“Keep ’way from de cage,” warned La Clede. “Dat bear she’s reach hout. All right—hup she’s go!”
There was no chance for a steady pull. The frightened team surged into their collars, fairly jerking Baldy off his feet, and the bear-cage went slithering up the planks and into the wagon-box, catching one corner of the box and ripping it loose from the wagon-bed.
“Whoa!” yelped La Clede. “Stop de team!”
But the team had ideas of their own. They swung sidewise, kicking, plunging, with Baldy digging his heels into the hard surface of the street, trying to stop them. Further around they swung, until at right angles to the wagon they straightened out the rope and fairly yanked the bear-cage through the side-board of the wagon.
For a moment it seemed to hang in midair, then crashed down to the hard earth, striking on one corner. Came the snapping of overwrought rawhide, the splintering of poles, and the grizzly, dazed, fighting mad, shook the poles off his roached neck and stood forth as free as he was the day before La Clede’s trap cut off his freedom.
Brick Davidson was riding into Silverton, and drew up his horse about a hundred feet away from the scene of action. He did not know what was being done until the grizzly emerged from the shattered cage.
In the excitement Baldy let loose of his lines and the team bolted with the remnants of the cage bounding and crashing along behind them. Horses broke away from the hitch-racks and dashed wildly about the street, but no one paid them any heed. The crowd had scattered for places of safety, except little Whizzer Malloy, and now they fairly screamed their warnings to the little, brown-faced, brown-eyed baby, who stood there in the middle of the street, spur in hand, facing a blood-hungry grizzly.
They were not over six feet apart. Somewhere a six-shooter cracked, fired by a nervous hand, and the bullet spouted dust between the baby and the bear. With almost incredible speed for such an unwieldy-looking animal, the grizzly closed the gap, knocking little Whizzer flat on his back.
“Don’t shoot!” screamed Baldy Malloy. “My God, don’t shoot!”
The big bear was master of the situation now. With mane erect, rumbling defiance at those who had attempted to send him into captivity, he crouched lower over the dazed child. Suddenly his head dropped and he gathered the child in his mouth. As he swung up his head Brick Davidson was running toward him, six-shooter in his hand.