The Wild Man of the West Part 5

The others at once commenced paddling up the river with energetic strokes.

"He's a wild feller that," remarked Bounce, after they had proceeded some distance and reached a part of the stream where the current was less powerful. "I'd bet my rifle he's git the first shot at Caleb; I only hope he'll not fall in with him till we git ash.o.r.e, else it may go hard with him."

"So it may," said Waller; "if it goes as hard wi' Gibault as it did wi'

my old comrade, Bob Swan, it'll be no fun, I guess."

"What happened to him?" asked March, who was ever open-eared for stories.

"Oh, it was nothing very curious, but I guess it was 'onconvanient,' as them c.o.o.ns from Ireland says. Bob Swan went--he did--away right off alone, all by hisself, to shoot a grisly with a old musket as wasn't fit to fire powder, not to speak o' ball. He was sich a desprit feller, Bob Swan was, that he cut after it without takin' time to see wot wos in the gun. I follered him as fast as I could, hollerin' for him to stop and see if he wos loaded; but I calc'late he was past stoppin'. Wall, he comes up wi' the bar suddently, and the bar looks at him, and he looks at it. Then he runs up, claps the gun to his shoulder, and pulls the trigger; but it wos a rusty old lock, an' no fire came. There was fire come from the bar's eyes, though, I _do_ guess! It ran at him, an' he ran away. Of course Caleb soon came up, an' Bob primed as he ran an'

wheeled about, stuck the muzzle of the old musket right into Caleb's mouth, and fired. He swallered the whole charge, that bar did, as if it had been a gla.s.s o' grog, and didn't he cough some? Oh no! an' he roared, too, jist like this--"

Big Waller, in the excitement of his narrative, was about to give a vocal ill.u.s.tration, when Bounce suddenly extinguished him by clapping his hand on his mouth.

"Hist! you wild buffalo," he said, "you'll frighten off all the bars within ten miles of us, if you raise your horrable trumpet!"

"I do believe, I forgot," said the Yankee with a low chuckle, when his mouth was released.

"Well, but what happened to Bob Swan?" inquired March eagerly.

"Wot happened? I guess the bar cotched him by the leg, an' smashed it in three places, before you could wink, but, by good luck, I come up at that moment, an' put a ball right through Caleb's brains. Bob got better, but he never got the right use o' his leg after that. An' we found that he'd fired a charge o' small shot down that bar's throat--he had!"

"Hallo! look! is yon Caleb?" inquired March in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, as he pointed with his paddle to a distant point up the river, where a dark object was seen moving on the bank.

"That's him," said Bounce. "Now then, do your best, an' we'll land on the point just below him."

"That's sooner said than done," remarked Redhand quietly, "for there's another portage between us and Caleb."

As the old man spoke, the canoe pa.s.sed round a low point which had hitherto shut out the view of the bed of the river from the travellers, and the vision of a white, though not a high, waterfall burst upon their sight, at the same moment that the gushing sound of water broke upon their ears. At any other time the beauty of the scene would have drawn forth warm, though perhaps quaint and pithy, remarks of admiration.

Wood and water were seen picturesquely mingled and diversified in endless variety. Little islands studded the surface of the river, which was so broad and calm at that place as to wear the appearance of a small lake. At the upper end of this lake it narrowed abruptly, and here occurred the fall, which glittered in the sun's bright rays like a cascade of molten silver. The divers trees and shrubs, both on the islets and on the mainland, presented in some places the rich cultivated appearance of the plantations on a well-tended domain; but, in other places, the fallen timber, the rank tangled vegetation, and the beautiful wild flowers showed that man's hand had not yet destroyed the wild beauty of the virgin wilderness. The sky above was bright and blue, with a few thin feathery clouds resting motionless upon its vast concave, and the air was so still that even the tremulous aspen leaves were but slightly agitated, while the rest of the forest's drapery hung perfectly motionless.

Complete silence would have reigned but for the mellow sound of the distant fall and the sweet, plaintive cries of innumerable wildfowl that flew hither and thither, or revelled in the security of their sedgy homes. Flocks of wild geese pa.s.sed in constant succession overhead, in the form of acute angles, giving a few trumpet notes now and then, as if to advertise their pa.s.sage to the far north to the dwellers in the world below. Bustling teal rose in groups of dozens or half-dozens as the red canoe broke upon their astonished gaze, and sent them, with whistling wings, up or down the river. A solitary northern diver put up his long neck here and there to gaze for an instant inquisitively, and then sank, as if for ever, into the calm water, to reappear long after in some totally new and unexpected quarter. A napping duck or two, being wellnigh run over by the canoe, took wing with a tremendous splutter and a perfectly idiotical compound of a quack and a roar, while numerous flocks of plover, which had evidently meant to lie still among the sedges and hide while the canoe pa.s.sed, sprang into the air at the unwonted hullabaloo, and made off, with diverse shriek and whistle, as fast as their wings could carry them. Besides these noisy denizens of the wilderness, there were seen, in various places, cranes, and crows, and magpies, and black terns, and turkey-buzzards, all of which were more or less garrulous in expressing surprise at the unexpected appearance of the trappers in their wild domain. And, just as the canoe drew near to the place at the foot of the fall where they meant to land and make the portage, a little cabri, or p.r.o.ng-horned antelope, leaped out of the woods, intending, doubtless, to drink, caught sight of the intruders, gave one short glance of unutterable amazement, and then rebounded into the bush like an electrified indiarubber ball.

"Now, then," said Bounce as he leaped ash.o.r.e, and held the canoe steady while his comrades landed, "jist be cool, an' no hurry; make the portage, launch the canoe atop o' the fall, sot off agin, an' then-- hurrah for that there grisly bar!"

CHAPTER FOUR.

GIBAULT HAS AN ADVENTURE, AND DISCOVERS A VERY STRANGE CREATURE IN THE WOODS--A MOST TREMENDOUS BEAR-HUNT PARTICULARLY DESCRIBED.

Meanwhile Black Gibault, having followed the course of the river for some distance on foot, struck into the woods, sought for and found the track of the bear, and, looking carefully to the priming of his gun, and knocking the edge of the flint to sharpen it, pushed forward in pursuit with the ardour of a reckless man.

Gibault Noir was a goose! But he was an amiable goose; therefore men forgave his follies. Had Gibault not been a goose he never would have set off alone in pursuit of a grisly bear when he had comrades who might have accompanied him. Every one knows--at least, if every one does not know, every one who reads these pages may know henceforth--that the grisly bear of the western prairies and Rocky Mountains is one of the most desperate and most dreaded animals on the face of the earth; not dreaded merely by the weak and the timorous, but dreaded also by the bravest Indians and the boldest trappers. Of course we do not mean to say that by these latter the grisly bear is dreaded with anything like cowardly terror; but it is regarded with that degree of wholesome anxiety and extreme caution with which men usually regard an excessively dangerous and powerful enemy.

Unlike other bears, the grisly bear scorns to fly from before the face of man. His ferocity, when wounded, is terrible, and his tenacity of life is such that, however many mortal wounds one may give him, he will retain life and strength long enough to kill his a.s.sailant before he himself dies, unless he is shot dead at once by a ball being planted in his heart or brain, both of which are difficult to reach.

He has a grumpy sort of magnanimity of his own, however, and will usually let men alone if men will let him alone. But men are not p.r.o.ne to let anything alone; hence encounters are frequent; wounds, on both sides, are numerous; and death, on one or other side, is almost certain.

Old trappers are not fond of attacking Caleb single-handed, but young hot-blooded fellows, who have got their names to make, are less cautious, and sometimes even court the combat, as was the case in the present instance with reckless Gibault Noir.

For half an hour, Gibault went over the ground at a sort of half-walk, half-trot, stopping occasionally to examine the prints of the bear more narrowly when they pa.s.sed across hard ground that did not take a good impression. At length he came to a deep gully or creek, where the bushes were so dense that he could not see far through them in any direction. Here he halted, re-examined his priming, and, peering cautiously through the underwood, advanced with much greater deliberation and care than heretofore.

In descending the gully, Gibault stumbled once or twice, and made one or two crashing bursts through bushes that would have proved quite impervious to most men. After much toil he reached the bottom, and, standing there, up to the ankles in a small rivulet, gazed upward at the bank he had now to ascend.

"Vraiment, it be uncommonly difficile," said he, addressing himself to the task, while the perspiration began to roll down his forehead.

At last he reached the top of the bank on the other side, and, after panting for some time, began to look for the bear's footprints; but these could not now be found. In his scramble through the gully he had lost them, and the ground on the side he had just reached was so hard and rocky that it seemed to him doubtful whether it was capable of receiving any visible impression from a bear's paw. It was just possible, too, that the animal had found the descent of the gully as difficult as he himself had; in which case it was highly probable that it had used the course of the rivulet as a pathway.

For a moment, the little Canadian meditated a second descent into the gully for the purpose of settling this point, but, having not yet quite ceased to pant from his recent exertions, he thought better of it, and determined to make a further examination of the ground where he was.

After doing so for a quarter of an hour, his exertions were rewarded by the discovery of what appeared to be a track. It was not very distinct, but it was sufficiently so to induce him to follow it up with renewed ardour.

Presently he came upon a spot where the ground was not so thickly covered with underwood, and where, in some places, it was so soft as to show an exact print of the foot of the animal he was following up. Here he received a great disappointment, and an equally great surprise--a disappointment on finding that the track he followed was _not_ that of a bear, and a surprise on discovering that it _was_ that of a man!

On first making this discovery, Gibault stopped short, laid his gun on the ground, stooped down, planted a hand on each knee, opened his eyes to their utmost, pursed his lips to the tightest, and stared at the footprint, the very embodiment of astonishment. After a few seconds he gave vent to a low whistle, and said "Ho!" Exactly ten seconds after that, he said "Ha!" and, raising his right hand, scratched the point of his nose, which, being too red naturally, was not improved by the operation.

None of these acts and exclamations, either collectively or singly, seemed to afford him any enlightenment, for he began to shake his head slowly from side to side, as if he had come to the conclusion that the whole affair was utterly beyond his limited comprehension; then he started up, shouldered his gun, and followed the track of the man with as much ardour as he had formerly pursued that of the bear.

Perseverance is almost invariably rewarded. This would seem to be one of those laws of nature which fail to operate only on very rare and peculiar occasions. Gibault had not advanced more than a hundred yards when he came suddenly upon the man whose feet had made the tracks he had been following.

"The Vild-Man-of-de-Vest! certainement!" muttered Black Gibault slowly, as he gazed at the creature before him, and quietly c.o.c.ked his rifle to be ready for any emergency.

Certainly the man upon whom our trapper had stumbled thus suddenly might have been styled the wild man of any region--west, north, east, or south,--with perfect propriety. On his legs were a pair of dark grey fustian trousers, which had seen so much service that, from the knee downwards, they were torn into shreds. His feet were covered by a pair of moccasins. Instead of the usual hunting-shirt he wore one of the yellow deerskin coats of a Blackfoot chief, which was richly embroidered with beads and quilt work, and fringed with scalp-locks. On his head he wore a felt hat, with a broad rim and a tall conical crown, somewhat resembling a Spanish sombrero, and beside him, on the bough of a tree, hung a long blue Spanish cloak. The countenance of this extraordinary man was handsome and youthful, but wild and somewhat haggard, as if from much recent suffering. His eye was black and piercing, his nose aquiline, and his forehead broad, but his mouth was effeminate, his chin small and beardless, his neck long, his shoulders narrow and sloping, and his black hair hung in long straight locks over his shoulders. A short sword, somewhat resembling that of the ancient Roman, lay on the sward beside him, and near to it a huge cavalry pistol of the olden time, with a bra.s.s barrel and a bell mouth--a species of miniature blunderbuss. Its fellow was stuck in his belt, beneath the chief's coat, as could be observed from the appearance of the b.u.t.t protruding from the opening in the breast thereof.

This personage was seated on a gra.s.sy knoll so absorbed in some curious kind of occupation that he was totally un.o.bservant of the presence of Gibault until he had approached to within thirty yards of him. Although his occupation was a mystery to the trapper, to one a little more conversant with the usages of civilised life, the open book on the knee, the easy flow of the pencil, and the occasional use of a piece of indiarubber, would have been sufficient evidence that the young man was sketching the view before him.

"Ahem!" coughed Gibault.

The stranger scattered book, pencil, and indiarubber to the winds (or to the atmosphere, for there happened to be no wind at the time), and started up. In doing so, he showed that he was at least a tall, if not a stout fellow. Seizing a pistol with one hand and his sword with the other, he presented both at Gibault, and yelled, rather than shouted, "Stay! halt! stop now, my man; drop the b.u.t.t of your gun, else I'll-- I'll blow out your brains."

Although somewhat startled by this unusual mode of salutation, the trapper had sense and quickness enough to perceive that the artist was in anything but a warlike state of mind, and that his violent demonstration was the result of having been startled; so, pulling off his cap with that native politeness which is one of the characteristics of the French Canadian, he advanced, and said--

"Bon jour, monsieur. I ver' moch sorray dat I be give you von fright.

Pardon, sair; how you do?"

"Thank you--thank you, good fellow," replied the artist, laying down his weapons and grasping Gibault's proffered hand with a sigh of evident relief, "I am well, excellently well. You did, indeed, startle me by your sudden appearance; but no harm is done, and where none was intended no apology is necessary. You are a Frenchman, I think?"

"Non, sair; not 'xactly. I be French Canadian. Mine fadder was be von Canadian; mine moder was a Frenchvoman; I be leetle of both."

"And you have cause to be proud of your country, my man," returned the artist, collecting his scattered drawing materials and quietly sitting down to continue his sketch, "a splendid country and a n.o.ble people.

Sit down, my good friend, if you can spare time, while I put a few finishing touches to this sketch."

"Mais," said Gibault, rubbing his nose in great perplexity at the coolness of this eccentric wanderer; "mais, monsieur, I hab _not_ time; I be follerin' de tracks of von monstracious grisly bar--"

"What! a grisly bear?" cried the artist, looking up with sudden animation.

"Oui, monsieur. We have see him not long 'go, an' hopes to kill him soon."

The artist's dark eye sparkled with animation as he hastily shut up his sketch-book and thrust it, with his drawing materials, into a small pocket inside the breast of his coat.