Bob Hunt in Canada

by George W. Orton

"Back they went along the wood road. They stopped for lunch at the foot of a riffle where they very soon caught all the trout they wished to find. They made their whole lunch on the fish, using only a little salt to make it palatable; a simple fare but really good enough for a king. On they went after lunch and they were lucky enough to bag four partridges as they went along. Early in the afternoon, they came to an old lumber camp and they decided to stay there for the night. It can well be imagined that though Pierre and his son said little to each other, they were enjoying themselves just like two boys playing hookey from school. They had spent the winter in the freedom and wildness of the woods and a month of the dreary grind in the saw mill had made them as restive as colts.

"They made a fine supper off the partridges and were up early the next morning. The remains of the partridges and some freshly caught trout set them on their way again with well filled stomachs and happy hearts. They had not gone far before Pierre stopped dead. 'I smell bear,' said he to Jean. 'Big black one,' said Jean, as he looked around. How he had known that it was big and black will remain one of the mysteries that distinguish the real Indian from his woodland imitators. They looked around and sure enough they had not gone far before they saw an old hollow tree that had been scratched and torn by the bear's big claws in his eagerness to get the grubs that no doubt were living among the rotting wood. They followed the bear's tracks. Jean in his eagerness went ahead and the father watched his boy with pride as he followed the indistinct tracks with swiftness and sureness. Finally the bear led them up one of the numerous mountains that are a feature of this country, as you know. Soon the tracks could be followed only with the greatest difficulty. Pierre was soon in the van and about noon he stopped dead and pointed off about half a mile where they saw the bear himself busy tearing away at another rotting tree.

"As they were somewhat to the windward side of the bear, they turned off and went down the valley. An hour's swift walking and climbing brought them out on the ridge on which they had seen the bear. Jean in his eagerness had gone ahead again. Just as they rounded a point of rock, the bear rose up almost on top of Jean. He had only a small caliber rifle, but he gave it to the bear at once. The bullet cut a hole in the beast's shoulder and with a growl of rage he rushed at the boy. Jean gave him another, but it only seemed to enrage the bear the more, for he plunged right on and threw Jean back with a mighty thrust.

"In the meantime, Pierre was in terror, not for himself but for Jean. On the rather narrow ledge, he found his boy right in line with the bear and he did not dare shoot for fear of killing him. When the bullets from the small rifle failed to stop the rush of the wounded bear, Pierre rushed forward, and as the bear thrust Jean back, he stepped over the body of the boy, gave him a bullet from his rifle point blank and throwing away his gun, he plunged his hunting knife into the bear with all his might just as the monster flung him off as though he were a plaything.

"Pierre says that about ten or twenty minutes later, perhaps half an hour, he awoke to consciousness and started up on one elbow half dazed. He felt that he had just narrowly escaped death, but for a moment he could not just remember what had happened. Then the whole thing rushed back to his mind and he got unsteadily to his feet. He found that he had a bad scalp wound and a big bump on the back of his head which he had hit on falling. When he got his dazed eyes to seeing properly, he was at first horror-struck, for the bear lay half over his Jean. The latter was lying on his back with his breast laid bare by the cruel claws of the bear, deathly pale and to all appearances dead. One look at the bear showed Pierre that it was dead. He hauled it with difficulty off his boy's legs and then felt his heart.

"At first, he could distinguish no movement and he was almost overcome by grief, but a slight heart movement galvanized him into action. He at once looked around and seeing a spring a short distance away, he ran, and filling his coonskin cap with water he was back by the side of the boy in a moment. Signs of life finally returned and Jean was soon looking around trying with glazed eyes to come back from the Happy Hunting Grounds to which his soul had just paid such a fleeting visit. In a short time, father and son were fully back to consciousness but it was only after a night spent right there that they felt like real live men again.

"Jean had a very ugly slash across his chest and the father felt sure that at least two of his ribs had been broken by the savage blow the bear had dealt him. Though pretty sore himself, he felt fairly well, though his scalp wound left no doubt that he had come near to death. They camped there that day enjoying the bear steaks and getting off the skin. In fact, it was not until two days later, that they set out on the back trail. Then, though they presented a rather dilapidated appearance, they managed to carry off the skin of the bear and the best portions of the meat. Jean with his broken ribs went light and then had trouble in following his sturdy father, who thought very little of having tackled a bear with his hunting knife. Pierre told me," concluded Bob, "that he found that the death stroke given the bear was dealt by his hunting knife just as the bear closed in on him."

"What a narrow escape! And I guess they think such events are commonplace. Let's go up to their tents and ask them to show us the scars," said Pud.

"Don't you believe Pierre, then?" asked Mr. Anderson.

"Sure," said Pud, "but I would like to see the scars. It would make the whole story more real."