CHAPTER XXIII.
FIGHTING MOUNTAIN LIONS.
“Steady, boy! Steady!” came Jim’s voice from above, vibrant withagitation.
He knew only too well that to the tyro at big game shooting any largeanimal appears about twice as large and ferocious as it really is. Manylives have been lost and many painful and disfiguring wounds carried tothe grave because a man’s nerve has failed him at the critical momentwhen hunting dangerous game.
“You’re only shootin’ at a mark, boy! That’s all! Hold on ’em now! Holdon ’em!”
Jim’s voice steadied Ralph’s nerves wonderfully. He glanced down therifle barrel and then, as his finger pressed the trigger the reportroared and crashed through the valley.
“Give it to ‘em! Oh, give it to ‘em!” yelled Jim wildly.
Following the two sharp, quick reports and mingling with them came ascream full of ferocious agony. Ralph saw a big, tawny body leap highinto the air and then, falling back, begin to claw the earth and stonesfrantically.
“Look out for the other!” roared Jim, and none too soon, for thefemale, seeing that her mate was stricken by the brave boy’s shot, nowprepared to spring.
Ralph’s attention had been distracted from her by the death agonies ofthe male cougar. Jim’s warning shout recalled the boy to himself.
He fired once more, but this time he did not inflict a mortal wound.Instead, his bullet pierced the lion’s shoulder. Apparently she did notcare for any more of that sort of punishment, for with a yelp and ahowl she turned and dashed off, leaving her mate stark in death on theground in front of the cave.
Ralph, white and shaking, now that it was all over, reeled for a minuteand then leaned against the rock to recover himself a little.
“Bravely done, lad!” came a voice from above.
It was Jim, but Ralph felt almost too weak from the ordeal he had justpassed through to answer.
“The rifle just seemed to go off by itself,” he stammered. “I was soscared I couldn’t see anything plainly.”
“Never mind that. You did the trick, and that’s what counts. Wish you’dgot both of ’em, though. That lioness wasn’t badly hurt and she’ll beback for her young ones before long.”
“Well, she can’t get into the cave,” said Ralph with a rather shakylaugh, “any more than you can get out,” he added ruefully.
“That’s so. I declare for a minute I’d forgotten all about our fix.Say, but those lions served us one good turn when they drove off thoseBloods. The fellows were ugly and meant trouble.”
“But won’t they be back?”
“Not they. They’ve had time to think it over by this time, and they’llhave come to realize that these ain’t early days, and that horsestealing would result in their whole reservation being turned insideout till the culprits were found.”
“Hark!” cried Ralph suddenly, “somebody’s coming now. Maybe it _is_those Indians coming back, after all.”
“Great Blue Bells of Scotland, it’s someone on a horse, sure enough.I’ll duck down into the cave and get your rifle up.”
For it was Jim’s “Old Trusty,” as he called it, with which Ralph haddespatched one lion and wounded the other.
But to Ralph’s unspeakable relief it was no band of Bloods that rodeinto the clearing, but a bearded man on a wild, shaggy pony leading apack mule by a hair rope. From the pack Ralph could see shovel andpick handles sticking out and both rider and animals appeared to havebeen roughing it for many months.
The man wore rough buckskin garments, and his stirrups were made ofrope. On his head was a battered old Stetson hat with a leather bandaround it. Across his saddle bow he carried a long-barrelled rifle,with the stock embossed with silver. He glanced at Ralph in a quick,surprised sort of way.
“Wa’al, what in the ’tarnal’s bin goin’ on here?” he demanded in anasal tone, which Ralph recognized as belonging to a native of theStates.
“Why, I--that is, we’ve been mixed up in a sort of scrap with Indiansand lions,” replied Ralph hesitatingly.
The man looked so wild and uncouth that he did not know but he mighthave to deal with a highwayman of some sort.
“Do tell,” exclaimed the rough-looking stranger, “and you’re only akid, too! Yankee?”
Ralph nodded. Just then Jim reappeared at the crack on the top of thefallen rock, and as his eyes fell on the stranger he uttered a yell ofastonishment.
“Great Blue Bells of Scotland,” he shouted, “it’s Bitter Creek Jones!”
“That’s me,” rejoined the stranger shifting in his saddle, “but who mayyou be? Come out and show yourself.”
“I can’t. My door is locked on the outside, so to speak; but I’mMountain Jim Bothwell--remember me?”
The stranger broke into a great roar of delight.
“Wa’al, do tell. If this ain’t luck. Mountain Jim! I ain’t never forgotthat day on the Bow River that you saved me from that bunch of huskiesthat was goin’ to hold me up and take my dust away frum me. But come onout. Let’s shake your paw, old pal!”
“Sorry, but I’m not receiving to-day,” responded Mountain Jim. Hehastened on to explain what had happened within the last few hours,interrupted constantly by Bitter Creek Jones’ astonished exclamations.
“I heard an almighty firin’ an’ blazin’ away frum over this neck of thewoods,” he said, “and I jes’ nacherally come over ter see what in SamHill was goin’ forward. So ye’re all walled up, hey? Jes’ wait a jiffywhile I take a look at that rock. It’ll be tough luck if Bitter Creekcan’t get you out’n that mouse-trap without’n you havin’ ter ride fiftymiles fer help.”
“Do you think you can do anything, Mr. Jones?” asked Ralph, as theodd-looking stranger slipped off his sorry-appearing steed.
“Say, Sonny, I’m plain Bitter Crik to my friends. I’m Mister Jones tothem that don’t like me, see? So far as gittin’ Mountain Jim out’n thathole, it’ll be hard luck if I kain’t do it. Bitter Crik’s got goldout’n tougher places nor that, you kin bet your last red. Lucky I camealong this way, too. You see I’ve bin prospectin’ all through here,but it’s a rotten country. I’m going back to the States and ship toAlasky, when I git out’n the Rockies.”
Talking thus, Bitter Creek, who looked so ferocious, but proved sogood-natured, examined the rock from all sides. As he carried on hisinvestigations he hummed to himself like a man in deep thought.
At length he straightened up and hailed Jim.
“I’ll get you out’n here, Jim,” he said.
“All right, old man, wish you would. These cubs smell like a shoefactory on fire. I ain’t particular, but I know a heap of smells that’ssweeter, including skunk.”
Bitter Creek turned to Ralph.
“Know what I’m goin’ ter do, Sonny?” he asked.
Ralph shook his head.
“Well, see here. That rock rests on this little terrace or ledge, don’tit?”
“Yes.”
“And the ground all slopes away from it toward the creek?”
“It does,” rejoined Ralph, seeing that the odd man expected some sortof a reply.
“Well, I’m going to put a slug of giant powder in under that terraceand blow it out from under the rock. Onless I mistake my guess, that’sall that’s holdin’ it. When we blow that to Kingdom Come that ol’ rockis jes’ nacherally goin’ ter start rollin’ down ther hill, and out ’ullwalk Jim as large as life and twice as nacheral.”
“But won’t the explosion hurt him?” asked Ralph, to whom this appearedto be a dangerous proceeding.
“May shake him up a bit, but yer see, the force of giant powder worksdownward, and I’ll drive in under the rock for the shot.”
The scheme was explained to Mountain Jim, who entirely acquiesced init. Bitter Creek Jones wasted no more time, but hurried off to hismule. From the pack he produced a small box carefully wrapped invarious soft cloths. This proved to be filled with excelsior, amidstwhich nestled sticks of giant powder. From another box came caps andfuse.
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Then with a crowbar, the miner drove a deep hole under the terrace onwhich the rock rested, and this done, capped and fused two sticks ofdynamite and “tamped” them into place. Then summoning Ralph they bothretreated to a distance, and Bitter Creek bent over and lit the fuse.
“Look out, Jim!” he yelled as it sputtered and sparked. “In about tewminutes there’s goin’ ter be ‘Hail Columbia’ round these diggin’s.”