Adventure and adventurers -- Juvenile fiction; Western stories
Old Rocks was so dazed that he sat on the ground, staring at the
"tenderfoot kid," and faintly gasping:
"Dog my cats!"
Frank flung the knife to the ground, and then sat down, panting, in a
desperate endeavor to get a full breath.
Old Rocks got up very slowly, stood looking at the dead bear some
moments, and then looked at the boy.
"This beats me!" he grunted. "Whoever heard o' a tenderfut doin' sech a
thing! An' he didn't seem ter be scart a tall!"
Then he came nearer Frank, at whom he still stared.
"It ain't a mistake, none whatever. This yar kid done it, and he done it
in great shape! Say, youngster."
"What?"
"I wants ter 'polergize."
"What for?"
"Fer sayin' tenderfeet never has sand. I'll take it all back. You've got
sand enough fer anything, you hev! Do you know whut you done? Wa-al, a
grizzly is harder ter kill then a hull tribe o' Injuns! I wuz dead lucky
ter kill t'other one by a chance shot, an' I'd never done it ef I hedn't
been so nigh ther muzzle o' my rifle wuz right up ag'in' ther varmint.
You worked an old hunter's trick on him. Thet fust jab you gave ther
whelp kinder spruced him up, an' he wuz ready ter crush ther stuffin'
outer yer. By holdin' ther knife ez yer did, yer made him kill hisself.
Guv us yer hand! I'll swar by you through thick and thin!"
So they shook hands again.
CHAPTER XXXII.
TRAILED DOWN.
"Ther trail's gittin' derned hot, boy!" said Old Rocks, near sunset.
"Ther p'izen varmints can't be fur ahead."
They were passing through one of the wildest sections of the park.
Mountains, capped with eternal snow, were on every hand. Their sides
were seamed with mighty chasms and strewn with huge bowlders, many of
which, it seemed, the weight of a hand would send crashing and
thundering into the dark depths below.
Some of the mountains bore traces of vegetation, pine and cedar showing
darkly on many a jagged cliff. Some were bleak and barren, but none the
less grand, impressive, and awe-inspiring.
Amid these mountains were desolate canyons, which seemed to hold some
dreadful secret locked fast in their silent bosoms.
Since the encounter with the grizzlies Old Rocks and Frank had paused to
eat a square meal of bear-steak, and it had braced them for the tramp,
so they were able to cover ground swiftly without fatigue or discomfort.
They had passed through a region of boiling geysers, where the water
shot more than a hundred feet into the air, and came down in a rain,
across which a beautiful rainbow formed, the roaring sound which
accompanied this exhibition being as loud as the exhaust of a thousand
locomotives.
In one marshy valley they had passed pools of water, sulphur yellow,
bright green, pink, crimson, and nearly all colors of the rainbow, the
pools being from twenty to fifty feet apart.
They had seen other things which were not given a second glance by Old
Rocks, but which Frank longed to stop and examine.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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