The berries didn’t last long and the growling in his stomach was a constant reminder that he needed to find sustanence. At one point he considered killing the horse to keep from dying of starvation but the thought of being on foot was more frightening than going without food. Occasionally he would spot a small animal, a prairie dog he supposed, but he never got close enough to catch it. He would not have hesitated to eat it raw for he had no means to build a fire. He had a knife, which he always wore strapped to his belt, and the clothes he had on when the Pawnees attacked. But that was all. His other belongings had been dropped in the panic to save his skin.
His nights were filled with dreams of food, always meat, usually thick slices of beef, roasted over an open fire. Sometimes it was simple jerky, but always it was meat. He would awaken with his empty stomach gnawing at his backbone and, unable to go back to sleep, he would get up on the gray and start again toward the mountains. He knew somehow that he would find food in the mountains but the mountains never seemed to get any closer. And then one morning, when the sunlight had just begun to dissolve the shroud of mist that blanketed the shallow river he had just forded, he found himself climbing upwards through a stand of tall pines. At once he realized that the gray had been working harder than usual to maintain the pace and he shook himself from the half slumber he had fallen into. Looking back the way he had come, he discovered that he was at a fairly high elevation above the river. Looking ahead now through the trees, he discovered that he had to tilt his head back to find the top of the hill the gray was toiling toward. He was in the mountains! He had made it! The realization of it was enough to start his blood pumping and clear the cobwebs from his brain.
He had been unconcerned about direction, letting the gray have her head. Now he looked around to decide on a course through the mountains before him. Tugging on the horse’s ear, he turned her back toward the river. It would make more sense to follow the river through the hills, he figured. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to stay close to the water. He felt a small measure of elation and his spirits were lifted in anticipation of finding some source of food. He had been telling himself for days that there would be food in the mountains. He had been keeping himself alive on berries and roots he dug up along the banks of the streams he crossed but he knew he had to find some real food soon. He could relax a bit now that he had reached the cover of the timber covering the slopes. Even though he had seen no sign of another human being, he had felt totally exposed the whole time he was crossing the rolling hills. Now there was a feeling of safety in the tall trees and mountain laurel.
The gray, once Robert turned her back to the river, seemed to know where the boy wanted to go and she plodded steadily along, following the water, working her way around rock outcroppings and fallen trees and back again to the riverbank. It seemed to Robert that there were game trails everywhere he looked. His heart was beating rapidly with thoughts of catching some small game. He knew he would eat before night found him on this day. Had he not been so absorbed in his thoughts of food, he might have been more alert. And he might have paid more attention to the sudden skittishness of the gray.
He still didn’t realize the horse sensed trouble until the stillness of the morning exploded with a roar that split the silence like a lightning bolt, causing the horse to fall back on her hindquarters, sending the boy sprawling end over end down an embankment and into the edge of the river. Terrified, he scrambled back up the rocks only to come face to face with a brown monster. Standing on his hind legs, the bear looked to be as tall as the pines behind him. Robert had never seen one before but he did not have to be told that it was a grizzly, evidently infuriated at having been surprised by the boy and his horse. Robert was almost paralyzed with fear. He had no idea whether he should run or stand his ground. The grizzly roared again, causing the pine needles on the trees to vibrate, and the echo reverberated up the narrow canyon. Then, still upright on his hind legs, the monster moved toward the gray.
“Run!” Robert yelled when he finally found his voice. He couldn’t understand why the horse was still sitting there on her haunches, her forelegs straight. She looked to be half sitting, half standing, her eyes wide with fear. “Run! Git! Git!” Robert screamed but the horse made no move to escape as the bear advanced toward her. Robert stood helpless as he watched the great bear slowly stalk the horse. He could see the animal’s claws, like long yellow spikes, and his teeth bared as he roared again. He was powerless to help the gray.
When the grizzly had closed to within a few yards of her, the gray finally showed signs of reacting but her response was slow, as if she was in a trance. She turned slowly away from the bear and only then did Robert realize why the gray had seemed in a stupor. For now he could see the long gash where the gray’s neck had been laid open by a swipe from the giant beast’s paw. The horse had been hit when she bolted, throwing him. Robert heard himself gasp involuntarily when he saw the flesh, ripped and hanging from his horse’s neck. If the blow had caught him instead of the horse, he would surely be dead!
The gray was on her feet now but the bear had closed the distance between them and was ready to pounce on the hapless animal. There was nothing Robert could do to save his horse. His thoughts, distracted for a moment by the horrible drama taking place between the two animals, returned now to saving himself. For what would the great beast do when he had finished the horse? Come after him? He told himself to run while he had a chance but he seemed to be transfixed by the spectacle of the slaughter.
The gray surely realized that she was finished. Her eyes rolled back in a wild stare as the grizzly lunged to complete the kill. But the gray was not short of courage and, in a final act of defiance, kicked out with her hind legs, delivering a solid blow to the bear’s skull. It made a sharp cracking sound like a rifle shot. The blow was enough to stun the great beast and it fell heavily to the ground. Without pausing to think about what he was doing, or the danger he was in, Robert immediately pulled out his knife and attacked the fallen bear. Afterward, when he was in a more rational state of mind, he would find it difficult to explain his actions and why he did such a foolish thing. At the time, he had one thought only and that was to kill the beast before it recovered its senses and came after him. He had only his knife for a weapon so he rushed to the fallen monster in an attempt to cut its throat.
Dodging back and forth to avoid the huge mouth, Robert stabbed at the animal’s throat with all his strength. He was unable to penetrate the tough hide, only causing the stunned animal to roll back and forth slowly. It would be a matter of moments before the beast shook off the effects of the blow to its skull. Robert was frantic. Seeing a large rock near his feet, he picked it up. It took most of his strength to lift it with both hands. Lifting it as high as he could manage, he then slammed it down as hard as he could on the bear’s skull. He would remember long after this day the dull thud it made. And still the animal thrashed about. Robert was terrified. Dodging the flailing paws, he set upon the bear once more with his knife. He stabbed again and again at the animal’s belly, with all the strength he could muster, causing the bear to strike out blindly with one huge paw. It barely missed Robert’s head. The wounds brought blood but were not serious enough to be mortal. The boy had no conscious thoughts beyond fighting for his life but, when it was over, he would never forget the strong stench of the beast and his mind’s eye would always remember a confusion of dark fur, matted with mud and spattered with blood. He jabbed again and again before he at last found a vulnerable spot beneath the bear’s neck and the knife went in up to the hilt. He withdrew the knife and struck at the wound over and over, desperately ripping at the hole he had caused. His face was suddenly spattered with blood when he struck a vital spot. Still he continued to stab the bear until he was forced to back away to escape the flailing paws. Had he known more about bears, and grizzlies in particular, he would have had better sense than to try to kill one with a knife.
Luck was with him on this day. The wounded animal roared and st
umbled to all fours, blowing bloody foam from its nostrils and again barely missing the boy with a wild swing of its forepaw. Robert scrambled over behind a large rock and watched, his eyes wide with fear, expecting a charge from the enraged beast. But the bear seemed confused, maybe from the kick in the head, or from the huge rock he had tried to crush its skull with. There was a great quantity of blood streaming from the wound in the bear’s neck. Robert thought he must have seriously wounded him. The grizzly turned back to the horse, now lying still on the ground, either dead or dying, Robert couldn’t tell for sure. The gray was not a big horse but she wasn’t small either and Robert was terrified when he saw the enraged grizzly slash the horse’s side open with one powerful forepaw. The gray was swept from the riverbank as easily as a person might kick a cat out the door. Robert knew his life was about to end if he didn’t do something quick.
Figuring he had mere seconds before the lumbering beast located his hiding place, Robert left the cover of the rock and sprinted for a tree that was growing right up against a solid rock cliff. There was a ledge about twenty feet up and he figured, if he was lucky, he could manage to scramble up the tree and get up on the ledge before the grizzly saw him. From a dead run, Robert jumped up into the limbs of the tree and climbed as fast as he could pull himself up, expecting to feel the bear’s claws in his back at any moment.
Robert’s escape was detected by the bear but the grizzly did not spring into chase, as Robert expected. Instead, he merely watched the boy as he climbed, showing no interest in pursuit. Robert’s heart was beating wildly as he climbed out on the ledge and looked down at the huge beast. There was a great deal of dried blood matted in the animal’s fur but Robert could still see fresh blood oozing from the knife wound. Evidently he had hit an artery and the bear’s rage had caused it to keep pumping instead of clotting. Maybe he’s had enough, Robert thought. Maybe he’ll just go away. As if the bear had read his thoughts, the beast suddenly turned and loped toward the cliff and the boy on the ledge.
At the foot of the ledge, the bear reared up on his hind legs, reaching with his front paws, but the boy was safe by a good ten feet. Robert jumped back from the edge when the bear made several fruitless attempts to jump up and gain enough foothold to climb the cliff. Still, Robert didn’t feel very safe on his perch and he looked around him for any possible route of escape. There was none. The only way off the ledge was to go back the way he had come and, judging by the enraged roars of the wounded bear, it didn’t appear that the beast was going to lose interest anytime soon. He worried that the bear might ultimately find a way up to him, maybe by the same tree he had climbed. He had hoped that, after a few futile attempts to scale the cliff, the bear would tire of the game and give it up. But as he watched the persistent animal below him, it occurred to him that the best thing that could happen would be if the bear kept losing blood. He was already showing signs of fatigue. Maybe, if he kept aggravating him, he would kill himself from loss of blood.
He’s already madder’n hell. It can’t get no worse, he thought. With that, he picked up a rock about the size of a cabbage and threw it at the raging grizzly below him. The rock hit the bear squarely between the eyes and served only to further infuriate the beast. Robert looked around for something larger, and picked up the biggest rock he could lift and struggled over to the edge with it. The bear was directly under him. This time there was a definite effect when the rock impacted with the top of the bear’s skull, and the boy felt a triumphant surge when the animal staggered slightly and backed away a few feet. The grizzly sat down, dropping heavily to the ground. Getting weak from loss of blood, the bear slowly rocked his head back and forth, from side to side, the ferocious roar replaced now with a cry that was more bellow than roar. Robert continued to pelt the wounded animal with rocks but the bear’s will to fight seemed to have drained. Robert found it hard to believe he could have mortally wounded the great beast with nothing more than a hunting knife. The kick from the horse must have done more damage than he had thought. Whatever the cause, the bear was definitely quitting the battle. With some effort, it got up on all fours and slowly padded from the clearing into the trees.
Robert watched until the animal could no longer be seen through the brush. He was aware of the beating of his heart now, pounding against his ribs. It had seemed to stop while the monster was raging below the ledge. He suddenly felt weak in the knees and had to sit down for a moment before carefully climbing back down the tree. He looked around him constantly, fearful that the bear might suddenly appear in a cloud of fury and strike him down. But all was quiet in the little clearing by the river. Convinced at last that he wasn’t about to meet his maker, at least not in the next few minutes, he walked over to look at his unfortunate mount of the past several days.
“Damn,” he uttered softly, looking at the still, gray mound that less than an hour before had been his salvation in this vast wilderness. Now he was on foot. The horse had saved his life, certainly when he escaped the Pawnees, but again in the forest when she kicked the bear in the head. A wave of compassion swept over him as he recalled how faithful the gray had been, sticking by him all the way across the prairie. “Damn,” he repeated, a little more angry this time. The more he thought about the bear attack, the more angry and frustrated he became. He looked around until he found his knife, wiped it clean and returned it to the deerskin case strapped to his belt.
“That bear looked awful damned poor when he dragged his ass off through the trees,” he said. He made up his mind to follow his trail to see if the bear was indeed dying. He felt more comfortable with the idea that he was stalking the bear instead of the other way around. Besides, bear meat was meat and he needed nourishment. His mind made up, he trotted off in the direction he had last seen the grizzly.
The bear was not hard to follow. A blind man could follow the trail of broken limbs and smashed bushes and Robert did not fail to notice the occasional smears of blood on the leaves in the thicker foliage. The animal was apparently headed for higher ground, possibly to some cave up the mountain somewhere. Robert hoped to find him before that happened. He had no desire to follow a wounded grizzly into a cave. His worries were needless, however, because after climbing for about a quarter of an hour, the trail suddenly led back down the slope toward the river again. Only now the bear seemed to be confused and uncertain because the trail led first one way and then another, wandering aimlessly. Robert guessed the bear must have lost too much blood by then to even know where he was heading. The trail steepened a bit and Robert had to hold on to the bushes to keep from going too fast. All at once his feet slipped out from under him and he went down on his backside. When he tried to scramble to his feet, he went head over heels, thrashing and grappling in a frantic effort to stop his tumble. He ended up at the bottom of a ravine in a thicket of mountain laurel.
“Damn!” he swore, afraid to move until he was certain he hadn’t broken anything. Satisfied that he had suffered no more than a few bruises and one or two skinned places, he carefully began to extract himself from the laurel. Once out of the bushes and on his feet again, he glanced to his left. There, no more than ten feet from him, lay the body of the grizzly.
His heart leaped up into his throat and he ran for the side of the ravine, scrambling up the slope on his hands and knees. When he was halfway up the steep bank, he paused, for he realized the bear had not moved. He froze motionless, holding on to the root of a small bush to keep from sliding back down the bank. Gasping for breath, he stared down at the huge mound of fur for a full minute before he finally relaxed and let himself slide slowly back down to the bottom.
He still felt the need to exercise a great deal of caution as he carefully approached the motionless brown heap, stopping every few feet to listen, staring to detect any sign of even the slightest quiver. He didn’t know if grizzly bears ever played possum or not and he wasn’t going to take any chances that this one might be waiting to grab him. After two or three such pauses with no sign of life, the boy
finally stood over the fallen animal.
The bear was lying on his side and Robert could see the wound, still weeping slightly, just under the beast’s huge neck. It seemed odd to him that a wound that looked so small could have been that lethal. A little bolder now, he reached out and poked at the carcass with his knife. There was no doubt about it, the bear was dead. He suddenly felt a warm, almost primal, feeling of triumph. He had faced a mighty foe, a challenge of death, and he had emerged victorious! Now, he thought, he would eat bear meat for supper! With that stimulating thought, he set about the task of skinning the bear.
This proved to be almost as big a challenge as killing the bear. Robert knew nothing about skinning any animal, much less a bear, and he wasn’t sure where he should start. One thing he knew, though, he couldn’t wait too long in doing whatever he was going to do. It wouldn’t take long for wolves or vultures, or both, to detect the dead animal and he had nothing but his knife to fend off any scavengers. He stood looking at the carcass for a full minute, trying to decide where to start. He remembered how tough the hide was when he had first tried to plunge his knife into the stunned animal so he decided the underbelly would be the most likely place to start.
The knife went in more easily than he expected but he had to work hard to force it, slashing and ripping a long opening down the length of the bear’s belly. As the flesh parted, a smelly mess of entrails began to push out of the animal’s insides, causing Robert to step back for a second or two and get a clean breath. Determined, for he was hungry, he set in again and finished disemboweling the beast. When he found what he was sure must be the liver, he remembered hearing tales told by some of the trappers that had visited Freeman Johnson’s trading post. They had told of killing elk and deer and eating the warm liver raw. They said that nothing beat it for gaining your strength back. He stared at the still-warm organ for a moment before taking his knife and slicing off a piece of it. Holding the piece up to his nose, he sniffed it. His stomach growled and seemed to be twisting itself into knots, telling him that it wanted the liver whether his nose did or not. He had to have food, he told himself, so he shoved the liver into his mouth and started chewing. He was surprised—it wasn’t nearly as bad as he had expected.
Wind River Page 4