CHAPTER XVI
THE ADVANCE DISPUTED
“What next, Colonel?” asked Scotty, as he arose from examining the print of Old Baldy’s hoof.
“There’s only one thing to do,” replied the stockman; “which is to head back in the direction of the camp, watching out to see just where the old rascal left the regular trail, and branched out for himself. Once we get started on that, it ought to be easy for you, Scotty.”
“I guess yes,” answered the squatty cowboy; whose legs seemed to look very much like a loop, partly on account of the sheepskin chaps he wore.
He took one side, while Frank looked after the other. In this fashion, then, they all started toward the camp down in the valley.
It was not a great while before Scotty emitted a roar.
“Here she goes, sure as you’re born, and a-headin’ out in great shape,” he declared, as the others came up. “Oh! that Old Baldy never did forget nothin’ he ever knowed; and here he goes, a-headin’ up for that other outlet, just like he remembered every foot of the way. Come along, Colonel; it looks like we was a-goin’ to larn mor’n Mendoza himself ever did; an’ all through a pesky steer!”
The others were well content to drop in line after the stunted trailer, who continued to move along, with his eyes constantly watching the ground. Frank and Bob came close in his rear; while back of them were the stockman and his overseer, both anxious to learn how the game turned out.
“We’re heading up all the time, that’s one thing sure,” remarked Bob, after they had been pushing along in this fashion for some ten minutes, at least.
“And you can see how wild it looks up here,” Frank added. “Like as not Mendoza and his men never thought it worth while to explore this part of the ridge; for it wouldn’t strike them that cattle could ever find a way of climbing over such big piles of rocks. But Old Baldy has found a means of going in and out, all right.”
“Yes, and he knew where he was heading for when he struck out up here, that’s a cinch,” declared Bob.
“That’s right, he did,” Scotty announced, with conviction. “That rascal wa’nt just runnin’ wild when he headed this way. He had an object in comin’, you mark me when I says it. And we’re a-goin’ to know what that object was before a great while now.”
“We’ve just got to,” laughed Frank, “because we’ll soon be at the top of the old ridge, the way we’re climbing. And dad, if it turns out that Old Baldy shows us a new way out of the valley, what are you going to do to him when we get back home?”
“He can own the ranch,” replied the stockman, readily. “He’ll be in clover for the rest of his days, I promise you, son.”
The way grew more difficult; yet no matter what obstacles seemed to loom up ahead, there was always a way around them, and Old Baldy knew the trail. Many times Bob lost all signs, and would have been compelled to give up in despair; but Frank pointed out where a stone had been displaced, or it might be a twig ground under the weight of the heavy steer.
“He climbs like a mountain goat, that Baldy!” declared Bob, after an unusually hard effort, that winded him more or less.
“Oh! all cattle can do that,” Frank assured him. “Wait till you see the whole herd putting up this steep slope; even the youngest will surprise you by the way they hang on to the side of the hill, and climb over all sorts of things that give us more or less trouble.”
“One thing I notice,” remarked Bob.
“And what’s that?” asked his chum.
“We don’t get even an occasional peep in at the camp. The big spur or shoulder of the mountain that juts out hides it. And Frank, by the same token, it would keep any one down there from noticing Old Baldy, if he climbed this place in the daytime.”
“That’s right, Bob,” replied the other. “I didn’t think of that myself. And perhaps the rustlers never took the trouble to look around to see if that pass was the only way in and out. You know they’re a lazy lot, taken as a whole, and hate to do the least thing except when in the saddle.”
“Huh!” grunted Scotty, who heard the remark, “they’s a lot o’ cow punchers in that same class, don’t you forget it, Frank. In the saddle they kin ride, and cavort around hours an’ hours. Drop ’em on their feet, an’ they act like ducks on dry land. A cowboy has no business afoot when he kin git a pony under him.”
Scotty came to a halt a little further on. He seemed to be interested in something ahead.
“Wow!” he exclaimed, “it sure is a Mountain Charley squattin’ there. Reckon we might be a-goin’ to have a little trouble along of him sooner or later, when the cattle get to comin’ up this way.”
Bob instantly understood, for he recognized the name as one given to a grizzly bear in California, and among some of the cowboys of the Southwest.
“Where is he?” he asked. “Frank, we’ve got our guns; and perhaps we’ll just have to touch up the old fellow; because it would never do to let him get among the stock.”
“No,” said the ranchman, immediately; “for while he might content himself with just a single cow, the sight and smell of him would surely stampede the rest of the herd; and let that once happen up here, and we’d never get them together again.”
“Then we’ll have to try and bowl him over, Bob,” said Frank, as he looked to his repeating rifle, which was one of the very best on the market.
Bob felt the sportsman blood leap in his veins. This was different from shooting an innocent little antelope, which he never did without feeling more or less sorry; and only repeated the exploit because fresh food was needed. But a grizzly bear was a foe worthy of the efforts of the most experienced hunter.
Bob had had one experience in this line, and not a great distance away from the spot where he now stood; for it had been on the occasion of their first visit to Thunder Mountain that it happened, and in the entrance to the big canyon leading upward.
He could see the bear, now that Scotty had pointed him out. The animal was apparently aware of the presence of human beings; but he showed not the slightest trace of fear, or a desire to retreat.
“He seems to be right on the trail,” declared Frank, as he looked.
“That’s just what he is,” Scotty added; “and I reckon now that p’raps he was startin’ to foller the tracks of Old Baldy, if there was the least whiff of scent left for him to get. Then he heard us a-comin’, and squats down to see who we is, an’ what we wants in his diggings.”
They continued to advance. Colonel Haywood, Bart and Scotty had all drawn their revolvers, and were ready to give a good account of themselves should the conflict be brought to close quarters. All of them knew how very tough a grizzly bear is, and that often many bullets will fail to bring such a terrible brute down.
“No use shootin’ till we get some closer, boys,” said Scotty.
“There, see, he’s getting up now!” exclaimed Bob. “Perhaps he means to challenge us to a fight; or, not liking the looks of our crowd, expects to walk off to his den, which must be up here somewheres.”
“Never knowed one to back out of a scrap,” avowed Scotty.
“He’s coming at us now, on all fours, and looking as if he meant to take us on in a bunch. Don’t you think we ought to let him have a shot, Frank?” Bob asked, a trifle nervously; for he had been appalled upon examining that other grizzly to note the terrible claws, and the enormous muscular power of the animal’s legs.
“Not yet, Bob,” Frank answered, coolly; “hold your horses, and pretty soon we’ll have our chance. Don’t forget to try and get him back of the shoulder, if you can, or in the eye. Either the brain or the heart is the place to hit a grizzly; you can pump him full of lead in other places, and he’ll walk off with it, so they say.”
No doubt the calm manner in which Frank handled his rifle did much to reassure the less experienced Bob. He immediately “took a brace,” and quieted his nerves, well knowing that unless he secured the mastery over himself he could hardly do good work when the moment came to fire.
As both parties were now approaching each other, the crisis could not long be delayed. Bob thought his chum might be going a little too far. Still, he remembered that at the famous battle of Bunker Hill, General Putnam had ordered the waiting line of Continentals to hold their fire until they could see the whites of the enemy’s eyes. So it was apparently good policy not to show too much haste when expecting an attack.
“Get ready, Bob,” said Frank, presently, in a low tone.
The grizzly was a little above them, and heading straight toward the place where the five intruders into his domain were huddled together. He meant to attack them all without the least hesitation. This, Scotty afterwards declared, was something unusual for a grizzly to do, except when half starved. He might not make a move to run away; but he does not often attack unless wounded and enraged.
“But, Frank, he’s heading so straight this way, that I just can’t find a chance to aim behind his shoulder as you said,” Bob complained. “Shall I try to get him in one of his little eyes?”
“Wait just three seconds; he’s got to turn around that rock, you notice. As he comes out again he’ll be broadside on, above us. Be ready to give him your first shot as I say the word. Quick! now, look sharp!”
Even while Frank was saying this the bear did indeed pass back of the spur of rock, just as the boy had foreseen. Bob let his cheek rest against the stock of his rifle. He was covering the exact spot where he expected the grizzly to show up in another second.
As his nose came into view, he waddled forward, as bold as any lion ever could be, and, some hunters claim, a great deal more so.
“Now!”
Frank uttered this one word. It was immediately drowned in a double crash, as both guns were discharged. With the sound arose a series of cowboy yells from Bart and Scotty, who had been awaiting the result of the volley with more or less suppressed excitement.
Bob mechanically went through the pump action which sent the discharged shell flying out to one side, and pushed a fresh cartridge into the firing chamber; at the same time leaving the gun ready for business, with the hammer raised.
He looked upward, and was thrilled to see the great hairy figure of the grizzly apparently rushing straight down toward them. Naturally the first and dominating thought that possessed the mind of the Kentucky lad was that, after all, their lead had failed to reach a fatal spot; and that the bear was now bent on seeking revenge for the pain inflicted on him. Those yells which Bob had at first believed to stand for exultation, might after all mean the demoralization of the cowboys because of this rush of the great beast!