wal,” said dick, as soon as frank had finished his story, “that war about the keerlessest trick i ever hearn tell on. here, in the woods, it’s jest the same as it is in a city; let a boy have his own way, an’ he’ll make an eend of himself in a tarnal hurry. don’t you know that that bar could have chawed you up in a minit?”
“yes,” answered frank, “i suppose she could; but i had to run the risk of that in order to get the cubs.”
“yes, that’s another of your boy tricks,” continued dick, knocking the ashes from his pipe, “an’ it ’minds me of some scrapes i had when i war a youngster. it war while my ole man war livin’. him an’ me were onct huntin’ somewhar nigh the head-waters o’ the colorado river. i war about seventeen year ole, an’ a purty good boy i war for my age, too. it tuk a smart, lively young injun to take my measure on the ground, an’ i used to think that what i didn’t know about trappin’, shootin’, and fightin’ grizzly bars, warn’t wuth knowin’. i was allers gettin’ into some scrape or another, an’ sometimes i used to get pawed up purty badly, too; but as long as i could crawl round i war all right.
“i ’member onct that i had been over to a little creek about two mile from the camp, to ’tend to some traps i had sot for muskrats, an’ as i war comin’ home through the woods, i seed a young bar, jest about the size of them you brought home. he come out of the bushes, an’ looked at me a minit, an’ then jumped back agin. i thought he war a purty little feller, an’ made up my mind that i would ketch him an’ take him to camp with me. i had a kinder hankerin’ arter pets, jest like you, frank, an’ i wanted to tame this young bar, an’ i thought me an’ him would have some tall fights when he growed up; so i put arter him, an’ finally ketched the little feller, an’ tuk him in my arms, an’ started for camp. he hollered an’ fit like the mischief; but i hung on to him, an’ arter half an hour’s walk reached home. my ole man warn’t there; he had gone off to ’tend to his traps; but i didn’t keer, for i war used to bein’ alone in the woods. arter feelin’ in all my pockets, i found a long strip o’ buckskin, an’ i thought i would tie the little feller to a saplin’ that stood close by the cabin; so i sot down on the ground an’ war tyin’ the string fast to his neck—he hollerin’ an’ fightin’ all the while—when, all to onct, i heerd a loud growlin’ and crashin’ in the bushes behind me. i looked up, an’ seed the ole bar a comin’. she had heered her baby squallin’, an’ was comin’ arter him. i jumped up an’ let the young bar fall, as though he had been a live coal. my gun war standin’ agin a tree, close by, but i knowed i wouldn’t have time to reach it, so i turned an’ begun to go up the saplin’. you better believe i climbed some, an’ i thought i war gettin’ along mighty fast; but i warn’t a minit too quick. i hadn’t hardly got out of reach afore the bar made a grab at me, an’ pulled off one of my moccasins. i war fairly treed; an’ there i had to stay, too, ’cause the ole bar kept a close watch on me; but the tree war too small for her to climb, so i knowed i war safe. ’bout an hour afore dark i heered the ole man a comin’, an’ the bar left off watchin’ me, an’ begun to get ready for him. so, i hollered to the ole man, an’ he put a chunk o’ lead into her. as soon as i see that she war done for, i slid down the saplin’ as fast as i could to ketch the young bar; but the ole man, who knowed in a minit what i had been doin’, give him a clip side the head with the butt of his rifle, that knocked the daylights out of him; an’ then, bars an’ buffaler, didn’t he scold me for bein’ so keerless; but, law sakes, it didn’t do a bit o’ good, for, in about three days arterward, i war in a wusser scrape nor that.
“arter ’tendin’ to my traps, as usual, i started out through the mountains, on a hunt. ’bout noon i killed a big-horn, an’ while i war cookin’ my dinner, i happened to see, in a rocky place up the side o’ the mountain, a small openin’ ’bout large enough for a man to crawl into, an’ i knowed it war a sort of cave. i didn’t stop to think any more ’bout dinner jest then, but picked up my rifle an’ started up the mountain. i wanted to see what kind of a place the cave war. when i got purty nigh to the openin’ i seed a kind o’ path runnin’ up to it, an’ i knowed the cave must be the home of some wild animal. this made me prick up my ears, an’ be a little more keerful. i didn’t like the idee of havin’ a varmint jump down on me afore i knowed it. but i reached the mouth o’ the cave without seein’ any thing, and poked my head in, keepin’ my gun ready to crack away at the first live thing i should set eyes on; but the cave war so dark that i couldn’t see into it two foot; but i heered something, an’ i scrambled up into the openin’ an’ listened. it war a faint moanin’ kind of a noise—somethin’ like the squall of a young kitten, an’ i knowed in a minit what it war that made it; it war a young painter. now, if i had knowed any thing, i would have climbed down out o’ that place as fast as my legs would let me. but, no; i tuk it into my head all to onct that i must have them young painters. i wanted one of ’em to play with; an’ without stoppin’ to think, i begun to crawl down into the cave, an’ along a narrer, crooked passage that must a been twenty yards long. one little feller kept up his cryin’, an’ it kept growin’ louder an’ louder, an’ i knowed that he warn’t a great way off. at last i come to a place where the cave seemed to widen into quite a large room, an’ after a few minits’ lookin’—or, i should say, feelin’—for the cave war as dark as a nigger’s pocket—i found the young painters—three of ’em—in a nice bed of leaves made up in one corner. i didn’t mind the hollerin’ they made when i tuk hold of ’em, but chucked ’em all into my cap, an’ started back. i had tuk good keer to ’member my bearin’s, an’ i knowed i should have no trouble in findin’ my way out; so i crawled along keerless like, as usual, chucklin’ over my good luck, an’ thinkin’ what nice pets i would make of the young painters, when all to onct i come within sight of the mouth o’ the cave. bars and buffaler! i would have give all the beaver-skins i ever expected to be wuth, if i had been safe out o’ that cave. the ole painter was comin’ in. she had smelt my tracks, an’ i could see by the light that come in, in little streaks on each side of her, that every hair on her body war stickin’ toward her head. she meant mischief. any greenhorn could a told that i war in somethin’ of a fix. i dropped the cubs, an’ as i did so, they all set up a yell. the ole lady couldn’t stand that, an’ givin’ a growl that made my blood run cold, she begun to get ready to spring at me. i used to think i war tall timber at rifle shootin’, but, although the painter war not thirty feet from me, i war ’most afraid to risk the shot. but i knowed i didn’t have much time to waste in sich thoughts, an’ drawin’ up my shootin’ iron, i blazed away, expectin’ to have the painter grab me the next minit. but when the smoke cleared away, i see the old lady stretched out, stone dead. i have been in tight places since then, in fights with varmints an’ wild injuns, an’ many a time a single chunk o’ lead has saved my scalp; but that war the best shot i ever made. it war a thing that many a rocky mountain trapper wouldn’t keer to undertake. i like to hunt now as well as i ever did, an’ expect to be in a good many rough-an’-tumble fights with injuns an’ grizzly bars, but i’d rather be excused from crawlin’ down into a dark hole like that agin. but arter i had got out o’ the cave, i didn’t stop to think o’ the danger i had been in; the cubs war mine, an’ that’s all i keered for.”
here the trapper paused, and thrusting his hand into the pocket of his hunting-shirt, he drew forth a clasp-knife and a plug of tobacco, and after cutting off a generous “chaw,” as he called it, and stowing it away in his cheek, he continued:
“but ’bout the nighest i ever come to bein’ rubbed out, war while i war trappin’ on the missouri river, with my chum, bill lawson—the poor fellow is gone now”—and here the trapper lowered his voice almost to a whisper, in reverence to the memory of his departed companion, and hastily drew his hand across his eyes—“an’ i am left alone. it’ll be lonesome on the prairy when i get back there, an’ when i visit the places where me an’ him used to camp an’ trap together, i shall miss the ole man. he war one of the best trappers i ever come acrost. he war generally very good natered an’ jolly; but he had strange ways with him sometimes, an’ when he got one of his gloomy fits on him, there would be days when—although we ate at the same fire, an’ p’rhaps slept under the same blanket—he wouldn’t speak to me. i knowed something war troublin’ him, an’ it war a sorry sight for me to see that strong man weepin’ like a child; but i trapped with him for better nor five years afore he told me his story. there would be weeks at a time when he would seem to forget his troubles, an’ then it done me good to lay beside our camp-fire an’ listen to his stories. he war a’most as big agin as i am, an’ strong as a hoss. he could pull up a saplin’ that two common men couldn’t budge; and he war as brave as he war strong—as brave as a man could be; he didn’t seem to keer for any thing, for i never see him frightened in my life, an’ i war with him for better nor twenty years. an’ he war a great injun fighter, too. it tuk a mighty lively red-skin, an’ one that could pick up his feet in a tarnal hurry, to get away when ole bill onct set eyes on his trail; for the way he could run war a caution to owls, an’ if there war one of them varmints in the country for fifty miles round, ole bill allers knowed it. he used to tell me that he could smell an injun further than he could see him; an’ i believe he could.
“but what i started to tell you ’bout war a little scrape we onct had with a grizzly. as i said, we war trappin’ on the missouri river, right among the mountains. one mornin’, arter a good breakfast on buffaler hump, i war gettin’ ready to start out to ’tend to my traps, when ole bill said:
“‘dick, i see some grizzly bar tracks down in the gully last night. let’s go an’ hunt up the varmint. i would have follered him up last night, only it war too dark.’
“in course i agreed, an’ we ketched our hosses, which we had picketed close by the cabin, an’ started out—ole bill leadin’ the way.
“huntin’ a grizzly is fine sport sometimes; but if a feller is any way skeery, he had better not take a hand in it. even the injuns don’t keer to meddle with the varmint, unless a dozen or two of ’em, well mounted an’ armed, can ketch him out in clar open ground; an’ even then they have to handle themselves round purty lively, for if the bar onct gets his claws on a hoss he has to go under. you couldn’t hire a red-skin to go into the mountains alone an’ hunt up a grizzly. the varmint allers lives in the thickest part of the woods; an’ if you don’t plug him through the brain at the first shot, or if your hoss gets tangled in the bushes, you’re in a mighty onpleasant fix the first thing you know. but me an’ bill had hunted grizzlies plenty o’ times, an’ allers come out o’ the fight right side up, an’ we war used to the sport.
“wal, as i was sayin’, we started out toward the place where bill had seed the trail o’ the bar, an’, arter four hours’ hard ridin’ over rocks an’ fallen logs an’ thick bushes, we come to the gully. it war ’bout a hundred feet deep an’ a quarter of a mile broad, an’ the banks on both sides war as steep as the roof o’ this cabin, an’ covered with bushes so thick that a hoss couldn’t hardly work a way through ’em. it war a fine place for a bar, an’ many a trapper wouldn’t have liked the idea o’ goin’ down in there to hunt one up, an’ i couldn’t help sayin’:
“‘ugly place, ain’t it?’
“‘yes,’ answered ole bill. ‘but look over there;’ an’ he pinted acrost the gully to a sort o’ clar spot, where there warn’t no bushes, an’ the timber didn’t grow very thick. ‘if the bar gets arter us,’ he went on to say, ‘we must run for that ar place; an’ if we onct get him up there, he’s ourn, sure.’
“arter stoppin’ a few minits to give our hosses a chance to rest, we took a look at our rifles, to see that they war all right, an’ then begun to work our way down into the gully. it must have tuk us an hour to reach the bottom, for the brake war higher than our hosses’ heads, an’ it war hard work to get through it. we had sent out the dogs—we had two of the best bar dogs i ever happened to see—when we first started down, and jest as we reached the bottom of the gully, they give notice, by their howlin’, that they had found the grizzly’s trail. we rid up to the place as fast as we could, an’ ole bill jumped off his hoss an’ examined the tracks. they war fresh. the bar had jest passed along, an’ we knowed that he warn’t far off.
“‘hunt ’em up, dogs! hunt ’em up! off with you!’ shouted ole bill; an’ he jumped on to his hoss agin, and the dogs, understandin’ what he meant, war out o’ sight in no time. we follered them as fast as we could, an’, purty quick, we heered a great crashin’ in the brake, an’ the dogs broke out into a reg’lar yelpin’. we knowed that they had started the bar, an’ war arter him. in a few minits we come up with ’em, and see the bar settin’ on his haunches. the dogs war jumpin’ round him, now an’ then takin’ a grab at his hams, an’ they kept the varmint spinnin’ round as though he war sot on a pivot. ole bill drew his rifle up to his shoulder, an’ sent an ounce-ball into the bar’s hide, which brought him to the ground; but he war on his pins agin in less than no time, an’, leaving the dogs, he took arter ole bill, who made straight acrost the gully toward the clar spot he had spoken of. the dogs follered close at the bar’s heels, onct in awhile makin’ a grab at his back settlements, which seemed to bother him a good deal; but he didn’t stop to fight ’em, cause he thought the ole trapper war bigger game. the bushes an’ trees war so thick that for some time i couldn’t get a chance to put in a shot. i didn’t want to fire till i war sartin of killin’ the bar, ’cause it war only throwin’ away powder without doin’ no good. so i cheered on the dogs, hopin’ that they would bring the bar to a stand-still; an’ i warn’t mistakened, for they begun to pitch in so rough, that the varmint had to stop to keep ’em off. this war what i war waitin’ for, an’ i sent another chunk o’ cold lead atween his ribs. but he didn’t seem to mind it at all; an’, arter beating off the dogs, he started agin for the trapper.
“ole bill had made mighty good use of his time, an’ the way he stuck his heels into his hoss’ sides war a thing to look at. he tried to load up his rifle, but the bushes war so thick that he had to lay close along his hoss, to keep from bein’ swept off by them.
“i drawed up long enough to ram home a ball, an’ then started on agin, an’ when i come up with bill, i found that he had got into a reg’lar laurel brake. the bushes war thicker than ever, an’ as tough as green hickory, an’ bill’s hoss couldn’t hardly make no headway at all. but they didn’t seem to bother the varmint any, for he tumbled along as though the bushes hadn’t been more’n straws; an’ he war gainin’ on bill.
“it war a fine sight to see the way the ole feller carried himself then. he held his knife in one hand, an’ his clubbed rifle in the other, keepin’ his eyes on the bar all the while, an’ leavin’ his hoss to pick out his own way. he didn’t look the least bit skeery, but i knowed he war kalkerlatin’ how many clips he could get at the bar afore the varmint could grab him. the dogs war bitin’ at the bar’s legs all the while, an’ purty soon he had to stop agin to fight ’em off. he raised on his haunches, an’ struck at the hounds, which war as spry as cats, an’ had been in barfights often enough to know how to keep out of his reach.
“‘now’s your time, dick,’ said ole bill. ‘shoot close! my hoss ar purty nigh tuckered.’
“i war all ready, an’ ridin’ up purty close, so as to get in a good shot, i drawed a bead on him, an’ fired, expectin’ to bring him, sure. but a bush atween me an’ him glanced the ball, so that i only made an ugly wound in his shoulder. he give an angry growl, an’, beatin’ off the dogs, he dropped on all-fours, an’ made arter me.
“‘now,’ thinks i, ‘dick lewis, you’re in a blamed ugly scrape;’ and so i war. the bar warn’t more’n twenty feet from me; and afore my hoss had made three jumps, the bar made a claw at him, an’ pulled out half his tail. the animal was doin’ his best, but i see that it warn’t healthy to stay on his back, an’, as we passed under a tree, i grabbed hold of a limb jest above my head, an’ swung myself clar off the saddle, jest in time to see the varmint put both paws on my hoss, an’ pull him to the ground. but that war his last move, for ole bill sent a bullet through his brain that throwed him dead in his tracks.
“i come down out of my tree, feelin’ about as mean as any feller you ever see, for a man might as well be on the prairy without his head as without his hoss, an’ mine war one of the best that ever wore a saddle. but the bar had done the work for him, an’ no amount of grievin’ could fetch me another; so i choked down my feelin’s, an’ begun to help ole bill to take off the grizzly’s hide. but there war plenty of injuns about, an’ it warn’t long afore i had another hoss; an’ ’bout a year arter that i ketched one for which many a trapper would have give all the beaver-skins he ever had. but that’s another story.”
