Deserts -- Fiction; Latter Day Saints -- Fiction; Utah -- Fiction; Western stories
PIUTE'S Indian sense of the advantage of position in attack stood Jack
in good stead; he led him up the ledge which overhung one end of the
corral. In the pale starlight the sheep could be seen running in bands,
massing together, crowding the fence; their cries made a deafening din.
The Indian shouted, but Jack could not understand him. A large black
object was visible in the shade of the ledge. Piute fired his carbine.
Before Jack could bring his rifle up the black thing moved into
startlingly rapid flight. Then spouts of red flame illumined the corral.
As he shot, Jack got fleeting glimpses of the bear moving like a dark
streak against a blur of white. For all he could tell no bullet took
effect.
When certain that the visitor had departed Jack descended into the
corral. He and Piute searched for dead sheep, but, much to their
surprise, found none. If the grizzly had killed one he must have taken
it with him; and estimating his strength from the gap he had broken in
the fence, he could easily have carried off a sheep. They repaired the
break and returned to camp.
“He's gone, Mescal. Come down,” called Jack into the cedar. “Let me help
you--there! Wasn't it lucky? He wasn't so brave. Either the flashes from
the guns or the dog scared him. I was amazed to see how fast he could
run.”
Piute found woolly brown fur hanging from Wolf's jaws.
“He nipped the brute, that's sure,” said Jack. “Good dog! Maybe he kept
the bear from-- Why Mescal! you're white--you're shaking. There's no
danger. Piute and I'll take turns watching with Wolf.”
Mescal went silently into her tent.
The sheep quieted down and made no further disturbance that night. The
dawn broke gray, with a cold north wind. Dun-colored clouds rolled up,
hiding the tips of the crags on the upper range, and a flurry of snow
whitened the cedars. After breakfast Jack tried to get Wolf to take the
track of the grizzly, but the scent had cooled.
Next day Mescal drove the sheep eastward toward the crags, and about the
middle of the afternoon reached the edge of the slope. Grass grew
luxuriantly and it was easy to keep the sheep in. Moreover, that part of
the forest had fewer trees, and scarcely any sage or thickets, so that
the lambs were safer, barring danger which might lurk in the seamed and
cracked cliffs overshadowing the open grassy plots. Piute's task at the
moment was to drag dead coyotes to the rim, near at hand, and throw them
over. Mescal rested on a stone, and Wolf reclined at her feet.
Jack presently found a fresh deer track, and trailed it into the cedars,
then up the slope to where the huge rocks massed.
Suddenly a cry from Mescal halted him; another, a piercing scream of
mortal fright, sent him flying down the slope. He bounded out of the
cedars into the open.
The white, well-bunched flock had spread, and streams of jumping sheep
fled frantically from an enormous silver-backed bear.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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