by J. T. Edson
For a moment, Ole Devil was alarmed on the youngster’s behalf. Then, with a feeling of relief, he realized that the bear—despite its size—was of the black species and not, as he had first feared, a grizzly. Despite the many highly-spiced, horrifying stories told about its savage nature, Euarctos Americanus, the American black bear, was generally not especially dangerous to human beings. If the creature in the bushes had been a Texas flat-headed grizzly, the youngster’s position would have been very precarious. Fortunately for him, that part of Texas was somewhat to the east of Ursus Texensis Texensis’s range.
With the realization, Ole Devil felt the apprehension leaving him. He had no wish to advertise his presence and attract unwanted attention by shooting. All the black bears he had come into contact with had never lingered any longer than necessary in the presence of human beings, even when disturbed after having fed on a kill. It was merely curious and puzzled. Being shortsighted like all of its species, it was not sure what kind of creature was standing near its prey. However, as long as the youngster did nothing to antagonize it, there was a better than fair chance that he could withdraw in safety.
‘You mule-killing son-of-a-bitch!’
Even as Ole Devil opened his mouth to call and advise the youngster to back away slowly, the boy yelled at the bear and started to raise his rifle. Excitement, or fear, had given his voice a high pitched, almost feminine sounding timbre.
Hearing the youngster, the bear showed that it might be different in habits from most others of its species. Instead of giving a ‘whoop’ of alarm on hearing the human voice, spinning around and taking off for a safer location at all speed, it cut loose with a short, rasping and menacing, coughing noise.
Ole Devil had only once before heard a similar sound, but he had never forgotten that occasion. It had happened during a hunt in Louisiana and the bear had given just such a cough before charging through the pack of hounds to try and reach the hunters. Several bullets had been required to put the enraged beast down.
Instead of taking warning from the bear’s behavior, the youngster stood his ground. Lining the rifle, which he must have cocked as he was approaching the carcass, he squeezed the trigger. The hammer fell. There was a puff of smoke from the frizzen pan, but the main charge failed to ignite for some reason.
As if realizing what the hissing splutter from the rifle meant, the bear gave another of its threatening coughs and lurched forward.
To give the youngster credit, he might have acted in an impulsive and reckless manner by yelling and trying to shoot the bear, but he was no fool. Nor, despite how his voice had sounded, did he panic. As the bear dropped on to all fours and burst from the fringe of the buffalo-berry bushes, he let his useless rifle fall and turned. However, having already been disturbed and made nervous by the bloody carcass, or perhaps because it had caught the bear’s scent, the tobiano gelding did not wait for its master to return and mount. At the sight of the rage-bristling beast erupting into view, the horse gave a squeal of terror and, disregarding the dangling split-ended reins, bolted.
Growling a curse, Ole Devil used his spurs to set the borrowed horse into motion. Feeling the tug at its reins, the dun advanced and kept pace with its companion as they topped the ridge. However, as much as he would liked to have done, the young Texian knew he could not delay or slow down and transfer to his own mount
Once again, the youngster was displaying courage. Certainly he had sufficient good sense to keep running. He had a lead over the bear which might just about prove adequate providing that he could maintain or increase his pace. Unfortunately, he was going away from Ole Devil. To call on him to change direction would be fatal. So the young Texian kept quiet and urged his mount to a gallop. Then he discarded the dun’s reins to leave both his hands free.
A black bear could attain a speed of around twenty-five miles an hour when charging, but it needed time to build up to its top pace. With its eyes fixed on the fleeing youngster, it hurtled after him and ignored the departing horse. Nor was it aware of Ole Devil dashing down the slope in its direction.
Urging the borrowed horse to its fastest gait, the young Texian gave thought to how he might best deal with the situation. He had heard that some Indian braves had so little fear of the black bear that they regarded it as being unworthy of death by arrow, lance, tomahawk, firearm, or even a knife. Instead, the warrior would beat the beast’s brains out with a club and apologize to its spirit for having done so. However, having done a fair amount of bear hunting, Ole Devil had never believed the story. He certainly was not inclined to try and duplicate the feat, particularly under the prevailing conditions.
Nor, despite the fact that the Browning rifle when loaded—which it was not at that moment due to the difficulty of carrying it in a condition of readiness—would have offered him the advantage of five consecutive shots without needing recharging, did he regret that it was in the dun’s saddle boot. To have drawn it and made it ready for firing would be a very difficult, if not impossible, task when riding at full speed. What was more, from his present position, all he could take aim at was the bear’s rump. A hit there with the comparatively small caliber rifle would not stop it quickly enough to save the youngster from a mauling. Ole Devil would have to place a bullet in exactly the right spot to achieve his purpose. Luckily, due to having transferred his weapon carrier to the borrowed horse’s saddlehorn, he would have two shots at his disposal instead of only one. For all that, killing the bear would be far from a sinecure.
When in motion at speed, a black bear’s rolling, loose-haired hide and the placement of its feet combine to present ever-changing contours which made accurate aiming a difficult proposition. Throughout its stride, its legs ‘scissored’ rapidly to add to the confusion. One moment the forepaws would be under the rump and the back legs up close to the nose, bunching the vital organs. Next the body appeared to become extended out of all proportion, causing the target to change its position in relation to the now elongated frame. The young Texian knew of only one area where he could rely upon hitting and bringing down the animal immediately.
There was, however, a major objection to Ole Devil firing even a single shot. It might be heard by the vaquero and his companions, causing them to come and investigate.
For a moment, Ole Devil contemplated trying to effect a rescue in the manner of a Comanche brave going to a wounded or unhorsed companion’s assistance. He had practiced the method with other members of Company “C” and was proficient at it. Doing so under the prevailing conditions would be difficult and dangerous, yet it might be possible if the youngster co-operated. The problem was how to acquaint him with what was being planned. Calling out the information was not the answer. It was sure to distract him and would cause him to slow down, or could even make him stumble if he looked back to see who had spoken.
Then another factor arose to lessen the already slender hope of scooping up the youngster and carrying him to safety. A worried snort burst from the fast-moving horse as its flaring nostrils picked up the bear’s scent. Controlling its desire to shy away from a natural enemy, Ole Devil managed to keep it running in a straight line. Clearly the borrowed mount lacked the stability of temperament for him to risk that kind of a rescue. An unexpected swerve, a refusal to respond to his heels’ signals—his hands would be fully occupied with the pick up and could not manipulate the reins—or a panic-induced stumble might see them all on the ground and tangled with the enraged bear.
While a black bear could not equal the grizzly’s armament, its teeth and claws were sufficiently well-developed for Ole Devil to have the greatest reluctance to feel them sink into his flesh.
Discarding the idea of making a Comanche-style rescue, Ole Devil drew the Manton pistol—mate to the one in his belt loop—from the holster on his weapon-carrier and cocked its hammer. Already he was alongside the bear and the horse’s speed was carrying them by. No sooner had they drawn ahead than he saw the youngster trip and go sprawling.
There was no tim
e to lose!
Tossing his left leg forward and over the saddlehorn, the young Texian quit the horse at full gallop. He landed with an almost cat-like agility which told of long and arduous training. His momentum carried him onwards a few strides, until he had almost reached the youngster who had managed to break his fall and was attempting to rise. Coming to a stop, Ole Devil swung around and brought the pistol up to arm’s length and eye level. Once again, he adopted the double handed grip on the butt that had served him so well in the cantina.
Rushing closer, the bear made an awe-inspiring sight. Its coat was bristling with rage until it seemed far larger than its already not inconsiderable size. Uttering savage, blood-chilling snarls, its open, slavering jaws were filled with long and sharp teeth. Its slightly curved, almost needle-pointed claws, tore grooves in the ground and sent dirt flying as they helped to propel it towards its intended prey. All in all, the furious three hundred pound beast was not a spectacle to inspire confidence, or even peace of mind, when one was facing it armed with nothing more than a pistol which held only a single shot and could not be re-loaded quickly.
‘Lord!’ Ole Devil breathed, in an attempt to control his rising tension as he looked along the nine inch, octagonal barrel at the approaching animal. ‘If you can’t help me, don’t help the bear!’
While the young Texian found himself repeating the line from the old Negro comic song, ‘The Preacher And The Bear’, he was also aligning the ‘V’ notch of the rear—and blade of the front—sights on the centre of the approaching animal’s head. An area the size of the top of the bear’s skull would have been comparatively easy to hit at such close range, on a stationary paper target. However, even to a man of Ole Devil’s skill, it seemed much smaller and vastly more difficult at that moment. He knew that he would have time for only the one shot. So it had to strike accurately or somebody, himself for sure and in all probability the youngster he was attempting to save, was going to be killed.
Forcing himself to remain calm and to wait until certain of his aim, Ole Devil made allowance for the bear’s forward movement and squeezed the trigger. Forty grains of powder were waiting to be ignited and turned into a mass of gas which would thrust the half-ounce ball through the barrel’s rifling grooves. It was a very heavy charge and would be capable of inflicting considerable damage—providing a hit was made.
On the other hand, if the pistol should hang fire for some reason—as the youngster’s rifle had—Ole Devil would be unlikely to survive. Even if he did, he would be too badly injured to carry on with his assignment.
Chapter Nine – He’ll Skin You Alive!
Never had the hammer of the Manton pistol seemed to be moving so slowly!
It fell, at long last, striking the brass percussion cap!
Still moving to compensate for the bear’s ever changing—and nearing—position, the pistol roared!
Converging with the approaching beast, the .54 caliber bullet struck it between and slightly above the eyes to plough through into the brain. Hit while its forelegs were approaching the end of a rearwards thrust, the bear began to crumple forward.
Even as smoke partially obscured the bear and the pistol’s barrel rose under the impulsion of the recoil, without waiting to discover the effect of the shot, Old Devil Hardin sprang to his right. Dropping the empty weapon, he sent his right hand curling back and around the butt of the pistol’s mate. Twisting it free from the retainer loop on his belt, he was just starting to draw back the hammer with the heel of his left palm when the bear emerged from the smoke. However, it was turning a somersault and it crashed to the ground on its back. With its jaws chomping in a hideous fashion and legs flailing their death throes, it slid to a halt on the very spot Hardin had just vacated.
It was, the young Texian decided, as narrow an escape from a painful death as had ever come his way.
Suddenly, courageous as he was, Ole Devil found that he was perspiring very freely and breathing as heavily as if he had run a mile. What was more, his limbs were shaking from the reaction to the highly unnerving few seconds that he had just passed through.
Much of Ole Devil’s reaction was, he realized, stemming from a belated understanding of the possible effects of the risk he had taken. If he had been killed or injured, the very important mission upon which he was engaged would have ended in ignominious failure.
And all because of a stupid act by a boy who might even be one of the party who were trying to prevent Old Devil from completing the assignment.
‘Thanks, mister. You surely saved my life.’
The youngster’s voice came to Ole Devil’s ears as, starting to regain control of his churning emotions, he looked from the bear’s body to where the line-backed dun had been brought to a halt by its trailing reins and was standing quietly. Something about the words, perhaps the fact that they sounded so damned effeminate, brought the young Texian’s temper to boiling point.
‘Why the hell did you have to pull such a god-damned stupid trick as that?’ Ole Devil roared swinging around, fury making his features as Mephistophelian as ‘Ole Nick’ forking sinners into the fiery furnaces of Hades. ‘Your folks shouldn’t let you out alone if—’
The angry tirade died away at the sight which met the young Texian’s gaze. And it wasn’t the sight of the borrowed horse, carrying his saber on its saddle, still galloping away that stopped him.
Having apparently contrived to wriggle onwards for several feet after falling down and losing his hat, the youngster had regained his feet. Returning the knife which he had been drawing to its fringed, Indian-made sheath, he was walking towards his rescuer. An expression of mingled relief and gratitude was on his tanned and freckled face as he held out his right hand.
The reason for the falsetto, effeminate tones which had been one cause of Ole Devil’s annoyance was explained. Describing the youngster as ‘he’, or ‘him’ was most inaccurate. Despite the masculine clothing, the person he had rescued was a pretty and, although her garments did only a little to emphasize it, shapely girl in her late ‘teens, with shortish, fiery red, curly hair. Her reaction to his hostile words and attitude suggested that the hair was matched by a hot and explosive temper.
Coming to a halt, her features lost their friendliness which was replaced by indignation. Like a flash, she whipped up her extended right hand in a slap that met Ole Devil’s right cheek hard enough to snap his head around and caused him to jerk back a pace. Rocking to a stop and, in his surprise, dropping the pistol he responded almost automatically to the blow. Before he could stop himself, he was launching a backhand swing in retaliation to the attack. Although he just managed to reduce the power behind it, as a realization of what he was doing belatedly came to him, his left knuckles came up against the side of her head in a cuff of some force.
The girl had been retreating. Her expressive features were registering a change to contrition, as if she was already regretting her hasty and uncalled for behavior towards the man who had saved her life at some risk to his own. The blow connected, knocking her off balance. Staggering back a few paces, she flopped rump-foremost on the ground. A screech burst from her as she landed and her face turned red with fury.
Like the girl, Ole Devil started to regret what he had done. Meaning to apologize and help her to rise, he began to move forward. Before he could achieve either intention, she bounded to her feet. Ducking her head, she charged at him like a bighorn ram going at a rival in the mating season.
Growling an imprecation which he would not normally have used in the presence of a member of the opposite sex, the young Texian tried to fend off the girl. Although he caught her by the shoulders, the impetus of her charge drove him backwards. Unable to stop himself, or the girl, he retreated until his legs hit the now fortunately dead and motionless bear.
With the girl toppling after him, Ole Devil sat on the corpse. Pure chance rather than a deliberate intention caused him to guide the girl so that she landed face down across his lap. Studying the situation, he decided t
hat the opportunity was too good to miss. Holding her in position by gripping the scruff of her neck with his left hand, he applied the flat palm of his right to the tightly stretched and well-filled seat of her buckskin trousers.
Ten times in rapid succession Ole Devil’s hand came into sharp and, if the girl’s yelps after each slap were anything to go on, painful contact with her rump. She struggled with considerable strength and violence, twisting her body and waving her legs, but to no avail. Suddenly, her captor once again realized what he was doing. He decided to bring the spanking, well deserved as some might have said, to an end. Coming to his feet and releasing her neck, he precipitated her from his lap. She landing, rolling across the ground, and came to her knees.
Tears, caused by anger and indignation over the way she had been treated more than pain, trickled down the girl’s reddened cheeks. She glared furiously at the young Texian as she sprang to her feet. Spitting out a string of curses which were the equal of any he had ever heard, she crouched as if meaning to throw herself at him for a second time. However, on this occasion, her right hand flew across to close around the hilt of the clip-pointed knife sheathed at the left side of her belt.
‘I’m sorry that I spanked you,’ Ole Devil said quietly. His soft-spoken words were anything but gentle and, taken with the savage, almost demoniac aspect of his countenance, seemed to be charged with menace. ‘But if you pull that damned knife on me, I’ll take it from you and paddle your bare hide until you’ve learned better sense.
For a moment, watching the girl’s every move and the play of emotions on her face, the young Texian thought that she intended to force him into a position where he would have to disarm her, even if he did not carry out the rest of his threat. She was quivering with temper over the humiliation she had suffered at his hands and made as if to continue drawing the weapon. Wanting to avoid such a confrontation, he stared straight into her eyes. Almost twenty seconds dragged by before she tore her gaze from his coldly threatening scrutiny.