The Pioneer Boys of the Ohio; or, Clearing the Wilderness

by St. George Rathborne

  CHAPTER XVII

  A STRANGE PRISON

  THE bear looked at Bob; and Bob stared at the bear.

  It was a mutual surprise, though on the whole, perhaps, the animal wasthe more astonished, since up to this time he could not have had anyinkling of the tremendous things that were occurring so near his home.

  He blinked his little eyes as the glare of the great conflagrationdazzled his vision; but at the same time there was not the faintestindication that Mr. Bruin thought of dropping back into his snugretreat.

  Here was a pretty kettle of fish, with the bear wanting to come out,and Bob just as set upon going in. Evidently there was a conflict ofopinions as to the proper thing to do when the forest took to blazing.Bruin believed flight might serve him best; while the young pioneerknew positively that in his case it would not answer at all.

  Of course, when he first caught sight of that black muzzle, the boyhad given a low cry of alarm. Possibly Mr. Bear had never up to nowheard a human voice save, it might be, the war whoop of the red man. Itdid not seem, however, to deter him in the least from trying to carryout his original plan.

  He began to move upward, and Bob could hear his sharp claws digginginto the interior of the stump, assisting his progress.

  The situation needed prompt measures for relief. To drop down again tothe ground was not to be considered for a moment, since there was theadvancing fire to consider.

  Fortunately Bob was a quick thinker, and often did things on the spurof the moment, as though acting from intuition rather than afterdeliberation and planning.

  Let the bear come out, if that was his intention! Not for the wholeworld would he offer the slightest objection to such a process, for hewanted that snug den in the stump, and he wanted it more, apparently,than the beast did.

  At the same time a collision was not at all to his liking. He had hisgun strapped to his back, and was therefore in no condition to defendhimself.

  The only way to avoid a meeting was to give the beast plenty of room.Undoubtedly the bear was growing frantic with fear at sight of thefire. Some inward sense told Bruin that the gravest danger of his wholelife now faced him, and, unable to understand that the safest coursewould have been to drop back inside his fortress and let the hurricaneof fire sweep past, he was bent on fleeing before the gale.

  Of course it would prove a fatal error of judgment for the animal, butwhat was Bruin's loss might be Bob's gain.

  Already his head and shoulders had issued from the hole, and he wassurging forward, intent on one thing, which was to quit his quarters asspeedily as his huge bulk would permit it.

  Bob swung himself half way around the trunk of the tree. He found itrather difficult to hang on, but, being tenacious by nature, and a goodclimber, he clung desperately to what stubs of branches he found there.

  Would the beast follow after him, bent on making an attack on the boldtwo-legged enemy that had ventured to brazenly face him at the mouth ofhis private castle?

  Bob had little fear of this. He believed the bear was too much alarmedby the unusual spectacle of the woods afire, and was seized with thesame sort of panic that had sent buffalo, stags, wolves, foxes and evena gray panther bounding along to leeward as fast as their muscles coulddrive them.

  He knew when Bruin had managed to drag his entire bulk out from theenclosure, for the scene was by this time as well lighted up as thoughthe sun shone through the eddying smoke clouds, only it was a red,angry glare, peculiarly terrifying.

  Yes, thank goodness, the beast was scurrying down the trunk of the oldtree as fast as he possibly could. Fright urged him on, and Bob couldnot help adding to the situation by giving a shrill whoop.

  "Thank you, sir; with your leave I will tumble into your late berth,"he exclaimed, as he struggled to pass around the stump again, in orderto reach the opening.

  Short as was the time consumed in doing this, when he reached the gapin the trunk the bear had already tumbled to the ground. Bob heard thebeast give utterance to a subdued roar, as though some of the flyingleaves that were afire might have alighted on his hairy hide; then theblack beast galloped madly off, heading in a direct line away from theapproaching fire.

  But well did Bob know that, unless Bruin had some near-by cave in mindwhen he thus scampered off, the chances were ten to one he would roastin the conflagration, since he could never hope to outstrip its onwardrush.

  Bob did not stop to see anything more just then. The air was alreadyscorching, the smoke blinding, and there was danger lest his garmentstake fire unless he speedily dropped out of reach of the flying leaves.

  Of course there was only one way in which to properly enter that holein the old tree trunk. That was feet first, just as the originalproprietor of the den had been in the habit of doing.

  Regardless of almost everything else save the fact that he was in atremendous hurry, the boy pushed his figure through the aperture. Sincethere was nothing to which he could apply his moccasined toes, in orderto stay his downward movement, the consequence of haste was that Bobtook a quick passage to the very bottom of the tree trunk.

  Beyond a few minor scratches, however, he did not think that he hadreceived any hurt, and such trifles were not to be considered, when hehad such a serious problem at stake as saving his life.

  Looking upward he could see the opening, for through it glowed thelight of the conflagration. From this he was able to judge that theaperture must be some five feet above his head.

  There was ample room in the stump's interior for the boy to movearound, and, on the whole, he did not doubt but that it had formedquite a pleasant den in which a bear could hibernate through the longwinter.

  Already could he hear the roar of the flames all around him. Really,the sound was rather terrifying, though he knew full well it would bequickly over.

  At least there was now no fear of the bear returning. That possibilityhad worried Bob for a brief period, since it would be very inconvenientto have had the singed animal dropping down upon him in that confinedspace.

  "Phew! but it's getting warm in here!" he could not help exclaiming,as the perspiration began to ooze from his pores, and he found himselfactually panting for breath.

  He judged that by now he was in the worst of the fire. This meant thatit would have swept past the tree in another couple of minutes, andafter that the heat must gradually decrease.

  Yes, already he felt sure that the loud roaring was growing sensiblyless. The wave of fire had passed on, snatching up new supplies of dryfuel as it rushed along its way on the teeth of the wind.

  More than once his thoughts had gone out to Sandy.

  "Oh! I hope he stayed where I put him, and that all is well," he keptrepeating to himself, as he sweltered in his hot oven.

  Surely it ought to be getting much more comfortable by now; and yet Bobcould not positively say that he felt any cooling influence.

  Perhaps he would be wise to climb upward toward the exit, ready tothrust his head out, and see how the land lay. No sooner had this ideaflashed upon him than he started to carry it out, only to make a veryunpleasant discovery.

  He groped around him, seeking to find some projection that would give agrip or a foothold, but only to meet with grievous disappointment.

  "Why, what shall I do?" he cried aloud, in his sudden chagrin. "Theinside of this old tree is as smooth as an otter slide! And I have noclaws, like the bear, to help me climb up!"

  He tried pushing his back against one side of the hollow, while withhis knees and hands he pressed against the opposite wall. It was afavorite trick which Bob had carried out successfully on more than oneoccasion. Somehow it did not seem to work now.

  Whether in his excitement he failed to take advantage of every littlegain, or because the bear in his frequent passage up and down hadpolished the chute so that it was impossible for the boy to hold on,was a question Bob never found himself fully qualified to answer.

  All he knew was that three times he managed to get up a littledistance, only to suddenly slid
e down again and land in a heap at thebottom.

  His failures were discouraging, to say the least. The worst of it allwas that there did not seem to be any hope that, even given time, hecould manage to accomplish the task, unless he took out his knife anddeliberately hacked notches in the sides of his prison upon which hecould rest his toes.

  That would take hours of time; and meanwhile what of Sandy?

  "I'll give it another try," he muttered, loth to confess himselfbeaten, "and then, if I fail to make it, something else must be done,for out of this I'm going to get, by hook or by crook!"

  This time he took particular pains in his movements. Inch by inch hekept advancing by that shuffling movement that always pushed his figureaway from the ground.

  Hope even began to find a lodgment in his breast, for the bottom of theaperture seemed now within a foot of his reach, and, once let him get agrip on that, he could count the battle won.

  Then again there came a miscalculation, a trifling slip that upset hisgravity, and once more poor Bob went plunging down to the bottom, worseoff than ever.

  He actually grunted and groaned as he sat there, feeling to see if hehad received any more damage than a few bruises from this heavy fall.

  And, strange to say, his back seemed to trouble him more than any otherpart of his body.

  "Feels as if I had started to roast along my spine," he said, as hefound his buckskin tunic exceedingly hot when he laid a hand on it.

  Then, all at once, the truth burst upon him.

  "The old stump is afire! That's what that flashing means I saw throughthe opening! Why, I may be roasted here after all! What can I do?" heasked himself, once more struggling to his feet, and forgetting all hisminor injuries as he contemplated this serious condition.

  To find out if his suspicion were true he started placing his hand atvarious spots along the inside of the tree trunk, and, from the intenseheat, he found little hope that he had made a mistake.

  Was it worth while trying again to mount upward? Could he dig his toesinto the smooth walls with enough vigor to sustain his weight? Fourfailures rather dampened his ardor along this line.

  His groping hand came in contact with his musket, which he had thrownaside on first finding himself caged in this trap. It had been leaningagainst the side of his prison all the while. To fire it would beuseless, for who was there to come to his assistance?

  Suppose he managed to climb up again as far as on the last disastrousoccasion, could he get any support by placing the butt of the gunupward, as a rest for one foot?

  It was a last desperate resort, and poor Bob shuddered at pressing hisalready tortured back against that heated wooden funnel. If there wereonly some other way by which he might hope to gain the outer air, howgladly would he welcome it!

  Just then he noticed something--he had really seen it before, but paidlittle attention to the fact, being wholly taken up with the idea ofreaching the hole above.

  And, while this new sight did not seem to hold out any positive chancesfor an escape from his burning prison, Bob believed that it might beworth throwing all his last efforts into this new channel.