CHAPTER II
It was a clear, cold day in early January. The snow covered the ground to an average depth of eight inches, but many spots had been swept clear by the high winds, while other places were buried under huge drifts.
Dave and his cousin Rodney had left the Morris homestead early in the morning, to be gone all that day, and possibly the next also. The stock of fresh meat at the cabin was running low, and as Joseph Morris was away from home on business, it fell to the lot of Dave and Rodney to replenish the larder. It was now well along toward the middle of the afternoon, but previous to discovering the deer they had brought down only two rabbits and a wild turkey.
"That is next to nothing," Dave had said. "Why, we can eat all of the bag at one meal." The bringing down of the deer made him feel better, and the prospect of laying low a bear filled him with enthusiasm. As my old readers know, he was not such a hunter as his cousin Henry, who often went out just for the sport of it, but he loved to bring in meat that he knew was needed.
"I'd like to be as good a shot as Henry is," remarked Rodney, as he trudged along by his cousin's side. "I can tell you, he's a wonder. Sam Barringford says so, and he ought to know."
"Henry takes to it naturally," answered Dave. "But you needn't to worry, Rodney,—you shoot better now than many of the settlers do. Look at Brown, and Katley, and Jabbs. They can't hit a thing, although they have tried often enough. Since you've got around again you have done wonderfully well."
"I suppose Henry is doing some tall hunting out around the trading-post these days."
"More than likely—if the Indians will allow it." Dave's face grew sober for a moment. "I wish I was sure that everything was all right at the post."
"Don't you imagine it is?" came quickly from the young man who had been a cripple.
"I don't know what to think—we haven't heard from them in so long. I don't like to talk of these things at home—they only worry Aunt Lucy and the rest. But it's queer father didn't send us some sort of a message around New Year's."
"I was talking to Sam Barringford a few days ago about Pontiac. Sam feels almost certain that Pontiac won't rest until he has one grand fight, and either wins or gets whipped."
"Pontiac is certainly a masterful man—his authority over the different tribes is simply wonderful. When I met him, I could see at once that he wasn't a fellow who would allow himself to be dictated to. Every one of the other chiefs had to bow to him—they couldn't help themselves."
"They are afraid of his magic."
"Perhaps, but some of the other big chiefs must know his so-called magic is simply humbug. No, he's a natural born leader, and they can't help but follow him."
Rodney gave a long-drawn sigh. "Beats all how much fighting we have been having of late year's," he said. "First it was with the French, now it is with the redskins. It seems to me we never will be settled. For two years the crops haven't amounted to anything, because we couldn't attend to them and fight the redskins too. I wish we could have peace."
"You don't wish it any more than I do, Rodney. Look at all Henry and I had to go through with,—when we were in the army. They talk about the glories of a soldier's life. I think there was more hard work than glory."
"Really?" Rodney glanced at his cousin in an odd way, and smiled. "You say that, but I'll wager a shilling that if war came again you'd be one of the first to march against the enemy."
"Perhaps so. It would depend on what the war was about. I've got no use for a fellow who stays at home when his duty is at the front—especially if he's a young man, and hasn't a family depending upon him."
"Well, I agree with you on that, and I should certainly have joined the army myself if I hadn't been so crippled. As you say, if—What's the matter?"
"Wait a minute, and stop talking," answered Dave in a whisper. "These tracks look pretty fresh to me, and if that's so, that bear can't be very far off."
They had covered a good half mile since bringing down the deer. The trail led up to the top of a small hill, covered with a stunted growth of ash and pines, with here and there a dense clump of bushes. On the other side of the hill was a series of rocks, leading down into a small ravine, where, in the summer time, flowed a tiny brook, but which was now partly filled with ice and snow. A stiff wind was blowing, and it pierced them through and through when they gained the summit of the rise.
"Phew! this is cold!" murmured Rodney, who had spent many winters by the fireside in his easy chair. "I suppose you don't mind it, but it cuts me like a knife."
"Come, we'll get behind yonder rocks," answered Dave. "Don't make any noise after this."
"Do you see the bear?"
"Not yet. But I feel certain he can't be far away. Such rocks as these are just the place for a bear's den. We don't want to—Hark!"
Dave broke off, as a distant rifle shot reached their ears. Thus was quickly followed by another, and then all became as quiet as before.
"What do you make of that?" questioned Rodney.
"Somebody else must be out hunting in this vicinity."
"You don't suppose there are Indians around?"
"No,—all the Indians have gone northward for the present, so Lieutenant Plawood was telling me yesterday. They were ordered by the commandant at Fort Cumberland to keep their distance, and they promised to do so."
"An Indian won't hesitate to break his promise if he feels like it."
"That is true; but they are not on the war-path just now. It's too cold for them."
Both of the young hunters now became silent, and after a survey of the bear tracks before them, proceeded along a ridge of rocks overlooking the ravine. Presently they came to a space where the wind had swept the rocks clear of snow, and here the trail appeared to come to an end.
"This looks as if we were stumped," whispered Rodney.
"I'm pretty certain his bearship went off in that direction," answered Dave, pointing with his hand. "Let us climb down——"
Dave got no further, for at that instant the bear burst upon their gaze, leaping suddenly from behind a point of rock not five rods away. He was a big, shaggy beast, with a pair of eyes which were just then looking their wildest. One of his ears was gone, and the blood was flowing from a wound in his neck.
"There he is!" shouted Rodney, and taking hasty aim, he pulled the trigger of his rifle. The bullet hit the bear in the hindquarters, inflicting a deep but by no means serious wound. The discharge of the weapon was followed by a snarl of pain and rage, and then the wounded beast leaped out on the rocks directly in front of the two young hunters.
It was a chance not to be missed, and as the bear arose on his hind legs, Dave took aim directly for his heart. Down came the hammer of the flintlock, but, alas! the weapon failed to go off.
"Shoot! Why don't you shoot?" yelled Rodney, trying his best to reload.
"My flint is cracked," answered Dave. "Confound the luck!" He took aim again and pulled the trigger as before, but now the bear was crouching down on the rocks, and the bullet merely cut a furrow along his shaggy side. Then came a perfect roar of rage, and the big beast leaped from rock to rock and came directly for the hunters.
"Give him another, Rodney!" sang out Dave.
"I haven't got my priming ready!" gasped the young man.
"Then run for it! Run, or he'll have you down!"
On coming closer the bear had turned from Dave to Rodney, and was now within a dozen feet of the former cripple. Rodney started to run, and seeing a high rock some feet away, leaped for it, slipped, and rolled down into the gully. The bear watched him in evident amazement, and as he disappeared in the snow, turned once more toward Dave.
The young hunter was trying to reload with all speed. But his rifle was of the old-fashioned English pattern of 1755, and to load and prime it in a hurry was next to impossible. As the bear came on he backed away, until, reaching a hollow which was covered over with drifted snow, he, too, went down and out of sight exactly as his cousin had done.
Such sudden disappearances were evidently a new experience for the bear, for he stood stock still, gazing first at the gully and then at the hollow, as if wondering which of his human enemies would be the first to reappear.
As fortune would have it, Rodney was the first to emerge from the snow, puffing and spluttering. He had his rifle still in hand, but the weapon was not ready for use, and the bear seemed to know it. With a snarl, the beast hurled himself down in front of the former cripple. But his leap was a trifle short, and Rodney, with quick presence of mind, rolled out of the way. Then the young hunter uttered a loud shout for assistance.
Dave, coming up out of the hollow, heard the shout. Close at hand was a small rock, and catching it up he hurled it at the bear, taking the beast in the back of the head. Again the bear snarled, and now turned once more.
"Look out!" screamed Rodney. "He's coming for you. Run! run!"
"Look out!" screamed Rodney, "He's coming for you. Run! Run!"
"Look out!" screamed Rodney, "He's coming for you. Run! Run!"
"Look out!" screamed Rodney, "He's coming for you. Run! Run!"
Dave did run, over the rocks, and then toward a clump of low-branched trees. Once in the trees he felt he would have time to reload and give the bear a shot that might finish him. But there was ice on the slope, and suddenly he slipped upon this, fell sprawling, and then rolled over and over into another hollow. Strange as it may seem, the bear slipped likewise, and came down almost within arm's length of the youth he was after.
"Get away from here!" gasped Dave, as soon as he could speak, and grasping his rifle by the barrel, he made a wild pass at the bear. This caused the beast to tumble back for a moment. Then the young hunter started to roll away, but the bear was on the alert, and in a twinkling he made two leaps, and came down fairly and squarely on the youth.