With Ethan Allen at Ticonderoga

by W. Bert Foster

But something more Bryce saw. A second bear had followed the dead one from the hollow tree, and the boy observed this one whisk back into the dark opening between two roots. The tree was all of a dozen feet in circumference and there was doubtless a good-sized cavity in the tall trunk. “Come on! come on!” cried Bryce, excitedly. “Here’s another, Nuck.”

“Have a care, boy!” responded the older lad. “Don’t go too near. It may turn on us.” He hastily finished the loading of his rifle and came up the hill again. They could see the entrance to the lair plainly; but no sight could they get of the second bear. Bryce brought a handful of clods and flung one after another into the hole in the tree. The bear did not even growl, so they were pretty sure that the missiles had not reached it. “He’s climbed up inside,” declared Nuck. “I warrant that tree’s holler up to the first crotch.”

“What’ll we do?” demanded Bryce. “You shot that one, Nuck. Now I wanter git the other, before we go home.”

“We’ll smoke him out,” declared the elder brother. “You stay right here and watch, and I’ll get some wood.” Nuck had brought a tomahawk which, with his skinning knife, was thrust into his belt. With the hatchet he obtained dry branches from the lower limbs of some spruce-trees which grew near, and packed a big fagot through the mire to the hillock where Bryce stood guard. This wood he flung into the mouth of the lair, started the fire with his flint and steel, and when the flames began to wreathe the branches hungrily, he flung on leaves and grass to make a “smudge.” His suspicions regarding the hollowness of the tree proved true, for the draft through the hollow hole acted like a chimney and sucked the smoke upward. It began to wreathe out between the first limbs, some thirty feet or more from the ground.

Suddenly there was a great clatter and scraping of claws inside the tree and then there popped out between the branches the head and shoulders of a smaller bear than the one which now lay still in the bushes. “Wait till he gits out!” shouted Nuck, as the excited Bryce raised his musket. “If you shoot him there he’ll tumble back into the hole.”

Bryce was cool enough to see the wisdom of this advice and stay his hand. But in a moment the bear was completely out and then he fired. The bullet struck home and the bear lost its hold upon the limbs and dropped to the ground, landing with fearful force at the roots of the tree. But it was not dead and after a moment’s struggle, got upon its feet again. But the shock had dazed it and for a little it could neither see its assailants nor find any means of escape. Nuck ran in, placed the muzzle of his rifle within a foot of the creature, and finished it off with despatch.

Bryce was dancing about and yelling like a wild Indian; but it was not for joy over the death of this second bear. He was pointing on high and Nuck looked upward to see a third bear in the tree-top. This one had followed the second out of the hollow trunk and was mounting among the branches with great agility. The smoke pouring up through the hollow had driven the whole family into the open air. The Hardings reloaded their guns with despatch and then, on either side of the tree, fired at the remaining bear. Both bullets went true, but in falling the bear became wedged in the crotch of a big limb and Nuck, throwing aside his shoes and stockings, essayed to climb the trunk to push the dead beast off to the ground.

This was no simple matter, for all he had to cling to were the knots and “warts” on the side of the trunk. It was almost like climbing up the wall of a house. But he reached the first crotch finally and after resting a spell, found the remainder of the climb easy enough. Before he pushed the carcass of the bear out of its resting-place he took an observation of the forest, for he was high above the swamp here and could see beyond the creek. In some way they would have to get the carcasses to the creek bank and transport them to the cabin by canoe. It would be no easy task.

And as he scanned the stretch of river which he could see from his high perch he suddenly observed something which almost caused him to lose his hold upon the tree and fall, like the bear, to the ground. Coming up the stream were two canoes, each paddled by a couple of Indians, and with three white men in each craft. Even at that distance Enoch knew them to be strangers, and they were not a hunting party. Naturally his mind reverted to the warning Crow Wing had brought him a fortnight before, and without stopping to dislodge the dead bear, he descended the tree in utmost haste.

“Why don’t you push the bear off?” shouted Bryce from below.