The pioneer West : $b Narratives of the westward march of empire
History
The pioneer West : $b Narratives of the westward march of empire
Frontier and pioneer life -- West (U.S.)
After going a few hundred yards the tracks turned off on a well-beaten
path made by the elk; the woods were in many places cut up by these
game trails, which had often become as distinct as ordinary footpaths.
The beast’s footprints were perfectly plain in the dust, and he had
lumbered along up the path until near the middle of the hill-side,
where the ground broke away and there were hollows and boulders. Here
there had been a windfall, and the dead trees lay among the living,
piled across one another in all directions; while between and around
them sprouted up a thick growth of young spruces and other evergreens.
The trail turned off into the tangled thicket, within which it was
almost certain we would find our quarry. We could still follow the
tracks, by the slight scrapes of the claws on the bark, or by the
bent and broken twigs; and we advanced with noiseless caution, slowly
climbing over the dead tree trunks and upturned stumps, and not letting
a branch rustle or catch on our clothes. When in the middle of the
thicket we crossed what was almost a breastwork of fallen logs, and
Merrifield, who was leading, passed by the upright stem of a great
pine. As soon as he was by it he sank suddenly on one knee, turning
half round, his face fairly aflame with excitement; and as I strode
past him, with my rifle at the ready, there, not ten steps off, was
the great bear, slowly rising from his bed among the young spruces.
He had heard us, but apparently hardly knew exactly where or what we
were, for he reared up on his haunches sideways to us. Then he saw us
and dropped down again on all fours, the shaggy hair on his neck and
shoulders seeming to bristle as he turned toward us. As he sank down on
his forefeet I had raised the rifle; his head was bent slightly down,
and when I saw the top of the white bead fairly between his small,
glittering, evil eyes, I pulled trigger. Half-rising up, the huge beast
fell over on his side in the death throes, the ball having gone into
his brain, striking as fairly between the eyes as if the distance had
been measured by a carpenter’s rule.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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