Deerfoot on the Prairies

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

Suddenly another form dropped lightly into the gorge, landing on his feet a few paces behind the fugitive, who, as he sped past, recognized Deerfoot the Shawanoe. Neither spoke, for it was not necessary. The lad did not slacken his speed, which was at the highest tension, and the lithe young Indian, standing motionless, raised his rifle and fired at the grizzly when the space separating the two was barely a rod.

Deerfoot aimed at one of the eyes. He must have brought down the terrific brute had not the latter at the very instant of the discharge started to rise on his hind legs, as his species do when about to seize their victim. Despite the brief distance separating the two there was just enough deflection in the aim to save the eye. The bullet struck below that organ and did no more harm than the missiles that had preceded it.

But Deerfoot had interposed between his friend and the grizzly, and the fight was now between him and the furious Goliath. Never was a more thrilling sight witnessed than that upon which George Shelton gazed from the top of the ravine, and which his brother viewed from a safe point within the gorge.

The Shawanoe saw on the instant the cause of his failure to kill the bear. His gun was of no further use for the time, and, like Victor Shelton, he flung it aside. He did not doubt that he could outrun the grizzly in a fair race, and he would have fled had he thought Victor was beyond reach, but there was no saying whether the gorge was not in the nature of a blind alley or cage, from which the lad could not escape. To save him the Shawanoe held his ground.

At the instant of flinging aside his rifle Deerfoot drew his knife from his girdle and gripped it in his good left hand. The grizzly, as I have said, had risen on his haunches and reached out for his victim, but the space was too great. He sagged down on all fours, plunged a few paces forward, and reared again.

As he went up he must have caught the flash of flying black hair, of a fringed hunting shirt and a gleaming face. And as he saw all this like a phantom of his dull brain, he awoke to the fact that a dagger was driven with merciless force into his chest and withdrawn again, both movements being of lightning-like quickness.

He had seen that face almost against his nose, and the ponderous fore legs circled outward and swept together in a clasp that seemingly would have crushed a stone statue had it been caught by those mighty legs. But Deerfoot ducked with inimitable agility and leaped back a dozen feet.

If the grizzly had not felt the bullets he now felt that knife thrust, and all the tempestuous fury of his nature was roused. He dropped on all fours, charged forward, rose again and grasped at the audacious individual that had seriously wounded him and dared still to keep his place an arm’s length away.

Precisely that which took place before occurred again. As the shaggy monster reared, his head towering far above that of the Shawanoe, the latter bounded forward past the guard, as it may be called, and drove his dripping knife with fierce power into the massive hulk, dropping and slipping beyond grasp before the brute could touch him.

Deerfoot knew where to thrust to reach the seat of life, but the enormous size of the grizzly actually seemed to hold it beyond reach of an ordinary weapon, for after several blows the bear showed no evidence of harm beyond that caused by the crimson staining of his great hairy coat. Apparently he was as strong as ever.