyes were pulled out of their sockets, exhibiting a fearful spectacle. the tail was eaten off by repeated wrenches, and the hind-quarters were sadly mangled. spite of all this mutilation, the old bull still kept his feet, and his prowess had been proved, for no less than five wolves lay around, that he had "rubbed out" previous to our arrival. he was a terrible and melancholy spectacle--that old bull, and all agreed it would be better to relieve him by a well-aimed bullet. this was instantly fired at him; and the animal, after rocking about a while on his spread legs, fell gently to the earth. of course he had proved himself too tough to be eatable by anything but prairie-wolves, and we were about to leave him as he lay. ike, however, had no idea of gratifying these sneaking creatures at so cheap a rate. he was determined they should not have their dinner so easily, so taking out his knife he extracted the bladder, and some of the smaller intestines from the buffalo. these he inflated in a trice, and then rigging up a sapling over the body, he hung them upon it, so that the slightest breeze kept them in motion. this, as we had been already assured, was the best mode of keeping wolves at a distance from any object, and the hunter, when wolves are near, often avails himself of it to protect the venison or buffalo-meat which he is obliged to leave behind him. the guide having rigged his "scare wolf," mounted his old mare, and again joined us, muttering his satisfaction as he rode along. we had not travelled much farther when our attention was attracted by noises in front, and again from a ridge we beheld a scene still more interesting than that we had just witnessed. as before, the actors were buffalo and wolves, but this time there was very little dust, as the contest was carried on upon the green turf--and we could see distinctly the manoeuvres of the animals. there were three buffaloes--a cow, her calf, and a large bull that was acting as their champion and protector. a pack of wolves had gathered around them, in which there were some of the larger species, and these kept up a continuous attack, the object of which was to destroy the calf, and its mother if possible. this the bull was using all his endeavours to prevent, and with considerable success too, as already several of the wolves were down, and howling with pain. but what rendered the result doubtful was that fresh wolves were constantly galloping up to the spot, and the buffaloes would likely have to yield in time. it was quite amusing to see the efforts made by the cunning brutes, to separate the calf front its protector. sometimes they would get it a few feet to the one side, and fling it to the ground; but before they could do it any great injury, the active bull, and the cow as well, would rush forward upon them, scattering the cowardly creatures like a flock of birds. then the calf would place itself between the old ones, and would thus remain for a while, until the wolves, having arranged some new plan, would recommence the attack, and drive it forth again. once the position was strikingly in favour of the buffaloes. this position, which seemed in the hurry of the conflict to turn up accidentally, was in fact the result of design, for the old ones every now and then endeavoured to renew it, but were hindered by the stupidity of the calf. the latter was placed between them in such a way that the heads of the bull and cow were in opposite directions, and thus both flanks were guarded. in this way the buffaloes might have held their ground, but the silly calf when closely menaced by the wolves foolishly started out, rendering it necessary for its protectors to assume a new attitude of defence. it was altogether a singular conflict, a touching picture of parental fondness. the end of it was easily guessed. the wolves would tire out the old ones, and get hold of the calf of course, although they might spend a long time about it. but the great herd was distant, and there was no hope for the cow to get her offspring back to its protection. it would certainly be destroyed. notwithstanding our sympathy for the little family thus assailed, we were not the less anxious to do for them just what the wolves wished to do--kill and eat them. with this intent we all put spur to our horses, and galloped right forward to the spot. not one of the animals--neither wolves nor buffaloes--took any notice of us until we were within a few yards of them. the wolves then scampered off, but already the cracking rifles and shot-guns were heard above the shouts of the charging cavalcade, and both the cow and calf were seen sinking to the earth. not so the huge bull. with glaring eyeballs he glanced around upon his new assailants, and then, as if aware that farther strife was useless, he stretched forth his neck, and breaking through the line of horsemen, went off in full flight. a fresh touch of the spur, with a wrench of the bridle-rein, brought our horses round, and set their heads after him, and then followed as fine a piece of chasing as i remember to have taken part in. the whole eight of us swept over the plain in pursuit, but as we had all emptied our pieces on first charging up, there was not one ready to deliver a shot even should we overtake the game. in the quick gallop no one thought of re-loading. our pistols, however, were still charged, and these were grasped and held in readiness. it was one of the most exciting chases. there before us galloped the great game, under full view, with neither brake nor bush to interrupt the pleasure of our wild race. the bull proved to be one of the fastest of his kind--for there is a considerable difference in this respect. he led us nearly half-a-mile across the ridges before even the best of our horses could come up, and then just as we were closing in upon him, before a shot had been fired, he was seen to give a sudden lounge forward and tumble over upon the ground. some of us fancied he had only missed his footing and stumbled; but no motion could be perceived as we rode forward, and on coming up he was found to be quite dead! a rifle-bullet had done the work--one that had been fired in the first volley; and his strong fast run was only the last spasmodic effort of his life. one or two remained by the dead bull to get his hide and the "tit-bits" of his meat, while the rest rode back to recover the more precious cow and calf. what was our chagrin to find that the rascally wolves had been before us! of the tender calf, not a morsel remained beyond a few tufts of hairy skin, and the cow was so badly torn and mutilated that she was not worth cutting up! even the tongue, that most delicate bit, had been appropriated by the sneaking thieves, and eaten out to the very root. as soon as they had observed us coming back, they had taken to their heels, each carrying a large piece with him, and we could now see them out upon the prairie devouring the meat before our very eyes. ike was loud in his anathemas, and but that the creatures were too cunning for him, would have taken his revenge upon the spot. they kept off, however, beyond range of either rifle or double-barrel, and ike was forced to nurse his wrath for some other occasion. we now went back to the bull, where we encamped for the night. the latter, tough as he was, furnished us an excellent supper from his tongue, hump-ribs, boudins, and marrow bones, and we all lay down to sleep and dream of the sports of to-morrow. chapter thirty four. approaching the buffalo. next morning, just as we were preparing to resume our journey, a gang of buffalo appeared upon one of the swells, at the distance of a mile or a mile and a half from our camp. there were about a dozen of them, and, as our guides asserted, they were all cows. this was just what we wanted, as the flesh of the cows is much more delicate than that of the bulls, and were eager to lay in a stock of it. a hurried consultation was held, in which it was debated as to the best manner of making an attack upon the herd. some advised that we should ride boldly forward, and overtake the cows by sheer swiftness, but this mode was objected to by others. the cows are at times very shy. they might break off long before we were near, and give our horses such a gallop as would render them useless for the rest of the day. besides, our animals were in no condition for such exercise. our stock of corn had run out, and the grass feeding and hard travelling had reduced most of them to skeletons. a hard gallop was therefore to be avoided if possible. among those who counselled a different course wore the guides ike and redwood. these men thought it would be much better to try the cows by "approaching," that is, by endeavouring to creep up, and get a shot when near enough. the ground was favourable enough for it, as there were here and there little clumps of cactus plants and bushes of the wild sage (_artemisia_), behind which a hunter might easily conceal himself. the trappers farther alleged that the herd would not be likely to make off at the first shot, unless the hunter discovered himself. on the contrary, one after another might fall, and not frighten the rest, so long as these did not get to leeward, and detect the presence of their enemy by the scent. the wind was in our favour, and this was a most important consideration. had it been otherwise the game would have "winded" us at a mile's distance, as they can recognise the smell of man, and frequently comprehend the danger of being near such an enemy. indeed, it is on their great power of scent that the buffalo most commonly rely for warning. the eyes of these creatures, and particularly the bulls, are so covered with the shaggy hair hanging over them, that individuals are often seen quite blinded by it, and a hunter, if he keep silent enough, may walk up and lay his hand upon them, without having been previously noticed. this, however, can only occur when the hunter travels against the wind. otherwise he finds the buffalo as shy and difficult to approach as most game, and many along spoil of crouching and crawling has been made to no purpose--a single sniff of the approaching enemy proving enough to startle the game, and send it off in wild flight. ike and his brother trapper urged that if the approach should prove unsuccessful there would still be time to "run" the herd, as those who did not attempt the former method might keep in their saddles, and be ready to gallop forward. all this was feasible enough; and it was therefore decided that the "approach" should have a trial. the trappers had already prepared themselves for this sort of thing. they were evidently desirous of giving us an exhibition of their hunter-prowess, and we were ready to witness it. we had noticed them busied with a pair of large wolf-skins, which they had taken off the animals entire, with the heads, ears, tails, etcetera, remaining upon the skins. the purpose of these was to enable the hunters to disguise themselves as wolves, and thus crawl within shooting distance of the buffalo herd. strange to say this is quite possible. although no creature is a greater enemy to the buffalo than the wolf, the former, as already stated, permits the latter to approach quite close to him without making any attempt to chase him off, or without exhibiting the slightest symptoms of fear on his own account. the buffalo cannot prevent the wolf from prowling close about him, as the latter is sufficiently active, and can easily get out of the way when pursued by the bulls--on the other hand, the buffaloes, unless when separated from the herd, or in some way disabled, have no fear of the wolf. under ordinary circumstances they seem wholly to disregard his presence. the consequence is, that a wolf-skin is a favourite disguise of the indians for approaching the buffalo, and our trappers, ike and redwood, had often practised this _ruse_. we were likely then to see sport. both were soon equipped in their white wolf-skins, their heads being enveloped with the skins of the wolves' heads, and the remainder tied with thongs, so as to cover their backs and sides. at best the skins formed but a scanty covering to the bodies of the trappers; but, as we have already remarked, the buffalo has not a very keen sense of sight, and so long as the decoys kept to leeward, they would not be closely scrutinised. when fairly in their new dress, the hunters parted from the company, leaving their horses at the camp. the rest of us sat in our saddles, ready to gallop forward, in case the _ruse_ did not succeed, and make that kind of a hunt called "running." of course the trappers went as far as was safe, walking in an upright attitude; but long before they had got within shot, we saw both of them stoop down and scramble along in a crouching way, and then at length they knelt upon the ground, and proceeded upon their hands and knees. it required a good long time to enable them to get near enough; and we on horseback, although watching every manoeuvre with interest, were beginning to get impatient. the buffalo, however, quietly browsing along the sward, seemed to be utterly unconscious of the dangerous foe that was approaching them, and at intervals one or another would fling itself to the earth in play, and after kicking and wallowing a few seconds, start to its feet again. they were all cows, with one exception--a bull--who seemed to be the guardian and leader. even at a mile's distance, we could recognise the shape and size of the latter, as completely differing from all the rest. the bull seemed to be more active than any, moving around the flock, and apparently watching over their safety. as the decoys approached, we thought that the bull seemed to take notice of them. he had moved out to that side of the herd, and seemed for a moment to scrutinise them as they drew near. but for a moment, however, for he turned apparently satisfied, and was soon close in to the gang. ike and redwood had at length got so close, that we were expecting every moment to see the flash of their pieces. they were not so close, however, as we in the distance fancied them to be. just at this moment we perceived another buffalo--a large bull--running up behind them. he had just made his appearance over a ridge, and was now on his way to join the herd. the decoys were directly in his way, and these did not appear to see him until he had run almost between them, so intent were they on watching the others. his intrusion, however, evidently disconcerted them, spoiling their plans, while in the very act of being carried into execution. they were, no doubt, a little startled by the apparition of such a huge shaggy animal coming so suddenly on them, for both started to their feet as if alarmed. their pieces blazed at the same time, and the intruder was seen rolling over upon the plain. but the _ruse_ was over. the bull that guarded the herd was witness to this odd encounter, and bellowing a loud alarm to his companions, set off at a lumbering gallop. all the rest followed as fast as their legs would carry them. fortunately they ran, not directly from us, but in a line that inclined to our left. by taking a diagonal course we might yet head them, and without another word our whole party put to the spur, and sprang off over the prairie. it cost us a five-mile gallop before any of us came within shooting distance; and only four of us did get so near--the naturalist, besancon, the kentuckian, and myself. our horses were well blown, but after a good deal of encouragement we got them side by side with the flying game. each one chose his own, and then delivered his shot at his best convenience. the consequence was, that four of the cows were strewed out along the path, and rewarded us for our hard gallop. the rest, on account of saving our horses, were suffered to make their escape. as we had now plenty of excellent meat, it was resolved to encamp again, and remain for some time on that spot, until we had rested our horses after their long journey, when we should make a fresh search for the buffalo, and have another "run" or two out of them. chapter thirty five. unexpected guests. we found ike and redwood bitterly angry at the bull they had slain. they alleged that he had made a rush at them in coming up, and that was why they had risen to their feet and fired upon him. we thought such had been the case, as we had noticed a strange manoeuvre on the part of the bull. but for that, our guides believed they would have succeeded to their hearts' content; as they intended first to have shot the other bull, and then the cows would have remained until all had fallen. a place was now selected for our night-camp, and the meat from the cows brought in and dressed. over a fire of cotton-wood logs we soon cooked the most splendid supper we had eaten for a long time. the beef of the wild buffalo-cow is far superior to that of domestic cattle, but the "tit-bits" of the same animal are luxuries never to be forgotten. whether it be that a prairie appetite lends something to the relish is a question. this i will not venture to deny; but certainly the "baron of beef" in merry old england has no souvenirs to me so sweet as a roast rib of "fat cow," cooked over a cotton-wood fire, and eaten in the open air, under the pure sky of the prairies. the place where we had pitched our camp was upon the banks of a very small spring-stream, or creek, that, rising near at hand, meandered through the prairie to a not distant branch of the arkansas river. where we were, this creek was embanked very slightly; but, at about two hundred yards' distance, on each side, there was a range of bluffs that followed the direction of the stream. these bluffs were not very high, but sufficiently so to prevent any one down in the creek bottom from having a view of the prairie level. as the bottom itself was covered with very coarse herbage, and as a better grass--the buffalo--grew on the prairie above, we there picketed our horses, intending to bring them closer to the camp when night set in, or before going to sleep. the camp itself--that is the two tents, with jake's waggon--were on the very edge of the stream; but jake's mules were up on the plain, along with the rest of the _cavallada_. it was still two hours before sunset. we had made our dinner, and, satisfied with the day's sport, were enjoying ourselves with a little brandy, that still held out in our good-sized keg, and a smoke. we had reviewed the incidents of the day, and were laying out our plans for the morrow. we were admonished by the coldness of the evening that winter was not far off, and we all agreed that another week was as long as we could safely remain upon the prairies. we had started late in the season, but our not finding the buffalo farther to the east had made a great inroad upon our time, and spoiled all our calculations. now that we had found them, a week was as much as we could allow for their hunt. already frost appeared in the night hours, and made us uncomfortable enough, and we knew that in the prairie region the transition from autumn to winter is often sudden and unexpected. the oldest and wisest of the party were of the opinion that we should not delay our return longer than a week, and the others assented to it. the guides gave the same advice, although these cared little about wintering on the prairie, and were willing to remain as long as we pleased. we knew, however, that the hardships to which we should be subjected would not be relished by several of the party, and it would be better for all to get back to the settlements before the setting in of severe weather. i have said we were all in high spirits. a week's hunting, with something to do at it every day, would satisfy us. we should do immense slaughter on the buffalo, by approaching, running, and surrounding them. we should collect a quantity of the best meat, jerk and dry it over the fire, load our waggon with that, and with a large number of robes and horns as trophies, should go back in triumph to the settlements. such were our pleasant anticipations. i am sorry to say that these anticipations were never realised--not one of them. when we reached the nearest settlement, which happened, about six weeks after, our party presented an appearance that differed as much from a triumphal procession as could well be imagined. one and all of us were afoot. one and all of us--even to the fat little doctor--were emaciated, ragged, foot-sore, frost-bitten, and little better than half alive. we had a number of buffalo-skins with us it is true, but these hung about our shoulders, and were for use, and not show. they had served us for weeks for beds and blankets by night, and for great coats under the fierce winter rains. but i anticipate. let us return to our camp on the little creek. i have said that we sat around the blazing fire discussing our future plans, and enjoying the future by anticipation. the hours passed rapidly on, and while thus engaged night came down upon us. at this time some one advised that we should bring up the horses, but another said it would be as well to let them browse a while longer, as the grass where they were was good, and they had been for some days on short commons. "they will be safe enough," said this speaker. "we have seen no indian sign, or if any of you think there is danger, let some one go up to the bluff, but by all means let the poor brutes have a good meal of it." this proposal was accepted. lanty was despatched to stand guard over the horses, while the rest of us remained by the fire conversing as before. the irishman could scarcely have had time to get among the animals, when our ears were saluted by a medley of sounds that sent the blood to our hearts, and caused us to leap simultaneously from the fire. the yells of indians were easily understood, even by the "greenest" of our party, and these, mingled with the neighing of horses, the prancing of hoofs, and the shouts of our guard, were the sounds that readied us. "injuns, by god!" cried ike, springing up, and clutching his long rifle. this wild exclamation was echoed by more than one, as each leaped back from the fire and ran to his gun. in a few seconds we had cleared the brushwood that thickly covered the bottom, and climbed out on the bluff. here we were met by the terrified guard, who was running back at the top of his speed, and bellowing at the top of his voice. "och, murther!" cried he, "the savage bastes--there's a thousand ov thim! they've carried off the cattle--every leg--mules an' all, by jaysus!" rough as was this announcement, we soon became satisfied that it was but too true. on reaching the place where the _cavallada_ had been picketed, we found not the semblance of a horse. even the pins were drawn, and the _lazoes_ taken along. far off on the prairie we could discern dimly a dark mass of mounted men, and we could plainly hear their triumphant shouts and laughter, as they disappeared in the distance! we never saw either them or our horses again. they were a party of pawnees, as we afterwards learned, and no doubt had they attacked us, we should have suffered severely; but there were only a few of them, and they were satisfied with plundering us of our horses. it is just possible that after securing them they might have returned to attack us, had not lanty surprised them at their work. after the alarm they knew we would be on the look-out for them, and therefore were contented to carry off our animals. it is difficult to explain the change that thus so suddenly occurred in our feelings and circumstances. the prospect before us--thus set afoot upon the prairie at such a distance from the settlements, and at such a season--was perfectly appalling. we should have to walk every inch of the way--carry our food, and everything else, upon our backs. perhaps we might not be too much burdened with food. that depended upon very precarious circumstances--upon our hunting luck. our "stock" in the waggon was reduced to only a few days' rations, and of course would go but a few days with us, while we had many to provide for. these thoughts were after-reflections--thoughts of the next morning. during that night we thought only of the indians, for of course we did not as yet believe they had left us for good. we did not return to sleep by the fire--that would have been very foolishness. some went back to get their arms in order, and then returning we all lay along the edge of the bluff, where the path led into the bottom, and watched the prairie until the morning. we lay in silence, or only muttering our thoughts to one another. i have said until the morning. that is not strictly true, for before the morning that succeeded that _noche triste_ broke upon us, another cruel misfortune befel us, which still farther narrowed the circumstances that surrounded us. i have already stated that the herbage of the creek bottom was coarse. it consisted of long grass, interspersed with briars and bunches of wild pea vines, with here and there a growth of scrubby wood. it was difficult to get through it, except by paths made by the buffalo and other animals. at this season of the year the thick growth of annuals was now a mass of withered stems, parched by the hot suns of autumn until they were as dry as tinder. while engaged in our anxious vigil upon the plain above, we had not given a thought either to our camp or the large fire we had left there. all at once our attention was directed to the latter by a loud crackling noise that sounded in our ears. we sprang to our feet, and looked into the valley behind us. the camp was on fire! the brush was kindled all around it, and blazed to the height of several feet. we could see the blaze reflected from the white canvas both of waggon and tents, and in a few seconds these were licked into the hot flames, and disappeared from our view. of course we made no effort to save them. that would have been an idle and foolish attempt. we could not have approached the spot, without the almost certain danger of death. already while we gazed, the fire spread over the whole creek bottom, and passed rapidly both up and down the banks of the stream. for ourselves there was no danger. we were up on the open prairie covered only with short grass. had this caught also, we knew how to save ourselves; but the upper level, separated by a steep bluff, was not reached by the conflagration that raged so fiercely below. we stood watching the flames for a long while, until daylight broke. the bottom, near where we were, had ceased to burn, and now lay beneath us, smoking, smouldering, and black. we descended, and picked our steps to where our camp had stood. the tents were like black cerements. the iron work of the waggon alone remained, our extra clothing and provisions were all consumed. even the produce of our yesterday's hunt lay among the ashes a charred and ruined mass! chapter thirty six. a supper of wolf-mutton. our condition was now lamentable indeed. we even hungered for our breakfast, and had nothing to eat. the fire had consumed everything. a party went to look for the remains of the buffalo-bull killed by the guides, but returned without a morsel of meat. the wolves had cleaned the carcass to a skeleton. the marrow bones, however, still remained, and these were brought in--afterwards, the same parts of the four cows; and we made our breakfast on marrow--eating it raw--not but that we had fire enough, but it is less palatable when cooked. what was next to be done? we held a consultation, and of course came to the resolve to strike for the nearest settlement--that was the frontier town of independence on the missouri river. it was nearly three hundred miles off, and we calculated in reaching it in about twenty days. we only reckoned the miles we should have to traverse. we allowed nothing for the numerous delays, caused by marshes and the fording of flooded streams. it afterwards proved that our calculation was incorrect. it was nearly twice twenty days before we arrived at independence. we never thought of following the trail of the indians to recover our horses. we knew they were gone far beyond pursuit, but even could we have come up with them, it would only have been to imperil our lives in an unequal strife. we gave up our horses as lost, and only deliberated on how we were to undertake the journey afoot. here a serious question arose. should we at once turn our faces to the settlement, how were we to subsist on the way? by heading for independence we should at once get clear of the buffalo-range, and what other game was to be depended on? a stray deer, rabbit, or prairie grouse might suffice to sustain a single traveller for a long time, but there were ten of us. how was this number to be fed on the way? even with our horses to carry us in pursuit of game, we had not been able on our outward journey to procure enough for all. how much less our opportunity now that we were afoot! to head directly homeward therefore was not to be thought of. we should assuredly perish by the way. after much discussion it was agreed that we should remain for some days within the buffalo-range, until we had succeeded in obtaining a supply of meat, and then each carrying his share we should begin our journey homeward. in fact, this was not a disputed point. all knew there remained no other way of saving our lives. the only difference of opinion was as to the direction we should ramble in search of the buffalo; for although we knew that we were on the outskirts of a great herd, we were not certain as to its whereabouts, and by taking a false direction we might get out of its range altogether. it so happened, however, that fortune lately so adverse, now took a turn in our favour, and the great buffalo drove was found without much trouble on our part. indeed almost without any exertion, farther than that of loading and firing our guns, we came into possession of beef enough to have victualled an army. we had, moreover, the excitement of a grand hunt, although we no longer hunted for the sport of the thing. during that day we scattered in various directions over the prairie, agreeing to meet again at night. the object of our thus separating was to enable us to cover a greater extent of ground, and afford a better chance of game. to our mutual chagrin we met at the appointed rendezvous all of us empty-handed. the only game brought in was a couple of marmots (prairie dogs), that would not have been sufficient for the supper of a cat. they were not enough to give each of the party a taste, so we were compelled to go without supper. having had but a meagre breakfast and no dinner, it will not be wondered at that we were by this time as hungry as wolves; and we began to dread that death by starvation was nearer than we thought of. buffaloes--several small gangs of them--had been seen during the day, but so shy that none of them could be approached. another day's failure would place our lives in a perilous situation indeed; and as these thoughts passed through our minds, we gazed on each other with looks that betokened apprehension and alarm. the bright blaze of the camp-fire--for the cold had compelled us to kindle one--no longer lit up a round of joyful faces. it shone upon checks haggard with hunger and pallid with fear. there was no story for the delighted listener--no adventure to be related. we were no longer the historians, but the real actors in a drama--a drama whose _denouement_ might be a fearful one. as we sat gazing at each other, in hopes of giving or receiving some morsel of comfort and encouragement, we noticed old ike silently glide from his place by the fire, and after a whisper to us to remain silent, crawl off on his hands and knees. he had seen something doubtless, and hence his singular conduct. in a few minutes his prostrate form was lost in the darkness, and for some time we saw or heard no more of him. at length we were startled by the whip-like crack of the guide's rifle, and fancying it might be indians, each sprang up in some alarm and seized his gun. we were soon reassured, however, by seeing the upright form of the trapper as he walked deliberately back towards the camp-fire, and the blaze revealed to us a large whitish object dangling by his side and partly dragging along the ground. "hurrah!" cried one, "ike has killed game." "a deer--an antelope," suggested several. "no-o," drawled redwood. "'taint eyther, but i guess we won't quarrel with the meat. i could eat a raw jackass jest about now." ike came up at this moment, and we saw that his game was no other than a prairie-wolf. better that than hunger, thought all of us; and in a brace of seconds the wolf was suspended over the fire, and roasting in the hide. we were now more cheerful, and the anticipation of such an odd viand for supper, drew jokes from several of the party. to the trappers such a dish was nothing new, although they were the only persons of the party who had partaken of it. but there was not one fastidious palate present, and when the "wolf-mutton" was broiled, each cleaned his joint or his rib with as much _gout_ as if he had been picking the bones of a pheasant. before the supper was ended the wolf-killer made a second _coup_, killing another wolf precisely as he had done the former; and we had the gratification of knowing that our breakfast was now provided for. these creatures, that all along our journey had received nothing from us but anathemas, were now likely to come in for a share of our blessings, and we could not help feeling a species of gratitude towards them, although at the same time we thus killed and ate them. the supper of roast wolf produced an agreeable change in our feelings, and we even listened with interest to our guides, who, appropriate to the occasion, related some curious incidents of the many narrow escapes they had had from starvation. one in particular fixed our attention, as it afforded an illustration of trapper life under peculiar circumstances. chapter thirty seven. hare hunting and cricket driving. the two trappers, in company with two others of the same calling, were on a trapping expedition to one of the tributaries of the great bear river, west of the rocky mountains, when they were attacked by a band of hostile utahs, and robbed not only of the produce of their hunt, but their horses and pack-mules were taken from them, and even their arms and ammunition. the indians could have taken their lives as well, but from the interference of one of the chiefs, who knew old ike, they were allowed to go free, although in the midst of the desert region where they were, that was no great favour. they were as likely as not to perish from hunger before they could reach any settlement--as at that time there was none nearer than fort hall upon the snake river, a distance of full three hundred miles. our four trappers, however, were not the men to yield themselves up to despair, even in the midst of a desert; and they at once set about making the most of their circumstances. there were deer upon the stream where they had been trapping, and bear also, as well as other game, but what did that signify now that they had no arms? of course the deer or antelopes sprang out of the shrubbery or scoured across the plain only to tantalise them. near where they had been left by the indians was a "sage prairie," that is, a plain covered with a growth of the _artemisia_ plant--the leaves and berries of which--bitter as they are--form the food of a species of hare, known among the trappers as the "sage rabbit." this creature is as swift as most of its tribe, but although our trappers had neither dog nor gun, they found a way of capturing the sage rabbits. not by snaring neither, for they were even without materials to make snares out of. their mode of securing the game was as follows. they had the patience to construct a circular fence, by wattling the sage plants together, and then leaving one side open, they made a "surround" upon the plain, beating the bushes as they went, until a number of rabbits were driven within the inclosure. the remaining part of the fence was then completed, and the rabbit hunters going inside chased the game about until they had caught all that were inside. although the fence was but about three feet in height, the rabbits never attempted to leap over, but rushed head foremost against the wattles, and were either caught or knocked over with sticks. this piece of ingenuity was not original with the trappers, as ike and redwood admitted. it is the mode of rabbit-hunting practised by some tribes of western indians, as the poor shoshonees and miserable "diggers," whose whole lives are spent in a constant struggle to procure food enough to sustain them. these indians capture the small animals that inhabit their barren country by ways that more resemble the instinct of beasts of prey than any reasoning process. in fact there are bands of these indians who can hardly be said to have yet reached the hunter state. some of them carry as their sole armour a long stick with a hooked end, the object of which is to drag the _agama_ and the lizard out of its cave or cleft among the rocks; and this species of game is transferred from the end of the stick to the stomach of the captor with the same despatch as a hungry mastiff would devour a mouse. impounding the sage hare is one of the master strokes of their hunter-craft, and forms a source of employment to them for a considerable portion of the year. our four trappers, then, remembering the indian mode of capturing these creatures put it in execution to some advantage, and were soon able to satisfy their hunger. after two or three days spent in this pursuit they had caught more than twenty hares, but the stock ran out, and no more could be found in that neighbourhood. of course only a few were required for present use, and the rest were dried over a sage fire until they were in a condition to keep for some days. packing them on their backs, the trappers set out, heading for the snake river. before they could reach fort hall their rabbit meat was exhausted, and they were as badly off as before. the country in which they now found themselves was if possible more of a desert than that they had just quitted. even rabbits could not dwell in it, or the few that were started could not be caught. the _artemisia_ was not in sufficient plenty to make an inclosure with, and it would have been hopeless to have attempted such a thing; as they might have spent days without trapping a single hare. now and again they were tantalised by seeing the great sage cock, or, as naturalists call it, "cock of the plains" (_tetrao urophasianus_), but they could only hear the loud "burr" of its wings, and watch it sail off to some distant point of the desert plain. this bird is the largest of the grouse kind, though it is neither a bird of handsome plumage, nor yet is it delicate in its flesh. on the contrary, the flesh, from the nature of its food, which is the berry of the wild wormwood, is both unsavoury and bitter. it would not have deterred the appetites of our four trappers, could they have laid their hands upon the bird, but without guns such a thing was out of the question. for several days they sustained themselves on roots and berries. fortunately it was the season when these are ripe, and they found here and there the prairie turnip (_psoralea esculenta_), and in a marsh which they had to cross they obtained a quantity of the celebrated kamas roots. all these supplies, however, did not prove sufficient. they had still four or five days' farther journey, and were beginning to fear they would not get through it, for the country to be passed was a perfect barren waste. at this crisis, however, a new source of subsistence appeared to them, and in sufficient plenty to enable them to continue their journey without fear of want. as if by magic, the plain upon which they were travelling all at once become covered with large crawling insects of a dark brown colour. these were the insects known among the trappers as "prairie crickets," but from the description given of them by the trappers the hunter-naturalist pronounced them to be "locusts." they were of that species known in america as the "seventeen years' locust" (_cicada septemdecem_), so called because there is a popular belief that they only appear in great swarms every seventeen years. it is probable, however, that this periodical appearance is an error, and that their coming at longer or shorter intervals depends upon the heat of the climate, and many other circumstances. they have been known to arrive in a great city, coming not from afar, but out of the ground from between the bricks of the pavement and out of crevices in the walls, suddenly covering the streets with their multitudes. but this species does not destroy vegetation, as is the case with others of the locust tribe. they themselves form the favourite food of many birds, as well as quadrupeds. hogs eagerly feed upon and destroy vast numbers of them; and even the squirrels devour them with as great a relish as they do nuts. these facts were furnished by the hunter-naturalist, but our trappers had an equally interesting tale to tell. as soon as they set eyes upon the locusts and saw that they were crawling thickly upon the plain, they felt that they were safe. they knew that these insects were a staple article of food among the same tribes of indians--who hunt the sage hare. they knew, moreover, their mode of capturing them, and they at once set about making a large collection. this was done by hollowing out a circular pit in the sandy earth, and then the four separating some distance from each other, drove the crickets towards a common centre--the pit. after some manoeuvring, a large quantity was brought together, and these being pressed upon all sides, crawled up to the edge of the pit, and were precipitated into its bottom. of course the hole had been made deep enough to prevent them getting out until they were secured by the hunters. at each drive nearly half a bushel was obtained, and then a fresh pit was made in another part of the plain, and more driven in, until our four trappers had as many as they wanted. the crickets were next killed, and slightly parched upon hot stones, until they were dry enough to keep and carry. the indians usually pound them, and mixing them with the seeds of a species of gramma grass, which grows abundantly in that country, form them into a sort of bread, known among the trappers as "cricket-cake." these seeds, however, our trappers could not procure, so they were compelled to eat the parched crickets "pure and unmixed;" but this, in the condition in which they then were, was found to be no hardship. in fine, having made a bundle for each, they once more took the route, and after many hardships, and suffering much from thirst, they reached the remote settlement of fort hall, where, being known, they were of course relieved, and fitted out for a fresh trapping expedition. ike and redwood both declared that they afterwards had their revenge upon the utahs, for the scurvy treatment they had suffered, but what was the precise character of that revenge they declined stating. both loudly swore that the pawnees had better look out for the future, for they were not the men to be "set afoot on the parairy for nuthin." after listening to the relations of our guides, a night-guard was appointed, and the rest of us, huddling around the camp-fire, were soon as sound asleep as though we were reposing under damask curtains, on beds of down. chapter thirty eight. a grand battue. the spot we had chosen for our camp was near the edge of a small rivulet with low banks. in fact, the surface of the water was nearly on a level with that of the prairie. there was no wood, with the exception of a few straggling cotton-woods, and some of the long-leafed willows peculiar to the prairie streams. out of the cotton-woods we had made our camp-fire, and this was some twenty or thirty paces back from the water, not in a conspicuous position, but in the bottom of a bowl-shaped depression in the prairie; a curious formation, for which none of us could account. it looked as if fashioned by art, as its form was circular, and its sides sloped regularly downward to the centre, like the crater of a volcano. but for its size, we might have taken it for a buffalo wallow, but it was of vastly larger diameter than one of these, and altogether deeper and more funnel-shaped. we had noticed several other basins of the same sort near the place, and had our circumstances been different, we should have been interested in endeavouring to account for their existence. as it was, we did not trouble ourselves much about the geology of the neighbourhood we were in. we were only too anxious to get out of it; but seeing that this singular hole would be a safe place for our camp-fire--for our thoughts still dwelt upon the rascally pawnees--we had kindled it there. reclined against the sloping sides of the basin, with our feet resting upon its bottom, our party disposed themselves, and in this position went to sleep. one was to be awake all night as guard; though, of course, all took turns, each awaking the sentinel whose watch was to follow his. to the doctor was assigned the first two hours, and as we went to sleep, we could perceive his plump rounded form seated upon the outer rim of the circular bank above us. none of us had any great faith in the doctor as a guard, but his watch was during the least dangerous time of night, so far as indians are concerned. these never make their attack until the hours after midnight, as they know well that these are the hours of soundest sleep. the horse-drive of the previous night was an exception, but that had happened because they had drawn near and seen no horse-guard. it was a very unusual case. they knew that we were now on the alert; and if they had meditated farther mischief, would have attempted it only after midnight hour. we had no apprehensions therefore, and one and all of us being very much fatigued with the day's hunting afoot, slept soundly. the bank against which we rested was dry and comfortable; the fire warmed us well, and redoubled our desire for repose. it appears that the doctor fell asleep on his post, or else we might all of us have been better prepared for the invasion that we suffered during that night. i was awakened by loud shouts--the guides were uttering them. i sprang to my feet in the full belief that we were attacked by indians, and at first thought caught hold of my gun. all my companions were roused about the same time, and, labouring under a similar hallucination, went through a like series of manoeuvres. but when we looked up, and beheld the doctor stretched along the ridge, and still snoring soundly, we scarce knew what to make of it. ike and redwood, however, accustomed to sleep with one eye open, had waked first, and had already climbed the ridge; and the double report of their guns confirmed our suspicions that we were attacked by indians. what else could they be firing at? "this way all of you!" cried redwood, making signs for us to come up where he and his companion already were, waving their guns around their heads, and acting in a very singular manner, "this way, bring your guns, pistols, and all--quick with you!" we all dashed up the steep, just at the moment that the doctor suddenly awaking ran terrified down. as we pressed up, we could hear a mingling of noises, the tramp of horsemen as we thought, and a loud bellowing, as if from a hundred bulls. the last sounds could not well have been more like the bellowing of bulls, for in reality it was such. the night was a bright moonlight, and the moment we raised our heads above the scarp of the ridge we saw at once the cause of our alarm. the plain around us was black with buffaloes! tens of thousands must have been in the drove which was passing us to a great depth on both sides. they were running at a fast trot--some of them even galloping, and in some places they were so thickly packed together, that one would be seen mounting upon the hind-quarters of the other, while some were thrown down, and trampled over by their companions. "hyur, hyur, all of ye!" cried ike, "stand by hyur, or they'll git into the hole, and tramp us to shucks!" we saw at a glance the meaning of these instructions. the excited animals were rushing headlong, and nothing seemed to stay their course. we could see them dashing into and across the little streamlet without making any account of it. should they pour into the circle in which we stood, others would follow, and we might get mingled with the drove. there was not a spot on the prairie where we could have been safe. the impetuous mass was impelled from behind, and could neither halt nor change its course. already a pair of bulls had fallen before the rifles of our guides, and to some extent prevented the others from breaking over the ring, but they would certainly have done so had it not been for the shouts and gestures of the trappers. we rushed to the side indicated, and each of us prepared to fire, but some of the more prudent held their loads for a while, others pulled trigger, and a succession of shots from rifles, double-barrels, and revolvers soon raised a pile of dead buffaloes that blocked up the passage of the rest, as though it had been a barrier built on purpose. a breathing space was now allowed us, and each loaded his piece as fast as he was able. there was no time lost in firing, for the stream of living creatures swept on continuously, and a mark was found in a single glance of the eye. i think we must have continued the loading and firing for nearly a quarter of an hour. then the great herd began to grow thinner and thinner, until the last buffalo had passed. we now looked around us to contemplate the result. the ground on every side of the circle was covered with dark hirsute forms, but upon that where we stood a perfect mass of them lay together. these forms were in every attitude, some stretched on their sides, others upon their knees, and still a number upon their feet, but evidently wounded. some of us were about to rush out of our charmed circle to complete the work, but were held back by the warning voices of the guides. "for yur lives don't go," cried redwood, "don't stir from hyur till we've knocked 'em all over. thur's some o' them with life enough left to do for a ween o' ye yet." so saying, the trapper raised his long piece, selected one of the bulls that were seen on their feet, and sent him rolling over. another and another was disposed of in the same way, and then those that were in a kneeling position were reconnoitred to see if they were still alive, and when found to be so were speedily disposed of by a bullet. when all were laid out we emerged from our hole, and counted the game. there were no less than twenty-five dead immediately around the circle, besides several wounded that we could see straggling off over the plain. we did not think of going to rest again until each of us had eaten about two pounds of fresh buffalo-beef, and what with the excitement of this odd adventure, and the jokes that followed--not a few of them levelled at our _quondam_ guard--it was near morning before we closed our eyes again in sleep. chapter thirty nine. the route home. we awoke more confident of our future. we had now provision enough and thousands of pounds to spare. it only remained for us to make it portable, and preserve it by drying; and this would occupy us about three full days. our guides understood well how to cure meat without salt, and as soon as we had breakfasted all of us set to work. we had to pick and choose amidst such mountains of meat. of course the fat cows only were "butchered." the bulls were left where they had fallen, to become the food of wolves, scores of which were now seen skulking around the spot. a large fire was kindled, and near this was erected a framework of branches, on which was laid or suspended the meat, cut into thin slices and strips. these were placed at such a distance from the fire that it acted upon them only to dry up the juices, and in less than forty-eight hours the strips became hard and stiff, so that they would keep for months without danger of spoiling. meanwhile some employed themselves in dressing buffalo-skins, so as to render them light and portable, in other words to make robes of them that would serve us for sleeping in. at the end of the third day we had arranged every thing, and were ready to set forth on our homeward journey. each was to carry his own rations of the jerked meat, as well as his arms, robes, and equipments. of course, loaded in this manner, we did not expect to make a long daily journey, but, supplied as we were with provisions for thirty days, we had no fear but that before the end of that time we would reach independence. we were in high spirits as we set out, although, before we had walked far, the pressure of our packs somewhat moderated the exuberance of our feelings; and before we had been fifty hours upon the road, an incident occurred that once more reduced us to a new state of despondency, and placed us once more in peril of our lives. many an accident of flood and field, many a "hair-breadth 'scape" are to be encountered in a journey through prairie-land, and the most confident calculations of the traveller are often rendered worthless in a single moment. so we found to our consternation. the accident which befel us was one of a deplorable character. we had reached the banks of a small stream, not over fifty yards in width, but very deep. after going down it for several miles no place could be found that was fordable, and at length we made up our minds to swim across, rather than spend more time in searching for a ford. this was easy enough, as we were all swimmers, and in a few minutes most of the party were safely landed on the other side. but it remained to get our provisions and other matters over, and for this purpose a small raft had been constructed, upon which the packs of meat, robes, as well as our arms and ammunition, were laid. a cord was attached to the raft, and one of the party swam over with the cord, and then several taking hold commenced dragging over the raft with its load. although the stream was narrow, the current was strong and rapid, and just as the raft had got near the middle the towing line snapped, and away went the whole baggage down stream. we all followed along the banks, in hopes of securing the raft when it should float near, and at first we had little apprehension about the matter. but to our mortification we now perceived a rapid just below, and there would be no chance of preventing the frail structure from going over it. the packs, robes, and guns had been laid upon the raft, not even fastened to it, for in our careless security, we never anticipated such a result. it was too late to leap into the stream and endeavour to stop the raft. no one thought of such a thing. all saw that it was impossible, and we stood with anxious hearts watching the floating mass as it swept down and danced over the foaming waters. then a shock was heard--the raft heeled round--and poised upon a sharp rock, stood for a moment in mid stream, and then once more washed free it glided on into the still water below. we rushed down the banks, after an effort secured the raft, and drew it ashore; but to our consternation most of the provisions, with the guns and ammunition, were gone! they had been tossed off in the very middle of the rapids, and of course were lost for ever. only three packs of the meat, with a number of robes, remained upon the raft. we were now in a more serious condition than ever. the provision saved from the wreck would not last us a week, and when that was consumed how were we to procure more? our means of killing game was taken from us. we had no arms but pistols and knives. what chance of killing a deer, or any other creature, with these? the prospect was gloomy enough. some even advised that we should go back to where we had left the buffalo carcasses. but by this time the wolves had cleaned them of their flesh. it would have been madness to go back. there was no other course but to head once more towards the settlements, and travel as fast as we could. on half rations we continued on, making our daily journeys as long as possible. it was fortunate we had saved some of the robes, for it was now winter, and the cold had set in with extreme bitterness. some nights we were obliged to encamp without wood to make a fire with, but we were in hopes of soon reaching the forest region, where we should not want for that, and where, moreover, we would be more likely to meet with some game that we could capture. on the third day after leaving the stream that had been so fatal to us, it began snowing, and continued to snow all night. next morning the whole country was covered with a white mantle, and we journeyed on, at each step sinking in the snow. this rendered our travelling very difficult, but as the snow was only a foot or so in depth we were able to make way through it. we saw many tracks of deer, but heeded them not, as we knew there was no chance of capturing the animals. our guides said if it would only thaw a little, and then freeze again, they could kill the deer without their rifles. it did thaw during the day, and at night froze so hard, that in the morning there was a thick crust of ice upon the surface of the snow. this gave us some hope, and next morning a deer hunt was proposed. we scattered in different directions in parties of two and three, and commenced tracking the deer. on re-assembling at our night-camp, our different parties came back wearied and empty-handed. the guides, ike and redwood, had gone by themselves, and were the last to reach the rendezvous. we watched anxiously for their return. they came at length, and to our joy each of them carried the half of a deer upon his shoulders. they had discovered the animal by his trail in the snow, and pursued it for miles, until its ankles and hoofs became so lacerated by the crust that it allowed them to approach near enough for the range of their pistols. fortunately it proved to be a good-sized buck, and would add a couple of days to our stock of provisions. with fresh venison to our breakfast, we started forth next morning in better spirits. this day we intended to make a long journey, in hopes of getting into heavy timber, where we might find deer more plentiful, and might capture some before the snow thawed away. but before the end of the day's journey we were so stocked with provision, that we no longer cared about deer or any other game. our commissariat was once more replenished by the buffalo, and in a most unexpected manner. we were tramping along upon the frozen snow, when upon ascending the crest of a ridge, we saw five huge forms directly in front of us. we had no expectation of meeting with buffalo so far to the eastward, and were somewhat in doubt as to whether they were buffaloes. their bodies, against the white hill side, appeared of immense size, and as they were covered all over with hoar frost, and icicles depending from their long shaggy tufts of hair, they presented a singular aspect, that for awhile puzzled us. we took them for pine-trees! we soon saw, however, that they were in motion, moving along the hill, and they could be no other than buffaloes, as no other animals could have presented such an appearance. of course they were at a long distance, and this prevented us from at once recognising them. this was an important discovery, and brought our party to a halt and a consultation. what course was to be adopted? how were we to capture one or all of them? had the snow been of sufficient depth the thing would have been easy; but although as it was, it might impede their running, they could get through it much faster than we. the only chance was to "approach" them by stealth; but then we must creep within pistol range, and that upon the plain white surface would be absolutely impossible. the foot of the hunter crunching through the frozen snow, would warn them of their danger long before he could get near. in fact, when every circumstance had been weighed and discussed, we every one despaired of success. at that moment what would we not have given for a horse and a gun. as we talked without coming to any determination, the five huge forms disappeared over the sharp ridge, that can transversely to our course. as this ridge would shelter us from view, we hurried forward in order to see what advantages there were in the ground on its other side. we were in hopes of seeing timber that might enable us to get closer to the game, and we made for a small clump that grew on the top of the ridge. we reached it at length, and to our great chagrin, saw the five great brutes galloping off on the opposite side. our hearts fell, and we were turning to each other with disappointed looks, when a tumultuous shout of triumph broke from redwood and the wolf-killer, and both calling out to us to follow them, dashed off in the direction of the buffalo! we looked to ascertain the cause of this strange conduct. a singular sight met our eyes. the buffalo were sprawling and kicking on the plain below; now rushing forward a short distance, then spreading their limbs, and halting, while some of them came heavily down upon their sides, and lay flinging their legs about them, as if they had been wounded! all these manoeuvres would have been mysterious enough, but the guides rushing forward had already given the key to them, by exclaiming that _the buffalo were upon the ice_! it was true. the snow-covered plain was a frozen lake, and the animals in their haste had galloped upon the ice, where they were now floundering. it cost us but a few minutes' time to come up with them, and in a few minutes more--a few minutes of fierce deadly strife--in which pistols cracked and knife-blades gleamed, five great carcasses lay motionless upon the blood-stained snow. this lucky capture, for we could only attribute it to good fortune, was perhaps the means of saving the lives of our party. the meat furnished by the five bulls--for bulls they were--formed an ample stock, which enabled us to reach the settlements in safety. it is true we had many a hard trial to undergo and many a weary hour's walking, before we slept under a roof; but although in wretched plight, as far as looks went, we all got back in excellent health. at independence we were enabled to "rig" ourselves out, so as to make an appearance at saint louis--where we arrived a few days after--and where, seated around the well-filled table of the planters' hotel, we soon forgot the hardships, and remembered only the pleasures, of our wild hunter-life. the end.