CHAPTER XIII—NEVER-TO-BE-FORGOTTEN DAYS
Things started in happening about that time.
And conditions could hardly have been much worse; for while Frank and Mr. Witherspoon had their rifles along, the magazines had been exhausted in their recent shooting affair; while the only two serviceable guns lay on the other side of the little gulf that was spanned by the log.
“Get to the bridge as fast as you can!” called out the ranchman, with a ring of authority in his voice.
It might have been noticed that Andy did not wait this time to complain about the “focus,” and all that sort of thing; in fact, he simply ran for the avenue of escape without once looking around him. And both Frank and Mr. Witherspoon kept him pretty close company.
Buckskin had been close to the bridge himself at the time of his making that astonishing discovery; and hence he was already passing over. As a cowboy is not so sure-footed as a good many people accustomed to walking, there were times when it began to look as though he might lose his grip again, and be compelled to resort to the original method of using his hands and knees.
“Don’t let my kodak drop, Buckskin!” shrieked Andy, really more concerned about the safety of his little camera just then than his own safety.
Perhaps his outcry did have some steadying effect upon the other, for he managed to get to the opposite side without having to descend to any humiliating experience, but it was a close shave.
And now the boys understood just why Buckskin had made such mad haste. It was not because he meant to forsake them, or was so tremendously alarmed regarding his own condition. He had suddenly remembered that the guns that were charged had been left across on the other side, and somebody must charge that bridge in order to lay hands on them.
It was doubtless very fortunate for all concerned that the second grizzly did not see fit to charge as ferociously as had its dead mate; for in such a case the chances were they must have been mixed up with those long, cruel claws before the lot of them could cross over.
The newcomer stopped to sniff at the body of the other animal too, and this delayed things for a few seconds; just enough for them to get safely over, and for history to repeat itself in so far as hurling the log into the hole was concerned.
Already Buckskin was getting busy with his repeater; and Andy, not to be left in the lurch, also scrambled over to where his gun lay.
Once more the battle was resumed, with all the odds on the side of those who, safe from the claws of the monster could at the same time send their little leaden messengers of death across the gulf, and into the body of the grizzly.
It hardly seemed fair, and yet what else can be done when dealing with such a terrible beast? Three men, yes, half a dozen, would not be too many to meet so ferocious a fighter at close quarters; and in order to win out, it is necessary to take advantage of every opening.
Rendered furious because of his wounds, and his inability to get at the objects of his hatred, the bear finally rushed straight at them, and of course toppled over the edge into the gap.
Meanwhile Mr. Witherspoon and Frank were getting fresh cartridges into the magazines of their guns as fast as their trembling hands could accomplish the feat. No one could tell how many shots might be found necessary before the tenacious life of the monster was snuffed out. “He’s dropped in!” shouted Andy, who had managed to discharge his gun twice, and seemed to feel that he had had something more or less to do with this last queer action on the part of the charging bear.
“Look out for him climbing up the side!” cried the rancher, doing his level best to get his weapon in serviceable condition.
“No danger, boss!” whooped Buckskin, who, down on hands and knees beside the edge of the gully, was trying to figure out what the condition of the bear might be, “he’s gone and cashed his checks in this time, and we done it all by ourselves, sure we did, Andy. Say, wasn’t he a whopper, now? And let’s get ready in case there happens to be a whole menagerie of the varmints around these diggings.”
After their guns had been placed in serviceable condition they crept to the edge of the little gulch and surveyed the huddled-up mass of hair, each declaring it to be his positive belief that the bear must be dead.
“Let’s some of us go down to him!” cried Frank.
“You bet we will,” echoed Andy; “I want that bearskin the worst kind, because, unless I’m greatly off my guess, there are just three holes in the same that my bullets made. How can we do it, Uncle Jethro. Please put us wise.”
The rancher knew easily enough how it could be done. He even volunteered to be the one who should drop down and secure the pelt of the dead bear. It was finally arranged, however, that Buckskin should do this business while Mr. Witherspoon performed the same kind of operation in connection with the first victim.
“Just to think of bagging two bears on the same afternoon!” exclaimed the proud Andy, as he danced around, trying the best he knew how to get some sort of picture of his own prize, for the cowboy loudly declared that it must have been a bullet from Andy’s gun that did the business.
“It’s so dark and gloomy down there, you see,” he complained, as Buckskin hunted for a way to clamber down. “If only I had thought to fetch along one of my flash-light cartridges now, I could do it; or have him take me standing with my foot on the prize, and my trusty gun in my hands. But that’s all off.”
“What’s to hinder me taking you in that position with the other bear?” ventured Frank; “we could slew it around a little, so that it wouldn’t look the same as in the first picture; and having two skins would prove that we got that many bears.” So Andy finally consented to pose, and accordingly had his picture taken in the conventional attitude of saying: “Look what a big hunter I am?”
It required considerable time to remove the two hides; but then cowboys know how to go about it, and Mr. Witherspoon was also handy with the hunting knife; so that in the end it was accomplished.
As the afternoon was still pretty warm, they decided to rest again. At the request of Andy the puncher got several pieces of wood that might be made to serve in lieu of torches; and with these they explored the interior of the bear’s den. There was quite a heap of bones inside the hole, and once more Andy deplored his want of forethought in not providing himself with a number of those convenient flash-light affairs, by means of which interiors may be photographed so well.
“You don’t find me ever going anywhere with my old kodak, without thinking about having a light along,” he complained. “Just when you think you won’t need such a thing, the greatest chance you ever saw happens along and makes you feel sick. Why, I don’t know what I wouldn’t give to have a chance to take a picture of a real bear’s den like that.” Buckskin thereupon consoled him with the promise to ride over another day, amply provided with all the necessaries, if it so be Mr. Witherspoon allowed to let him off, which the generous ranchman readily agreed to do, because he would have consented to almost anything if it would add to the pleasure of this nephew in whom he was taking such unusual interest.
When the sun had dropped low enough so that its heat was not depressing, they started back home, taking things easily by the way.
Their mounts had been rested, and besides, knew which way they were now heading, and could be depended on to keep doggedly at work, without any “sojering,” or trying to “play lame,” as some smart cow ponies have been known to do when not in the humor for work.
The moon gave them light when night came on, and by ten o’clock they reached the ranch buildings. Expecting them at about this time, Charley Woo had a splendid supper all ready, to which the tired boys did ample justice.
But the story of the hunt was reserved for the morrow; because Mr. Witherspoon saw that the others were ready to drop after all those hours in the saddle, added to the nervous excitement of that thrilling bear hunt. It was now drawing close to the time when the regular fall round-up was scheduled to come off; for Mr. Witherspoon was one of those careful ranchmen who did not let things get too far ahead of him; and he wanted to know what his herds had been doing for him during the summer season, so that all youngsters might be given the brand that would stamp them as his property.
Although both Frank and Andy had witnessed the operation on smaller scales several times, so that the novelty had in a measure worn off, still they laid out to accompany the band when they went forth in full strength to cover the range, and be away several days and nights at least.
Andy, of course, wanted to secure a few more striking pictures that would illustrate the stories they wished to tell upon reaching home again. The only thing he deplored was the fact that his stock of films was running very low; he had been too lavish in the beginning, not leaving enough for the more important subjects apt to crowd up later.
But he had developed the roll containing the bear scenes, and was as he admitted “tickled nearly to death” with the splendid results. Why, it looked just as if that fierce old denizen of the cleft in the rock was roaring out his anger and defiance as he threw the fire sticks in every direction; and as for the other one, with Buckskin crawling along the log bridge, and the grizzly galloping down toward the end of the same, the cowboy declared that he could almost hear himself saying bad words because of his dizzy head, that always played him false in an emergency like this.
Why, a whole month had slipped away since their arrival at the ranch; and in a few more weeks they would have to be thinking of getting ready to travel back to Bloomsbury and school! Every time they talked of it the boys felt blue; not that Frank and Andy did not want to see the dear ones at home; but they were certainly having the time of their lives down here in Arizona, and hated to leave until they had utterly exhausted the mine of pleasures that awaited their attention on every hand.
Uncle Jethro was kindness itself. He never wearied of thinking up all sorts of things that he believed the two Bird boys would enjoy; and when he could not accompany them in person, he sent Buckskin instead; so that they came to have a decided fancy for the odd little “sawed off” of a cowboy, as he himself described his lack of stature.
And so it came about that one night the ranchman remarked that all preparations had been made to start on the following day on the round-up; the various herds would be ready for their inspection; and before they came back doubtless every part of the wide-spreading territory contained in Double X Ranch would have been raked over as with a fine-tooth comb, looking for mavericks and stray bunches.