Beyond the sunset

by Arthur D. Howden Smith

"Waidt!" he called after me, as I came to a shoulder of rock that projected across the ledge.

I waved my hand in answer, and trotted blithely on around the shoulder. A snarl that sounded like the ripping of a thousand sheets of sail-cloth greeted me. Straight in front, not twenty feet away, stood the biggest bear I had ever seen. We had come from downwind, so it had not smelled us; but its little beady eyes blinked ferociously at me as it hovered over the half-devoured body of a mountain sheep.

In my first burst of astonishment I lost my head. Forgetful of the ground, I jumped backward and lifted my musket, intending to shoot the beast before it could move. But my foot slipped on the pebbly cliff-side, my ankle twisted under me with a stab of pain, and my musket hurtled out of reach down-hill, leaving me crippled and fearful lest the slightest movement should send me after it.

The flash of the steel barrel was enough for the bear. It sensed that I had meant it harm; it saw me prostrate, my fingers tugging frantically at the tomahawk sheathed at my side. And with a snarl that became a bellow of rage it reared on hind-legs and waddled toward me, a fearsome figure, taller than a tall man, thick brown fur bristling, saliva dripping from gaping jaws, great fore-paws poised like a boxer's arms, long, steel-tipped claws quivering out of the immense pads.

I decided that my time had come—and then Peter trotted around the rock-shoulder, a worried look on his fat face. For a bare instant the Dutchman hung paralyzed, one foot off the ground. The next moment his heavy musket had leaped to his shoulder, and the flame darted from the muzzle. But the bear was no less quick. It lurched forward and to one side, ignoring me with the changeable ferocity of its kind, and all intent upon this latest intruder. By doing so it took Peter's shot in the shoulder instead of in the brain, and this served only to infuriate it the more. The creature's snarls were demoniacal as it reared to its hind-feet again, and advanced at a waddling run, heedless of the blood that streamed from the bullet-hole in its furry hide.

"My gun, Peter!" I cried. "Down-hill! Never mind me."

Peter's answer was to draw knife and tomahawk, jump over my body that was sprawled out before him and meet the bear half-way with a whirling wheel of steel. That was a battle for you! Peter, big as he was, looked small beside the bear. The great beast's mask overhung the Dutchman's head, and for a moment I thought it would snap off Peter's neck. The cavernous mouth was distended; the little eyes gleamed red; the jaws came together with a click. But Peter was not there. With the amazing agility that was always so out-of-place in connection with his awkward figure he had stooped, evaded the beast's embracing paws and ripped it down the ribs with knife and tomahawk.

The bear howled in mingled pain and anger, slumped to its four feet and circled its enemy—and now Peter was at a disadvantage, for he would not leave me uncovered, and this circumscribed the area he could maneuver over. The bear seemed to comprehend this. It made a quick dash at me, and when Peter stepped lightly betwixt us reared up on hind-legs for the third time, and rushed at Peter, forepaws cast wide to hug him in. And Peter met the rush without budging.

I expected to see the Dutchman toppled over, but he held his ground. The bear caught him, its furry paws, so absurdly like a man's arms, enfolded him, their claws ripping convulsively at his shirt and breeches. But Peter was busy too. Hugged close to the big beast's body, he was butchering for all he was worth with both his tools. His knife worked in and out—in and out. His hatchet in his left hand pecked remorselessly at groin and hams.

The bear's insane growls, low, tense, rasping drones of utter rage, became instinct with pain. The creature yelped. Its grip slackened, and Peter tore himself away. But I lay aghast at sight of the Dutchman's reeking figure. He had dodged the snapping jaws successfully, but no celerity of movement had availed against those two fore-paws working with spasmodic energy. His back, flanks and thighs were one mess of blood. His tattered clothing was in ribbons. But he crouched unperturbed, his gaze fixed on the bear.