Tony even got the length of drawing first blood from a grizzly bear. It happened thus:—
He was out with Petawanaquat one day, in a narrow defile of the mountains. The Indian carried his gun; the boy his bow. Tony’s quiver contained two sorts of arrows, one set shod with iron, and sharp, the other set not only blunt, but with a lumpy wooden head, meant not to pierce but to stun birds.
“Ho, look here!” exclaimed Tony, fitting a blunt arrow to the string, and pointing up at a tree, among the branches of which sat a bird resembling a grey hen in size and colour.
Petawanaquat stopped, let the butt of his gun fall to the ground, rested his hands on the muzzle, and smiled approval.
The arrow flew, hit the bird on its astonished eye, and brought it down.
“Good! Tonyquat will be a great chief,” said the red man, with another grave nod.
“Ho, look there!” whispered Tony, glaring in the direction of a thicket while he fitted a sharp arrow to his bow.
Turning quickly, the Indian saw a grizzly bear rise from behind a rock and look at the hunters inquiringly. Before he could raise his gun he heard a twang, and next moment saw an arrow quivering in the bear’s neck. The roar of the enraged animal and the report of his own gun commingled. Another instant, and Tony found himself in the midst of the tree out of which he had just brought the grey bird, hurled there by Petawanaquat, who was himself not a moment too soon in climbing to the same place of refuge. From this point of vantage the Indian, having carried his gun up with him, fired several deadly shots, and killed the bear, whose claws Tony afterwards wore in commemoration of the event.
This was but one of the varied and stirring adventures which befell our little hero while under the care of his red-skinned captor.
What passed in the mind of the Indian during that winter Tony had little opportunity of knowing, for he was remarkably taciturn, though at night, when smoking the calumet over his wigwam fire, the thoughtful expression of his face, and occasional troubled look on his brows, suggested the idea that he was ill at ease. He frequently gazed at his captive as if about to speak to him seriously, but as often seemed to abandon the idea with something like a sigh.