Boys of Crawford's Basin Page 2

  CHAPTER I

  BIG REUBEN'S RAID

  "Wake up, boys! Wake up! Tumble out, there! Quick! Big Reuben's into thepig-pen again!"

  Our bedroom door was banged wide open, and my father stood before us--astartling apparition--dressed only in his night-shirt and a pair ofboots, carrying a stable-lantern in one hand and a rifle in the other.

  "What is it?" cried Joe, as he bounced out of bed; and, "Where is it?"cried I, both of us half dazed by the sudden awakening.

  "It's Big Reuben raiding the pig-pen again! Can't you hear 'emsquealing? Come on at once! Bring the eight-bore, Joe; and you, Phil,get the torch and the revolver. Quick; or he'll kill every hog in thepen!"

  Big Reuben was not a two-legged thief, as one might suppose from hisname. He was a grizzly bear, a notorious old criminal, who, for the pasttwo or three years, had done much harm to the ranchmen of ourneighborhood, killing calves and colts and pigs--especially pigs.

  Like a robber-baron of old, he laid tribute on the whole community,raiding all the ranches in turn, traveling great distances during thenight, but always retreating to his lair among the rocks before morning.This had gone on for a long time, when one day, in broad daylight, whileOle Johnson, the Swede, was plowing his upper potato-patch, the grizzlyjumped down from a ledge of rocks and with one blow of his paw broke theback of Ole's best work-steer; Ole himself, frightened half to death,flying for refuge to his stable, where he shut himself up in thehay-loft for the rest of the day.

  This outrage had the effect of waking up the county commissioners, who,understanding at last that we had been terrorized long enough, nowoffered a reward of one hundred dollars for bruin's scalp--an offerwhich stimulated all the hunters round about to run the marauder to hislair.

  But Big Reuben was as crafty as he was bold. His home was up in one ofthe rocky gorges of Mount Lincoln to the west of us, where it would beuseless to try to trail him; and after Jed Smith had been almost torn topieces, and his partner, Baldy Atkins, had spent two nights and a day upa tree, the enthusiasm of the hunters had suddenly waned and BigReuben's closer acquaintance had been shunned by all alike. Thereafter,the bear had continued his depredations unchecked.

  Among his many other pieces of mischief, he had killed a valuable calffor us once, once before he had raided the pig-pen, and now here he wasagain.

  Without waiting to put on any extra clothing, Joe and I followed myfather through the kitchen, I grabbing a revolver from its nail in thewall, and Joe snatching down the great eight-bore duck-gun and slippinginto it two cartridges prepared for this very contingency, eachcartridge containing twelve buck-shot and a big spherical bullet--aterrific charge for close quarters. Once outside the kitchen-door, I ranto the wood-shed and seized the torch which, like the cartridges, hadbeen made ready for this emergency. It consisted of a broom-handle witha great wad of waste, soaked in kerosene, bound with wire to one end ofit.

  Lighting the torch, I held it high and followed two paces behind theothers as they advanced towards the pig-pen. We had not progressedtwenty yards, however--luckily for us, as it turned out--when thereissued through the roof of the pen a great dark body, dimly seen by thelight of the torch.

  "There he is!" cried my father, as the bear dropped out of sight behindthe corral fence. "Look out, now! We'll get a shot at him as he runs upthe hill!"

  But Big Reuben had no intention whatever of running up the hill; hefeared neither man nor beast, and the next moment he appeared round thecorner of the corral, charging full upon us, open-mouthed.

  With a single impulse, we all fired one shot at him and then turned andfled, helter-skelter, for the kitchen, all tumbling in together,treading on each others' heels; my father slamming behind us the door,which fortunately opened outward.

  The kitchen was a slight frame structure, built on to the back of thehouse as a T-shaped addition. We were barely inside when bang! came aheavy body against the door, with such force as to send severalmilk-pans clashing to the floor.

  My father had hastily loaded again, and now, hearing the bear's pawspatting high up on the door, he fired a chance shot through it. The bearwas hit, seemingly, for we heard him grunt; but that he was not killedby any means was evident, for the next moment, with a clattering crash,the kitchen window, glass, frame and all, was knocked into the room, anda great hairy arm and fierce, grinning head were thrust through the gap.

  Joe, who was standing just opposite the window, jumped backward, andcatching his heels against the great tub wherein the week's wash wassoaking, he sat down in it with a splash. Seeing this, I sprang forwardand thrust my torch into the bear's face; upon which he dropped to theground again. A half-second later, Joe, still sitting in the tub, firedhis second barrel. It was a good shot, but just a trifle too late, andits only effect was to blow my torch to shreds, leaving us with the dimlight of the lantern only.

  "Into the house!" shouted my father; whereupon we all retreated from thekitchen into the main building. There, while Joe held the door partlyopen and I held the lantern so as to throw a light into the kitchen, myfather knelt upon the floor waiting for the bear to give him anotherchance. But Big Reuben was much too clever to do anything of the sort;he was not going to put himself into any such trap as that; andpresently my mother from up-stairs called out that she could see himgoing off.

  We waited about for half an hour, but as there was no more disturbancewe all went back to bed, where for another half-hour Joe and I laytalking, unable, naturally, to go to sleep at once after such a livelystirring-up.

  By sunrise next morning we were all out to see what damage had beendone. The bear had torn a great hole in the roof of the pen, had jumpedin and had killed and partly eaten one pig, choosing, as a bear of hissagacity naturally would, the best one. We were fortunate, though, tohave come off so cheaply; doubtless the light of our torch shiningthrough the chinks of the logs had disturbed him.

  If there had been any question as to the marauder's identity, that wassettled at once. His tracks were plain in the dust, and as one of hishind feet showed no marks of claws, we knew it was Big Reuben; for BigReuben had once been caught in a trap and had only freed himself byleaving his toe-nails behind him.

  Outside the kitchen door and window the tracks were very plain; therewas also a good deal of blood, showing that he had been hit at leastonce. But it was evident also that he had not been hurt very seriously,for there was no irregularity in his trail--no swaying from side toside, as from weakness--though we followed it up to the point where, atthe upper end of our valley, the bear had climbed the cliff whichbounded the Second Mesa. Though on this occasion he had thought fit torun away, there was little doubt but that he would live to fight anotherday.

  "Father," said I, as we sat together at breakfast, "may Joe and I go andtrail him up? If he keeps on bleeding it ought to be easy, and it isjust possible that we might find him dead."

  My father at first shook his head, but presently, reconsidering, hereplied: "Well, you may go; but you must go on your ponies: it's toodangerous to go a-foot. And in any case, if the trail leads you up tothe loose rocks or into the big timber you must stop. You know what atricky beast Big Reuben is. If he sees that he is followed he will liein hiding and jump out on you. That's how he caught Jed Smith, youremember."

  "We'll take care, father," said I. "We'll stick to our ponies, and thenwe shall be all safe."

  "Very well, then; be off with you."

  With this permission we set off, I carrying a rifle and Joe his "oldcannon," as he called the big shotgun; each with a crust of bread and aslice or two of bacon in his pocket by way of lunch. Picking up thetrail where we had left it at the foot of the Second Mesa, we scrambledup the little cliff, looking out very sharply lest Big Reuben should belying in wait for us in some crevice, and finding that the tracks ledstraight away for Mount Lincoln, we followed them, I doing the trackingwhile Joe kept watch ahead. The surface of the Second Mesa was veryuneven: there were many little rocky hills and many small canyons, someof the latter as much
as a hundred feet deep, so, keeping in mind thebear's crafty nature, whenever the trail led us near any of theseobstacles I would stand still while Joe examined the canyon or the rocks,as the case might be.

  Every time we did this, however, we drew a blank. The trail continued tolead straight away for the mountain without diverging to one side or theother, and for five or six miles we followed it until the stunted cedarsbegan to give place to pine trees, when we decided that we might as wellstop, especially as for some time past there had ceased to be anyblood-marks on the stones and we had been following only the occasionalimprint of the bear's paws in the patches of sand.

  "The trail is headed straight for that rocky gorge, Phil," said mycompanion, pointing forward, "and it's no use going on. Even if yourfather hadn't forbidden it, I wouldn't go into that gorge, knowing thatBig Reuben was in there somewhere, not if the county commissionersshould offer me the whole county as a reward."

  "Nor I, either," said I. "Big Reuben may have his mountain all tohimself as far as I'm concerned. So, come on; let's get back. What timeis it?"

  "After noon," replied Joe, looking up at the sun. "We've been a longtime coming, but it won't take us more than half the time going back.Let's dig out at once."

  Turning our ponies, we set off at an easy lope, and had ridden about twomiles on the back track when, skirting along the edge of one of thelittle canyons I have mentioned, we noticed a tiny spring of water,which, issuing from the face of the cliff close to the top, fell in athin thread into the chasm.

  "Joe," said I, "let's stop here and eat our lunch. I'm getting prettyhungry."

  "All right," said Joe; and in another minute we were seated on the edgeof the cliff with our feet dangling in space, munching our bread andbacon, while the ponies, with the reins hanging loose, were cropping thescanty grass just behind us.

  About five feet below where we sat was a little ledge some eighteeninches wide, which, on our left, gradually sloped upward until it cameto the top, while in the other direction it sloped downward, diminishingin width until it "petered out" entirely. The little spring fell uponthis ledge, and running along it, fell off again at its lower end. Asthe best place to fill our tin cup was where the water struck the ledge,we, when we had finished our lunch, walked down to that point.

  Filling the cup, I was in the act of handing it to Joe, who was behindme, when a sudden clatter of hoofs caused us to straighten up. Our eyescame just above the level of the cliff, and the first thing theyencountered was Big Reuben himself, not ten feet away, coming straightfor us at a run!

  "Duck!" yelled Joe; and down we went--only just in time, too, for thebear's great claws rattled on the surface of the rock as he made a slapat us.

  Where had he come from? Had he followed us back from the mountain?Hardly: we had come too quickly. Had he seen us coming in the earlymorning, and, making a circuit out of our sight, lain in wait for us aswe returned? Such uncanny cleverness seemed hardly possible, even forBig Reuben, clever as he was known to be.

  These questions, however, did not occur to us at the moment. All thatconcerned us just then was that there was Big Reuben, looking down at usfrom the edge of the cliff.

  There was no doubt that it was the same bear we had interviewed in thenight, for all the hair on one side of his face was singed off where Ihad thrust at him with the torch, while one of his ears was tattered andbloody, showing that some of Joe's buck-shot, at least, had got him ashe dropped from the window.

  Joe and I were on our hands and knees, when the bear, going down uponhis chest, reached for us with one of his paws. He could not quite touchus, but he came so uncomfortably close that we crept away down theledge, which, dipping pretty sharply, soon put us out of his reachaltogether.

  Seeing this, the bear rose to his feet again, gazed at us for a moment,and then stepped back out of sight.

  "Has he gone?" I whispered; but before Joe could answer Big Reubenappeared again, walking down the ledge towards us. Of course we sidledaway from him, until the ledge had become so narrow that I could go nofarther; and lucky it was for us that the ledge was narrow, for whatwas standing-room for us was by no means standing-room for the bear: hisbody was much too thick to allow him to come near us, or even toapproach the spot whence we had just retreated.

  As it was obvious that the bear could advance no farther, for he wasstanding on the very edge of the ledge and there was a bulge in the rockbefore him which would inevitably have pushed him off into the chasm hadhe attempted to pass it, Joe and I returned to the spring, where we hadroom to stand or to sit down as we wished.

  The enemy watched our approach, with a glint of malice in his littlepiggy eyes, but when he saw that we intended to come no nearer, he laydown where he was and began unconcernedly licking his paws.

  "He thinks he can starve us out," said Joe; "but if I'm not mistaken wecan stand it longer than he can, even if he did eat half a pig lastnight. And there's one thing certain, Phil: if we don't get hometo-night, somebody will come to look for us in the morning."

  "Yes," I assented. "But they'll get a pretty bad scare at home if wedon't turn up. Is there no way of sending that beast off? If we couldonly get hold of one of the guns----"

  By standing upright we could see my rifle lying on the ground and Joe'sbig gun standing with its muzzle pointed skyward, leaning against aboulder. They were only six feet away, but six feet were six feet: wecould not reach them without climbing up, and that was out of thequestion--the bear could get there much more quickly than we could.

  "Phil!" exclaimed my companion, suddenly. "Have you got any twine inyour pocket?"

  "Yes," I replied, pulling out a long, stout piece of string. "Why?"

  "Perhaps we can 'rope' my gun. See, its muzzle stands clear. Then wecould drag it within reach."

  I very soon had a noose made, and being the more expert roper of the twoI swung it round and round my head, keeping the loop wide open, andthrew it. My very first cast was successful. The noose fell over themuzzle of the gun and settled half way down the barrel, where it wasstopped by the rock.

  "Good!" whispered Joe. "Now, tighten it up gently and pull the gunover."

  I followed these directions, and presently we heard the gun fall with aclatter upon the rocks; for, fearing it might go off when it fell, wehad both ducked below the rim of the wall.

  Our actions had made the bear suspicious, and when the gun cameclattering down he rose upon his hind feet and looked about him. Seeingnothing moving, however, he came down again, when I at once began topull the gun gently towards me, keeping my head down all the time lestone of the hammers, catching against a rock, should explode the charge.

  At length, thinking it should be near enough, I ceased pulling, when Joestraightened up, reached out, and, to my great delight, when he withdrewhis hand the gun was in it.

  Ah! What a difference it made in our situation!

  Joe, first opening the breach to make sure the gun was loaded, advancedas near the bear as he dared, and kneeling down took careful aim at hischest. But presently he lowered the gun again, and turning to me, said:

  "Phil, can you do anything to make him turn his head so that I can get achance at him behind the ear? I'm afraid a shot in front may only woundhim."

  "All right," said I. "I'll try."

  With my knife I pried out of the face of the cliff a piece of stoneabout the size and shape of the palm of my hand, and aiming carefully Ithrew it at the bear. It struck him on the very point of his nose--atender spot--and seemingly hurt him a good deal, for, with an angrysnarl, he rose upright on his hind feet.

  At that instant a terrific report resounded up and down the canyon, thewhole charge of Joe's ponderous weapon struck the bear full in thechest--I could see the hole it made--and without a sound the great beastdropped from the ledge, fell a hundred feet upon the rocks below,bounded two or three times and then lay still, all doubled up in a heapat the bottom.

  Big Reuben had killed his last pig!