CHAPTER EIGHT.
NETTING A GRIZZLY BEAR.
As it is at all times unwise as well as disagreeable to involve a readerin needless mystery, we may as well explain here that there would havebeen no mystery at all in Little Tim's prolonged absence from hisfortress, if it had not been that he was aware of the intended visit ofhis chum and brother-in-law, Whitewing, and his old friend thepale-faced missionary, and that he had promised to return on the eveningof the day on which he set off to hunt or on the following morning atlatest.
Moreover, Little Tim was a man of his word, having never within thememory of his oldest friend been known to break it. Thus it came topass that when three days had passed away, and the sturdy little hunterfailed to return, Big Tim and his bride first became surprised and thenanxious. The attack on the hut, however, and the events which we havejust related, prevented the son from going out in search of the father;but now that the Blackfeet had been effectually repulsed and thefortress relieved by the arrival of Whitewing's party, it was resolvedthat they should organise a search for the absentee without an hour'sdelay.
"Leetil Tim," said Whitewing decisively, when he was told of his oldfriend's unaccountable absence, "must be found."
"So say I," returned Big Tim. "I hope the Blackfoot reptiles haven'tgot him. Mayhap he has cut himself with his hatchet. Anyhow, we mustgo at once. You won't mind our leaving you for a bit?" he added,turning to the missionary; "we will leave enough o' redskins to guardyou, and my soft one will see to it that you are comfortable."
"Think not of me," replied the preacher. "All will go well, I feelassured."
Still further to guard the reader from supposing that there is anymystery connected with the missionary's name or Little Tim's surname, wethink it well to state at once that there is absolutely none. In thoseoutlandish regions, and among that primitive people, the forming ofnames by the mere combination of unmeaning syllables found small favour.They named people according to some striking quality or characteristic.Hence our missionary had been long known among the red men of the Westas the Preacher, and, being quite satisfied with that name, he acceptedit without making any attempt to bamboozle the children of the woods andprairies with his real name, which was--and is--a matter of noimportance whatever. Tim likewise, being short of stature, though verymuch the reverse of weak or diminutive, had accepted the name of "LittleTim" with a good grace, and made mention of no other; his son naturallybecoming "Big Tim" when he outgrew his father.
A search expedition having been quickly organised, it left the littlefortress at once, and defiled into the thick woods, led by Whitewing andBig Tim.
In order that the reader may fully understand the cause of Little Tim'sabsence, we will take the liberty of pushing on in advance of the searchparty, and explain a few matters as we go.
It has already been shown that our little hunter possessed a naturalingenuity of mind. This quality had, indeed, been noticeable when hewas a boy, but it did not develop largely till he became a man. As hegrew older his natural ingenuity seemed to become increasingly active,until his thirst for improving on mechanical contrivances and devisingsomething new became almost a passion. Hence he was perpetuallyoccupied in scheming to improve--as he was wont to say--the materialcondition of the human race, as well as the mental.
Among other things, he improved the traps of his Indian friends, andalso their dwellings. He invented new traps, and, as we have seen, newmethods of defending dwellings, as well as of escaping when defencefailed. His name, of course, became well known in the Indian country,and as some of his contrivances proved to be eminently useful, he wasregarded far and near as a great medicine-man, who could do whatever heset his mind to. Without laying claim to such unlimited powers, LittleTim was quite content to leave the question of his capacity to schemeand invent as much a matter of uncertainty in the minds of his redfriends as it was in his own mind.
One day there came to the Indian village, in which he dwelt at the timewith his still pretty though matronly wife Brighteyes, one of the agentsof a man whose business it was to collect wild animals for themenageries of the United States and elsewhere. Probably this man was anancestor of Barnum, for he possessed a mind which seemed to be capableof conceiving anything and sticking at nothing. He found a man quiteafter his own heart when he discovered Little Tim.
"I want a grizzly b'ar," he said, on being introduced to the hunter.
"There's plenty of 'em in these parts," said Tim, who was whittling apiece of wood at the time.
"But I want a full-grown old 'un," said the agent.
"Well," remarked Tim, looking up with an inquiring glance for a moment,"I should say there's some thousands, more or less, roamin' about theRockies, in all stages of oldness--from experienced mammas togreat-grandmothers, to say nothin' o' the old gentlemen; but you'll findmost of 'em powerful sly an' uncommon hard to kill."
"But I don't want to kill 'em; I want one of 'em alive," said the agent.
At this Little Tim stopped whittling the bit of stick, and looked hardat the man.
"You wants to catch one alive?" he repeated.
"_Yes_, that's what's the matter with me exactly. I want it for a show,an' I'm prepared to give a good price for a big one."
"How much?" asked the hunter.
The stranger bent down and whispered in his ear. Little Tim raised hiseyebrows a little, and resumed whittling.
"But," said he, after a few moments' vigorous knife-work, "what if Ishould try, an' fail?"
"Then you get nothing."
"Won't do," returned the little hunter, with a slow shake of the head."I'm game to tackle difficulties for love _or_ money, but not fornothin'. You'll have to go to another shop, stranger."
"Well, what will you _try_ it for?" asked the agent, who was unwillingto lose his man.
"For quarter o' the sum down, to be kep' whether I succeed or fail, thebalance to be paid when I hand over the goods."
"Well, stranger," returned the agent, with a grim smile, "I don't mindif I agree to that. You seem an honest man."
"Sorry I can't return the compliment," said Little Tim, holding out hishand. "So cash down, if you please."
The agent laughed, but pulled out a huge leathern bag, and paid thestipulated sum in good undeniable silver dollars.
The hunter at once made preparation for his enterprise. Meanwhile theagent took up his abode in the Indian village to await the result.
After a night of profound meditation in the solitude of his wigwam,Little Tim set to work and cut up several fresh buffalo hides into longand strong lines with which he made a net of enormous mesh and strength.He arranged it in such a way, with a line run round the circumference,that he could draw it together like a purse. With this gigantic affairon his shoulder, he set off one morning at daybreak into the mountains.He met the agent, who was an early riser, on the threshold of thevillage.
"What! goin' out alone, Little Tim?" he said.
"Yes; b'ars don't like company, as a rule."
"Don't you think I might help you a bit?"
"No, I don't. If you stop where you are, I'll very likely bring theb'ar home to 'ee. If you go with me, it's more than likely the b'arwill take you home to her small family!"
"Well, well, have it your own way," returned the agent, laughing.
"I always do," replied the hunter, with a grin.
Proceeding a day's journey into the mountains, our adventurous hunterdiscovered the track of a bear, which must, he thought be an uncommonlylarge one. Selecting a convenient tree, he stuck four slender polesinto the ground, under one of its largest branches. Over these hespread his net, arranging the closing rope--or what we may term thepurse-string--in such a way that he could pass it over the branch of thetree referred to. This done, he placed a large junk of buffalo-meatdirectly under the net, and pegged it to the ground.
Thereafter Little Tim ascended the tree, crept out on the large limbuntil he reached the spot where the line had been thrown over it,
directly above his net. There, seating himself comfortably among thebranches, he proceeded to sup and enjoy himself, despite the unsavourysmell that arose from the half-decayed buffalo-meat below.
The limb of the tree was so large and suitable that while a fork of itwas wide enough to serve for a table, a branch which grew upwards formeda lean to the hunter's back, and another branch, doubling round mostconveniently, formed a rest for his right elbow. At the same time anabrupt curl in the same branch constituted a rest for his gun. Thus hereclined in a natural one-armed rustic chair, with his weapons handy,and a good supper before him.
"What could a man wish more?" he muttered to himself, with a contentedexpression of face, as he fixed a square piece of birch-bark in the forkof the branch, and on this platter arranged his food, commenting thereonas he proceeded: "Roast prairie hen. Capital grub, with a bit o' saltpork, though rather dry an' woodeny-like by itself. Buffalo rib.Nothin' better, hot or cold, except marrow-bones; but then, you see,marrow-bones ain't just parfection unless hot, an' this is bound to be acold supper. Hunk o' pemmican. A safe stand-by at all times. Don'tneed no cookin', an' a just proportion o' fat to lean, but doesn't dowithout appetite to make it go down. Let me be thankful I've got that,anyhow."
At this point Little Tim thought it expedient to make the line of hisnet fast to this limb of the tree. After doing so, he examined thepriming of his gun, made a few other needful arrangements, and then gavehimself up to the enjoyment of the hour, smiling benignly to the moon,which happened to creep out from behind a mountain peak at the time, asif on purpose to irradiate the scene.
"It has always seemed to me," muttered the hunter, as well as a largemouthful of the prairie hen would permit--for he was fond of mutteringhis thoughts when alone; it felt more sociable, you see, than merelythinking them--"It has always seemed to me that contentment is a grandthing for the human race. Pity we hasn't all got it!"
Inserting at this point a mass of the hunk, which proved a little toolarge for muttering purposes, he paused until the road was partiallycleared, and then went on--"Of course I don't mean that lazy sort o'contentment that makes a man feel easy an' comfortable, an' quiteindifferent to the woes an' worries of other men so long as his ownbread-basket is stuffed full. No, no. I means that sort o' contentmentthat makes a man feel happy though he hasn't got champagne an' taters,pigeon-pie, lobscouse, plum-duff, mustard an' jam at every blow-out;that sort o' contentment that takes things as they come, an' enjoys 'emwithout grumpin' an' growlin' 'cause he hasn't got somethin' else."
Another hunk here stopping the way, a somewhat longer silence ensued,which would probably have been broken as before by the outpouring ofsome sage reflections, but for a slight sound which caused the hunter tobecome what we may style a human petrifaction, with a half-chewed morselin its open jaws, and its eyes glaring.
A few seconds more, and the sound of breaking twigs gave evidence that avisitor drew near. Little Tim bolted the unchewed morsel, hastilysheathed his hunting-knife, laid one hand on the end of his line, andwaited.
He had not to wait long, for out of the woods there sauntered a grizzlybear of such proportions that the hunter at first thought the moonlightmust have deceived him.
"Sartinly it's the biggest that I've ever clapped eyes on," he thoughtbut he did not speak or move. So anxious was he not to scare theanimal, that he hardly breathed.
Bruin seemed to entertain suspicions of some sort, for he sniffed thetainted air once or twice, and looked inquiringly round. Coming to theconclusion, apparently, that his suspicions were groundless, he walkedstraight up to the lump of buffalo-meat and sniffed it. Not beingparticular, he tried it with his tongue.
"Good!" said the bear--at least if he did not say so, he must havethought so, for next moment he grasped it with his teeth. Finding ittethered hard and fast, he gathered himself together for the purpose ofexercising main force.
Now was Little Tim's opportunity. Slipping a cord by which the net wassuspended to the four stakes, he caused it to descend like a curtainover the bear. It acted most successfully, insomuch that the animal wascompletely enveloped.
Surprised, but obviously not alarmed, Bruin shook his head, sniffed alittle, and pawed the part of the net in front of him. The hunterwasted no time. Seeing that the net was all right, he pulled with allhis might on the main rope, which partly drew the circumference of thenet together. Finding his feet slightly trammelled, the grizzly triedto move off, but of course trod on the net, tripped, and rolled over.In so doing he caught sight of the hunter, who was now enabled to closethe mouth of the net-purse completely.
Being by that time convinced, apparently, that he was the victim of foulplay, the bear lost his temper, and tried to rise. He tripped asbefore, came down heavily on his side, and hit the back of his headagainst a stone. This threw him into a violent rage, and he began tobounce.
At all times bouncing is ineffectual and silly, even in a grizzly bear.The only result was that he bruised his head and nose, tumbled amongstones and stumps, and strained the rope so powerfully that the limb ofthe tree to which it was attached was violently shaken, and Little Timwas obliged to hold on to avoid being shaken off.
Experience teaches bears as well as fools. On discovering that it wasuseless to bounce, he sat down in a disconsolate manner, poked as muchas he could of his nose through one of the meshes, and sniggered atLittle Tim, who during these outbursts was naturally in a state of greatexcitement. Then the bear went to work leisurely to gnaw the mesh closeto his mouth.
The hunter was not prepared for this. He had counted on the creaturestruggling with its net till it was in a state of complete exhaustion,when, by means of additional ropes, it could be so wound round andentangled in every limb as to be quite incapable of motion. In thiscondition it might be slung to a long pole and carried by a sufficientnumber of men to the small, but immensely strong, cage on wheels whichthe agent had brought with him.
Not only was there the danger of the bear breaking loose and escaping,or rendering it necessary that he should be shot, but there was anotherrisk which Little Tim had failed at first to note. The scene on whichhe had decided to play out his little game was on the gentle slope of ahill, which terminated in a precipice of considerable height, and eachtime the bear struggled and rolled over in his network purse, henaturally gravitated towards the precipice, over which he was certain togo if the rope which held him to the tree should snap.
The hunter had just become thoroughly alive to this danger when, with atremendous struggle, the bear burst two of the meshes in rear, and hishind-quarters were free.
Little Tim seized his gun, feeling that the crisis had come. He wasloath to destroy the creature, and hesitated. Instead of backing out ofhis prison, as he might easily have done, the bear made use of his freehind legs to make a magnificent bound forward. He was checked, ofcourse, by the rope, but Tim had miscalculated the strength of hismaterials. A much stronger rope would have broken under the tremendousstrain. The line parted like a piece of twine, and the bear, rollinghead over heels down the slope, bounded over the precipice, and wenthurling out into space like a mighty football!
There was silence for a few seconds, then a simultaneous thud andbursting cry that was eminently suggestive.
"H'm! It's all over," sighed Little Tim, as he slid down the branch tothe ground.
And so it was. The bear was effectually killed, and the poor hunter hadto return to the Indian village crestfallen.
"But hold on, stranger," he said, on meeting the agent; "don't you giveway to despair. I said there was lots of 'em in these parts. You comewith me up to a hut my son's got in the mountains, an' I'll circumvent ab'ar for you yet. You can't take the cart quite up to the hut but youcan git near enough, at a place where there's a Injin' friend o' mineas'll take care of ye."
The agent agreed, and thus it came to pass that at the time of which wenow write, Little Tim was doing his best to catch a live bear, but, notliking to be laughed at even by his s
on in the event of failure, he hadled him and his bride to suppose that he had merely gone out hunting inthe usual way.
It was on this expedition that Little Tim had set forth when Whitewingwas expected to arrive at Tim's Folly--as the little hut or fortress hadcome to be named--and it was the anxiety of his friends and kindred athis prolonged absence which resulted, as we have seen, in the formationand departure of a search expedition.