Kitabı oku: «The Border Boys in the Canadian Rockies», sayfa 5
CHAPTER XIII
BOYS AND A GRIZZLY
Hardware and Persimmons found pretty much the same traveling as Ralph. But not as experienced as he in following a trail, they did not advance so fast. Luckily, as it so fell out for them, the pony that they were trailing was one known as White-eye. He was a harum-scarum sort of a brute, and for that reason Mountain Jim had fastened round his neck, the night before, a lariat with a heavy stone attached to it. The stone had left a plainly swept path through the woods, and except in one or two baffling places the boys had followed it without much difficulty.
Instead of keeping to the open mountain side, like Ralph’s quarry, White-eye had made his way up a gully that cut deep into the hills, leading in a diagonal slash to the north. The two lads followed the bottom of the gully as far as it led and then, still following the trail of the stone attached to White-eye’s neck, they made their way up a rough, rock-strewn slope to the summit of the ridge.
Unlike the country Ralph had struck, Hardware and his companion found themselves, on the summit of the ridge, in a forest of white birch and shady green timber, amidst which the sunlight filtered down cheerfully. Passing through this they emerged on a rocky hillside thickly grown with “scotch-caps,” or sackatoons, Rocky Mountain blueberries and snake berries, while under foot was a carpet of red heather.
The boys ate heartily of the blueberries and scotch caps, but one taste of the snake berries was enough for them. They were bitter and nauseating to a degree, although Mountain Jim had told them that bears preferred them to any other berry.
“No accounting for tastes,” commented Hardware in this connection, “and speaking of bears, I wonder if there are any hereabouts?”
“Bucking blueberries, I hope not,” exclaimed Persimmons, looking about him in some trepidation. “I’d like to have Mountain Jim along if we are going to run into anything like that.”
“This looks like the sort of country he said bears frequented,” was Hardware’s response. “I don’t see why we should be scared to meet one, either.”
“I suppose you’d go right up and say ‘Goodmorning, bear,’” snorted Persimmons.
“Well, we’ve got our rifles, and they are supposed to be powerful enough to bring down any bear, and – ”
“Howling hammerheads, what’s the matter now?”
The question was a natural one, for Hardware had stopped short and was staring ahead of them down the steep hillside.
“Why, something’s moving down there. It may be a bear. Get your rifle ready.”
Hardware’s face took on a determined expression and he looked to the mechanism of his rifle and slipped a magazine into place. Persimmons did the same, muttering to himself as he did so that it was no use fighting a bear, and that they’d better give Bruin a wide berth.
But the next instant their anxiety was relieved and gave place to high good humor. The object Hardware had spied moving among the rocks and brambles was not a grizzly, but the recreant White-eye, cropping the grass as he moved about.
Suddenly he looked up and saw the boys. With upraised head and pricked ears he watched their advance.
“Goodness! I hope he will let us get near him,” said Hardware. “I don’t much fancy a chase through this sort of country.”
“He looks as wild as a hawk,” was his companion’s response.
Indeed White-eye did not appear as if he meant to be docilely captured.
As the boys cautiously crept forward, trying to avoid any action that might startle him, the pony rolled his eyes back in the manner that had given him his name and extended his nostrils, sniffing the air suspiciously. Both boys had brought along some grain in their pockets, out of the supply carried for emergencies, and now Hardware dipped his hand into his pocket and extended it, full of oats, for White-eye’s inspection.
But seemingly, the pony had no mind to be caught just then. He gave a plunge and snort and dashed off.
“Oh, gracious!” groaned Hardware. “There he goes, lickety-split; it doesn’t look as if we’d ever catch him.”
“Howling hen-roosts, no!” gasped Persimmons, who had just barked his shin on a sharp rock. “And I tell you one thing, Hardware, I’m not going to chase very far after him. Hullo, what’s he doing now?”
White-eye had paused with startling suddenness in his mad career, and the next minute the boys realized what had caused his abrupt stoppage. His long tether, with the stone attached, had caught around the stump of a sage bush as it bounded down the hill, and twisted round the stump two or three times had captured the runaway as effectually as if he had been tied by human hands.
“Well, that’s what I call luck,” declared Hardware fervently.
“It’s all of that and then some,” responded Persimmons puffingly.
“Let’s hurry up, he may get loose again,” urged his companion, and the two boys hastened forward regardless of brambles or rocks.
In a jiffy they had the lariat untied and were holding tightly on to it, prepared for another wild dash on the part of White-eye. But now that they had hold of the rope, the pony appeared, with equine wisdom, to perceive that further resistance was useless. He followed docilely enough while they led him up the hillside.
“I hope the others have had as good luck,” remarked Hardware as they trudged along.
“I hope so, too,” responded Persimmons, “I wouldn’t wish my worst enemy any more of this kind of work than could be helped.”
But just as they were congratulating themselves on the easy capture of the stray a sudden demon appeared to enter White-eye’s being. He started leaping and bucking and snorting as if possessed.
“What on earth is the matter with him now?” gasped Hardware in wonderment.
“Bucking beefsteaks, he acts like he had a bad tummy ache,” exclaimed Persimmons; “maybe he’s been eating some of those snake berries. They’re enough to make anybody cut up if he takes too many of them, and one’s a-plenty – wow! Look! Harry! Look there!”
The cause of White-eye’s sudden alarm became startlingly apparent. From a patch of blueberries just ahead of them, where he had evidently been feeding, a great brown form arose on its hind legs and stood looking at them.
“A g-g-g-g-grizzly!” yelled Hardware, quite forgetting his rifle that was slung over his back by a bandolier.
“Run! Run for your life!” shouted Persimmons, equally forgetful of his weapon, which, in order to lead White-eye, he had been compelled to sling over his shoulders in a similar way.
The bear dropped on all fours and began coming toward them without undue haste, but with a sort of deadly deliberation.
CHAPTER XIV
A CAVERN OF MYSTERY
Snorting and plunging, White-eye wheeled and dashed off down the hillside. When they had first re-captured him, the two boys had, for greater ease in leading him, fastened the rope through their belts. They were heartily sorry for this now.
As the pony turned and plunged off, they only managed to keep their feet by an effort, and the next instant they were perforce flying down the steep mountain side attached to the leading rope of the frightened pony.
Fortunately, the going was too rough for White-eye to be able to make his full speed, otherwise they might have been dragged off their feet and seriously injured. As it was, their united weight and the rugged hillside both combined to slacken the pony’s runaway gallop and enabled them to keep upright. But even so, they were hauled through brambles and brush, scratching their hands unmercifully and tearing even the stout fabric of their hunting clothes.
It was an extraordinary situation. First came the terrified pony, making every effort to escape from the bear. Behind him, towed at the end of the rope and helpless to relieve the stress of their predicament, came the two boys. Behind them again lumbered the bear, apparently not in any particular hurry, but still getting over the ground uncomfortably fast for those he was pursuing.
The two boys had no opportunity to exchange words as they were remorselessly hastened along. Hardware made an effort to reach his knife, but he was unable to do so and carry out his intention of cutting the rope. Even if he could have done this, their situation would not have been much improved. There would still have remained the bear to be reckoned with, and both boys were so badly flustered that it is doubtful if they could have used their rifles effectively.
Suddenly Harry Ware, who had cast a glance behind him, gave a yell. “He’s coming faster!”
The bear had quit his leisurely rolling canter and was now advancing at a pace that appeared incredibly swift for so cumbrous and awkward an animal. He looked like a flying ball of fur as his short legs flashed under his heavy body.
It seemed inevitable that the chase was to come to a sudden termination. Every instant the frightened boys expected to feel the creature’s great claws pull them down.
But suddenly, something as startling as it was entirely unexpected occurred.
White-eye vanished from view ahead of them.
One instant they had seen him straining and tugging on the rope by which they were being so unwillingly towed along. The next minute the earth appeared to open and swallow him.
Simultaneously both boys were jerked off their feet by a sharp tug on the rope. They felt themselves being rushed forward over the rough ground and yanked through a clump of scratching “scotch-cap” bushes.
A moment later they both gave a shout of terror as they felt themselves falling into a dark hole. Then came a plunge and a sudden bump as they fetched up their career through space by abruptly alighting on something soft and warm.
For a time, so badly shaken were they by their fall and by terror, that neither spoke. Then Persimmons’ voice came through the darkness.
“Rocketing radishes! are you dead, Hardware?”
“No, are you?” came the answer in a quavering voice.
“Not even scratched. But where under the sun are we?”
“At present we are lying on White-eye’s body. Poor brute, I guess he’s dead.”
“But he saved our lives. If he hadn’t fallen first to the bottom of this hole, or whatever it is, we’d have been killed or had our bones broken, sure.”
“Not much doubt of that. But what are we going to do now?”
“Get out of this place.”
“But how? Can you suggest a way? Look up above.”
Peering over the top of the hole, which was some twenty feet above them, was a shaggy head. As he gazed over into the hole down which his prey had so unexpectedly vanished, the bear gave a growl and shook his great head, while his red jaws slavered and dripped.
“Well, this hole in the ground, or cave, or whatever it is, saved us from that bear at any rate,” declared Persimmons.
“Yes; but it looks as if we had got out of the frying pan into the fire,” retorted his companion disgustedly. “Why didn’t we think to use our rifles? We’re a fine pair of hunters, we are.”
“We couldn’t have used them, anyhow,” was Persimmons’ response.
“Why not?”
“Because, like Mazeppa, we were hitched to a fiery steed, only we trailed along instead of being on his back. Poor beast, he must have been killed instantly by his tumble.”
“I guess so. His head is doubled under his body. His neck must have been broken.”
“Well, this is a fine end to our horse hunt. I guess we’ll have to wait here till they come along and find us.”
“Looks that way,” was the moody reply. “At any rate I’m going to have a shot at the cause of all our trouble.”
“All right, if you miss, give me a chance at him.”
Harry Ware raised his rifle and fired directly at the bear’s head as the great, shaggy creature peered down into the dark hole. His shot was echoed almost simultaneously by a report from Persimmons’ rifle. There was no need for a third.
The great head sank lifelessly and hung limply over the edge of the hole above them.
“Good work!” cried young Simmons. “Now, if we can only get out of here we can bring back a pelt that will astonish them.”
“True enough; but the problem is how to get out.”
“Let’s light up and see what sort of a place we have got into.”
As he spoke Persimmons struck a match from his pocket case and a yellow glow illumined their surroundings. They had fallen into a sort of rift in the hillside with a narrow opening in it through which poor White-eye had plunged, dragging them with him. But the light of the match, even in the brief period it endured, showed them that it would be impossible to clamber out by the way they had so unceremoniously entered. The hole, or rift, was larger at the bottom than the top, and they would have had to be able to walk upside down, like flies on a sloping ceiling, to regain the mouth of the hole.
It was plain that they must find some other means of egress. But how this was to be accomplished was a puzzling question.
CHAPTER XV
THE HUT IN THE WOODS
Following his first flush of surprise at the strange reappearance and vanishment of the mysterious man, Ralph was conscious of a feeling closely akin to hot indignation.
“I’m going to catch him,” thought the lad fiercely. “What does he mean by going on like this? What’s he following us for and spying on us? I’d like to find out what sort of tricks he is up to, and I’m going to.”
So saying he set off through the woods at a good pace, following as nearly as he could the direction the man had taken. But it soon dawned on him that he had undertaken an almost hopeless task. Judging from the man’s appearance, he had been a denizen of the woods for a long period, although just how he lived was not apparent.
At any rate, before he had gone far Ralph was compelled to admit that there did not appear to be much chance of his catching up with the man. No sign of him was visible, and no crackling of brush or sound of footsteps betrayed in what direction he had gone.
“Guess I’ll have to give it up,” mused Ralph disgustedly. “At any rate I’m sure of one thing now, I’ve got nothing to fear from this strange customer, whatever may be his object in hanging about us like this. He must have followed us and – ”
Ralph paused abruptly. He had last seen the man on the other side of the brulee. It was hardly likely that he could have passed through such a tract of country. Yet, on the other hand, the boy could not doubt that the man he had seen on the rock overlooking their camp and the wild figure of the valley were one and the same. There was a deep mystery about it all. One too deep for the boy to fathom, for he broke off his meditations with a sigh.
“It’s no use keeping up the chase to-day,” he declared to himself with emphasis, “but if that fellow keeps on dodging our tracks he’s going to hear from me in no uncertain fashion.”
He rose from the stump on which he had sat down to think things over and resumed his search for the stray ponies. As he moved along he munched his bread and chocolate, taking his lunch “on the hoof,” so to speak.
Before long he struck the trail of the missing ponies once more. This time it soon led him into a swampy country and he followed it rapidly. Along the floor of the valley he went till suddenly, on coming around a pile of great rocks, hurled from the summit of the ridge in some prehistoric convulsion, he saw something that gave him a big surprise. In a little clearing stood a ruinous log cabin, and tethered outside it was one of the missing ponies!
Of the other there was no trace. All at once Ralph heard a scrambling and clambering among the rocks above him on the steep hillside. He glanced quickly and just in time to see the mysterious man remounted on the other pony, rapidly urging it away from the hut.
“Stop thief!” yelled Ralph, carried away by excitement. “Come back here!”
“Stop or I’ll shoot!” he shouted the next instant throbbing with indignation.
He had no intention of hitting the fugitive, but he did mean to frighten him into stopping if he could. For an instant the form of the stolen pony and its rider became visible among the trees through which the afternoon sun was sending down oblique shafts of light.
Ralph raised his rifle, sighted it to carry a bullet well above the fugitive’s head and fired.
“The next will come closer,” he warned; but the next minute all other thoughts were rushed abruptly out of his mind when a bullet whizzed by his head close enough to fan his ear. The ping-g-g-g-g-g-g of the ball as it sped by, ruffling his hair, did not appeal to Ralph. Evidently the fugitive was a dead shot and was not inclined to be pursued if he could avoid it by putting his tracker out of the way.
“Jove!” exclaimed Ralph as he slipped behind a tree trunk, “that bullet was a message meant for me, all right. I don’t care to be at home to such callers.”
He listened an instant and then came the sound of the pony’s hoofs making off at a good pace through the trackless forest.
“He’s escaped me again,” exclaimed Ralph angrily. “Confound him, he’s worse than a mystery now. I’ll bet that it was he who stampeded the ponies last night and now he turns out to be a miserable horse thief. Wonder if I can’t get a clew to him at that hut yonder? At any rate there’s Baldy tied up and safe and sound as ever. I suppose I ought to thank our mysterious friend for leaving him behind.”
The boy slipped from behind his tree trunk and made his way toward the hut. Baldy whinnied as the boy approached. It was plain that the pony was glad to see him.
“Good Baldy! Good old pony,” exclaimed Ralph, slapping the animal’s thigh and then giving him some bread. “I wish you could talk, old fellow, and then maybe you could throw some light on what in creation all this means anyhow.”
Ralph then looked all about him with much curiosity. The hut was moss-grown and moldering into decay. Judged from its exterior it had not been lived in for many years. At the rear of it a spring bubbled into a rusty iron pot beside which lay a rust-eaten dipper.
The door of the shack – windows it had none – hung on one crazy hinge made of raw-hide.
“Guess I’ll take a look inside,” said Ralph, feeling a very lively curiosity, “but from general appearances I don’t think our mysterious friend and horse thief actually lives here. Looks to me more as if he used it as a temporary camping place. Yet he could hardly have found his way here unless he previously knew of its existence.”
Cautiously, and with his rifle ready for a surprise, for he did not know what he might encounter next, Ralph entered the hut. It smelled moldy and stuffy, and in the dim light he could not at first see very much of its interior.
Bit by bit the details began to grow out of the gloom. In the center of the shack was a rough board table and on it stood some rusted plates and cups. In a corner hung some old garments and a few moldering furs, skins of raccoons and minks. A rusty stove stood in another corner, one leg missing and sagging drunkenly.
By the door Ralph now noticed a yellow bit of paper tacked up, with some writing on it. He came closer to read it and made out in faded characters:
“Gone on April 16, 1888, Jess Boody, Trapper.”
This inscription made one thing plain to Ralph. The hut had once been occupied by one of those solitaries of the wilds whose trap lines are sometimes forty or fifty miles long. This Jess Boody had been such a man and had either “made his pile,” or getting disgusted with the location as a source for peltries had, as he tersely put it, “gone on.”
There were no traces of more recent occupancy of the hut, and Ralph was compelled to come back to his first theory; the mysterious man had used the place simply as a convenient shelter from time to time. Some ashes in the stove, that looked fairly fresh, appeared to lend color to this belief. Probably the horse thief had spent the night there.
“Well, if this hasn’t the makings of a first-class mystery about it,” gasped Ralph, pushing back his sombrero and running one hand through his curly hair.
As there seemed to be no use in making any further investigation of the tumble-down shanty, Ralph untied the pony left behind by the horse thief, and mounting it rode back toward camp in a thoughtful mood. He was deeply puzzled, and small wonder, by the events of the day.
He reached camp that evening shortly before dusk, and found that Mountain Jim had returned with the ponies that he had been after and which he had found in a glade across another ridge. The professor, and Jimmie, too, had had a successful day, having gathered in almost a sackful of what the professor called “specimens,” and Mountain Jim “rocks.” But of Harry Ware and Percy Simmons there was no sign.
