Not 25 feet away, illuminated in all its primal ferocity by the increasing sunlight, stood an enormous grizzly bear.
Chapter Eleven
Stark, unadulterated terror welled within Nathaniel’s breast at the sight of the monster. His mind and body were suddenly numb; he couldn’t think, couldn’t will himself to move, and he stayed there on his knees with his fingers in the water while the bruin lumbered slowly toward him.
Seven feet in length from the tip of its nose to its bobbed tail and weighing over 1200 pounds, the grizzly loomed in the dawn like one of the prehistoric mammoths unearthed in New York 20-odd years ago. Rippling with powerful muscles and steely sinews, the telltale hump bulging between its massive shoulders, the bear drew nearer and nearer, swinging its extremely wide head from side to side and sniffing the cool air. Its coat was primarily brown, but all the hairs were white-tipped, giving the beast its grizzled aspect.
Nathaniel finally recovered his presence of mind and glanced toward the camp. There was no sign of Ezekiel, and if he yelled to attract his uncle the bear might charge. He looked down at his belt, thinking of the pistols and rifle he had left lying next to his blanket, and chided himself for being so stupid as to traipse off without a gun.
The grizzly bear was now only 15 feet away.
What do I do? Nathaniel mentally screamed. He couldn’t just kneel there like a bump on a log and let the bear get within striking range. He could see the grizzly’s four-inch claws on its forefeet, and he could well imagine what a swipe from one of those gigantic paws would do to him.
Only 12 feet separated the two.
Girding his courage, Nathaniel abruptly stood erect, his hands at his sides, and faced the bear.
The grizzly drew up short, raising its head and sniffing even louder.
Nathaniel’s mind raced as he debated the wisest course of action. Should he stand still and hope the bear would leave, or should he make a run for it? And if he ran, should he head for the camp and shout for his uncle, hoping he was fleeter of foot than the bruin? Or should he retreat into the river where the bear might not follow? Did grizzly bears like to enter water? Ezekiel had told him all about deer and antelope and elk and other animals, but never once had Nathaniel thought to inquire about bears for the simple reason he hadn’t seen any. Until now.
Without any warning of its intent, the colossal grizzly reared upright, its front paws held with the claws extended, its mouth hanging wide to reveal its long, sturdy teeth. The beast growled again.
His fear getting the better of his reason, Nathaniel instinctively backed away from the bear, retreating into the shallow water at the edge of the river.
The grizzly dropped onto all fours and ponderously advanced, rumbling deep in its chest, its eyes fixed on the man.
Nathaniel could stand the strain no longer. He cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed at the top of his lungs. “Zeke! A grizzly!” Then he retreated several more strides. His left hand bumped a hard object on his hip, and all of a sudden he remembered the 12-inch hunting knife he carried. He drew the blade with his right hand and held the weapon at waist level. Compared to the size of the mighty bruin, the hunting knife seemed puny indeed, but it was all he had and he refused to go down without a fight.
The shout prompted the grizzly to growl louder, and it stepped to the river’s edge, then hesitated for a moment.
Nathaniel glanced over the bear’s back, and his hopes soared when he spotted his uncle sprinting toward the Republican, a rifle in each hand. He began to think he would survive his first encounter with a grizzly without receiving so much as a scratch, that perhaps the reputation of the species for ferocity was vastly overestimated, when the bear proved him wrong.
The grizzly attacked.
Nathaniel’s eyes widened as the bear waded into the Republican, splashing water in all directions, and came for him, its enormous jaws opening and closing. He frantically backed farther away, until the water rose to his waist, and thinking that he might be safer if he could reach the opposite shore, he spun and was about to swim for it when the unexpected occurred. He slipped, his left moccasin sliding off an unseen rock underwater, and stumbled forward a pace, sinking onto his left knee, the water rising almost to his chin.
A bestial growl sounded right behind him.
Panic gripping him, Nathaniel straightened and whirled and found himself staring straight into the eyes of the horrendous brute. A paw streaked out of nowhere and caught him on the left shoulder, the claws ripping his buckskin shirt and tearing into his flesh, and the force of the blow knocked him backwards. He nearly lost his footing and went under. his arms swinging wildly, but at the last instant he regained his balance and surged erect.
And there was the grizzly, coming at him again, its gaping maw about to bite.
Nathaniel twisted and sidestepped to the right. His left shoulder throbbed and his entire arm arched. Ignoring the agony, he swung his right hand in an arc, striking in frenzied desperation, and stabbed the bruin in the head. Once, twice, three times he struck, and the third time the blade speared into the grizzly’s left eye and held fast in the socket. Before he could wrench the knife free, a reverse swipe of the bear’s paw connected with his chest and sent him sailing into the river. He went under, forgetting to close his mouth, and water poured down his throat. I’m drowning! he thought, and thrashed his legs, seeking a firm footing, completely disoriented. His moccasins found a purchase on the bottom and he pushed upward, his head breaking the surface, the water up to his chin. He sputtered and gasped, then stiffened when he saw the grizzly not six feet away.
The bear had reared onto its hind legs again, and was uttering the most savage sounds while shaking its head and pawing at the knife imbedded in its socket.
Nathaniel braced for another attack, when to his astonishment the bruin dropped onto all fours, turned, and made for the shore, continuing to vigorously sweep its head to the right and the left, as if the agitated motion might cause the knife to slip out and end its agonized torment. No sooner had all four feet touched solid ground, however, than a solitary shot rent the morning air and the grizzly pitched onto its face, then rolled onto its right side and was still.
“Nate! Nate! Did he get you?”
Dazed by the attack, feeling oddly sluggish, Nathaniel glanced to the right and spied his uncle, a smoking Hawken in his hands. He moved forward, keenly desirous of reaching the bank, afraid he might pass out.
Ezekiel had placed his Hawken on the ground and picked up the second rifle he’d carried from the camp, a gun that formerly belonged to Gant. He warily stepped over to the grizzly and poked its head with the barrel. After satisfying himself that the brute was indeed dead, he laid the rifle down and came into the water to assist his nephew. He saw the torn buckskin shirt and blood trickling down, and swore. “Damn! He did get you!”
Nathaniel heard the words, but they were strangely distorted. He blinked and swallowed, struggling to stay alert, and took one leaden stride after another. A moment later strong arms gripped him under the arms and he felt himself being propelled to the gently sloping bank.
“I have you, Nate,” Zeke said. “We’ll have that shirt off in no time.”
“Is it really dead?” Nathaniel mumbled, staring at the beast in disbelief.
“As dead as they come,” Zeke assured him.
“Thanks,” Nathaniel said weakly.
“For what? You did most of the work. He was on his last legs when I shot him.”
They reached the shore and Ezekiel gently deposited Nathaniel on the ground not six feet from the bear. “Let’s remove that shirt,” he suggested, and squatted to help remove his garment.
His fingers seemingly composed of mush, Nathaniel fumbled with his belt. Dizziness assailed him, and he was worried he might humiliate himself by fainting.
“I’ll do it,” Zeke offered, and quickly undid the belt.
Nathaniel left the task to his uncle. He struggled to comprehend why everything was distorted, w
hy he couldn’t concentrate. Had he lost too much blood? Would he die here on the prairie? Would Adeline mourn his passing when she learned the news? His head sagged and he saw the bear, the knife jutting from its ruptured eye, blood flowing over its facial fur. Did I do that? he marveled. “Dumb luck,” he muttered.
“By the Eternal, I only know of one other man who has killed a grizzly with a knife,” Zeke declared proudly while stripping off the shirt. He raised Nathaniel’s head into his lap so he could slide the soggy buckskin over his nephew’s head. “Wait until the word gets out! I’ll tell Shakespeare and he’ll tell everyone else in the Rockies. That man can gab up a storm.”
Nathaniel closed his eyes and breathed deeply, relieved the queasy sensation was subsiding. He debated whether he should look at the wound. The horrible sight of so much gore might be more than his shattered senses could handle.
“Nephew, you are the luckiest man who ever lived. All you’ve got is a little scratch,” Zeke stated, lowering Nathaniel’s head.
Surprised, Nathaniel opened his eyes and glanced at his left shoulder. The "scratch” turned out to be three claw marks, three neat incisions in his flesh, the longest several inches in length, starting just below his collarbone and extending to where his arm joined the shoulder. The furrows were no more than half an inch deep and there was scant blood in evidence.
“I’ll have you on your feet in an hour,” Zeke predicted.
Nathaniel looked up at him. “An hour? Couldn’t I rest until at least noon?”
“Whatever for? If you were seriously injured I’d let you rest, but these tiny cuts are hardly worth the bother of patching together.”
“Tiny cuts?” Nathaniel retorted indignantly.
Zeke nodded. “Compared to some folks I’ve see who were attacked by a grizzly, you came off in fine form. Why, once about seven years ago it was, a Canadian trapper I knew stumbled on a she-bear and her cubs. Before he knew what hit him, that bear rammed into him and started ripping him to pieces with her teeth and her claws. By the time she was done, his legs were nearly severed from his body and the right side of his face had been chewed to the bone.”
The queasy sensation returned and Nathaniel blanched. “I’d rather not hear about it, if you don’t mind.”
“Grizzlies are the most unpredictable critters the Good Lord ever put on the face of this earth,” Zeke went on philosophically. “You never know if they’ll turn tail or try to eat you, and they can be regular devils to kill when their dander is up. I’ve known of grizzlies who were shot ten to fifteen times and they still wouldn’t keel over. Take my word for it. You want to avoid grizzly bears at all costs.”
Nathaniel almost laughed. “I’ll try to keep it in mind,” he said dryly.
Ezekiel grinned and studied his nephew’s face for several seconds. “There. I guess you’re out of your shock. Now stay put while I go to camp and fetch my bag. But first—” he said, and rose. In seconds he was back with Gant’s rifle. “Hold onto this in case your bear has a friend lurking about.”
“A friend?”
“Sometimes they roam in pairs. Not often, but sometimes,” Zeke said. He hurried off, retrieved his Hawken and ran toward their camp.
Gritting his teeth, Nathaniel used his right elbow to prop himself off the ground, then straightened in a sitting posture. He wasn’t about to lay on his back when there might be another of those monsters in the vicinity. A survey of his surroundings assured him he was alone, and he expelled a breath in relief. The dead bear drew his attention. How could he have survived an attack from such an awesome creature? If he hadn’t actually lived through the experience, he would doubt such a feat was possible.
Something caused a splash in the river.
Startled, Nathaniel stared at the Republican, but all he saw were ripples on the water. A fish, he figured, and happened to gaze at the plain beyond the Republican. The figure he spotted less than 100 yards away prompted him to leap to his feet in astonishment, momentarily forgetting all about the bear and his shoulder wound, forgetting everything except the man astride the horse.
An Indian.
He sat astride his horse in an attitude of casual curiosity, wearing only a breechcloth and moccasins. Over his back hung a quiver of arrows. In his left hand he held a short bow. His dark hair hung down on both sides of his head to his naked shoulders.
Nathaniel started to raise the rifle, then thought better of the idea. The Indian had not displayed any hostility, and he doubted his uncle would be pleased if he shot a friendly warrior. So he simply returned the other’s stare and waited for the Indian to make the first move.
After a minute the warrior made a gesture with his right hand, then nodded and wheeled his mount. Without a backward glance he rode to the north, sitting tall and easy, riding bareback. Soon he was out of sight, disappearing in a small cluster of trees far off.
Abruptly feeling weak, Nathaniel sank to his knees and pursed his lips. There was so much he had yet to learn about life in the West, he wondered if he would live long enough to learn it all. He had no idea to which tribe the Indian might belong; for all he knew, the warrior might return with others of his tribe to slay Zeke and him. He began to realize that making a mistake in the wilderness, even the smallest, most inconsequential error such as leaving camp without a gun, could have a fatal outcome. How different life here was from New York City, where a man could leave his house forgetting to take along one of his personal effects, such as his overcoat, and experience nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Apparently civilization cushioned people from the harsher realities of life.
“Here we go.”
Nathaniel shifted, relieved to find his uncle returning so quickly. “I saw an Indian,” he blurted.
Ezekiel halted in midstride and scanned the surrounding expanse of grass and flowers. “Where?”
“There,” Nathaniel said, and pointed. “He watched me for a bit, then rode off.”
“Describe him.”
“He was sort of tall and had a bow and arrows,” Nathaniel replied, uncertain as to which details his uncle wanted to know. There wasn’t many he could provide, in any event. “I don’t know what else to say.”
“Was his hair shaved?”
“No. Why?”
“If his hair had been shaved except for a strip from the forehead to the neck, then he would have been Pawnee. Their villages are north of us a ways. They don’t give white men much trouble,” Zeke said, and frowned. “But since his hair wasn’t shaved, then my guess is the warrior was part of a Cheyenne war party. The area we’re in is at the eastern edge of their territory.”
“Are the Cheyenne friendly?”
“Sometimes yes. Sometimes no.”
“That’s not very reassuring.”
“It’s not meant to be,” Ezekiel said, and squatted alongside his nephew. “I’ll dress those cuts and we’ll be on our way. If there is a Cheyenne war party hereabouts, we want to get somewhere else as fast as we can.” He paused and grinned. “I’m rather fond of my scalp and I hope to keep it a spell.”
Chapter Twelve
Ezekiel followed the Republican for another two miles, then struck a course to the northwest, pushing the horses, his alert gaze constantly roving over the prairie. He repeatedly glanced over his shoulder, watching their back trail.
His left shoulder throbbing, Nathaniel was hard pressed to keep up. He looked forward with keen anticipation to stopping for the night so he could rest. The thought of nine or ten more hours in the saddle did not appeal to him in the least.
After they had traveled four miles, Ezekiel relaxed a bit and slowed down. “I don’t see any sign of pursuit,” he announced.
“Good. Maybe we can stop soon and take a break,” Nathaniel suggested.
“Not on your life. Not until we’ve put a goodly distance between any Indians and us.”
Nathaniel was holding the reins in his right hand. His left arm he held bent at the elbow and tucked in to his side, with the Hawken barrel we
dged into the crook of his arm. Carrying the rifle was painful, but he wasn’t about to ride unarmed through country brimming with hostile Indians. He started a conversation to take his mind off his discomfort. “Have you ever killed a grizzly bear?”
“More times than I could count.”
“And you were never hurt?”
“A few nicks and bites,” Zeke disclosed. “I know as much about grizzlies as any man living, I reckon, except for Shakespeare. So pay attention. Grizzlies might be unpredictable, but they’ll usually leave a man alone unless you get too close or it’s a she-bear with cubs. Never go near a bear with cubs. You’re just asking for trouble.”
“Why didn’t that bear leave me alone? I did nothing to provoke it, yet it kept coming closer and closer and sniffing as if it liked my scent.”
“There’s the key. Your scent. Grizzlies live by their nose. They go from scent to scent like a butterfly from flower to flower, looking for something tasty to eat. Shakespeare says a grizzly doesn’t have the best eyesight in the world, but it damn sure has the best nose,” Zeke said, and chuckled. “There’s a saying the trappers have about the grizzly. If a pine needle falls in the woods, the eagle will see it, the deer will hear it, and the bear will smell it. Nine times out of ten, when a bear gets your scent, it’ll head for the hills. But if the wind is blowing your scent away from the bear, or if you surprise it, then watch out.”
“Do you think the bear that attacked me had my scent?”
“Hard to say, nephew. But I suspect the bear was more curious about you than crazed with the killing lust, or you wouldn’t be alive right now.”
“The next time I see one I’ll run like hell,” Nathaniel mentioned, thinking of the advice Zeke had given him concerning Indians.
“That’s one thing you never want to do with a bear.”
“No?” Nathaniel asked in surprise.
“Not unless the bear is already after you. Grizzlies are as thick as fleas on a mangy dog in some parts of this country. You’ll be running into them all the time, so you’d better leam the basics now. If a grizzly does come after you, hold your ground. Face the bear down. Most of the time they’ll run up to within a few yards of you, stand up, and glare into your eyes, as if they’re taking your measure. If you run, they’ll chase you and tear you to pieces. This advice holds for most any critter in God’s creation. The Good Lord made us to be the masters of the brutes, and most beasts won’t attack unless you show cowardice,” Zeke asserted.
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