Chapter Seventeen.
Crusader Chased Again.
The scene, all action and excitement, has nevertheless occupied but a brief space of time: scarce two minutes since the grizzly bears first showed themselves on the edge of the glade till both lie dead within it—victims of their own ferocity.
It might have been very different, and under like circumstances nearly always is. Many cases are recorded in which half a score of camp travellers have succumbed to the insane rage of a single grizzly. Fortunate, too, had been the miners in their shots—no doubt clue to the short range at which they were fired—for the thick, tough skin of this animal is almost ball-proof, and one has been known to bear off a dozen bullets in its body, and carry them about with it afterwards.
The very openness of their danger, with no prospect of escaping it, had lent to the miners the courage of despair, and so made them more fearless in their attack; otherwise they would have fired at the enemy without approaching so near, perhaps to fail. Enough damage has been done notwithstanding, and a cry of lamentation succeeds the shots, and general shouting, as the women gather around the body of that single victim to the fury of the bears. Frightfully mutilated it is, showing parallel tears over the breast—the tracks of claws, all running blood, and a huge gash by the throat where the first stroke had been given.
“Esta Pablito Rojas!” cries a voice, identifying the lad, others adding in sympathetic chorus, “Pobre! pobre-ceti!”
There is one who takes no part in these demonstrations—Henry Tresillian. He is in fact no longer in the camp, for soon as the second grizzly had been disposed of, he started back for the vidette post, and so abruptly as to make all wonder who were observing him. Among the rest Gertrude herself, who thought it strange he should not stay to speak some words of congratulation. He but muttered one or two, with the name of his horse, well known to her, and was off.
Now, from his former point of view, he again beholds Crusader standing just as left, and still to all appearance unmolested. It is more than he expected, but there may be reasons: possibly the shouts and fusillade above have for a time drawn the attention of the Indians in that direction. This will not be for long, and Crusader’s master but counts the moments till he see him assailed and chased.
Nor are they many. Just after his return to the ravine’s head he observes nigh threescore dusky horsemen move out beyond the flanking embattlement of rock; not hastily, nor in confusion, but in deliberate and long deployed line, which stretches afar over the llano.
Crusader sees them too, and seems to regard them with indifference; he has taken to browsing on a piece of rich pasture lying along the stream’s edge, this alone for the time occupying him. That he is the objective point of their movement is evident, though none of them are heading straight towards him, their design being evidently to get around him.