The Wild Man of the West: A Tale of the Rocky Mountains

  CHAPTER FOUR.

  GIBAULT HAS AN ADVENTURE, AND DISCOVERS A VERY STRANGE CREATURE IN THEWOODS--A MOST TREMENDOUS BEAR-HUNT PARTICULARLY DESCRIBED.

  Meanwhile Black Gibault, having followed the course of the river forsome distance on foot, struck into the woods, sought for and found thetrack of the bear, and, looking carefully to the priming of his gun, andknocking the edge of the flint to sharpen it, pushed forward in pursuitwith the ardour of a reckless man.

  Gibault Noir was a goose! But he was an amiable goose; therefore menforgave his follies. Had Gibault not been a goose he never would haveset off alone in pursuit of a grisly bear when he had comrades who mighthave accompanied him. Every one knows--at least, if every one does notknow, every one who reads these pages may know henceforth--that thegrisly bear of the western prairies and Rocky Mountains is one of themost desperate and most dreaded animals on the face of the earth; notdreaded merely by the weak and the timorous, but dreaded also by thebravest Indians and the boldest trappers. Of course we do not mean tosay that by these latter the grisly bear is dreaded with anything likecowardly terror; but it is regarded with that degree of wholesomeanxiety and extreme caution with which men usually regard an excessivelydangerous and powerful enemy.

  Unlike other bears, the grisly bear scorns to fly from before the faceof man. His ferocity, when wounded, is terrible, and his tenacity oflife is such that, however many mortal wounds one may give him, he willretain life and strength long enough to kill his assailant before hehimself dies, unless he is shot dead at once by a ball being planted inhis heart or brain, both of which are difficult to reach.

  He has a grumpy sort of magnanimity of his own, however, and willusually let men alone if men will let him alone. But men are not proneto let anything alone; hence encounters are frequent; wounds, on bothsides, are numerous; and death, on one or other side, is almost certain.

  Old trappers are not fond of attacking Caleb single-handed, but younghot-blooded fellows, who have got their names to make, are lesscautious, and sometimes even court the combat, as was the case in thepresent instance with reckless Gibault Noir.

  For half an hour, Gibault went over the ground at a sort of half-walk,half-trot, stopping occasionally to examine the prints of the bear morenarrowly when they passed across hard ground that did not take a goodimpression. At length he came to a deep gully or creek, where thebushes were so dense that he could not see far through them in anydirection. Here he halted, re-examined his priming, and, peeringcautiously through the underwood, advanced with much greaterdeliberation and care than heretofore.

  In descending the gully, Gibault stumbled once or twice, and made one ortwo crashing bursts through bushes that would have proved quiteimpervious to most men. After much toil he reached the bottom, and,standing there, up to the ankles in a small rivulet, gazed upward at thebank he had now to ascend.

  "Vraiment, it be uncommonly difficile," said he, addressing himself tothe task, while the perspiration began to roll down his forehead.

  At last he reached the top of the bank on the other side, and, afterpanting for some time, began to look for the bear's footprints; butthese could not now be found. In his scramble through the gully he hadlost them, and the ground on the side he had just reached was so hardand rocky that it seemed to him doubtful whether it was capable ofreceiving any visible impression from a bear's paw. It was justpossible, too, that the animal had found the descent of the gully asdifficult as he himself had; in which case it was highly probable thatit had used the course of the rivulet as a pathway.

  For a moment, the little Canadian meditated a second descent into thegully for the purpose of settling this point, but, having not yet quiteceased to pant from his recent exertions, he thought better of it, anddetermined to make a further examination of the ground where he was.After doing so for a quarter of an hour, his exertions were rewarded bythe discovery of what appeared to be a track. It was not very distinct,but it was sufficiently so to induce him to follow it up with renewedardour.

  Presently he came upon a spot where the ground was not so thicklycovered with underwood, and where, in some places, it was so soft as toshow an exact print of the foot of the animal he was following up. Herehe received a great disappointment, and an equally great surprise--adisappointment on finding that the track he followed was _not_ that of abear, and a surprise on discovering that it _was_ that of a man!

  On first making this discovery, Gibault stopped short, laid his gun onthe ground, stooped down, planted a hand on each knee, opened his eyesto their utmost, pursed his lips to the tightest, and stared at thefootprint, the very embodiment of astonishment. After a few seconds hegave vent to a low whistle, and said "Ho!" Exactly ten seconds afterthat, he said "Ha!" and, raising his right hand, scratched the point ofhis nose, which, being too red naturally, was not improved by theoperation.

  None of these acts and exclamations, either collectively or singly,seemed to afford him any enlightenment, for he began to shake his headslowly from side to side, as if he had come to the conclusion that thewhole affair was utterly beyond his limited comprehension; then hestarted up, shouldered his gun, and followed the track of the man withas much ardour as he had formerly pursued that of the bear.

  Perseverance is almost invariably rewarded. This would seem to be oneof those laws of nature which fail to operate only on very rare andpeculiar occasions. Gibault had not advanced more than a hundred yardswhen he came suddenly upon the man whose feet had made the tracks he hadbeen following.

  "The Vild-Man-of-de-Vest! certainement!" muttered Black Gibault slowly,as he gazed at the creature before him, and quietly cocked his rifle tobe ready for any emergency.

  Certainly the man upon whom our trapper had stumbled thus suddenly mighthave been styled the wild man of any region--west, north, east, orsouth,--with perfect propriety. On his legs were a pair of dark greyfustian trousers, which had seen so much service that, from the kneedownwards, they were torn into shreds. His feet were covered by a pairof moccasins. Instead of the usual hunting-shirt he wore one of theyellow deerskin coats of a Blackfoot chief, which was richly embroideredwith beads and quilt work, and fringed with scalp-locks. On his head hewore a felt hat, with a broad rim and a tall conical crown, somewhatresembling a Spanish sombrero, and beside him, on the bough of a tree,hung a long blue Spanish cloak. The countenance of this extraordinaryman was handsome and youthful, but wild and somewhat haggard, as if frommuch recent suffering. His eye was black and piercing, his noseaquiline, and his forehead broad, but his mouth was effeminate, his chinsmall and beardless, his neck long, his shoulders narrow and sloping,and his black hair hung in long straight locks over his shoulders. Ashort sword, somewhat resembling that of the ancient Roman, lay on thesward beside him, and near to it a huge cavalry pistol of the oldentime, with a brass barrel and a bell mouth--a species of miniatureblunderbuss. Its fellow was stuck in his belt, beneath the chief'scoat, as could be observed from the appearance of the butt protrudingfrom the opening in the breast thereof.

  This personage was seated on a grassy knoll so absorbed in some curiouskind of occupation that he was totally unobservant of the presence ofGibault until he had approached to within thirty yards of him. Althoughhis occupation was a mystery to the trapper, to one a little moreconversant with the usages of civilised life, the open book on the knee,the easy flow of the pencil, and the occasional use of a piece ofindiarubber, would have been sufficient evidence that the young man wassketching the view before him.

  "Ahem!" coughed Gibault.

  The stranger scattered book, pencil, and indiarubber to the winds (or tothe atmosphere, for there happened to be no wind at the time), andstarted up. In doing so, he showed that he was at least a tall, if nota stout fellow. Seizing a pistol with one hand and his sword with theother, he presented both at Gibault, and yelled, rather than shouted,"Stay! halt! stop now, my man; drop the butt of your gun, else I'll--I'll blow out your brains."

  Although somewhat startled by this unus
ual mode of salutation, thetrapper had sense and quickness enough to perceive that the artist wasin anything but a warlike state of mind, and that his violentdemonstration was the result of having been startled; so, pulling offhis cap with that native politeness which is one of the characteristicsof the French Canadian, he advanced, and said--

  "Bon jour, monsieur. I ver' moch sorray dat I be give you von fright.Pardon, sair; how you do?"

  "Thank you--thank you, good fellow," replied the artist, laying down hisweapons and grasping Gibault's proffered hand with a sigh of evidentrelief, "I am well, excellently well. You did, indeed, startle me byyour sudden appearance; but no harm is done, and where none was intendedno apology is necessary. You are a Frenchman, I think?"

  "Non, sair; not 'xactly. I be French Canadian. Mine fadder was be vonCanadian; mine moder was a Frenchvoman; I be leetle of both."

  "And you have cause to be proud of your country, my man," returned theartist, collecting his scattered drawing materials and quietly sittingdown to continue his sketch, "a splendid country and a noble people.Sit down, my good friend, if you can spare time, while I put a fewfinishing touches to this sketch."

  "Mais," said Gibault, rubbing his nose in great perplexity at thecoolness of this eccentric wanderer; "mais, monsieur, I hab _not_ time;I be follerin' de tracks of von monstracious grisly bar--"

  "What! a grisly bear?" cried the artist, looking up with suddenanimation.

  "Oui, monsieur. We have see him not long 'go, an' hopes to kill himsoon."

  The artist's dark eye sparkled with animation as he hastily shut up hissketch-book and thrust it, with his drawing materials, into a smallpocket inside the breast of his coat.

  "A grisly bear!" he repeated. "Ha! lead on, good fellow, I willfollow."

  Thus urged, Gibault, without further loss of time, led the way to thebanks of the river, followed closely by his new friend, who stalkedbehind him with long ostrich-like strides. The semi-theatrical air ofthe artist made a deep impression on the trapper. Had Gibault knownwhat a theatrical air was, he might have been immensely tickled; but,being what he was--an unsophisticated son of the wilderness--he knewnothing about such airs, and therefore regarded his companion in thelight of a superior order of being, or a madman; he was not quite surewhich.

  In a few minutes they emerged from the bushes and came out upon the bankof the river, which at that part was high and precipitous, with fewtrees, but a considerable quantity of underwood on the slopes.

  "Are you sure, friend, that a bear has been seen by you?" inquired theartist.

  "Oui; most positavly sure, sair. Ha! an' here be him's fut encore. Ihave lose him in de vood. Now, monsieur, have your pistol ready."

  "Lead on," returned the artist. "I have longed much for this day. Toshoot an individual of this ferocious class has been my ambition--Ho!friend, look here. Yonder object seems like a canoe. Whence comes it,think you? This region, I know, is not very safe. There are Indianswho do not love the whites in--"

  "No fear, monsieur," interrupted Gibault, "dat be mine comerades--Goodmans an' true every von. Dey come to land here, I see."

  A low growl in the bushes a little distance ahead of them put an abrupttermination to the conversation. Gibault threw forward the muzzle ofhis gun, and glanced at his comrade. The glance did not tend to comforthim. The artist was pale as death. This, and an occasional twitch ofthe lip, were clear and unmistakable signs to the backwoodsman that fearhad taken possession of his friend, and that he was not to be counted onin the moment of danger. Yet there was a stern knitting of theeyebrows, and a firm pressure of the lips, that seemed to indicatebetter qualities, and perplexed him not a little.

  "P'r'aps, monsieur," suggested Gibault hesitatingly, "you had bettervait for de canoe."

  "Lead on!" said the artist, cocking both pistols, and pointing with oneof them to the place whence the growl had issued.

  Gibault elevated his eyebrows, shrugged his shoulderscharacteristically, and, uttering the single word "bien!" walked quicklyforward.

  A few steps brought him to an open space, in the midst of which thegrisly bear was discovered. It was seated on its haunches, lookingsulkily about, as if it had a suspicion that enemies were tracking it.Creeping with the utmost caution on his hands and knees, Gibault got towithin forty yards of the monster, whose aspect at that moment wasenough to try the courage of most men. There was a wicked glare in hislittle eye, as he swayed his huge body from side to side, that indicatedbut too clearly the savage nature of his disposition. Even Gibault felta little uneasy, and began to think himself a fool for having venturedon such an expedition alone. His state of mind was not improved by thesound of the artist's teeth chattering in his head like castanets.

  Taking a very long and deliberate aim at the bear's heart, he pulled thetrigger, but the faithless lock of his old flint-gun missed fire.Without a sign of annoyance or agitation, the trapper recocked the gun,again pulled the trigger, and with the same result. Three times thisoccurred, and at each click of the lock the bear cocked his earsinquiringly. The third time, he rose and sauntered slowly towards thespot where the men lay concealed.

  "Stay," whispered the artist, as Gibault was once more about to try hispiece, after rubbing the edge of his flint with his thumb-nail; "stay, Iwill fire."

  So saying, he suddenly pointed a pistol straight at the advancingmonster and fired. A tremendous roar followed the report. Gibaultleaped up, exclaiming angrily, "Vat foolishness! a pistol! hah! ve mustrun." He turned at once to do so.

  "Stay!" cried the artist, who no longer trembled, though his countenancewas still ashy pale, "I have another pistol."

  "Does you vish to _die_?" yelled the trapper, seizing his comrade bythe collar.

  Whether it was the yell of the man, or the reiterated roar of theadvancing bear, or both combined, that had an effect on the artist, wecannot tell, but certain it is that he sprang up and darted afterGibault with astonishing rapidity. Being long-legged and uncommonlysupple he soon passed him; but, fast though they both ran, the bear ranfaster, and, having been badly cut up about the face by the slugs withwhich the pistol had been charged, his spirit was roused to the utmostpitch of ferocity.

  Now, while this was going on in the bush, the other trappers werequietly fastening the line of their canoe to a shrub that held itfloating in a pool of still water near the shore. No sooner did thepistol-shot ring upon their ears than every man seized his gun, hastilyexamined the priming, and scrambled up the bank, which at that spot wasvery steep.

  Having gained the top, they paused for an instant to gaze intently atthe bank of the river above them, in order to ascertain the exact spotto which they ought to hurry.

  "I see no smoke," said March Marston in a tone of deep anxiety.

  "Gibault's gun didn't use for to bark in that sort o' voice," observedBounce.

  "I do b'lieve that bar's got 'im," cried Big Waller, bounding forward.

  He had not taken a second bound when the artist, flying at full speedabout three hundred yards up the river, burst upon the astonished visionof the party. His sombrero had blown off, his long hair streamedstraight behind him, so did the scalp-locks on his coat, and so did hislong cloak which was fastened to his neck by a clasp, and which, in hispresent panting and rushing condition, wellnigh strangled him.

  Before the wonder-stricken trappers had time to remark on this singularapparition, or to form any opinion in regard to it, poor Gibault cametearing round the point like a maniac, with the bear close upon hisheels. This was enough. The backwoodsmen no longer showed any signs ofsurprise or hesitancy. A grisly bear was a familiar object--a comradein imminent danger was equally so. They sprang forward to meet thefugitives.

  By this time the cloak had so retarded and strangled the poor artistthat he had fallen a pace or two behind Gibault, and it seemed almostcertain that he would fall a victim to the furious bear before thetrappers could kill it, for they could not venture to fire at it whilethe fugitives almost screened it fr
om their view. As they drew near toeach other the trappers almost instinctively divided into two parties.Redhand and Hawkswing went a little to the right; Bounce, Waller, andour hero, diverged to the left, so as to let the flying men pass betweenthem, and thus attack the bear on both sides at once.

  Gibault attempted to cheer as he darted through the friendly line, buthe could only give forth a gasp. At that moment an unexpected incidentcontributed to the deliverance of the artist. The bear was within ayard of him as he came up; just then the clasp of his cloak gave way,and the huge garment instantly enveloped the head of the bear and aconsiderable portion of its body. It tripped, rolled over, and, inattempting to free itself, tore the cloak to shreds.

  At the same instant a volley was fired by the trappers, and three ballspierced its body. None of them, however, seemed to have hit a mortalpart, for the infuriated animal instantly rose and glared from side toside in disappointed malice, while the trappers who had fired werereloading, each behind a bush, with perfect coolness, but with theutmost celerity.

  While the bear was on the ground, the fugitives had each sprung into thebush, and found a place of concealment. Redhand on the one side, andBounce on the other, had reserved their fire; the wisdom of this was nowshown. The bear made a rush at the bushes on one side, and instantlyreceived a shot from the other. It turned at once to rush on theconcealed enemy there, but, before it had made a stride in thatdirection, another ball was lodged in it from the opposite side. Thevacillations thus produced gave the other trappers time to reload, and,before it had made up its mind which to attack, another volley wasfired, and three balls took effect, Redhand and Bounce still reservingtheir fire as at the first.

  The impotent fury of the creature was now awful to behold. It wasmortally wounded; there could be no doubt as to that, for the trapperswere all pretty good shots and knew where to fire, but they had notsucceeded yet in reaching the seat of life. One ball had broken thebear's shoulder, and the blood flowed from its wounds, while churnedblood and foam dropped from its jaws.

  Before another volley could be fired it made a furious rush at the threemen who had kept away to the left, namely, Big Waller, Bounce, andMarch. There was no help for it; not having completed their loading,they had to drop their guns and run. We have already said that thesethree had diverged towards the river. It now proved to be unfortunatethat they had done so, for the bank at that place jutted out into thestream in such a way that it was impossible for them to avoid leapinginto the river. The bank overhung the stream and was fully twenty feethigh. Big Waller, who reached it first, hesitated to take the leap.Bounce, who came next, rushed violently against him, and the two wentover together, fell into the water with a tremendous splash, and sank.March come up the instant after, and sprang far out at once with a bold,unhesitating spring. The bear was so close upon the youth that for onemoment they were both in the air at the same time, but the former hadnot gone off with a spring, he merely tumbled over, half involuntarily,so that when they struck the water there was at least a yard betweenthem. But this was not a long space. The superior swimming powers ofthe bear over the man would have diminished the distance to nothing in aminute or so. Even as it was, the bear was within six inches of March'sheels when Hawkswing and Redhand gained the edge of the bank.

  Redhand was armed with a rifle--an old and trusty weapon that had beenthe means of saving his own life and the lives of comrades in many adoubtful encounter with beast and with man. Kneeling down, he took arapid aim and fired. The bullet sped true. It entered the back of thebear's head, and the lifeless carcass floated down the stream. Thethree men, instantly observing the effect of the shot, turned round,and, swimming towards their late enemy, laid hold of him, and draggedand pushed him with some difficulty towards the shore.

  Meanwhile Black Gibault, who had issued from his hiding-place and hadwitnessed Redhand's successful shot, began to caper and dance and shoutin the exuberance of his glee. Most men are apt to suffer when theygive way to extravagant action of any kind. Gibault forgot that he wason the edge of an overhanging bank. The concussion with which he cameto the ground after the performance of a peculiarly complicatedpirouette broke off the edge of the bank, and he was precipitatedheadlong into the river, just a yard or so from the spot where hiscomrades were engaged in landing the bear.

  A loud laugh greeted his sudden and unexpected descent. Scrambling onshore, and laying hold of the bear's tail, he exclaimed--

  "Hah! mes garcons, heave avay. I have come down for to give you leetlehelp. Splenderous hear! Pull avay!"

  The bear was then dragged out of the water and stretched upon the greensward, where for some time the trappers stood round it in a picturesquegroup, commenting upon its size and appearance, and remarking upon thevarious incidents of the chase.

  As the exact dimensions of this particular bear were taken and noteddown on the spot, we will give them here for the benefit of inquiringminds. It weighed, as nearly as could be guessed by men who werepractised in estimating weights, 600 pounds. On its hind legs it stood8 feet 7 inches. Round the chest it measured 5 feet 10 inches; roundthe neck 3 feet 11 inches. The circumference of the thickest part ofthe fore leg was 2 feet, and the length of each of its claws was 4 and aquarter inches. It was whitey-brown in colour, and a shaggier, fiercer,uglier monster could not well be imagined.

  "But, I say," cried Bounce, looking round suddenly, "wot's come o' yon'xtraor'nary feller as--"

  Bounce paused abruptly, for at that moment his eye fell on the"'xtraor'nary feller" in question. He was seated quietly on a largestone, not many yards distant, with book on knee and pencil in hand,making a rapid sketch of the party and the surrounding scene!

  "Wot is he?" inquired Bounce of Gibault in a whisper.

  "I calc'late," observed Waller in a low voice, at the same time touchinghis forehead and looking mysterious; "I calc'late, he'snoncombobble-fusticated."

  "Perhaps," said Redhand with a quiet laugh.

  "Whatever he is, it's bad manners to stand starin' at him," saidRedhand, "so you'd better go and pick up yer guns and things, whileBounce and I skin this feller and cut off his claws."

  The party separated at once, and the artist, who seemed a littledisappointed at being thus checked in his work, no sooner observed theflaying process begin than he turned over the leaf of his book, andbegan a new sketch.

  Not many minutes were required for the skinning of the bear. When itwas done, it, along with all the scattered things, was placed in thecanoe, and then Redhand, approaching the artist, touched his cap andsaid--

  "You have shared our hunt to-day, sir; mayhap you'll not object to shareour camp and our supper."

  "Most willingly, my good friend," replied the artist, rising and holdingout his hand, which the trapper shook heartily. "You seem to betrappers."

  "We are, sir, at your service. It's gettin' late and we've a good bitto go yet, before we come to the place where we mean to camp, so you'dbetter come at once."

  "Certainly; by all means; let us embark without delay," replied theartist, pocketing his sketch-book.

  "Pardon me, sir," said Redhand, with some hesitation, "are you alone?"

  "I am," replied the other sadly; then, as if a sudden thought had struckhim--"I had two pistols and a cloak once."

  "We've picked 'em up, sir. They're in the canoe now. At least thepistols are, an' what's left o' the cloak."

  "Ha! 'twas an old and cherished friend! Are you ready?"

  "All ready, sir."

  So saying, the old man led the way to the canoe and embarked with hisstrange companion. Then, pushing out into the stream just as the shadesof night began to descend upon the wilderness, the trappers paddledswiftly away, wondering in their hearts who and what the stranger couldbe, and talking occasionally in subdued tones of the chief incidents ofthe exciting combat through which they had so recently passed.