Bert Wilson in the Rockies

by J. W. Duffield

"An' that warn't the only danger, neither. It was beginnin' to get dark, and suddenly, 'way off to the north, I heard the yell of a painter (or a panther, as you lads might call it)," turning toward the three comrades, who were listening intently.

"Waal, when I heard that yell somethin' that seemed colder even than the icy air clutched at my heart. O' course, I didn't have any weapon with me, except as you might call my axe one. I looked around fer it, and saw that it had fallen about three feet farther than I could stretch, and lay half buried in the snow, only the haft stickin' out.

"I made up my mind that I'd have to have that axe, anyway, an' I set to work gettin' it. After thinkin' a few minutes I took off a long leather belt I was wearin' and made a loop by runnin' it through the buckle. From where I was layin' it was an almighty hard job to throw that loop around the axe handle, an' I reckon I must 'a' tried twenty times before I finally made to throw it over. Then I started pullin' easy-like on the belt to tighten the loop, so it would hold on the slippery handle. The belt was a leetle stiff, though, an' the loop wouldn't tighten very close. When I tried to pull in on it, the axe stuck in the crust that covered the softer snow underneath, an' the belt slipped off the handle.

"Waal, boys, I've had my share o' disappointments in this world, I reckon, but I think that was the hardest o' them all to bear. Howsomever, I knew there was nothin' to do but to keep at it until I got that axe, so after a lot o' false throws I got the loop over the handle agin. This time it held better, and at last the head o' the axe broke through the snow crust an' then it was easy t' pull it up to me. When I felt the haft in my hand a little hope come back to me, an' I figgered there might be a chance t' cut myself loose. But I was lyin' in sech a way that I couldn't rightly get at the tree noway, an' finally I had to give up tryin'.

"I've hearn more'n once of wild animals caught in traps gnawin' their own feet off fer the sake o' goin' free, an' the thought come to me of tryin' to chop myself loose in the same way. I think the only thing that kept me from doin' it was the thought that I'd rather be dead than be a cripple, anyway. An' o' course, I knew that arter a while, when I didn't show up at camp, the boys would suspicion thet somethin' was wrong an' make up a searchin' party to look for me. There's somethin'in all of us, I reckon, that keeps right on hopin' up to the very minute that we cash in an' leaves this here vale o' tears.

"But the worst was yet to come, as the story-book fellers say. It had begun t' get real dark, when I thinks I hears a rustlin' sound in the dead underbrush. I grabbed my axe, an' made up my mind to die fightin', anyway. I knew sooner or later some hungry critter would come along an' find me laid out there nice an' invitin', without a chance o' protectin' myself, and I figgered that arter that the end wouldn't be a long ways off.

"In a few minutes I heard the rustlin' sound again, only this time nearer. I twisted as far around as I could, and then I saw what was makin' the noise. Not thirty feet from me one o' the biggest painters I ever laid eyes on was creepin' stealthily along, sizin' me up with his glistenin' green eyes as he went.

"When he saw thet I had spotted him he stopped, crouchin' down clost t' the ground, ready to fight or run, accordin' t' the way things looked to him. Chances are he was half minded t' run, anyway, fer all the wild critters is mighty shy of a man, an' as a rule will go the long way around to keep out o' his way. But this brute was hungry, as I could tell by his lean flanks, an' he didn't scare as easy as usual. I yelled at him, but he didn't move, jest sat there an' looked at me with them unwinkin' eyes, tryin' his best to figger out the way things stood. Every onct in a while his eyes would leave mine, an' he'd glance casual-like around him, but they always came back.

"I knew it wouldn't be long before he got next t' the fact that I was down an' out, an' I was right. I've hearn people say thet animals don't reason, but they're a long ways from hittin' the bull's-eye. It warn't long afore thet painter had everythin' settled in his own mind, an' had decided thet I was helpless fer some reason an' would be easy pickin's fer him. He got up on all fours, and began to growl a little an' switch his tail. I knew then that it wouldn't be long before he came fer me, an' I took a fresh grip on the axe. I knew I didn't have a chance, but I figgered on puttin' my mark on the critter before he did fer me, anyway.

"He crept closer an' closer, growlin' and spittin' away fer all the world like a big tomcat gettin' ready t' fight. I makes a swing at him with the axe, an' he jumps back a little, and fer a few seconds jest crouches an' glares at me, his eyes like two big, gleamin' emeralds. Then he gathers himself fer a spring, an' I gets ready fer what I knows is comin'.