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