The Crystal Sceptre: A Story of Adventure

by Philip Verrill Mighels

Before attempting to get my plans in operation, I must kill a bear, skin him and cure the hide. This preliminary business presented no inconsiderable sum of difficulties, as I was thoroughly aware. “First find your bear,” said the funny fellow in my brain. This part I thought I could manage, for I had seen a bear in the neighbourhood of the place where the one had appeared that morning after my fight with the alligator. I thought him the same identical animal, which might therefore abide in or about that quarter. But having secured my bruin’s pelt, there remained the task of curing it,—a work which I must conduct alone and away from camp, inasmuch as the Links would be horrified to know that I had committed the deed on so sacred a beast.

There was no more sleep for me after thinking of this. At the first suggestion of dawn I crept out, silently, avoided old Fatty, who was curled down beside my door, and glided noiselessly down the hill, armed with a club, my knife, bow and quiver of arrows. When I arrived at the edge of the lake I went a little into the forest and dug some fresh saltpetre. With this substance I intended to preserve the skin, for not only are its properties well suited to the business, but I was denied the use of our spring of brine by the presence of my bear-adoring friends.

With my cargo of stuff thrown down in the end of the boat, I pushed away from the bank and rowed slowly off toward a point around which I meant to be concealed by the time the Links would begin to stir. The dawn was breaking as I neared my destination, but I waited for full day-break before attempting to go ashore. When at length the boat ran up on the beach I was a mile from the swampy region in which the alligators had proved themselves so numerous and hungry. A small clearing afforded an adequate retreat, where I felt that I could operate without interruption or likelihood of being observed.

With the club and quiver on my back, and the bow in hand, I forced my way through a stubborn growth, coming presently upon the trail of some jungle creature which had apparently broken this path for the purpose of drinking at the lake. I had gone no more than several strides in this beaten track when I nearly stepped upon a hooded snake. Though I jumped back quickly and made ready with speed to hit the reptile with my club, it glided away before I could fetch it a blow, escaping into a maze where I own I dared not follow. Willing enough to let the creature alone, if it would do the same by me, I went on my way. Then occurred the thought, if only I could have killed it and poisoned my arrows, how much better I should be armed for the bear.

Going back I thumped about for several minutes, looking for the venomous serpent, yet dreading to see it. There was little danger of seeing that particular snake again, so I once more resumed my journey. Having the venom thought in mind, I decided to search for a serpent deliberately, for the sake of its poison.

Snake hunting is not in my line. I kept an eye open and peered about in likely places but the reptiles I saw were not the venomous kind and they were often of the constricting variety, so that they and I had nothing in common. I passed them by frequently, in haste to be about my business. The whole morning was passed in this half-hearted search for venom. In the early afternoon, having worked through a wide belt of trees, I issued forth in the largest clearing I had seen since leaving the boat. It was hardly more than fifty feet wide by one hundred long, slightly swampish under foot and overrun with vines, gigantic flowering plants and the rankest of grass.

At the edge of this place I had the luck to see the tail end of what I thought to be a venomous snake. The reptile was nearly safe from harm beneath a mass of interlocking creepers, yet I tried to get at him and became so absorbed while poking about the brush that I clean forgot my more important quest. In the midst of this dallying about, I left my position to run around to the further side of the tangle, and found myself confronted by the creature of all creatures which I regarded as particularly mine—a bear as black as soot.

This animal was nosing about the trunk of a tree. He was only five or six long strides away, paying no tribute of attention whatsoever to me or my prowess. That he had seen me and heard me I could not possibly doubt. I knew at once that the veneration in which he was held by the Links grew out of this remarkable inoffensiveness and the grave, knowing air with which the creature kept about its own concerns. I longed for a well-poisoned arrow, but the time being inopportune for regrets, I silently fitted my choicest shaft on the bow-string and stepped aside for a better chance to shoot.

The bear rose partially up on its haunches, to investigate the tree, presenting an open front, with a bit of white fur at the throat. With this white for a target, I raised my weapon and drew the arrow to the head. It leaped across the meagre distance like a flash of light and quivered a second, buried deep in that snowy fur, which was dyed with red before the creature could drop to a normal position on its feet.

I expected to hear a roar of rage, and then to be attacked forthwith by the infuriated animal, but instead the bear made a sound almost human in its vivid expression of agony. It staggered slightly and brushing at the shaft with its paw, started away toward a thicket. Not to be cheated of my pelt, I threw down the bow and dashed after the creature, club in hand.