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.”