CHAPTER IX.
THE SILVER-TIP.
On leaving the wharf, Baranov had led the way directly up throughthe settlement, past the Mission School, until he reached the veryoutskirts of the village, where, in a half-cleared patch of ground, theboys stopped to get breath and wave a last good-by to their father.
"Naow," said the guide, with some emphasis, "comes the tug of war.You've both got good thick boots on, I s'pose?"
Tom was well-equipped in this respect, and Fred's shoes were heavyenough for ordinarily rough walking and weather.
"I've got a blanket apiece _cached_ here," continued Baranov, lookingabout him, and presently drawing out two bundles from beneath a bigstump, where he must have hidden them the night before. "They'll bepretty heavy for ye to lug, but thar's no tent, and it'll be coldenough before mornin' to make you glad you brought 'em."
He thereupon produced some twine and straps, and arranged a blanket onthe back of each of the two boys, so as to make the loads as easy aspossible.
"I've got my blanket and a rubber to put under us," he added, "in mybag."
"Ho, this isn't any load!" shouted Tom. "It's light's a feather."
Solomon smiled grimly as he swung his fifty-pound pack over hisshoulder, picked up his ax, and started into the woods.
"It'll grow a leetle heavier before night," he remarked. "It's a waythem blankets have, in this country."
"Which way are you going?" asked Fred, adjusting his eyeglasses for thetenth time, as he stumbled over a mossy log.
"Wall, I think we'll strike into the old trail that leads up to theSilver Bow, and foller that fer a piece. Then--I'll see."
A rough tract of land lay between the clearing and the path. Baranovwent right ahead, striding along over fallen trees and bowlders, withsmoke-wreaths from his pipe floating back over his broad shoulders.
The forest was carpeted with deep, wet moss, into which the boys oftensank to their knees; and more than once they tripped and nearly fell.The mountain-side was thickly wooded with spruce, yellow cedar andhemlock, the tough branches of which, wet with dew, twisted aroundtheir legs and swished into their faces.
"I say--Thomas," sung out Fred, after ten minutes of this sort of work,"is that blanket--any lighter--than 'twas?"
"Not much! It's gained--five pounds."
"What do think--of the--scenery?"
The emphasis on the last word was caused by his setting foot on theslippery surface of a rock concealed by moss, and sitting down withgreat firmness.
"Well, it's a pretty good fall landscape," gasped Tom, leaning againsta stump, weak from laughter.
But lo! the stump, like many others of its kind thereabouts, wasdecayed, and over it went, carrying Tom with it.
When the boys had struggled to their feet, they found that Baranov hadstopped just ahead of them, and was chuckling over their mishaps.
"Look here, old fellow," cried Tom, "is it going to be this way allday?"
"No, no," said Baranov. "Mebbe I oughtn't to hev laughed at ye. But Isaw no harm was done. Ye've got good pluck, both of ye, not to ask meto slow up before naow. P'r'aps I put on a leetle extra steam, to seewhat ye was made of--with that ar light blanket"--
"O-oh!"
"But the wust on it's over, for quite a spell. Thar's the reg'lar Basintrail jest ahead. We can follow that for a mile or two, before strikin'off up the side of the maounting."
It was a relief to walk in a traveled path once more, although it was avery rough one.
It was just five o'clock when Solomon called a halt, and announced thatthey were something over three miles from the wharf at Juneau, havingbeen a little more than an hour and a half in reaching this point.
"Isn't this a glorious spot!" exclaimed Tom, throwing himself downbeside the path.
The ground was clear for a little way in front of them, and just beyondlay the Silver Bow Basin, narrowing and winding far up among themountains. On every side the forest-clad slopes rose in grand sweepsfrom the Basin, and curls of smoke here and there floated up from campshidden among the trees.
"What's that noise?" asked Fred, as a metallic clicking not far awayfell upon their ears.
"Oh! thar's always somebody prospectin' raound with his pick," remarkedthe hunter. "You'll hear 'em all over the maountings, pretty much."
Close beside them a stream of crystal clear water rushed over its stonybed, across the path toward the valley. The boys unfastened theirdippers and drank deeply.
"Have some salmon berries?" asked Solomon. And he threw down a branchof the orange-colored fruit he had just broken off.
"Naow," he said, after a few moments' silence, "we must take to thewoods. I gave ye that leetle piece of rough travelin' to kinder hardenye fer what was comin'. Are ye ready, boys?"
"All ready!" they cried, springing to their feet. "Lead the way,Solomon!"
The hunter now left the beaten path and followed up the bed of thestream, which crossed it at right angles. It was hard climbing, and theboys had to stop for frequent rests. Their tramp proceeded, however,without special incident for a couple of hours more, when Baranov threwdown his pack and called out "Breakfast."
I ought to have mentioned that a cold lunch had been prepared thenight before, and the three trampers had partaken sparingly of itbefore starting. Now, however, they had a sharpened appetite, and ateravenously of the doughnuts, hard bread and sandwiches which Solomonbrought out of his stores.
This halt occupied about an hour, so that it was nearly nine when theyresumed their walk.
Their progress now became very slow. The picks of the miners were nolonger heard, and they realized that they were in the veritable Alaskanwilderness. The rush of the little brook was the only sound that brokethe silence of the moss-draped and carpeted forest.
They had passed beyond the brow of the mountain immediately overlookingJuneau, and, while the grade was not quite so steep, the evergreensgrew more densely, and the stream was so narrow as to barely affordthem a pathway. Of course their feet had been soaked during the veryfirst hour of their climb. There was now not a dry stitch on either ofthe boys, below the waist.
For a few rods, Solomon had been peering here and there; Tom afterwarddeclared he fairly sniffed the air for game, like a hound.
"What is it, Solomon?" called out Tom, picking himself out of a crevicebetween two wet rocks.
The hunter held up his hand for silence; then stooped and carefullyexamined a log just in front of him. Calling the boys, he pointed to itwith one of his silent chuckles.
Fred adjusted his glasses and eyed the log critically. "It seems just acommon, every-day log, don't it, Tom?" he remarked in a guarded voiceto that young man.
It was a fallen hemlock, lying directly across their path. Baranov laidhis finger lightly on a small reddish spot, where the bark had beenscraped off.
"A b'ar did that," he whispered. "An not long ago, neither."
The boys instinctively clutched their empty guns.
"Give me my rifle," the hunter said, in the same tone. "I must load heran' hev her ready in case we come on the critter sudd'nly. But I'll letyou do your own shootin' ef I can. Fred, you must take the ax naow, an'be awful keerful of it. Carry it blade aout from ye, an' not over yourshoulder. Naow foller me as easy's you kin."
They crept along, Indian file, for half an hour or more.
Tom's foot sank into something that crunched under the moss.
"Snow!" he exclaimed; and indeed they all were standing on the edge ofa huge snow bank.
Something about this appeared to please Solomon very much, though theboys could not tell why. But now he was stopping and pointing again.Ah! that was why the old hunter was gratified by finding that the trailcrossed a snow bank. Master Bruin could pass through the thick scrub ofthe forest so deftly that even the keen eye of the best guide in Juneaucould hardly distinguish the course of his journey. Not so when hecrossed the snow. There was his track, plain enough.
"My! don't it look like a boy's barefoot mark?" exclaim
ed Tom,quivering with excitement. "Is he near here, do you think, Solomon?What sort of a bear is it? Is he a big one?"
Baranov answered at once, as he shouldered his pack and rifle again:
"The trail's abaout an hour old. He's a purty good-sized black b'ar, Ishould say. An' it's my opinion we can fetch him afore night."
On they went, faster than before. Indeed, the boys soon noticed thatthey were now following a sort of beaten track--no other, Solomonassured them, than one of the famous "bear-paths," thousands of whichthread the deepest and loneliest jungles of Alaska.
They halted for a hasty dinner and then pressed forward. Baranov couldnot be positive that the same bear was before them on this hard track,but it seemed highly improbable that _Ursus Americanus_ had left hiseasy highway for the almost impenetrable growth of evergreens on eitherside.
It was about three in the afternoon when Baranov halted so suddenlythat Fred, who was next behind him, fairly tumbled against him, nearlyupsetting the hunter. The latter, however, paid no attention to this.He was too much occupied in examining half a dozen hairs, which he hadpicked from a low spruce bough projecting across the path.
"What is it?" the boys whispered eagerly, their fatigue gone in amoment.
"Look at them ha'rs!"
"Why, they're almost white! They are white at the tips."
"The animil that went through here ahead of us, left 'em behind," saidthe guide. "An' it wa'n't no black b'ar, neither, as you can see foryourselves."
"What was it--not grizzly?"
The idea was not wholly a pleasant one, and the young hunters lookednervously around.
"No, no; it's no grizzly. It's my opinion that a big silver-tip, aglacier b'ar, some calls 'em, is just beyond," rejoined Baranov.
"A glacier bear? I never heard of one before," whispered Fred.
"They're ugly fellers, an' mighty scarce raound these parts. Thetrappers north of here call 'em Mount St. Elias b'ars, because there'smore of 'em there. The pelt's wuth double a black b'ar's. It'll begreat luck ef we find one."
This whole conversation was carried on in an undertone, and withoutfurther noise or delay, the party pushed on.
At the end of half an hour's forced march they found themselves on asort of level tableland, at a great elevation above the sea. Here andthere were patches of snow, and small glaciers could be distinctly seenon distant mountain slopes, toward the east and north.
The scene near at hand was utterly desolate and forbidding. The bearpath, too, had "ended in a squirrel track and run up a tree," Tomdeclared. He was on the point of proposing a halt for a rest, if notfor the night, when he caught sight of a grayish patch in a clump oflow spruces about a hundred yards distant. He was sure it had movedwhile he was looking. His heart beat violently as he gave a low whistleto attract Baranov's attention.
The guide's eye no sooner rested on the object than he sank as if hehad been shot. The boys did the same, and cautiously crawled to hisside.
"Slip a cartridge into that rifle quick," he whispered to Fred. "That'sold Silver Tip, sure, an' ef we work it jest right, we can drop him.Naow don't you move for five minutes. Before long, you'll see him startthis way. When he gets up to that rock over thar between them twoleetle spruces, Tom, you let drive. Don't you fire, Fred, till Tom getsanother cartridge in. An' ef you miss him, run fer your lives."
Before the boys could ask where he was going or what his plans were,the old hunter had disappeared in the undergrowth, taking his ax withhim.
The wind was blowing freshly from Bruin toward them. In the course of afew minutes, which seemed hours, they saw the animal push his snout outfrom the boughs and sniff the air curiously. There was a strange scent,he thought, lingering about this mountain-top. What could it be?
Whatever its nature, it evidently acted like the reverse end of themagnet to the shaggy beast; for after a moment's uneasy moving about,he started off in a line which would carry him very near the ambushedhunters.
On he came, crashing through the boughs and clambering nimbly overmossy bowlders.
Fred could feel that his companion was trembling from head to foot fromexcitement.
"Rest over that twig, Tom," he whispered in his ear. "You can't get ashot if you don't."
The two spruces were reached. Bang! slam! went two rifles; forforgetting Solomon's injunction, Fred pulled the trigger almost at thesame instant with Tom.
"Hooray!" shouted a welcome voice in the direction from which the bearhad come. "You've done it, boys! Wait till I come before you go nearhim!"
With arms and legs flying like a windmill, and ax ready, Solomon camefloundering along the bear's track.
"Dropped him, fust shot!" he called out again. "He's dead, sureenough--look out!" For at that very moment the bear struggled to hisfeet and made a mad rush toward his assailants.
Fred had thrown down his rifle at Solomon's last shout, but Tom had thepresence of mind to level his reloaded piece and fire. Then he turnedto run, but Bruin, making one last plunge, threw out his big paw.
Tom felt a sensation like a shovelful of red-hot coals dropped downhis right boot-leg, and with a howl of pain and fright, tumbledheadlong.
Had not Solomon reached the scene at that very moment with his ax, thisstory might have had a sad ending. One mighty sweep of that terribleweapon, and the battle was finished.
"Are ye hurt, boy?" cried the hunter. "Your last shot did the business,but I had to kinder second the motion. Whar are ye?"
Tom sat up straight, shouted: "Here I am! Hurrah!" and with a veryqueer feeling in his head, rolled over on the moss.
When he came to himself, the first thing he saw was Solomon bendingover him, chafing his hands and trying to force some kind of hot liquordown his throat. There was the tinkling of a tiny stream somewhereamong the moss close by, and a big Douglas fir stretched its boughsoverhead.
"Where--where are we?" he stammered, trying to rise.
"Naow don't ye go to rushin' raound," counseled Baranov. "I've luggedye off a piece to a first-rate leetle campin' graound, an' all you'vegot to do is to lay still whar ye be, while Fred an' I fix things aleetle."
"Is the bear"--began Tom, trying to remember, and wondering what madehis head swim.
"He's right whar we left him, an' thar he'll stay I reckon, till we getready to borrer his coat. Got some kindling, Fred?"
"Here you are!" called that genteel young man, staggering up withan armful of dry boughs. His hands were covered with pitch and hiseyeglasses dangled from the cord.
"Halloo, you scarred old veteran, you!" he cried, dropping on his kneesbeside Tom. "Feeling better? What a clip he did give you!"
Tom, beginning to feel conscious of a score or two of bees stinging hisright leg, looked down at that member, and was surprised to find hisboot was removed and its place supplied by bandages.
"You won't be lame more'n a few days," said Baranov consolingly. "Heonly jest raked you with his claws. But the bleeding made ye faint,most likely. You're all right naow."
It was very pleasant lying there and watching the other two in theirpreparations for the night. A roaring fire was kindled, and althoughthe sun was still high, the warmth of the red flames was by no meansunwelcome.
Slash, slash! went Solomon's keen ax, and tree after tree came swishingdown before its strokes. Some of them he trimmed with a dozen clipsto each, and bade Fred carry the boughs into camp. As if by magica framework of crotched sticks, props and rafters grew under thesheltering fir, boughs were piled on and across them, and by sixo'clock there was a snug brush camp ready for occupancy, with a bedof fragrant fir boughs two feet deep. Then came the firewood--largertrees, felled and cut into six-foot lengths.
When a good pile of these had been provided, and not before, Solomondrove his ax into the trunk of the fir, pulled on his coat, and sittingdown on a small log which, running across the front of the camp formeda sort of seat and threshold to it, opened his bag and drew out a blackcoffee-pot. This being placed on the fire, he started off for the sceneo
f the late battle.
"I 'low we'll have a good b'ar steak to-night," he said, as he went."I'll be back in a minute."
While he is preparing supper for the two tired and hungry boys, we willreturn to the gentler portion of the family, and follow the _Queen_northward on its voyage.
Gulf and Glacier; or, The Percivals in Alaska Page 9