CHAPTER V
"Two of the pigs are gone, and I see fresh bear's tracks behind thebarn, Ellen. If you want to go after the beast with Thomas and me, puton your heaviest boots, get a rifle from the rack, and come on," and Ispoke with a degree of animation which turned upon me the gaze of theentire family, assembled at the breakfast table. I was not then so sateda huntsman that the prospect of big game could fail to excite me.
"Why, Donald, you are not thinking of taking Ellen bear hunting withyou?"
"And why not, mother? She wishes to go, she handles a rifle well enough,and there's no danger with three guns against one poor bear."
"Oh, Aunt Rachael, please let me go; I have never seen a bear, and itmust be beautiful in the forest to-day."
"Might as well let her go, mother," put in my father; "the boys willtake care of her, and it will be an experience she will like to tellwhen she is an old woman. Besides, it is well enough for her to learncourage and coolness in facing danger--the women in this valley may needsuch qualities in the future, as they have in the past."
"I can't see why you care to go," said little Jean, shudderinginvoluntarily, her brown eyes fixed in amazement upon Ellen's eagercountenance.
"May I go, Aunt Rachael?" urged Ellen.
"Well, child, I suppose so, since your heart seems set upon it. Do becareful, Donald, and get back before sundown."
We followed the print of the bear's feet across the meadow behind thebarn, and then around the curve of a low range of hills to the edge ofthe forest, walking Indian file, Ellen between us, and stepping, as Ibade her, in my tracks. The air was so crisp and buoyant that we werehalf intoxicated by long, full breaths of it, and went skimming over thefrozen surface as if, like fabled Mercury, we had wings to our heels.The meadows gleamed and scintillated, and the edge of the hill'sundulating outline shone in opalescent lines, as if the prying rays ofthe sun, forcing their way through the thin snow clouds at the easternhorizon, were disclosing a ledge of hidden jewels. The world all aboutus was downy soft, radiantly pure, and familiar fields and hills took ona strange newness, in which perspective was confused and outlinesblurred; white fields melted into white hills, hills merged into whitesky, and one might, it seemed, walk out of this world into the nextwithout noting the point of transition.
The forest was stranger still, and even more beautiful. There was butlittle snow on the ground, and the dry leaves under it rustled beneathone's feet with homely, cheerful sound, but overhead stretched amarvelous canopy of graceful feather laden branches, each giant of theforest being powdered as carefully as any court dame, and, like her,gaining a sort of distinction for its beauty by this emphasis to itsheight and grace.
"Am I walking too fast for you, Ellen?" I asked soon after we hadstarted.
"No; but you step too far," she called back merrily. So I shortened mystride a little, and again insisted on carrying her rifle, getting thistime her consent.
"The forest is like a place enchanted," said Ellen with rapt face, as wewaited at the edge of the woods for Thomas to catch up. "How warm andsnug one could sleep under that low boughed pine, yonder; I'd like tolive in the forest were there no panthers, wolves, or bears."
"But the beasts have possession, and sometimes I almost wonder if wehave a right to drive them with gun and knife out of their inheritedhaunts."
"As we do the Indians."
"I have more sympathy for wild beasts than for the red savages; thebeasts are not treacherous, nor cruel for sport."
"Have you lost the bear's track, Don?" interrupted Thomas; "if not, whatare you stopping for?"
"We are admiring the forest--but I have kept my eye on the track, allright. There it goes off to the left; we'll find him, I suspect, fastasleep in some hollow log."
My surmise was correct, for the track led us to a large fallen tree amile within the forest. The bear, having gorged himself on the pigs, wascurled within for a good nap.
"We'll have to smoke him out," said Thomas, beginning to look about fordried leaves and twigs. We piled them into the smaller end of the log,and then lit them with our tinder-boxes, after which we stood about thelarger opening and waited watchfully.
"You shall have the first shot, Ellen," I said. "Stand a little to oneside, and aim either at his throat, or behind one of his ears."
The bear could not stand long the stifling smoke of the pungent leaves,and with a muffled roar, interrupted by a wheezing cough, he backedawkwardly out of the tree, then turned to look about him for an avenueof escape. But his captors, with ready rifles, stood in close rangearound him, and behind him burned the log, its murky smoke and lappingblaze limning weirdly the beast's shaggy bulk, against the white forest.
"Shoot, Ellen!" I called, for she stood as if spellbound, her eyes fixedupon the crouching, growling animal. She pulled her trigger then, butwith nerveless fingers, and her ball whizzed just above the bear's head,cutting off one-half of his right ear. With a roar of pain the furiousanimal was upon her, the weight of his huge body throwing her down, andhalf burying her in the snow. For an instant my brain rocked withhorror; I dared not shoot, for I could not distinguish Ellen's form fromthe bear's in the cloud of flying snow which surrounded them, and everyinstant I feared to hear a cry of agony, and the crunching of Ellen'sskull between the creature's iron jaws.
"I must risk it," I swiftly concluded; and with quick intake of mybreath, I raised my rifle to my shoulder, stepped back a pace, and tookthe aim of my life. Providence guided the ball, which severed thebeast's spinal column just at the base of his brain. In another instantI was dragging his shuddering bulk from Ellen's body, lest he crush herin the death struggle.
Ellen was as pallid as the snow she lay upon, and as motionless. Herlong lashes made a light shadow on the waxen cheeks, and the darkringlets dropping over the brow were like charcoal by contrast with itsmarble. When I lifted her head upon my arm, I saw a ragged wound uponher neck, just behind her right ear, and from it ran trickling a crimsonrill, down the soft throat to the still bosom. Her clothes were tornfrom her right shoulder, and there the flesh showed marks of theanimal's teeth in the midst of an ugly bruise.
Thomas had dropped white and limp upon a log, and, great boy as he was,began to cry.
"She's dead, Don, she's dead! Oh, why did we let her come--what shall wedo?"
"Hush," I said angrily; "she's not dead, only stunned, I hope," and Igathered handfuls of snow, which I rubbed gently upon her forehead andcheek, and then forced between her lips a few drops of gin from mypocket flask. Seeing that she swallowed the gin mechanically, I poured agood spoonful upon her tongue, and chafed her hands vigorously till sheopened her eyes and recognized the faces bending over her.
"Where's the bear, Donald?" she asked, as quietly as if she had justwakened from a vivid dream.
"Dead," I answered cheerfully; "you shall have the skin for a rug."
"But I didn't kill him," in disappointed tones. "I got frightened andaimed badly--I'd never do for a man, after all."
"You'd make a better man than Thomas; he began to cry as soon as he sawyou were hurt, and you haven't yet complained of the scratches the beargave you."
"They sting some," she said with a grimace, putting her hand to herwound, and sliding it down to her shoulder. "Why, Donald, my clothes aretorn," and a faint flush tinged her cheeks, while she tried to sit upand to pull her shredded garment together.
"The bear bit you there; it is well mother made you put on this buckskinjacket over your pelisse. Does the place hurt you much?" and I kneltbeside her to examine her shoulder more carefully.
"It aches, while the hurt on my neck smarts," and she flushed again, andshrank from the touch of my fingers on her bare flesh.
And I, too, was suddenly embarrassed, while a new thrill went throughme. "The shoulder bone is not crushed," I said, after a carefulexamination which gave Ellen some pain, "nor is the wound very deep;doubtless, though, it will hurt a good deal, besides making yourshoulder stiff and helpless for a while. We must bandage the wound
somehow, till we can get home, and we must find a way to exclude thecold air from it."
Thomas, who had sat by, flushed and silent since I had chidden him forblubbering, picked up the torn jacket I had stripped from Ellen'sshoulders, and disappeared behind the tree. Presently he came back withhis own flannel shirt and a bunch of linen strips across his arm,himself reclad in the torn jacket, which had been pinned together, aftersome sort, with small thorns.
"I beg your pardon, Thomas," I said, grasping his hand as I took thebandages from it.
"'Twas the sight of her so white and still," replied Thomas, looking yetmortified and hurt.
"Thank you, dear Thomas," said Ellen, smiling upon him; "your tears wereonly symptoms of a tender heart. I'm glad you were sorry for me; Donalddid not care enough to cry."
Now that was very unkind of Ellen, for I had been sick with fright andapprehension for her, and would have rather been torn in pieces by thebeast, myself, than to have carried home in my arms that still, whiteform. But I made no response to Ellen's accusation; I only set my lips,and plastered and bandaged her wounds as best I could.
Our homeward journey was very unlike the cheerful tramp of the morning,for Ellen tottered as she walked, and I had need to support her with myarm, while Thomas carried the guns and powder-horns. The snow no longergleamed and sparkled, for the afternoon light was hazy and dull, and thesky a cold, smeary gray. Forest, field and hill were but the componentparts of a commonplace winter landscape, and bear hunting something elsethan a glorious adventure through an enchanted forest.
And I was not the same, nor Ellen. She was become all at once a woman,shy, reserved, conscious of my touch, leaning on my arm no more thannecessity required. And I, though half vexed at the change in her, andgrieved that I had lost so congenial a comrade--for I knew intuitivelythat our intercourse would never again be so unrestrained--neverthelessfound her more interesting, more alluring because of this very changewhich put a distance between us, and which had in it a touch ofmystery:--as the forest had been that morning the fairer, for thatunnameable magic with which nature veils herself in her stiller haunts.
Donald McElroy, Scotch Irishman Page 5