At length, after a pursuit of some hours, upon attaining the summit of a broad eminence, Big Bill's eyes were gladdened by the sight of some distant objects moving upon the horizon, and he at once redoubled his speed.
The stranger, innocent of suspicion, trotted leisurely forward, whistling, and driving his newly acquired animals with professional composure, without condescending to look back, as he felt certain of security, having left his hospitable friend of the preceding night with nothing better than his own legs for locomotion.
In the meantime, Big Bill was coming up at a gallop; he was boiling with indignation at the treacherous conduct of his uninvited guest; and being fully alive to the manners and customs of the West, he placed his Sharp rifle upon full-cock to be in readiness for an explanation.
A few minutes sufficed to shorten the distance to 100 yards, when the astonished horse-stealer was surprised by the sound of hoofs upon the stony soil, and, turning round, he was almost immediately confronted with the threatening figure of Big Bill. The dialogue which ensued has not been historically described; there was none of the bombast that generally preceded the combats of Grecian heroes; but it appears that the horse-stealer's right hand instinctively grasped the handle of his revolver, not unseen by the vigilant eyes of Big Bill, who with praiseworthy decision sent a bullet through his adversary's chest from the already prepared Sharp .450; leaving the lifeless body where it fell, he not only recovered all his stolen animals, but also possessed himself of the horse and saddle which only recently belonged to the prairie horse-stealer without a name.
The gigantic Swede returned to his solitary camp, well satisfied with his morning's work, as he had gained instead of losing, and he had saved the State of Wyoming the expense and trouble of hanging a man for a crime which is supposed to deserve no mercy, that of "horse-stealing."
Of course this instance of determination and extreme vigilance gained for Big Bill the admiration of the extremely limited number of people who would be called "the public" in the outlying portions of Wyoming; but although contented with himself, Big Bill was always suspicious of a solitary stranger, as he had an undefined idea that some relative of the defunct horse-dealer might draw a trigger upon him unawares. It was this redoubtable Big Bill who now confided to me that he had been running away from some monster grizzly bear only on the preceding day. He pointed out the spot, as nearly as possible, from where we stood during his narrative. "There," he said, "do you see that low rocky cliff on the tip top of the hill just above us? That was the place just beneath, on that little terrace-like projection with a few spruce firs upon it. There's a steep but not a difficult way down by the side of that cliff, and when young Edmund and I got down upon that terrace, there were a lot of big rocks lying about, and all of a sudden one of 'em stood up on end within 10 yards of me, and sat up regularly smiling at me, with the most innocent and amiable expression of countenance I ever saw. That was the biggest grizzly bear I ever came across; he was as big as the biggest bull I ever saw in the ranche, and there he was, sitting up on end like a dog, and almost laughing. There was no laugh in me, I can tell you; I just lost no time, but turned round, and hooked it; and I don't think I ever ran so fast in all my life."
"But why did you not shoot him?" I exclaimed with astonishment. "Shoot him? Oh yes, that's very likely, when he wasn't farther than 10 yards off, and I should have had such a poor start, and no place to run to! No, I knew better than that, with a single-barrel Sharp .450. If I had had your double-barrel .577, with a big solid bullet, and 6 drams of powder, I shouldn't have run away; but I go hunting for skins with my little Sharp, and I don't want a grizzly to go hunting for my skin; not if I know it. I've left him for you, and d'ye see, if you go up there this morning, there's some snow about, and you'll likely come across his tracks. If you do, you'll be astonished, I can tell you."
Ten minutes after this discourse, I was on my way up the mountain side in the hope of meeting this extraordinary bear.
Upon arrival at the summit, there was a splendid view of the main range of the Rocky Mountains, about 70 miles distant, across a desolate region some 4000 feet below the point upon which we stood. There was a little snow, but only in patches on the mountain top, and, when near the terrace upon which Big Bill had had his interview with the bear, we certainly discovered an enormous track, the largest that I have ever seen.
We attempted to follow this for some hours, but to no purpose; on several occasions I could have taken deadly shots at black-tail deer and wapiti, but I determined to reserve my bullet for the big game, the object of our pursuit. The day passed away in failure. The next day was equally disappointing; from morning to sunset I fagged over the summits and the spruce fir sides of the mountains, without a trace of the big bear. We passed the old traces that we had seen the previous day upon the snow, but they were still more indistinct, and there was nothing fresh. I was determined, if possible, to find this bear, therefore I devoted a third day to the pursuit, discarding all other game. On the third morning I started with Texas Bill and Jem Bourne, all mounted, and we rode by a circuitous route to the summit of the hill above the valley of our camp. The snow had melted in most places, leaving only small half-thawed patches. We had so thoroughly explored the entire hillside for a distance of several miles during the last two days, that I arranged a beat on the other side of the mountain, upon the northern slope, facing the far-distant Rocky Mountains.