THE BIGGEST BEAR IN THE WORLD.
As soon as the Boy Scouts had set foot on land Swiftwater drew the boys about him and assigned certain of the camp duties to each, directing the Indians, however, to the heaviest tasks of “making camp.” A large number of stones were gathered at the highest point of the sand and gravel, and a rough fireplace constructed. Two of the Indians, under the direction of Rand were sent across a short strip of meadow, which intervened between the point and the adjacent forest, for a supply of firewood. Rand took his rifle along under Swiftwater’s direction, for protection, and with the suggestion that he might see something worth shooting, although he was enjoined not to meddle with moose or caribou.
“Not that I think ye’ll see any,” said Swiftwater, “for they’re mighty scarce here, but it’s a poor time of year for the meat. Still, there’s a few cats and other varmints in this section of the country that don’t like strangers, and they make it lively for you.”
“Do the cats belong to the Indians?” innocently inquired Jack, remembering the aborigines’ fondness for dogs.
Swiftwater laughed.
“I never seen an Injun that cared to keep one of ’em longer’n he could let go of it,” said the miner. “I’m talkin’ of lynxes and the lou‘g’rou (loup garou), the Injun Devil, that is still pretty thick in this country.”
The Indians who had come with the expedition were no exception to fondness for dogs, and had brought two shaggy, short-eared, long-nosed brutes with them that had never barked or uttered a sound except to snarl at any stranger who came near them and absolutely refused to make friends with anyone. One of these accompanied Rand and the two Indians into the woods and began nosing around in the bush and underbrush, while the two men were engaged in cutting light wood into short lengths and tying it together in bundles.
They accumulated nearly two hundred pounds apiece; loads that Rand doubted their ability to lift, much less carry to camp. They were about ready to start back when there came from a thicket forty yards distant a shrill scream that sounded like a child in distress. At the same moment the yelp of a dog was followed by a succession of snarls and screams so nearly human that Rand started toward the thicket crying:
“Quick, the dog is worrying a child.”
“Na, cat; killum malamute,” and with his axe in his hand the Indian rushed ahead of Rand into the thicket.
As Rand entered the brush the sounds of the struggles and the snarls and screams were intermixed with the loud commands of the Indian to the dog. Rand raised his rifle as he burst through the brush after the guide, and saw the dog and a mass of gray fur mixed up in a writhing rolling combat that tore up the grass and raised a cloud of dust and mold and leaves. Before he could get a chance at a shot the Indian had dashed in and with a single blow of his axe had ended the fight.
When the dog’s owner succeeded in separating the dog from the dead animal, no small task, for the former was made furious by the wounds he had received, Rand saw the prey to be a short, heavy creature with stumpy tail and tassled ears.
“Wild cat,” muttered the Indian, turning the dead animal over with his mocassin, so that its formidable claws could be seen, “easy killum dog.”
Examining the wounds of the dog, which were not serious, he pointed to the cat and administered several severe kicks to the dog, which ran snarling toward the camp, while the guide picked up the body and returned to where his companion stood fastening his bundle, having apparently taken no interest in the contest. There was a short exchange of gutterals and then each of the Indians stooping down placed a band of strong cloth around his forehead, slipped it under the cord around the wood, and, with the aid of his companion, easily raised it to his back and walked off to camp as if it was a burden of no moment.
“Well, I see ye met up with a cat,” said Swiftwater, as Rand and the Indians returned, “and at that ye only got the smallest of the tribe.”
“If the others can fight any harder than this specimen, I don’t believe I want to meet any of them. I thought there was a child in the thicket.”
“Lots of these cat varmints have voices jest like a human. Ye can’t tell a panther from a squallin’ child sometimes.”
Bacon, canned beef, potatoes and coffee had already been brought from the boats and the Indians soon had a rousing fire which soon heated the stones to red heat. Three of these had been joined together to make a sort of three corner oven and into this the potatoes were placed, while over another portion of the fire the bacon was fried and the coffee boiled.
A large tarpaulin had been brought ashore and spread upon the sands, and upon this, or upon stones placed thereon, the party seated themselves and ate their repast from tin or thin wooden plates. A day of excitement and vigorous exercise had furnished them with strong appetites and the rather coarse food of the camp was greatly relished.
Arrangements for the night had been made by raising a large tarpaulin over one of the boats upon several of the crossed bars, forming a sort of shelter under which were spread several of the light mattresses that were part of the equipment; and Swiftwater directed that the Scouts should all “turn in” to this improvised barracks together, while he and Skookum Joe retired to the other boat. The Indians were given several small canvas coverings known in the army as “dog tents,” and were to sleep around the fire, which one of them was delegated to replenish during the night.
The attraction of the big campfire and the beautiful clear sky overhead filled the boys with aspirations to “camp out,” and they were rather inclined to grumble at Swiftwater’s orders compelling them to sleep on the boat.
With the growing soldier spirit of the Scouts, they resented being coddled, as Gerald chose to express it, and he voiced the sentiment of the patrol when he said:
“Why can’t we sleep by the fire, Swiftwater? I feel as if I was being sung to and then tucked in same as I used to be at home.”
“Ye’ll have camping out enough before ye’re through with the woods; and I’m not going to take any chances with all that tundra over there, and that swamp back beyond of starting the season with six fine cases of malaria on my hands. Until ye’re a little better acclimated and a little more hardened, it’s better for ye to sleep with a board or two under you.”
The good sense of the old scout’s argument as well as a fine appreciation of the miner’s thoughtfulness for their welfare led the boys to at once acquiesce, and Rand voiced their appreciation.
Although it was early in the season, and the insect world had hardly awakened to life, there were a sufficient number of mosquitos about to remind the boys of Colonel’s Snow’s injunction regarding the supply of nettings, and Jack, after several vigorous slaps, murmured sleepily:
“Gee, that certainly sounded like a voice from home.”
“They’ve got the good old Jersey accent,” replied Jack.
“Straight from the Hackensack meadows,” said Rand, referring to the once most favored habitat of the mosquito in the East.
“I hae ma doots,” said Don, “if that is a mosquito I killed just noo. I think it was some new kind of night bird.”
How long he had been asleep Jack did not know, when he was aroused by the growling of the two dogs on the shore, and crawled out from under the tarpaulin. The night was clear, and there was a fine starlight. In the East there was the faintest glimmer of dawn. The fire on shore had died down, but the embers still shone. The Indian who had been on watch had risen from his seat and followed the dogs, which had run growling up the strip of sand toward the meadow which lay between the water and the woods. Evidently there was some game in sight, and Jack crawled back under the tarpaulin and grasped his rifle, a Remington repeater. He did not arouse any of the others as he had really seen nothing, and was a little sensitive to possible ridicule.
He ran up the gangplank and stepped ashore. The other Indians were still asleep and Jack took the trail of the sentinel, whom he could dimly see in the distance.
The latter turned as he heard Jack’s footsteps on the gravel, and waited for him.
“What is it?” asked Jack.
“No know,” replied the Indian, “maybe bear, dogs no fight, only growl.”
Dimly through the dawn Jack could make out a black mass lumbering slowly down through the meadow toward them. The dogs ran around it in circles, merely growling and offering no attack. At a word from the Indian, however, they ran in snarling on the animal, which stopped, and with a loud “woof” reared up on its haunches, showing an enormous height.
“Bear; shootum,” cried the Indian, who had only an ax with him. Jack raised his rifle and fired, and as the bear dropped on all fours fired another shot.
The animal let out a snarling cry, and, grasping one of the dogs which had ventured within reach of its enormous paws, squeezed the life out of it before it could let out a cry. The Indian gave a yell and ran in on the enormous animal, and with a well-directed blow of the ax split its skull open between the eyes. At the same time Jack, as a precaution, fired another shot into the creature’s open mouth, and it rolled motionless on its side.
The shots and the cries of the Indian had aroused every one on the two boats, and Swiftwater and Skookum Joe came running over the sands, rifles in hand. By this time the early dawn of the high latitude had rendered all objects visible, and the boys had also joined Jack and the Indian, who was circling cautiously around the huge brute, trying to ascertain the fate of the dog, which was still clasped in the death clutch of the now motionless animal.
“Ha,” exclaimed Swiftwater, “a kodiak, and a corker; the biggest one I ever saw. You fellers were lucky to get him on the first shot, for that breed can make an awful mess if they start to fight. Hey, Skookum, catch hold and let’s flop him over.”
Having satisfied themselves that the bear was dead, the miner and the guide, with the aid of the Indians, moved the enormous mass which, with the Indian’s blow, had slumped down upon its hindquarters. With the greatest difficulty they succeeded in straightening it out. The Indian dog had been squeezed into a shapeless mass, and, ascertaining this, the Indian gave it no further attention for the time being.
“Mighty good thing you had a softnosed bullet in that rifle,” said Skookum, pointing to the gaping wound in the breast of the bear. “That spread, and did the business right away. A steel jacketed bullet would have gone straight through and would not have done so much harm. Then you might have been where the dog was.”
Jack, who had been seized with a sort of buck fever after he realized what he had shot, was trembling with excitement as he received the almost envious congratulations of his friends.
“Begorra, we’ll courtmartial you and drop ye from the Patrol,” said Gerald, “if ye insist grabbing all the glory for yourself this way. Why don’t you let us know when you are going out after adventures?”
“Yes, this is the second time that you have gone knight-erranting by your lone,” said Dick, “and I can see nothing for it. If this Patrol of Boy Scouts is to get any chance to make a reputation it will have to put Mr. Jack Blake on a leash, and tie him to our wrists when we lie down to sleep.”
“Weel, if that big bear or whatever it is, is really dead, ye’ve certainly made a better job of it than ye did with Monkey,” exclaimed Don, and, with the laugh that followed, poor Jack felt that the ridiculousness of that episode on the steamer had been practically wiped out.
Swiftwater and Skookum measured the huge brown carcass that lay stretched on the sand before them, and found it to be nearly ten feet from tip to tip. They guessed its weight to be about eight hundred pounds.
“That’s about the limit,” said Skookum, “tho’ I did hear of a skin once that measured thirteen feet.”
“Well, Jack,” said Swiftwater, “you’ve killed the largest meat-eating critter, in the world—carnivorous I think ye call it. There’s none bigger than the big brown bear of Alaska. Some say he isn’t so fierce as the grizzly, but he is nearly twice as big, and there’s certain seasons that he’ll fight at the drop of the hat, as the sayin’ goes. I never see one so far from the coast before. He’s called a kodiak because he hangs out down on Kodiak Island and on the Alaska and Kenai peninsulas.”
“Yes,” said Skookum Joe, “he likes salmon better than a Siwash, and he set on the river bank and fish for himself all day long.”
“Smellum salmon,” spoke up one of the Indians, pointing to the fire where some skin of the rough, Indian smoked fish had been thrown by the aborigines the night before.
“Wa-al,” said Swiftwater, with a grin at the Indian, “I reckon they could ‘smellum’ some o’ that seal oil o’ yours down to Seattle.”
The Indians set swiftly to work while the boys looked on curiously, and soon had the enormous brown hide of the animal off the body. The latter they cut up and such portions as were available they put aboard the boats. A few steaks were cooked for the boys for breakfast, but, as Swiftwater suggested, they found the meat dry and tough and very lean. The Indians seemed to relish it, however, and the remaining dog ate enormously.
Swiftwater promised Jack that as soon as they reached their destination he would arrange for the proper curing of the skin which he could have as a trophy.
“No,” said Jack, “that goes to the Patrol for the floor of our room back in Creston, and if there is any glory attached to this matter that don’t really belong to that Indian with the ax, I shall be glad to hand that over to the Patrol.”
As they had all been aroused so early, Swiftwater gave orders for an immediate start up Gold Creek as soon as breakfast was over, that they might get in a long day and possibly reach their destination before night. Just as they were aboard and were about casting off, one of the Indians who had disappeared for a time came running down to the water with a small bundle of fur in each hand. One was the skin of the wild cat killed the night before; the other the skin of his dog crushed to death by the bear that morning.