He gave one parting glance at his horse, which was flying down the ravine, and then raised his insensible companion in his arms, and ran toward Dick, who galloped up to meet him. The former took the wounded hunter upon his horse and continued his flight, while Johnny picked up his gun, and drew a bee-line for the nearest tree.
While this was going on, Frank had finished loading his rifle, and dismounted from his horse, and was now standing in front of the log, awaiting the approach of the grizzly, and ready to carry out his self-imposed task of covering the retreat of the others. In one hand he held his bridle, and in the other his trusty weapon, which he raised to his shoulder now and then, as he caught sight of the grizzly through the branches of the tree. He knew that every thing depended upon the result of this shot, and he was resolved that he would not fire until a fair mark was presented. He tried to argue himself into the belief that Old Davy was a squirrel, and that he could easily put a ball into one of his eyes at a distance of fifty yards. He recalled to mind some of the excellent shots he had made during the last few days, and tried hard to keep up his courage by telling himself that it was seldom indeed that he missed his mark. Still he did miss sometimes, and what would be the result if he missed now? His life would not be worth a moment’s purchase. He would not have time to mount before the grizzly would be close upon him. But even if he did succeed in making his escape, how far could Dick’s horse carry his double load before he would be overtaken? Once more Frank raised his rifle, and just at that moment Old Davy’s head and shoulders appeared above the log, not more than ten feet distant. His mouth was open, showing a frightful array of teeth, his ears were laid back close to his head, his eyes seemed to shoot forth angry sparks of fire, and, altogether, his appearance was enough to shake the strongest nerves. But Frank’s were as firm as a rock. The trusty rifle was held as steadily as though it were a part of him it had served so long and faithfully; and just as the grizzly’s fore-feet touched the ground, a sharp report rang through the ravine, and for an instant the smoke concealed both hunter and bear from the view of Johnny, who, from his perch in a neighboring tree, had watched all that was going on before him with breathless anxiety. When the smoke cleared away he saw Frank standing erect and unharmed, and Old Davy lying motionless where he had fallen. Frank’s bullet had reached its mark.
CHAPTER VI.
DON CARLOS’ RANCHO.
Old Davy, the terror of the country, the destroyer of dogs, and winner of goodness knows how many desperate battles—Old Davy the invincible—had met his match at last in Frank Nelson, a boy of sixteen. The young hunter had long enjoyed an enviable reputation, dating as far back as his desperate fight with the moose, which had taken place during the previous winter, while he and Archie were sojourning at Uncle Joe’s cabin. Since that time he had been the hero of as many scrapes as a boy of his age could well get into. He had been lost on the prairie; stampeded with a herd of buffaloes; passed a night in the camp of a band of blood-thirsty outlaws, who stole his horse and threatened to tie him to a tree and leave him to the mercy of the wolves; had three desperate encounters with a highwayman, and been captured at last and held as a prisoner by him; and in all these trying situations he had shown that he possessed a wonderful degree of courage, and had always conducted himself in a way to draw forth the highest praise from his friends the trappers. But all his former exploits were as nothing compared with the feat he had just accomplished. He had a reputation now that any farmer in that country would have been proud to possess. He would be pointed out as the one who had killed a monster which had held his own against all the men and dogs that could be brought against him; and when he heard old bear-hunters recounting their adventures, and boasting of their achievements, he could hold his head as high as any of them.
That was what Frank thought half an hour after the fight was over; but, when he stood there looking at his prize and at his companions—at Archie, who sat on the ground beside the bear, with his aching head resting on his hands, and at Dick, one or both of whom had been saved by his lucky shot, he never reflected on the glory he had won. He could not help thinking of what the consequences would have been if he, in his excitement, had missed the bear, or failed to disable him.
Never before had the boys engaged in so exciting a battle. It was far ahead of any of their former hunts. It had been ended so fortunately, too! Archie had a lame shoulder and a bruised nose, and for a few minutes had been utterly unconscious of what was going on around him; but he did not feel half so badly about it as Dick did over the trick his horse had played upon him.
“I’ll fix him for that,” said the boy, with a threatening shake of his head. “I’ll put him in one of father’s teams, and make him work for his living. I don’t owe him any thanks for coming out of this fight with a whole skin. After he has made a few trips between our rancho and San Diego, hauling heavy loads of provisions, he’ll wish he had behaved himself.”
“I’ll tell you what I am going to do with mine,” said Archie, with a glance of contempt at the nag which had been the cause of his misfortune: “I’ll leave him out of doors to-night, and let the horse-thieves steal him.”