I was aroused from my slumber by the sound of something scratching at the door. Instantly I was wide awake, with all my faculties on the alert. Presently the sound was repeated; there was no doubt that some creature was nosing about and endeavoring to enter the cabin. Another porcupine, I thought to myself, and, slipping cautiously from my bed, I grasped my spear and, as silently as my injured foot would permit, stole toward the door. This was a rude slab affair, without lock, bar, or latch, and kept closed by a strip of bark looped over a peg in the wall.
Slipping off this fastening, I threw the door open, and as I did so I stumbled back in terror, and only the heavy door saved me from tumbling head over heels into the hut. I had expected to see a clumsy, harmless porcupine, and instead, clearly outlined in the bright moonlight, his grinning teeth and gleaming wicked eyes fixed on my face, stood a great, shaggy figure. My visitor was an enormous bear!
For a brief second I stood transfixed with surprise and fear, and then, without stopping to think, I hurled my spear full at the creature with all my strength, slammed the door to, and braced myself against it.
CHAPTER IX
WINTER SETS IN
Each second I expected to feel the enraged bear tearing at the door behind me, and I cursed my folly in having attacked him, for I realized that, unmolested, he would have, no doubt, retreated at sight of a human being, whereas, maddened by the sting of my weapon, he might force the door and tear me to pieces. Even if he dared not do this, he might lie in wait outside and attack me as I went forth in the morning, and I shivered with cold and fear at the consequences of my rash act as I stood there against the door in the black darkness of the cabin.
Minutes passed, and not a sound broke the silence outside, and at last, chilled to the bone, unable to stand the strain longer, and convinced that the bear would not attempt to force his way in, I crept to the fireplace, fanned the coals into a blaze, and sat huddled within the warmth of the hearth. Starting in terror at each sound outside, and not daring to go back to bed, I passed the long hours until dawn.
Daylight has a marvelous effect upon a man’s courage, and my fears of the night seemed quite childish as the golden rays of the rising sun penetrated the chinks of my cabin and the scream of a blue jay reached my ears.
Probably my spear had missed the bear completely, I thought, and the poor brute, far more frightened than myself, had put many miles between himself and the cabin where he had met with such a surprising reception. Thus reasoning, and smiling at my foolish terror of a harmless bear, I rose, opened the door, and peered out. Not a sign of the bear could be seen, and I hobbled out into the crisp air with the glorious sunshine sparkling on the hoar frost. I glanced about for my spear and stopped short; almost at my feet was a great crimson splotch of blood upon the fallen leaves. My spear had found its mark, and the next instant I caught sight of it lying upon the ground a few yards away. I hurried to it and picked it up. It was covered with blood, blood was spattered upon the leaves and bushes all about. Thrilled with the excitement of the chase, forgetting the risk I ran, and with spear in hand, I followed the crimson trail toward the woods. Peering intently into each clump of brush or tangled thicket, listening for some sound which might betray the presence of the wounded bear, I traced the blood-drops. At one spot among a clump of high brakes he had stopped to rest, for the coarse ferns were crushed and broken and stained with blood. In another spot he had forced his way blindly through a tangle of brambles, for blood spattered the glossy leaves and bits of black hair clung to the sharp thorns. At any moment I might come upon him wounded and at bay, and I proceeded with greater caution. At last I reached the shadow of the woods and on the dark moss and earth the trail became indistinct and hard to follow. A few yards ahead was an old fallen tree and, approaching this, I seated myself to rest and listen. As I did so I glanced to the other side, and there, within a yard of me, huddled in a great, shaggy heap, was the bear—stone-dead!
For a moment I could scarcely believe my eyes, but there was no doubt of it. The piggy little eyes were wide open and glassy, no breath heaved the great, furry sides, and the gleaming, white teeth and lolling tongue were thick with frothy blood.
Leaning toward him, I poked the sharp tip of my spear into his nose, but there was no response, no growl, no flicker of an eyelid, not even a twitch of the nostrils, and, convinced that no spark of life remained, I hurried around the log and, like a man bereft of his senses, danced about my victim. To an onlooker I would have been a strange, weird sight as, tattered and torn, half naked, with one foot bandaged in old rags, I jumped and hopped about on my rude crutch, yelling like an Indian, brandishing my spear, and crying taunts at the dead monster beside me. But my actions did not seem ludicrous at the time. I had been transformed to a primitive savage hunter glorying in his victory over the brute beast. Thousands of years had been swept from me and I acted as my ancestors once acted when they slew the saber-toothed tiger or the great cave-bear. In the dim, distant past of the stone age.