Alden the Pony Express rider

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

“No use; he’s after me!” decided Alden, who now glanced about in quest of a tree which he might climb. Afraid even to peer around the edge of his hiding place, lest he should betray himself, he drew back, grasped his revolver and held his breath as he listened with all the intentness at his command.

For a few seconds he did not hear the slightest sound. His heart fluttered with renewed hope. The beast must be moving off. Probably he had caught sight of the pony and was making after him.

“He can’t know I’m here; all I have to do is to wait.”

Uneasy over the stillness, Alden slowly straightened up until he could once more look over the top of the boulder. Could he believe his eyes? The bear was not ten paces distant and swinging straight toward him! The fact that just then he emitted another of his whiffing grunts made it appear that he had seen the youngster and was congratulating himself upon the certainty of a dainty tidbit for supper.

Alden had to decide quickly, for in another minute the gigantic brute would be upon him. His decision was to wait until only the breadth of the boulder separated them and then blaze away with all the chambers of his pistol in instant succession. He would aim at the eyes and head, and would not miss with a single bullet. That would check him for a few moments if the discharge did not bowl him over. The interval thus gained would be improved by the young man to the utmost. He would make a lightning-like change of base in the hope of securing a better refuge.

It was a splendid pose that the youth took in the same minute. The rifle lay on the ground, and his right arm rested on the surface of the rock which was as high as his shoulders. The main weight of his body was supported on his right foot which was advanced like a runner about to start on a race. The left arm hung to his hip while the other lay on the top of the rock, and was extended full length, the hand closed around the butt of a revolver which was leveled at the mountainous brute, lumbering heavily forward with his head swinging from side to side. His piggish eyes were fixed upon the brave lad who saw the horrid front, the great red jaws parted, the slobbering tongue lolling out and the teeth showing. He had discovered his prey and was going for it with unshakable resolution.

The next instant it was bang, bang—five times in succession, and the metal cones buried themselves in that bulk as if it were a colossal cushion. That the missiles did harm was beyond question, but they did not stop the advance of the bear. The wounds would likely prove mortal sooner or later, but not soon enough to save Alden Payne.

He was on the point of wheeling and dashing off, with no clear idea of the direction to take, when another report rang out. It was that of a rifle, whose bullet went straight to the seat of life. With a snarling growl, the bear reared on his hind legs and clawed at the wounds made by the revolver bullets, as if he thought they were splinters which he tried to pluck out.

It was the rifle ball that settled the business. He sagged over on his side, struck and kicked for a few seconds and then the prodigious carcass lay still, for he was as dead as Julius Cæsar.

From the same direction that the bear had come, advanced a Pony Express Rider, with smoking rifle in hand. He had arrived in the nick of time and could not have asked a fairer target than that presented by the brute. The man, however, did not know whom he had saved, until Alden Payne came from behind the boulder and confronted him. Then he reined up and looked wonderingly at the youth.